Always (11 page)

When the second bucket was full, Ross picked up both of them to take into the house. “I assume you need these inside?”

“Rinse water,” she said.

“Rinse water,” he echoed, a subtle, knowing smile tugging at his mouth before he turned to take the flagstone walk back to the house. Emily’s heart fluttered, and she gritted her teeth.
No.
It wouldn’t work. She stayed a few paces behind, noting that his shiny black boots were getting splashed with water. He didn’t seem to mind. Since when did a little water hurt anybody?

When he came to the back door off the summer kitchen, he set the buckets down on the walk. Before he could reach for the door, though, his attention was caught by the unmistakable sound of carriage wheels clattering across the Kissing Bridge. It could have been anyone, of course, coming from town, but when a sporty runabout buggy emerged a moment later, Emily could have sworn her eyes were playing tricks on her. It looked like...

Karl Becker?

She shaded her eyes to be sure and then couldn’t help a smile when her suspicions were confirmed. Since she’d returned home, she’d only had time to speak to Karl briefly at her father’s funeral. Otherwise, she hadn’t seen him since before the war.

“Where the hell did
he
come from?”

At hearing the hostility in Ross’s voice, Emily peered up at him, but his attention was riveted on Karl, who was by then pulling up to the front of the house.

Although Ross and Karl had been close friends while growing up, the year before war had broken out, they had once come to blows over a ridiculous misunderstanding. Ross had been under the mistaken impression that Emily, at the age of sixteen, had needed protection from Karl’s lascivious advances. In truth, Karl’s great sin that night had consisted of stealing one rather bland kiss behind a springhouse, after which Ross had charged in like a raging bull to save her virtue. The whole episode had been silly and more than a little annoying. Apparently Ross and Karl hadn’t rectified their differences since returning home.

By now, Karl had climbed down and was crossing the side yard, relying on his cane. “Good afternoon, Miss Emily!”

“Good afternoon.”

Karl nodded in Ross’s direction. “So, Gallagher, we meet again. It seems as if you’re everywhere these days.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“I’m surprised to see you here, though, Rossy. I could have sworn you were engaged to the other one. What’s her name?”

Emily had to raise a hand to her mouth to stifle an unladylike guffaw. Perhaps it was a good thing that Karl had stopped by after all. Being from the “wrong” side of town, Karl had never cared much for society or how it judged him. Perhaps a touch of his irreverence was just the tonic Emily needed to cure her doldrums.

Ross, however, didn’t seem at all amused by Karl’s brand of humor. “I just stopped by to see how Emily was doing.”

“By the looks of her, I’d say she’s doing quite well. Quite well indeed.” Like Ross, Karl appeared dapper today, dressed in a top hat and tailored city clothes that enhanced his new aura of respectability. Karl had never been conventionally handsome, but there had always been something about him, something rakish and daring, that had never left him wanting for female companionship.

As his appreciative gaze swept over her, Emily was reminded that she looked a fright. “What brings you by, Karl?”

“I apologize for calling without advance notice, Miss Emily,” he began with mock formality, “but the day was so beautiful, I felt the urge to hitch up my new runabout and take her for a whirl around town. Would you care to join me?”

Emily was surprised by the question. It was the kind of question a man asked when he was interested in courting. They had begun a relationship, tentative though it was, years before, but, well, that was so long ago it barely felt real. And hadn’t he heard the rumors?

Emily tried to smooth her disheveled hair. “Well, I, um, I was just helping my mother with the, um...”

Ross intervened. “Bad timing, Karl, old boy.”

Emily glared at Ross, who was too busy gloating at Karl to notice. She remembered that he would be spending this afternoon with Johanna. A picture took form in her mind’s eye—that of her wretched self bent over a steaming washtub, stirring heavy folds of laundry with a dolly stick while Johanna Davenport strolled about town on Ross’s arm.

She faced Karl. “I can be ready in five minutes.”

Karl’s attention shifted from Ross back to her, and his expression of surprise was replaced by an engaging smile. “Wonderful.”

Emily addressed Ross. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

Ross set his jaw. There was a flash of something in his eyes. Jealousy? No, she corrected herself. Anger, of course; anger at being brushed aside.

“No, there was nothing else.” His dark gaze flicked to Karl. “I suppose you two would like to be alone.”

“Yes,” Emily said, forcing a bright smile. “We would.”

“Fine. Think hard about what I said. If you want the job, you’d better apply for it right away. It won’t be open long.” He nodded a curt farewell to Karl as he brushed past them. “See you around, Becker.”

“I look forward to it.” Karl tipped his hat and turned to watch Ross stride across the side yard. He didn’t turn back until Ross had reached the road and entered the bridge, heading toward town. He raised an eyebrow at Emily. “A job?”

“Nothing important.” Emily’s gaze was still glued to the spot where Ross had vanished into the bridge. “Nothing at all.”

*

Ross had walked off most of his frustration by the time he reached Johanna’s house. Or so he’d thought.

Now, he snapped the reins of their buggy, urging one of Malcolm Davenport’s prized bays to pick up its pace on the road outside town. Johanna, dressed in a white dress with pink ribbon trim, was perched by his side. A picnic basket, packed by the Davenport’s cook, sat between them by their feet. But Ross’s mind wasn’t on Johanna or their afternoon outing to Rocky Springs. His thoughts kept returning to the fact that the rig he drove was a partially enclosed, more expensive version of the runabout Karl Becker had pulled into Emily’s side yard this morning. He kept imagining Emily and Karl, sitting side by side and unchaperoned in Karl’s little runabout, and the very thought made his blood boil.

“It’s such a lovely day,” Johanna was saying. “Thank goodness we had this planned, or I would have been stuck attending mother’s tea for the ladies’ auxiliary. Mercy, if I have to sit through even one more of those ...”

Johanna was not an empty-headed woman. She had graduated from the Young Ladies’ Seminary at the head of her class, but when she prattled on like this, Ross was hard-pressed to differentiate her from many of her inane social companions.

His thoughts turned back to Karl and Emily. What was Karl up to? Trying to pick up with Emily where he had left off before the war? In that case, Ross couldn’t understand why Emily was even giving Karl the time of day. If the rumors were true— He checked himself. Of course the rumors weren’t true.

But that didn’t mean Karl was any good for Emily. Even though they had barely spoken in over four years, Ross knew Karl like a brother. When Ross had first met him, Karl was something of a street ruffian, but even with a drunken father to contend with, he always managed to make it to school. He was one of the first boys to befriend Ross after he came to Lancaster, and it wasn’t long before Karl’s two ready fists helped to even the odds when Ross tangled with John Butler and his friends.

Later, Ross and Karl had come of age together, puffing on their first cigars and suffering through their first whiskey hangovers. They’d even managed to shed their virginity on the same night out on the town. Certainly Ross knew his former friend better than anyone. Karl might have gotten himself a college education and a respectable suit of clothes to match, but he was still the same old rogue underneath. Unfortunately, Emily seemed incapable of seeing past his smooth-talking exterior.

“Oh, look!” Johanna interrupted his train of thought to point to a grassy area just off the side of the road ahead. “Let’s stop and have our picnic there.”

“I thought you wanted to wait until we got to Rocky Springs,” Ross said.

“I did, but I’m famished.” Johanna flashed him one of her come-hither smiles. “I just can’t wait that long. Can you?”

Her eyes sparkled a devastating bright blue today. Her honey blond hair was tied back into a netted coil beneath her beribboned straw hat, but a few tendrils had come loose to frame her heart-shaped face. That smile, that tone of voice.
I just can’t wait that long. Can you?
A double
entendre
?

Ross tried to gauge her meaning from her expression but couldn’t be sure. They had agreed to wait until marriage to consummate their relationship. Ross was content enough to bide his time since he now knew his chance would come to finally claim this elusive woman and all she stood for as his own. Now, though, the possibility of stealing a few kisses and a fondle or two seemed mighty appealing. It could be just the distraction he needed to get his mind off Emily and Karl.

He scanned the rural landscape. They were on a lonely stretch of road halfway between town and their destination. No other vehicles had passed for at least twenty minutes. Off to the right, behind the grassy area Johanna had indicated, were some weeping willows and a cluster of oaks. Not a soul for miles.

“Well, now that you mention it,” he said, pulling in the reins to slow the buggy, “I’m hungry, too.”

He urged the bay off the road and over to a nearby tree. After securing the reins, he helped Johanna down from the rig and snatched up their folded picnic blanket as well as the covered basket of food.

Johanna strolled over to the nearest weeping willow to pick her way around it delicately. Adjusting her bonnet, she stopped every so often to peer up and determine the angle of the sun. “Mercy, it’s so bright today. I hope I don’t get a burn.”

Ross assumed it wasn’t the pain of a burn she was concerned with so much as the scandal of a freckle, and so he sacrificed his own preference for sitting in the sunlight in favor of spreading their blanket in the shade. “Oh, yes. This is a nice spot,” Johanna concurred.

Ross didn’t actually pull out his pocket watch to time her, but he figured it took at least six minutes for her to situate both herself and the myriad of folds, ruffles, hoops, and crinoline that comprised her afternoon attire. Once she was comfortable, she uncovered the basket and produced two plates, two immaculate linen napkins, a dish of cold fried chicken, and two slices of apple pie. She stopped and frowned down into the empty basket. “Oh, mercy. Cook forgot to pack the utensils.”

“We don’t need utensils.” Ross doffed his derby, tossed it onto the blanket, and endeavored to move closer. It wasn’t easy, considering the many layers of crisp white muslin that protected her as effectively as a stockade fence. “It’s just chicken.”

She wrinkled her nose, still peering into the basket. “But it’s so greasy.”

“We’ve got napkins.” Ross took her by the chin and forced her to look at him. When he leaned forward to kiss her, he bumped his forehead against the brim of her bonnet.

“Oh, Ross, not here. We’re in public.”

Ross glanced over his shoulder to see that their “public” consisted of her father’s prize bay, who seemed content to ignore them as he grazed. “I don’t think Chester cares much if we steal a few kisses, Johanna.”

“But anyone could come riding by, and what would they think?”

Ross was annoyed. Despite himself, he was imagining Karl and Emily in a hot, heaving embrace in Karl’s runabout, and it just about snapped his patience. “They’d think we’re engaged to be married, so what the hell difference does it make?”

Johanna nibbled her lower lip. Her gaze shifted to the empty road before moving back to Ross. “I suppose just one little kiss won’t hurt.”

Forcing down all grating thoughts of Karl and Emily, Ross tugged on the bow to Johanna’s bonnet. “That’s right, it won’t hurt at all.” When he leaned toward her again, he pushed her bonnet back to tumble out of his way.

They kissed twice before her lips parted beneath his, then... nothing.

Puzzled by his own lack of response, Ross shifted position, pulled her closer, and deepened their kiss. She did all the right things. Her delicate tongue danced against his, she even brushed against him and made a tiny sound in her throat, yet Ross didn’t feel the pleasurable rush of arousal that he’d anticipated.

He pulled back to study her face. Her eyes were closed, her lovely pink lips still slightly parted. She was as beautiful as ever, the girl of his adolescent dreams. He should have been game. Hell, he should have been straining at the bit for her. But he wasn’t. He didn’t feel much of anything but a confused surge of frustration.

Johanna’s long brown lashes fluttered open. Round blue eyes blinked at him, and he was absurdly reminded of the vacant, blown-glass gaze of a French fashion doll. “Is something wrong, Ross?”

Something.
Yes. Perhaps he was just too distracted. He had a lot on his mind lately.

“Ross?”

“No,” he said, forcing a smile. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“Good,” she said, then flashed a dazzling smile of her own. “Shall we eat?”

 Chapter Eight

Perhaps it was true that Ross still knew Emily a little better than she cared to admit. After she took a couple of days to think over his job offer, she came to the conclusion that not admitting this annoying fact was hardly worth running herself ragged at the Blue Swan. Besides, she had begun to formulate plans of her own, plans that would be better served by swallowing her pride and applying to Malcolm Davenport for the job of advertising assistant.

Upon entering the building at nine-fifteen Monday morning, Emily was taken aback by the grandeur of the front business office. This was the first time she’d had occasion to set foot in enemy territory.

An immaculate waiting area with a marbled floor, cushioned armchairs, and potted ferns had been arranged before a long mahogany counter. The office area behind the counter boasted no fewer than four employees, all of whom seemed occupied with mountains of paperwork. Out of the three, Emily recognized only the business manager, a sharp-eyed, German-born man named Oberholtzer. He had been with the
Herald
since before Malcolm Davenport had taken over from his father.