Lonesome Bride (24 page)

She looked down at the rest of him. Every part was just as naked as his chest. She looked at herself. She was naked, too. The train must have knocked their clothes off after it hit them.

She rolled herself the other way, sliding her feet onto the floor. As carefully as if she were made of china, she sat up. Immediately, the tapping toes in her head turned into a flat-out square dance. She stifled another groan with the back of her hand, suddenly, frightfully, aware her stomach was sloshing violently.

"Oh, dear Lord,” she moaned softly then clapped both hands across her mouth to quell a gag. She needed a chamber pot. She dropped to her knees, one hand still pressed desperately against her lips, and scrabbled under the bed.

Just as she pulled out the chamber pot, her stomach erupted. She retched miserably, emptying everything inside her into the porcelain pot. Again and again she heaved, until her stomach was sore and her throat raw.

"Take a sip of this,” Jed ordered. He handed her a tumbler, and she tried to push it away. “It's water. Just sip it. It'll make you feel better."

She did as he told her, taking a mouthful of the clear fluid. It came back up almost immediately. Red-hot embarrassment filled her. To be sick in front of someone else was bad enough, but retching naked was just about as miserable as a person could get.

She sat back finally, and wiped her face gratefully with the damp cloth Jed handed her. “Thank you."

"Do you think you can stand up?"

She nodded, every movement like rocks tumbling in her brain. She allowed Jed to tug her gently to her feet. He helped her to sit down on the bed again, then pulled a linen night shift over her head so she was covered. She allowed him to push her back onto the pillows, and then she slept.

When she woke later, the cat was no longer sleeping in her mouth. It had left a few furballs behind to remind her it had been there, but the feline itself had thankfully vanished. Caite could tell by the angle of the sun slanting through the window, several hours had passed.

She was on her left side, facing the edge of the bed. A wall of stone was smack up against her back. She suspected that should she turn her head and look, the wall of stone would be Jed. As if responding to her thoughts, his muscled arm snaked around her waist. His hand went naturally to cup her breast, as if they had been sharing a bed for years.

Her nipples perked at the feathery touch of his breath on the back of her neck. Merciful heavens, what had she done? She remembered following him to the saloon and challenging him at poker. She even remembered slugging down that first shot of whiskey. She supposed it was sometime after that the train had hit her.

Caite began slowly easing herself from under Jed's arm. She did not need to remember to know what had happened here last night. Waking up naked in bed with the man was enough clue for her. She slid from the bed, relieved the world no longer tilted. Jed stirred behind her, then turned over with a snort and a grumble. He did not wake, for which she was grateful. She had no desire to face him this morning.

First she needed to wash and dress. Then she would go downstairs and get something to eat. Her stomach was flapping against her backbone, despite her earlier nausea. After she had eaten, she would seek out the schoolmaster and inquire about a job.

She moved about the room while she planned her day, finding the basin and jug of water on the dresser, along with her hairbrush and washcloth. Her toe hit something as she crossed the floor. Grimacing, she bent to pick up her purse. It was a lot heavier than when she had left Heatherfield.
Good.
If all went well at the school, she would need to rent a wagon to carry her things from the ranch. And if they did not go so well, then perhaps she had enough to buy a horse to ride back on. She did not want to spend another two hours riding behind Jed.

"Good morning."

Startled, she dropped the bulging purse. It landed on her sore toe. She bit back an extremely unladylike invective.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel very well, thank you,” she answered as primly as she could while hopping up and down on one foot.

"You were mighty rough earlier.” Jed crossed his arms behind his head, emphasizing the strong muscles in his chest and forearms. Just because he was showing himself off did not mean she had to stare at him like a wanton hussy, did she? She could, and would, just refuse to look.

"Please do not remind me,” Caite replied, turning away. She began pulling the brush through her tangled mass of curls. She had knots the size of birds’ nests in there.
It must've been some night.

"All right,” Jed said, and fell silent. Even when he did not speak, she could feel the weight of his gaze between her shoulder blades.

She threw her gaze to him again. “Why are you staring at me like that?"

Lord, the man looked positively moronic, lying there with that egg-sucking grin on his face. He stretched again, the sheets slipping down his firm belly far enough to be indecent. She flushed. How dare he look so pleased with himself?

"It's a beautiful morning,” Jed noted, still smiling.

Caite scowled. “Is it?"

"C'mon now, Caitey, don't look so sour. Why don't you just slide back into bed?"

"What?” His sheer nerve appalled her. “If you think last night was..."

"I reckon I think last night was pretty fine,” he said, and had the gall to wink at her. He shifted slightly under the thin sheet now rising above his groin in a way that brought color flaming to cheeks she knew already had to be pink.

She looked hastily away, searching the room for the bundle she had brought. She needed to find some clothes. Now.

"Caite, come back to bed."

Her feet nearly betrayed her by responding to his words and carrying her back to his embrace. She only managed to stay where she was by gripping the dresser until her knuckles turned white. She forced herself to stand straighter, hiding the weakness in her knees.

"I think not."

"Why not?” His voice was low, wheedling, with just enough huskiness in it to make her bite her lip. She remembered that voice whispering in her ear, every word a caress.

"No!” she shouted, startling herself. She had made the mistake of letting alcohol cloud her judgment, that much was obvious. In the clear light of morning, she had no such excuse.

"Caitleen, what's wrong?” If he had been a different man, she might have believed the concern in his voice to be real.

She busied herself pulling together the items of clothing she had brought to wear to the school. She found her skirt, slightly crumpled but otherwise wearable. Fresh bloomers and stockings were in her bundle.

"Why should anything be wrong?” she asked, moving around the room in search of her possessions. She deliberately did not meet his eyes.

"You won't look at me, and you're tearing around this room in a real tizzy,” Jed said. “I'd say that's a good reason to think you might be upset about something."

She could not seem to find her blouse, and his voice was making it exceedingly difficult for her to concentrate. She jerked open a drawer. Nothing.

"If you must know,” she responded hotly, facing him with her hands on her hips, “I'm upset because I woke up next to you in bed this morning!"

He gave her a puzzled look. “Of course you did."

She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Have you no decency? Do you always go about taking advantage of women who have so unwisely consumed too much spirits?"

His mouth thinned, and he yanked the covers up to his chin. “I didn't take advantage of you. You wanted it. You told me so!"

Her face, if it were possible, burned hotter than ever. The probability he was right did nothing for her peace of mind. Caite stamped her foot. “I refuse to believe you!"

"Caitleen,” Jed said slowly. “Don't you remember last night at all?"

She drew herself up with as much dignity as she could muster, under the circumstances. “Thankfully, I do not."

An emotion she could not identify slipped over his face. Before he could respond to her, she spied her blouse peeking out at her from under the chair. She bent to retrieve it.

"My blouse!” she cried, turning the sadly abused scrap of material around in her hands. “What happened...?"

"You don't remember that either,” Jed said quietly.

"No, I most certainly do not.” She raised her hand to prevent him from enlightening her. “And I would rather not know, so please do not bother to tell me!"

"All right."

What had prompted his sudden change of mood?
He did not seem angry, but she could not identify exactly what he did seem. His face had become inscrutable. He was no longer beckoning her to rejoin him in bed, thank goodness.

"I don't have time for these games,” she snapped. His blank stare was making her uncomfortable. She held up the ravaged blouse and clucked in disgust. “Thankfully, I packed another blouse."

He did not answer her. Instead, he sank down lower in the bed, pulling the covers nearly over his head. He rolled away from her. She caught a brief glimpse of his bare back before he had yanked the blanket over that, too.

"I reckon I'm going to catch some more shut-eye."

That's it? He's going back to sleep?
No more arguing with her? For an instant, Caite was tempted to go over and feel his forehead to make sure he did not have a fever. She could think of no other reason for him to be acting so strangely.

"I am going to the schoolhouse this morning,” she said uncertainly. He grunted in response. “I plan to do some shopping after that."

He grunted again. Caite washed her face and important bits quickly, then stepped into her clothes. She checked her reflection carefully, but she could see no sign of last night's excesses.

"I shall see you later this afternoon then?"

Silence. Not even a grunt this time. Again, she was tempted to lean over and put her hand to his forehead. She could not fool herself, though. The desire to touch him had nothing to do with checking for a fever.

Jed heard the door shut behind her but didn't bother rolling over. No, deep inside these blankets was the best place for him now. In fact, if he never had to get out of bed again, he'd be happy.

"She doesn't remember,” he spoke aloud, just to make sure his voice still worked. He had been unable to speak after realizing last night and all the words he'd spoken were nothing more than whiskey-soaked dreams to Caite. The lump in his throat wouldn't have let him scream if he was on fire.

His eyes stung, and he convinced himself it was from the dust filtering in through the window. He couldn't be crying. That was for babies and lesser men.

He tossed the covers off abruptly and sat up. His latent hangover, easy enough to ignore when he was bent on making love to Caite, now flared into life. He muttered a string of curses. He couldn't lie here in bed all day like some Nancy boy. He had business to take care of.

He was glad she didn't remember what he'd told her so foolishly last night. Men let liquor and lust flap their gums all the time. It didn't mean in the light of day they still meant it. It didn't mean he did. No, love wasn't for him. It always had to change things. People got hurt when they fell in love. He didn't need that. He didn't need her.

It's just as well. I've been planning on moving out to my own place, Jed thought. Getting away from Heatherfield and Caite O'Neal was the best idea he'd had in a long time.

After leaving her letter to Gerda with the front desk clerk to post, Caite checked herself one last time in the reflection of the hotel's front window. Wanting to present herself as staid and upstanding, she had left behind many of her more flattering dresses in favor of this outfit. Her dark skirt hung properly to her ankles. Her crisp white blouse, while slightly worn at the cuffs, was certainly appropriate for a schoolteacher. She had forgotten a hat, but had knotted her hair severely enough on the back of her head.

She gave one final pat to her hair and crossed the hotel's wide front porch. She could see the school's few students playing in the grass behind the building. It was morning recess and so the perfect time to speak with the Mr. Lawry, the schoolmaster. She had taken the time to ask the hotel clerk the man's name.

"Mr. Lawry?” she asked, entering the small building through the side door.

The skinny, pallid man looked up at her curiously. He had been lounging in his chair, feet on the desk. Taking a midmorning snooze apparently.

"I hope I did not disturb you."

He smiled at her, a disquieting show of pale gums and yellowed teeth. “No, not at all. Come in, Miss...?"

"O'Neal,” Caite answered firmly. She strode to the desk and held out her hand. “Miss Caitleen O'Neal."

"What might I have the pleasure of doing for you, Miss O'Neal?” Lawry set his feet on the floor with a thump. His grip was a limp as a dead fish, and as clammy.

Caite extricated her hand from his as tactfully as possible. “I have come to see if you had any need of an assistant here at the school."

"I see.” Lawry steepled his fingers under his chin. “As you can see, Miss O'Neal, Staghorn has not been provided with a plethora of pupils."

Disappointment and relief flooded her simultaneously. She had known the likelihood of being hired was small, of course, but had hoped to have a chance anyway. Becoming a teacher was just about the only idea she had to get away from Heatherfield. It would be her only reason to get away from Jed.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you,” she said, turning to go.

"But, my dear Miss O'Neal,” Lawry put in, “that does not mean I'm not in need of an assistant."

"Really?” She turned. Lawry was leering at her. Caite suppressed a shudder of distaste.

"Why, yes,” he said. “What are your qualifications, Miss O'Neal? Have you graduated from a reputable teacher's academy?"

"No, I have not,” Caite stumbled, chagrined. “I had the benefit of a decent education myself, of course, but I have not attended any academy."

"I see."

She forged on. “I can read, write and do mathematics, Mr. Lawry. I am well-acquainted with all manner of literature, including William Shakespeare's works, of course—"