West of Paradise (17 page)

“Whose place is this?” Jack asked after a while.

“I told you; it’s mine,” Harlan answered. “I grew up on it once upon a time. There was a family there for a while, tryin’ to make a go of the old place but they gave up and went back east. I was hopin’ they might buy it, take it off my hands, but I guess I’m stuck with it for now. Unless you and the Misses think it might suit?” He gave Katherine a friendly wink. Jack returned a scowl.

❧

Harlan’s property was situated down a long narrow lane, half hidden by a grove of bur oak. The house was square and plain, whitewash fading, with a narrow covered porch, a barn, and a number of chickens pecking away in the dirt yard.

Katherine spotted a well between the house and barn and said a silent thank you to the gods of proper hygiene but withdrew it moments later when she saw the outhouse, door slipping off its hinges and leaning precariously in a westerly direction.
Not fair!
she thought, remembering the marble floor in the bath of her penthouse apartment—the bidet, hot water at a touch, and the lovely smell of bath oils.

“Here we are. Come on and I’ll show you ’round, then we can unload the supplies.”

“Supplies?” Katherine echoed.

Harlan pointed to the crates in the wagon. “Supplies,” he repeated with a smile, offering Katherine a hand down.

He took them around the side as the chickens scattered at their approach, motioning to the well and a sagging clothesline strung between a post and one corner of the house. “I expect you can straighten that if you’ve a mind to,” he said to Jack. “No doubt the Misses here would appreciate that.”

“Enough of the charade,” Jack said, getting annoyed.

“Sorry.” Harlan put a straight face on and continued, “The chickens were still laying last time I came out, though there’s about half as many. Still, you should get a few eggs every day.”

He swung the barn doors open and immediately dozens of sparrows flew out into sky and away. The harsh, whispery sound of their wings startled Katherine into stepping directly into Jack. His hands steadied her and for one brief moment she wanted to stay right there, with his hands on her. But she jumped away and scolded herself silently, ignoring him and focusing her attention on the barn’s interior. The bright light revealed three empty horse stalls, roosts for the chickens, and a rusted plow. There was hay up in the loft, and a few holes in the roof where blue sky pricked through.

“And if you’re really ambitious, you could fix the roof. I’ll even pay you for your time.”

“Your generosity astounds me,” Jack said, shaking his head, “but I’m afraid I don’t do heights.”

“Ah, too bad.” Harlan gave a shrug and led them to the house, opening the front door.

Katherine found herself pleasantly surprised by the interior. It was dusty to be sure, but there was a huge hearth, a wood floor, curtains at the windows, and a braided rug she thought might be brighter given a good beating. A tall cupboard hugged one corner, while an old pine table took up the space before the window. Two black rocking chairs completed the furnishings.

“I know, the place needs a good cleaning,” Harlan said, looking pointedly at Katherine. He grinned and opened a second door, revealing a small bedroom, which actually had a bed and an old steamer trunk bound in leather and brass. “There’s a small pantry out back and the loft upstairs.” Harlan pointed to a ladder. “That’s where I used to sleep; cold as hell in the winter and hotter ’n Hades in the summer.”

Katherine shrugged. “I’m sure we’ll manage. It’s a very nice house.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. My folks would’ve appreciated it. But here, let’s get those supplies in so you two can get settled and I can get going.”

Katherine made to go with them but Harlan shook his head and waved her away. “We’ll get this heavy stuff, ma’am. No need for you to strain yourself.”

A retort nearly tumbled from her lips, something sarcastic, something she might have said to any man who would’ve suggested she might strain herself by lifting a few crates that couldn’t have weighed more than forty pounds. But she swallowed the words and reminded herself where she was, when she was.

“There is, however, a broom and duster, bucket, cleaning supplies in the shed out by the clothesline,” Harlan said.

Katherine turned away before she could say anything, marching out of the house. She stomped over to the shed and found the items Harlan had mentioned as well as a few rags. She let loose a frustrated sigh and made her way to the well, which had a pump rather than a bucket on a rope. It took a bit of muscle (
as much as it might have required to lift a few crates
, she thought) but eventually the water began to flow and she filled her bucket and went inside where Jack and Harlan had brought the crates.

“What is it?” she asked, peering in.

“Corn meal, kerosene, bacon, lard, taters, cheese, buckwheat, molasses, raisins, and I forget what else. Hopefully enough to keep you ’til I can get back.”

“And when might that be?” Jack asked.

“Coupla weeks, I guess,” Harlan said.

“A couple of weeks?” Katherine repeated. Surely not, she thought; she couldn’t possibly spend that much time way out here. She needed to get to Leavenworth!

“‘Fraid so. But don’t worry, you’ll be fine; Jack’s pretty self-sufficient. I hear he even cooks.”

“Great,” Katherine said. “Because I don’t.”

Both men turned to stare at her.

“Well, what I mean is, I
can
cook, I just . . . I just haven’t . . . much.”

Harlan raised a brow at Jack. “Good luck to the both of you then.” And with that he was gone.

Katherine didn’t wait for Jack to give her one of his suspicious looks, setting to cleaning with as much vigor as she could muster. She wiped the furniture down, swept the floor, and dragged the rug out to the porch where she hauled it over the railing and beat it with the broom. A year or more worth of dirt and dust flew out into the air, a great brown cloud.

She found linens in the trunk in the bedroom, which she washed in a wooden tub along with all the curtains and hung everything out on the sagging line to dry. She dusted the mantle and the window sills, cleaned the glass as best she could, and washed whatever dishes she could find: three deep dish plates, four bowls, a pair of chipped cups, three saucers, some forks, a half dozen spoons of varying sizes, an iron pot, and a skillet.

She lost track of time in her effort to be busy and make the house clean, although not clean by any standard she knew. Still, it would have to do for the time they were here. She put the dishes in the cupboard, hung the skillet and pot on their hooks by the hearth and, not seeing Jack anywhere, she wrestled the rug into the house and returned it to its place. Then she took a step back to survey her work.

Better, she decided. Except she was sweating like a pig and probably smelled like one too. She wrinkled her nose and headed to the pump, filling the bucket again.

She drank first, scooping water into her cupped hands. Then she splashed her face and neck with the cool water, thinking how nice it would’ve been to go for a swim. But barring that, she grabbed the bucket and lifted it high, emptying it over her head, feeling the sudden delightful shock of cold water running down over her head, neck, and arms. It felt divine.

She opened her eyes and there, standing a few yards away, was Jack, with the most curious expression on his face. It took her almost a full minute to realize what it was.

Chapter Twenty-Two
Salad Days

J
ack stared. His mouth dropped open.

And he knew he was about as aroused as he’d been in a very long time.

Katherine’s eyes widened in shock and she quickly hugged herself, covering what had been just about the closest thing to a wet t-shirt contest he’d seen since . . . well, since he didn’t remember when.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, lowering her eyes and hurrying past him into the house.

Jack stood there, closing his eyes and trying to think of something unpleasant, like Brussels sprouts, maggots, rotting flesh, anything except the image of Katherine standing there with water running down her body, soaking through her thin blouse and leaving next to nothing to the imagination. Almost he laughed, finding it ridiculous that he should be so overcome by a pair of breasts.

Except that it was painful. So instead he went to the pump and filled the bucket and doused his head under the cold water until he thought he could face Katherine without it being obvious what he would have liked to do with her. He breathed deep and long, wiping his face on his sleeve and picking up his hat where he’d dropped it. He told himself not to be embarrassed, that it was perfectly natural for a man to get aroused when faced with a pair of breasts barely covered by sheer, wet material.

Nevertheless, he felt his face flush as soon as he stepped inside the house. And even though Katherine had put on a fresh blouse with short puffy sleeves and little buttons down the front he wanted nothing more than to undo those buttons, slowly, one by one; he turned around and walked straight back out of the house and to the pump.

He splashed his face with cold water then sat down and lit a cigarette, forcing his mind to other matters, for example, what to make for supper. Harlan had been truthful about that; he did know how to cook.

❧

Inside Katherine cursed herself for a fool, yanking the knots from her wet hair with her comb and wondering if she should go out and say something to Jack or if that would only make matters worse. Goodness why hadn’t she thought for one moment? She shook her head angrily, feeling like the worst kind of tease.

She paced back and forth between the hearth and the open door, debating whether to pretend she hadn’t noticed or go out there and apologize to Jack. She supposed the proper thing would be to say nothing. That’s probably what a woman of the time would do: pretend that nothing had happened. Of course, a woman of the time would never have emptied a bucket of water over her head either. She took a deep breath and went out to the well.

“Jack?” she called hesitantly.

She came around the corner and found him sitting there, smoking. He looked up at her, but she couldn’t see his eyes for his hat.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” she said.

“Not your fault,” he replied.

“I . . . it was actually; I should’ve known better. I was just so hot . . .”

“I know. It’s all right. Go on in.”

She opened her mouth again, but the words died and she turned around and went inside, plunking down in the rocker with a long sigh.

A few minutes later Jack came in. He didn’t say anything, going over to the cupboard and perusing the contents.

“Do you like cornbread?” he asked after a while.

“Yes,” Katherine answered.

Jack nodded. “I’ll make cornbread then, and we can have bacon and eggs if there are any. Mind checking?”

“No, not at all.”

Katherine jumped up, eager to be of help and went out to the barn, finding the nesting boxes after a time, and a half dozen eggs. She gathered them in her skirt, making a cradle, and brought them inside where Jack was slicing up the bacon.

“Do you know how to crack an egg?” he asked, not looking at her.

“Of course I do! I’m not completely useless in the kitchen,” Katherine said, adding, “though this hardly qualifies as that.”

Jack chuckled. “You’re right there. But we’ll make do. Find a couple of bowls and crack those eggs, one by one, mind, in case they’ve gone bad.”

Katherine followed his instructions regarding the eggs, and sure enough two were gone by, obvious by the pungent reek. “Ugh, they smell . . .”

“Yeah, I know. Get rid of them quick, out back of the barn.”

Katherine did so, leaving the offending bowl filled with water by the well.

By the time she returned Jack had a fire going in the hearth.

“How did you do that?” she asked, frowning.

“Do what?”

“Get a fire going? I didn’t see anything to make one.”

“While you were cleaning I swept out the fireplace here and went out and collected enough windfall and grass and such to make a fire. I’m handy that way.” He smiled and plopped the bacon in the skillet. “How about some milk from the pantry, flour, the lard, cornmeal, and . . . I think there’s a cake of salt in there if I remember.”

Katherine found the requested items and brought them out to Jack who mixed everything in a bowl and set it aside to wait for the bacon to cook. Once it was crisp he picked it out with a fork, emptied the grease into a cup, the batter into the skillet and set it over the fire.

It all took about a half hour or so and Katherine was both impressed and surprised. There was much more to Jack McCabe than the simple bounty hunter he portrayed, she decided, wondering what other interesting traits might be hidden.

They ate out on the porch where it was cooler, neither of them saying much, and afterward Katherine took the dishes out to the well and washed them, a task made difficult for the lack of soap or anything that might be considered abrasive—until she hit on the idea of using dirt and a rag, which worked surprisingly well.

She could see the sun beginning to set out along the horizon, the sky turning a shade darker than robin’s egg blue. The sheets were dry and she brought them in to make up the bed, tucking them in as tight as she could.

Back outside, toothbrush in hand, she found Jack at the well, brushing his own teeth with a small tin of white powder, which he offered to her as soon as he saw her. “Baking soda,” he garbled.

“What a wonderful idea,” Katherine said, surprised she hadn’t thought of it on her own. She took a pinch and smeared it on her brush, finding it terribly salty but refreshing.

Jack helped her bring in the dry dishes and before darkness fell everything was clean and in its place. Jack lit the lamp on the mantle and got out a bottle of whiskey, offering Katherine a cup.

She accepted and sat down in the rocker by the remains of the fire, untying her boots and kicking them off.

“You sure don’t like wearing shoes, do you,” Jack commented, having taken the other chair a few feet away.

“No, I never have,” Katherine admitted, thinking of her closets and all the shoes she had but hated to wear. Clothes she loved, but shoes . . . nope. She rolled down her stockings and tucked them in her boots.

Jack shook his head but didn’t say anything and Katherine stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes. She took another sip of the whiskey, wishing for tonic water or ice.

So many things to miss, she thought, glancing over at Jack who was watching the embers burn, still purposely not looking at her. The light from the lamp accentuated the highlights in his hair, and she wondered how it might feel beneath her fingers, what he might taste like . . .

A shiver of longing ran straight down into her belly. Her breath caught in her throat as her imagination went further. What if she got up and went over to him? She took another bigger sip from the cup and set it aside, rising and going over to stand before him. She began to unbutton her blouse.

“What are you doing?” he asked, almost choking.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

He shook his head, rising, stopping her with his hands. “You don’t have to . . .”

“But I want to—unless of course, you don’t.”

“Oh, I do, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“Then let me,” he said, unbuttoning the next, his fingers surprisingly agile with the tiny flat buttons.

“I take it you’ve done this before,” Katherine said.

“A couple of times,” Jack said with a smile, slipping her blouse off, letting his hands skim lightly over her shoulders and down the length of her arms. “You?”

“I was married, remember?” she smiled.

“Oh, really?”

“Well, almost,” Katherine amended.

“Then this won’t be the first time you’ve been kissed.”

But it felt like the first kiss the way he brushed his lips against hers, slowly, teasing, and when his tongue came to part her lips she couldn’t help but sigh, pressing closer to him, wanting to feel him against her. Her arms twined up around his head, her fingers in his hair, those golden strands.

Jack’s hands slid down to her hips, pulling her against him hard while his tongue moved down to her neck, making her shudder. She hardly noticed when he released the hooks from the back of her skirt, never saw it fall in a puddle of blue at her feet, leaving her in the thin chemise and drawers. He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her into the bedroom, laying her down on the bed. He started to unbutton his own shirt but she put a hand on his chest.

“My turn,” she said, crooking a finger at him.

He obliged, edging himself up to the bed and she rose on her knees, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, kissing his chest, amazed at how hard and smooth he was, with fine light hair that was almost invisible covering his chest, trailing down to the top of his pants. But she didn’t let her fingers stop there and she heard Jack suck in his breath when she began to unbuckle his belt.

“You’re going to make me embarrass myself again,” Jack said.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. We’re both going to be naked in a minute.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said with a little laugh, letting his own fingers roam, untying first the laces of her chemise, and then her drawers, slipping first one off and then the other.

“You are just as lovely as I thought you’d be,” he whispered, kicking his pants and boots off and laying down beside her.

“Hmm, I seem to remember you saying you’d seen better,” Katherine said.

“I lied,” Jack said, kissing her again, softly at first, then deeper with passion. He kissed her face and neck, lingering there, his hands in her hair, wrapping the silken strands about his fingers.

Katherine sighed as his lips moved down, his tongue burning a fiery trail across her skin.

“Oh, my, you have done this before . . .”

❧

The first birds began to sing when Katherine sat up, suddenly aware that Jack was gone. It had taken her a while to notice his absence, being unaccustomed to his presence. But now she felt it, felt alone in the bed, the sheets askew, the single pillow somewhere, and the bed moved away from where it had been when they’d first arrived. Where had he gone?

She rose, feeling her skin prick with the chill. She stumbled in the near dark, rummaging about until she found her drawers and chemise. She tied the laces by feel, and stepped out into the main room, listening.

The house was quiet. The fire had long since gone to ash and she thought she remembered Jack getting up to blow out the lamp, after the first time. Outside the wind brushed against the trees, and she could smell something, a fragrance unfamiliar but pleasant, like fresh mown hay. An owl hooted nearby, and beyond the yard grasshoppers and crickets chirped. The sky was vast above her, huge and black and starry. The ground was cool beneath her feet as she walked toward the back of the house.

Jack stood near the clothesline, looking up at the sky.

“Are you okay?” she asked, shivering a little.

He nodded, but it was too dark to see the expression on his face.

“Are you . . . are you sorry?” she asked next, bracing herself for the answer.

He turned to her, wearing just his pants, and she wanted to reach out and touch him but was suddenly afraid for her earlier bravado.

“Are you? I . . . I don’t usually do this sort of thing and . . . well, if anything should come of it, I would take whatever responsibility you wanted . . .”

It took Katherine a moment to realize exactly what he was talking about.

“Oh!” she said, a little surprised. “You don’t have to worry about that, I can’t . . . I can’t have children.” Not entirely true, she thought guiltily, but mostly. Once the vaccine wore off she would be able to conceive, if she wanted, or be revaccinated if she so chose.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite,” Katherine said, hoping he would leave it at that.

Which he did, much to her relief, stepping closer.

“Then we could . . .”

“Fool around some more?” Katherine suggested.

“Only if you wanted to.”

“I might be willing to participate in such an endeavor,” Katherine said primly.

Jack bent close, keeping his hands behind him, and kissing her ever so lightly on the lips once, before moving down to her neck. A small sound escaped her and Jack whispered, “I suspect you are slightly more than willing.”

He didn’t wait for her answer, silencing anything she might’ve said with a kiss that made quite clear his intentions before he scooped her up and carried her back inside.

❧

On Sunday next, Jack woke first to the sun filtering in through the curtains and the sound of birds outside, including the chickens, which had found their way onto the porch. He rose and dressed, leaving his boots and socks aside. But before he left the room he looked at Katherine admiringly. She was naked and facing away from him, offering an enticing picture of her round bottom and the sweet curve of her hips. With a sigh he turned away and went out to the main room where he quickly made a fire and shooed the chickens out and off the porch. He closed the door, glad that it was cooler.

The smell of the coffee roused Katherine and she came out dressed in the blue skirt and yellow blouse that had started everything.

“Anything besides coffee?” he asked.

“What’s left?” Katherine asked, taking the cup he offered.

“Not much, I’m afraid. There’s still some flour and raisins, lard. If there are any eggs I might be able to manage something.”

“Let’s go see,” Katherine suggested, rising and offering him her hand.

Jack took it and they walked out to the barn together, a comfortable silence between them.

It was a wonder to Jack. He’d never met anyone quite like Katherine. She was different, in a good way. Sometimes he attributed it to her upbringing, which had obviously been unconventional. Other times he plain didn’t know. But he didn’t care. She had a sly sense of humor, magnificent breasts, and she wasn’t afraid to initiate a roll in the hay. He wondered if that was because she didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant. Of course, admittedly, he had not had a real relationship with a woman in a very long time, not counting the few prostitutes he’d visited when the need for a little female companionship proved overwhelming. Nevertheless, he was pretty sure she wasn’t like the women he knew. And that was okay. Good, in fact, he decided.

They found three edible eggs in the barn and a number of broken ones lying outside the nesting boxes. There were also a dozen little chicks running around, peeping and pecking. Katherine picked one up.

“I can’t believe how cute they are,” she said.

“Not for long,” Jack said.

“I know,” she said, letting the chick down to scurry after its siblings, peeping loudly.

Off in the distance a rumble sounded and Jack’s gaze turned to darkening sky. “Storm coming,” he said.