Always and Forever Page 7

  “See you in the morning.” And he was gone.

  Snarling, Grace closed the door.

  Chapter 3

  True to his word, he arrived the next morning at exactly six-thirty. Grace greeted him at the door dressed and ready to go. She stepped back to let him enter and said coolly, “As you can see, I already have on my hat.”

  Figuring he’d earned that crack, Jackson stepped inside. While she closed the door, he studied the olive green hat on her head, the full green skirt and matching jacket, and the black high-heeled boots. “I thought we were going to look over some horses.”

  “We are.”

  “You look like you’re going to tea.”

  Out west, women wore hats to protect them from the sun or to church; here, women wore confections. “How would you describe that?” he asked, holding her faintly hostile eyes.

  “My hat?”

  “Yes, your hat.”

  “It’s olive colored and made of fine Milan straw. It’s medium high and has a round top. The material draped around the brim and crown is made of crêpe, and the ribbons and bow on the front are faced with black velvet and gimp.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Grace didn’t care for his sarcasm. “Mr. Blake, I don’t care if you dislike my hat. You asked that I not make you wait, and I haven’t. I didn’t ask you to accompany me in the first place, if you remember correctly.”

  Realizing she was right on the edge of shouting, Grace lowered her voice so as not to awaken the still sleeping aunts. “Shall we go now, or do I need to describe my walking suit and boots, too?”

  “No,” he replied.

  Neither of them noticed Dahlia standing on the stairs until she forcefully cleared her throat. “Good morning,” she announced.

  Grace dragged her still angry eyes from Blake and saw that her aunt, dressed in a morning gown and with her hair still in curlers, looked quite perturbed. “Good morning, Aunt Dahl. I hope we didn’t wake you.”

  “No apologies needed. I love being awakened by young people arguing over hats.”

  That said, she descended the stairs and walked off toward the kitchen.

  “I hope you’re happy,” Grace whispered at him harshly.

  “I wasn’t the one shouting.”

  “No, you were simply the one who started this.”

  Dahlia came back through the front room carrying a cup of coffee poured from the pot Grace had left on the stove. She’d obviously heard them starting up again because she said sternly, “My sister is still sleeping. Don’t you two have someplace to be?”

  “Sorry, Aunt Dahl,” Grace offered, while shooting daggers at Blake. “We’re leaving right now.”

  “Good,” she said, climbing the stairs. “Because if you wake up Tulip, I’ll have both your hides.”

  Grace grabbed up her cloak and handbag and stalked to the door with him close behind.

  He politely handed her into the covered buggy he’d borrowed from Sunshine. After taking his seat he picked up the reins. “Where to?”

  She told him, then withdrew into a testy silence.

  The trip took them outside the city. Grace had lived in large cities all her life, and even though she enjoyed the excitement and the hustle and bustle, she always found the open countryside a joy, and she could feel some of her testiness draining away. The pastoral surroundings also reminded her of the horseback rides she’d taken with her parents when she was younger. She’d learned to sit a mount almost as soon as she could walk, and loved riding to this day. Back then, riding fed both her wild spirit and her imagination. Sometimes she pretended to be a member of one of the Civil War’s Black cavalry units and she and her mounted companions would be riding hard to Richmond to free it from the Rebs. At other times she would be on a spy raid with Harriet Tubman and they would be racing back to Union lines with vital information needed by General Montgomery.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  His question brought her back to the present. “I’m sorry. No.”

  “I said, I apologize for taking digs at your hat back there. I didn’t get much sleep last night and I suppose I took it out on you.”

  Grace studied him a moment. He looked sincere, and because she’d no desire to spend the day shouting at him, said, “Apology accepted,” then added, “I hope your restlessness wasn’t caused by the aunts’ cooking last night?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  In reality, he’d tossed and turned ’til dawn’s early light because of the redheaded woman seated at his side. Now that he’d made up his mind to return to Texas, he was finding it hard to concentrate on a plan to clear his name due to a rising preoccupation with his lovely employer. Who’d’ve thought he’d develop a hankering for a fine, upstanding daughter of Black representative society? She was everything he didn’t want in a woman, from her short stature to her modern ways, but she drew him nonetheless. It was a distraction he didn’t need.

  Unaware of his inner battle, Grace said, “This is beautiful countryside. I used to ride out here with my parents when I was younger.”

  “Horseback?”

  She nodded.

  He looked away from the road a moment. “You ride?”

  Grace smiled at the surprise on his face. “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

  “Most city women prefer hacks and carriages.”

  “Yes, we do, but many do ride.”

  “Can you drive a wagon, too?”

  “I’ve no idea. I’ve never driven one.”

  He didn’t know why he found her admission surprising. She was a banker after all, and beneath the fine silk and lace probably lay a woman of many accomplishments.

  She went on, “When I was younger we rode quite a bit, but after my father started the bank he had less time.

  Then, once my mother died—I kept riding but he rarely came along.”

  Her parents had loved each other immensely. In an age when arranged marriages were still common, they’d had a love match and didn’t care who knew. On more than a few occasions the adolescent Grace had come into a room to find her smiling mother standing in the circle of her father’s arms. She’d even seen them sneaking kisses in the kitchen. Watching them bask in their love made Grace grow up wanting to have a marriage just as special, but now she knew it would never be.

  When Grace and Blake arrived at their destination, the livestock owner, an old man named Drain, wasn’t the least bit friendly. Grace had no idea if his attitude stemmed from race, or if he was just ornery by nature. However, when Grace told him how many mules and horses she’d need, the man all but tripped over himself in an effort to accommodate her, then personally drove them out to view his stock.

  Grace knew a bit about good sound horseflesh but Jackson knew more. He looked for youth, strong straight legs and clear eyes in the animals Drain had for sale. He felt the musculature behind their necks and assessed the quality of their mouths and teeth. His knowledge made Grace glad he’d come along.

  It took almost two hours to choose and tag all the animals they wanted, but when they were done, Grace knew it had been two hours well spent, in spite of the muddy pasture and the horse pies.

  With that portion of the task completed, Grace and Jackson were driven back to Drain’s home to conclude the written portion of the transaction. He took them in through the back door to his small kitchen and gestured them to the chairs ringing the table in the center of the room.

  After writing up the bill of sale, he handed it to Jackson who immediately passed it to Grace. “She’s the one you’re doing business with. Not me.”

  The old man looked skeptical. “Well, I don’t know. Never done business with a female before.”

  Grace had spent the last two hours walking around a mud-filled pasture, pushing and prodding mules and horses that smelled like mules and horses, and she was in no mood for close-minded shenanigans. “Mr. Drain, profit has no gender in the business world. If it does in yours, I’ll take my gold elsewhere.”

&
nbsp; She stood intending to leave.

  Drain quickly threw up a halting hand and chuckled. “Hey, hold on there, missy. I ain’t saying I wouldn’t. I just said I never did. Sit. Please?”

  He then swung his humor-filled blue eyes over to Jackson. “She always this touchy?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Far as I know. I’m thinking it might be because she’s a banker.”

  “A what?”

  Grace replied, “A banker, Mr. Drain. Are we going to complete this transaction or not?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, looking up at her wondrously.

  Grace read over the bill of sale he’d drawn up and found something she thought needed clarification. “Mr. Drain, it says here you agree to supply the animals, but there’s nothing that specifically speaks to the animals we chose. I’m sure you’re an honest man, but the way this bill is worded, you could send me a bunch of half-blind nags and I’d still be obligated to pay.”

  There was silence as he assessed her.

  Jackson thought she had a very good point.

  “You really think I’d do that?” Drain asked with a crafty smile on his weathered face.

  “No,” Grace countered easily, “but I need to be clear on what I’m buying.”

  He assessed her for a few moments more. “Why do you need so many animals in the first place?”

  “I’m putting together a wagon train to Kansas.”

  “Why don’t you just take the real train? Be easier.”

  “Jim Crow.”

  He held her unwavering eyes. “I see.” His manner turned serious. “Well, hand me back that bill and let’s see if we can’t put it down clear.”

  “Thank you.”

  Taking the bill from her hand, Mr. Drain glanced over at Blake. “She your woman?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, if I was colored and fifty years younger, she’d be mine. She’s something.”

  “That she is,” Jackson responded, looking over at her with glowing eyes. “That she is.”

  The ride home was rocky over the uneven road, but Grace didn’t mind; procuring the animals had been one of the last major items on her list. With Blake’s help, the task had been relatively easy. “Thanks for your help back there.”

  “Anytime. Thank you for the business lesson. I liked the way you handled Mr. Drain. You got some style, lady.”

  Grace appreciated the compliment. “Being a female doesn’t mean I’m gullible.”

  “I know it and Drain knows it now.”

  “I simply wanted to make sure he didn’t send us a slew of old animals that couldn’t even make it out of the state,” she said, quoting Jackson’s words.

  He shot her a look that held a hint of amusement.

  Smiling, she added, “Drain might’ve been an honest man, but I wasn’t willing to take the chance.”

  “You did right to call his hand.”

  Grace knew she didn’t really need the Texan’s approval, but it made her feel good, knowing he appreciated her keen business sense. Few men did.

  “Where’re you planning on setting up the bride camp?”

  “My godfather, Martin Abbott, has some land about a day and a half’s ride from the city and he’s been gracious enough to let us use it until we are ready to leave. It’s in a valley. There’s a stream running nearby and an old church on the top of a rise with a working water pump.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”

  “I do. The last piece of the puzzle was you.”

  Reins in hand, Jackson looked her way. She’d proven her mettle to him in more ways than one today. Her suit was a mess after the trip to Drain’s muddy pasture, and even though she’d stepped in enough horse pies to win a farm contest, she and that creation she called a hat still managed to appear elegant. She hadn’t whined, complained, or even flinched during the two-hour task. “I’m beginning to think maybe you are cut out for this trip. You did well back there in the field.”

  “Oh, you expected me to spend the entire time tiptoeing through the mud holding my hems out of the way and squealing every time I brushed against one of the animals?”

  He turned his eyes back to the road. “There you go, getting all puffed up again. I was trying to give you a compliment.”

  “Well, did you?” she asked, her eyes twinkling, knowing she’d put him on the spot.

  “Frankly, I did. Yes,” he confessed aloud, but in-wardly he was wondering if she’d bring all that fire to a man’s bed.

  She asked, “Do you remember telling me, ‘Don’t judge until you know’?”

  He didn’t like being bitten by his own words, but she was right: he’d prejudged her in much the same she’d done him that night at the church. “Point taken. You’ve got mud on your nose.”

  Unsure she’d heard him correctly, she said, “Excuse me?”

  He pulled back on the reins and stopped the team. Turning to her, he repeated, “I said, ‘You have mud on your nose.’”

  He pulled a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his duster. Pouring a bit of water on it from his canteen, he gently wiped away the spot of mud on the bridge of her freckle-dusted nose. Grace could feel herself trembling.

  Jackson knew he had no business touching her, but he couldn’t resist tracing a finger slowly over the tiny spots. “I like these…”

  Grace managed to say, “When I was younger, I hated them. The boys at school called me dot-face…”

  As their gazes held, it was as if the whole world suddenly went silent. Grace didn’t hear the birdsong, or the sound of the breeze rustling the trees. She was aware of only two things: the powerful eddy in his dark eyes and the loud thumping of her own heart. When he leaned over and touched his lips to hers, he paused for a moment, raising his eyes to hers as if seeking permission to continue. She replied by touching his bearded cheek with all the wondrousness she felt, and it was all the answer he needed to lower his mouth to hers once again. When he finally drew away, she felt as if she were floating on air and her insides were humming like the last fading notes of a struck bell.

  Jackson knew he had no business doing what he’d just done, but it wasn’t anything he’d planned. Yes, he found her attractive, and yes, his desire for her seemed to be growing daily, but he was destined for Texas after escorting the brides to Kansas City and he didn’t need to start something with her that he couldn’t finish. “Let’s get you home.”

  Still reeling from the moment, Grace thought that a splendid idea.

  He pulled the team to a stop in front of the house, then looked her way. “I suppose I should apologize for what happened back there.”

  Feeling a bit awkward, Grace shook her head. “That—that isn’t necessary. I could’ve stopped you.” She finally found the courage to meet his eyes.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m going to make that a habit—kissing you, I mean.”

  “I understand, and I don’t.”

  Contrary to his words, Jackson wanted to drag her back into his arms. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough of Grace Atwood. “Let’s get you to the door.” He came around to her side of the buggy and opened it. Grace stepped down with her hand in his and tried to ignore the heat that seemed to burn through the fabric of her glove.

  She said genuinely, “Thank you again for your help.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch.”

  He touched his hat to her in departure, then got back in the buggy and drove away without a backward glance.

  Grace spent Friday night and Saturday reading the questionnaires she’d gathered from the brides. She began by first separating the legibly written from the illegibly. Many of the women had a fine hand, but a few wrote no better than chickens. Some of the reasons cited for wanting to go to Kansas ranged from the sheer adventure of such a journey to a strong desire to start a family. One woman, a graduate of Oberlin, hoped the colony might need a teacher, while another wrote that she’d been owned and trained in basic medicine by a doctor during slavery and thou
ght her nursing skills would be an asset. Grace set those two aside for further review.

  Another potential bride’s sheet went into the discard pile because she’d baldly penned a desire to marry the richest man in the colony. Discarded too were the women who listed their current occupation as saloon hostess. Grace also set aside for further review applications of those who currently lived on farms, or were seamstresses or otherwise gainfully employed, whether they were washerwomen, domestics, or store clerks.

  She tried to be as objective, yet as selective, as possible because her final decisions would impact the future of many lives. The only time she applied whimsy to her process was in her selection of a woman named Loreli Winters. Miss Winters was a gambler by profession, a truly unconventional occupation for a woman. Grace doubted any of the men would be interested in claiming a gambler bride but found the idea of including her intriguing. To Grace’s way of thinking, a woman gambler would have to be fearless by nature and very resourceful in order to survive in such a male-dominated world, and as a result, might be a unique asset to the wagon train. She just hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be a bad idea.

  By Sunday after church she was bleary eyed from poring over so much information. She’d whittled down the pile to thirty-five and held another six in abeyance in case one of the women chosen changed her mind.

  Monday morning, Grace posted her list and then sent the bank constable, Mitchell Jones, out to Sunshine’s Palace with a packet for Blake. Inside was a note informing him that she’d made her final decision on the brides and that he was to meet her at the church Tuesday evening for the final meeting before the trip began. She also included an envelope that held a bank draft for the first half of Blake’s pay. He’d get the balance once they reached Kansas City.

  “Ladies, we need to get under way. We have a lot of territory to cover tonight.”

  The women had been visiting back and forth, but once Grace spoke they broke off their conversations and took seats at the tables set up in the church’s basement. The women looked eager to begin, but as Grace called the roll of names it seemed five of the candidates were missing. “Does anyone know the women who aren’t here tonight?” she asked.