Behind a Lady's Smile (6 page)

Mitch lit a gas lamp, then allowed himself to take her in, her mussed-up hair, her trim waist, her arms akimbo. He shook his head and smiled, then let out a sigh, sat down on the bed, lifted one of her feet and started unlacing her shoe. He tried not to think about her slim ankle or the silk stocking that was so smooth beneath his calloused hand, and so he worked quickly, tossing the shoes one by one onto the floor. When he had her shoes off, she turned around and settled properly onto the bed. He wasn’t about to undress her completely, so he stood up. Let her worry about her wrinkled dress in the morning. It would be a good lesson for her.

“Mitch?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you kiss me good night?”

Jesus
. “Sure, kiddo.” He leaned over her, intending to kiss her forehead, but she lifted her head at the last moment and her lips pressed against his. He meant to pull back, and did a bit, but she followed him, pressing closer as he jammed one fist into the blanket beside her to stop himself from pulling her against him. It was obvious she didn’t know how to kiss, and that was one thing Mitch was thankful for. She kept her mouth closed, but her lips were so damned soft, all he could think about was nudging down her jaw gently and tasting her. But he didn’t.

He pulled back slowly and she smiled drunkenly up at him. “Minnie said you looked like a man who could kiss.”

“Yeah, well, most men can.”

“Good night, Mitch.”

He grunted at her and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. She wouldn’t remember that kiss in the morning. At least he prayed she wouldn’t. God knew he’d remember, and that was enough for the two of them.

G
enny woke up feeling as if she had cotton in her mouth and an angry grizzly running around inside her head trying to get out. It wasn’t until she sat up and the room began spinning that she realized her stomach was aching to empty its contents.

“Oh, God,” she muttered, holding her head in her hands and trying to push down the feeling of nausea.

“Train leaves in twenty minutes, squirt. I know you’re feeling a bit poorly right now, but I’m not missing that train. I’ve already packed your things, so let’s go.”

Mitch sounded angry. And loud. Genny looked at him and saw that, yes, he was angry and she couldn’t blame him. She was pretty angry with herself. “I’m never drinking again.”

Mitch let out a sound Genny couldn’t quite interpret. “You’ll start feeling better in a few hours.”

“A few
hours
?” She groaned and clutched her stomach.

“You best get that business over with. There’s no fighting it once your stomach has a mind to get rid of whatever’s in it.”

Genny shook her head. “I hate vomiting. I can hold it . . . Oh, no.” Mitch lifted the empty chamber pot just in time. When she was done, her head felt even worse.

“Here, drink this,” Mitch said, handing over a glass of water. “Small sips or you’ll just throw it up again.” He pulled out his watch. “Let’s go. The train won’t wait for us.”

Genny pulled on her shoes and took the small carpetbag that Mitch held out for her. “All your new clothes are in there.” Then he spun around and walked out of the room, not bothering to see if she was following. Genny took a step to follow, but stopped and gave the bag’s contents a quick look to be sure he’d included her father’s hat. Her pants and shirt were gone, but the hat was on top, a bit squished but otherwise fine. For some reason, seeing that grungy old hat made her eyes prick with tears and she wasn’t sure it was due to seeing her father’s hat or because Mitch had been thoughtful enough to include it even though it was unlikely she’d ever wear it again.

“You coming or what?” Mitch called from the door.

Genny closed the bag and hurried toward him, her head pounding with every step. Oh, God, she was going to vomit again for sure before the morning was out.

 

The Sacramento train station was a bustling place filled with men, women, and children standing on a platform still fresh-looking and new. It had been years since Genny had seen so many people in one place. An older woman caught Genny’s eye and smiled. She was wearing a bonnet tied so tightly beneath her chin, Genny wondered if the woman thought they’d be riding in an open car with the wind whipping around her.

“Where are you heading, dear?” the woman asked.

“New York and then on to England,” Genny said.

“Oh, yes, I hear the accent. We’re heading to Omaha to see family. My sister and her husband and children live there and we haven’t seen them in ten years. When we first came out here, it took us more than a month. Can you imagine? And here we’ll be there in three days. It’s a wonder, is it not?”

“Yes, it is,” Genny said. She had few memories of her trip west other than it had seemed like forever from the time they left New York to the time she and her father settled in Yosemite Valley. Her father, mourning the loss of her mother, had been silent for long stretches, letting Genny talk enough for the two of them.

“I’m Mrs. Walsh and that’s my husband, Herbert.” Mrs. Walsh pointed to a man wearing brown from head to toe.

The train let out a hiss of steam so loud, Genny nearly jumped out of her new shoes. Her head still felt like it might explode at any second, and the noise of the train and the people around her wasn’t helping. She felt clammy and out of sorts, and waves of nausea nearly sent her running to the nearest privy. Mitch had disappeared, telling her to stay on the platform; she had no idea where he’d gone and she had the sudden and horrible thought that maybe he’d abandoned her. Maybe that had been his plan all along, to make sure she was safe and on a train headed east.

“Are you traveling alone, dear? If you are, you can join us for some company.”

“Thank you, but my wife and I will be just fine. Perhaps we’ll see you at one of the stops.”

So, they were married again. And apparently she was married to a man who didn’t want company. The train let out another belch of steam and the bell on the engine started pealing loudly, seemingly meant to torture Genny even more.

“All aboard.” Right in Genny’s ear. She was beginning to wonder if the whole world knew she was sick from drink and was trying to teach her a lesson. The conductor moved down the platform, yelling out again, as if he were trying to let someone in New York City know it was time to board the Sacramento train.

“You have the tickets?” Genny asked.

“Right here,” Mitch said, patting his chest.

They stepped up into the car, Genny first, struggling to take the first big step with her long skirts and her right leg still a bit awkward in its half cast. It seemed no matter how she tried, she stepped onto her hem. Finally, with a huff of impatience, she grabbed a handful of skirt in her left hand and a handle with her right and heaved herself up the steps. She was smoothing down her skirts when Mitch, still standing on the platform, spoke.

“Genny, you should have waited for me to hand you up,” he said, as if imparting important and grave information. “And next time, try not to lift your skirts quite so high.” He looked pointedly at an older man who was grinning at the pair.

Genny could feel her cheeks flush red. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Mitch mumbled something under his breath—probably a curse—and threw first her bag then his up next to her before pulling himself on board.

“You should try taking that step with a skirt on,” Genny grumbled.

“When we get to New York, my mother’s going to have to teach you how to wear a dress without exposing yourself to every man within twenty feet. At least the deer hide hid one leg.”

“I’m certain I can teach myself, thank you very much,” Genny said, lifting her chin. Genny turned and smiled, her annoyance with Mitch disappearing quickly. The car looked like a long, narrow parlor with rows of richly cushioned miniature couches on either aisle and green velvet curtains over the windows. In the center of the car was a sitting area, looking much like a miniature of a hotel lobby. At the moment, the car was nearly empty, with only two seats occupied near the back.

“This is lovely,” she breathed, touching the seat nearest her. The ceiling was a rich dark wood with gilt molding, and beneath her feet, a thick carpet ran the entire length of the car.

“It ought to be. It was fair expensive.”

“We didn’t have to travel first class,” Genny said, then grinned. “But I’m glad we did.”

Mitch’s lips twitched. “See this?” he asked, patting the slanted ceiling above their seat. “These here are beds. You pull them down at night and sleep. I’ll take the top; you take the bottom. The seats turn into a bed too. The lady’s washroom is back there and the men’s up front.”

Mitch pulled out their tickets and moved down the car until they were near the middle and dropped his pack. “You can sit by the window if you want. See the sights.”

Genny sat down and bounced up and down, testing the softness of the seat. “Lovely.”

“You won’t think it’s so lovely in three or four days, but it sure beats sitting on a hard bench.”

Genny couldn’t remember ever sitting on a seat as soft and luxurious as the one she now sat upon. In her little cabin, the chairs were wood and even the bedding was thin and hard. But this was pure heaven, as if her backside were being cushioned by a hundred downy pillows with gentle springs inside. Mitch sat down beside her, his big body taking up nearly the entire rest of the couch, his thigh pressing up against hers.

He sat there for a few moments before testily saying, “Can’t you scoot on over closer to the window? I hardly have room to breathe here.”

“I’m over as far as I can go. And it’s not so tight as to make it difficult to breathe. Really, Mitch, you do exaggerate.”

He mumbled something beneath his breath that Genny thought sounded like he was in for a week of torture. Hmph.

“You know, Mr. Campbell, you don’t have to accompany me any farther if this trip is so arduous for you.”

“I just don’t much care for being cramped up in small spaces for long periods of time,” he said, still sounding a bit annoyed. Genny supposed that was an apology. “And do you have perfume on? I don’t recall buying perfume.”

“You gave me that nice-smelling soap,” Genny said, feeling a bit hurt by all his complaints. She liked being with Mitch, and if she was perfectly honest, she liked the feel of his big thigh against hers. It made her feel safe and warm, like when she had cuddled up against him when they were on the trail.

Mitch tried to move over, but it was clear that the seat was too small to accommodate them both without touching. He shifted again, swore beneath his breath, then stood up and glared down at the seat. Then he swiped a hand through his hair and sat down again, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

The car slowly filled up with travelers excited to be on their way, and Genny decided to concentrate on them instead of the cranky man sitting next to her.

 

Money. Think about the money, Mitch thought as he tried to ignore the heat of Genny’s thigh against his. He didn’t want to want her. He didn’t even want to
like
her. But damn if he could keep his mind from going places it had no business going.

That ridiculous, chaste kiss was still tormenting him. That kiss that hardly had been a kiss was making him think about how lovely it would be to really kiss her, to feel her respond and moan into his mouth. Mitch swallowed thickly, glad of only one thing: that Genny had no idea what she was doing to him. He had to focus on the prize. He had to stop liking her and stop wanting her and just think of her as a means of getting what he’d been dreaming of ever since the day he’d watched Will Jackson take a picture and then turn it into a thing you could hold in your hand and look at forever.

Next to him, Genny touched the carved wall, allowing her index finger to follow a swirl in the wood’s grain. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d hurt her feelings with his gruffness. Well, good. He didn’t need her looking at him with those big green eyes, cuddling up with him as if he truly were her husband. He’d wait until everyone found their seat and if there was an empty one, he’d sit there.

There was no way in hell he’d be able to take being crammed up next to her for a week, smelling her sweet scent, hearing her soft sighs as she slept, and feeling her leg pressed up against his. Money, Mitch thought, think about the money.

“Oh, hello.” It was the lady from the platform, trailed by her silent husband. She greeted Genny as if they were life-long friends before giving him a rather cooler look. “It looks like we shall be neighbors for the next three days after all. I never did get your name, dear.”

“Genevieve Hayes. Pleased to meet you.”

“Campbell,” Mitch said, giving Genny a wink before turning to the older woman. “It’s so new, she keeps forgetting.”

“Our wedding was so exciting, I can’t remember a single detail. Not even the ceremony itself,” Genny said, looking innocently up at Mitch. He stared at her a long moment, and then his body gave a small jerk from a silent laugh as he shook his head.

“Oh,” Mrs. Walsh said, clapping her hands together. “Newlyweds. Harvey,
newlyweds.
”

Harvey, a thin man with a thick brush of a mustache, leaned over and gave the two a quick smile before settling back against his seat.

“So this is your wedding trip. How romantic.” Mrs. Walsh took off her bonnet, releasing the loose skin beneath her chin, and placed the hat on the floor in front of them. “All the way to England. My.”

“My grandparents are the duke and duchess of Glastonbury.”

Mrs. Walsh looked a bit startled and glanced at Mitch as if to check whether that could be the truth. “How wonderful,” she said, and Mitch could tell by her tone that she’d decided this bit of news was nothing but a tall tale. “Does that make you a princess?” She winked conspiratorially at Mitch.

“I don’t think so. I do believe it only makes me the granddaughter of a duke.”

Mitch chuckled. “She
is
the granddaughter of a duke, whom she’s never met. That’s why we’re making the trip.”

Mrs. Walsh’s brown eyes widened. “How exciting for you. I’m certain they’re looking forward to meeting you.”

Genny bit her lip. “They don’t know we’re coming yet.” She turned to Mitch. “I expect we should tell them. It wouldn’t do to simply show up at their front door.”

“The front door of their castle,” Mrs. Walsh said.

“Do you think they might truly live in a castle?” Genny breathed, awestruck. “Do dukes live in castles?”

“I believe they do.” Mrs. Walsh gave Genny a worried look and appeared as though she was about to say something but thought better of it.

Next to him, Genny became silent, no doubt picturing a castle, complete with moat. “We need to telegraph them when we reach New York,” she said after a time.

“We will.” Another stretch of silence.

“Mitch.”

“Yes?”

“What if they don’t want me to come?”

“They will. You read their letters. I wouldn’t be surprised if they got on a ship the next day and came to you.”

The engine let out a loud hiss and the train slowly moved down the track just as the uniformed porter appeared at the far end of the car to see their tickets. Once they were on their way, Mrs. Walsh leaned over saying, “I’m so excited. I haven’t seen my sister in years, nor my nieces and nephews since they were babies.”

And off they went, the two of them talking, exchanging life stories. Twenty minutes into the conversation, Mitch switched places with Genny to let her and Mrs. Walsh talk without shouting. Genny clearly had missed having the company of a woman. Listening to their prattle, he thought longingly of the men now exploring Yosemite without him. His last summer with the group had been cut far too short.