Rapunzelle: an Everland Ever After Tale (2 page)

“I want to be
allowed
to live a little.”

“I understand that, I really do. The only time you see any boys are at the church picnics, practically.” Zelle nodded, a bit mournfully. “And of course you can’t get to know any of them there. Especially not with your parents guarding you the way they do.” Was it Zelle’s imagination, or was there just a hint of wistfulness in her friend’s voice as she talked about the way the Carpenters cared for Zelle? “I understand
that
, too. All the boys in this town see you as some sort of unattainable… I don’t know…
princess
or something.”

Zelle’s heart clenched slightly at her father’s childhood nickname for her.
Good night, Princess
. How many times had he said that as he kissed her forehead and tucked her in? Every night until she was twelve, when Mother had taken over bedtime. But sometimes he’d still wrap his arms around her shoulders and pull her close and whisper
I love you, Princess
against her hair, and fill Zelle’s heart with affection. Her nails bit into her skin as she tightened her fists in an effort not to think about Papa’s love. If she thought about that, her entire scheme would be ruined. She wanted
away
from those memories, for a while. She wanted away from him, just for a few hours. Away from his control and his watchfulness and his
looming
.

Her friend continued, not seeming to notice Zelle’s distraction. “So you’ve decided to give them a different picture of you, one they don’t see at church.” Briar turned, her hands on her hips, and appraised Zelle from her delicate dancing shoes to her elegant hair style. “And it’ll
definitely
work, trust me on this.” Zelle smiled at her friend’s approving tone. “You look
gorgeous
, and not at all protected. I get why you’re dressed like this, and I get why you’re going to the Gingerbread House tonight, to show the boys that you’re not just a cloistered princess. I understand
that
.”

Briar took a deep breath. “What I don’t understand—can’t understand—is…well…
Merrell
? Merrell Gruff?”

Zelle stuck her nose in the air. “Well? It’s not like I’m asking him to marry me. I just want a kiss from him.”

“Yeah, but
Merrell
?”

Sighing, she defended her choice…again. They’d had this conversation twice already. “I like him. I like his mustache.” Merrell Gruff waxed his mustache until it curled away from his cheeks in a fascinating defiance of gravity. “I want to see how it feels when he kisses me—if it tickles. Besides…” She shrugged and turned away from the mirror. “I think he’s the most handsome of the Gruff brothers.”

“Zelle, they’re
identical triplets
.”

Zelle ignored her friend’s exasperation and continued to look for the delicate shawl Papa had given her three years ago.  “So? I still think that he’s the most handsome.” Briar guessed what she was looking for, and passed her the shawl that had been hanging from the back of her desk chair. “Thank you.” She arranged the cream lace around her hair and face, trying to hide her elaborate braids and sensual cosmetics, in case her parents were downstairs. “How do I look?”

She was hoping for
mysterious
or even
sexy
, but realized that was a long-shot when Briar snorted. “You look hot. It’s mid-July, Zelle. Your parents are going to think you’re sick if you try to go outside like this.” The dark-haired girl stuck her tongue out when Zelle threw a hairbrush at her, and they both began to giggle.

Luckily, Zelle’s parents were both off on medical calls, even though it was after supper. The girls snuck out the back door—still giggling—and along the alley that backed most of Andersen Avenue. They were passing the rear door of Crowne’s Mercantile, which was used less now that the Crownes had moved into Arabella Bellini’s apartment above her bookstore, when Briar pulled her to a stop.

“Give me your shawl, now, unless you want to bring it into the saloon?” Zelle quickly unwrapped herself, making sure not to muss her hair. Briar was right; it’d be silly to hide all of their hard work under a covering. Her friend continued, “I’ll take it home, and bring it over tomorrow. I’m assuming you’re planning on Merrell offering to walk you home?”

The idea of a moonlit stroll with a boy had Zelle grinning. “Well, I can’t expect him to kiss me right there in the Gingerbread House.”

Briar snorted, but squeezed her hand anyhow. “Good luck. Tell me all about it tomorrow?”

“Of course.” They were best friends. They told each other everything, and by tomorrow, Zelle planned to have quite the story.

Squaring her shoulders, Zelle stepped out into the street and the spill of light from the lamp beside the saloon door. This was it. She was going to march herself in there, and prove that she wasn’t the quiet, reclusive, demure princess her Papa had convinced the town she was. She was going to have an
adventure
.

The inside of Everland’s only saloon wasn’t quite a mystery to her; she’d been here once before when one of the girls who “worked upstairs”—as Mother put it—became quite ill. Normally, Zelle would’ve been sent home, but Mother needed an assistant and Papa had been on a call of his own, so young Zelle had helped. Then, the Gingerbread House had seemed bright and cheery, with all of the red wallpaper and shining wooden furniture.

It sure looked different in the evening. As she stepped inside, she was momentarily overwhelmed by the way the flickering lamps reflected off the shined surfaces, and the din from the piano and yelling cowboys, and the smell of liquor and unwashed bodies. Her eyes widened to take it all in, and while a small part of her shrank from the cacophony, Zelle found herself smiling.

An adventure!

And there, seated around a table along the back wall with his brothers Terrell and Jerrell, was the object of her chase this evening. Merrell Gruff really was the most handsome of the brothers, but she was disappointed to see that he hadn’t waxed his mustache tonight. Maybe he only did that for church, when he got dressed up? For that matter, it looked like he hadn’t even bathed today, either. None of them did. But it was a Thursday, and she knew some farmers only bathed for church, so she supposed that made sense.

It was a little disappointing, to see him in his natural element. But when he slapped his poker hand down on the table and laughed at something one of his brothers said—Zelle couldn’t tell which one, because they were, after all, identical—she admired the way he had most of his teeth. That had to be a positive, right? Good dental hygiene was probably very important to kissing.

Yes, she was definitely getting a kiss tonight.

So, squaring her shoulders, Zelle sauntered—or at least, did her best impression of a saunter—over to the bar. She ordered a beer, completely ignored the way Ernesto’s brows rose when he realized who she was, and smiled sweetly in thanks. It was her intention to bring the beer to Merrell, to offer it to him as a subtle overture to conversation. Surely, if a beautiful woman showed up bringing him alcohol, he’d leave his brothers to their own devices and step over to whisper sweet nothings in her ear? And then she’d convince him to walk her home and get him to kiss her and then she’d have
quite
the story to tell Briar, wouldn’t she?’

But she didn’t count on the stranger. She’d just picked up the beer—gosh, it was heavier and slipperier than it looked, wasn’t it?—and was turning toward the Gruff brothers when she saw…
him
.

There were plenty of newcomers to Everland every day, but how had she not seen
him
before? Golden hair swept back, a perfectly strong jawline, and a jacket that was far finer than most she’d seen here in town. He certainly was striking, wasn’t he? And…oh goodness. And he was staring right at her. Zelle resisted the urge to turn around, to see what he was looking at; she could feel his gaze all the way down into the pit of her stomach, and the fluttering she felt made her smile. An adventure!

Without any help from her mind, her feet began to move towards the stranger. Maybe she could just sort of
pass by
his table on her way to Merrell’s, so that she could tell what color eyes he had? She owed it to Briar, after all, to find out as much as she could about this handsome creature. That’s right; just walk by his table. And maybe her skirts would brush against his boots—
tall boots!
in Wyoming?—and she could tell Briar about that too.

And maybe it might’ve worked, her casual brush with the stranger. Except that, as she passed his table, he lifted one elegant hand and crooked his finger, calling her to him.

That’s when her feet apparently forgot how to work.

When the pretty little barmaid stumbled as she passed his table, Dmitri was already reaching for her. He’d had his eye on her since he’d noticed her talking to the bartender. She was better-dressed than most barmaids were, in his experience, but Dmitri was willing to admit that there was plenty about America he didn’t know. Maybe she was the proprietress of this particular saloon, or something.

So when she picked up that beer mug and began walking this way, of course he smiled winningly and beckoned her over. He wasn’t blind, after all. He’d seen her welcoming smile, seen the way she sashayed those hips.

What he hadn’t seen was how clumsy she was. She hadn’t just stumbled; after he’d beckoned, she’d tripped over her own feet and launched the beer towards him.  Only his years in the saddle, reacting without hesitation to dangers and obstacles, allowed him to dodge most of the liquid; his coat got splashed, which was irritating, but completely ignorable compared to what was still coming towards him.

He caught her in his lap. Really, there wasn’t anything else he could do. He just pushed away from the table when he saw her falling, heard her slight “oof” when her chest slammed against his, and then allowed her momentum to push them both back down into his seat. And he had an armful—and lapful—of warm, breathless female, who smelled a lot better than the beer currently dripping onto the floor.

She had wide green eyes, a green that reminded him of the spring meadows back home. And a sprinkling of freckles across her high cheekbones, and an elaborate hairstyle. She was staring up at him in a way that made him feel like the only man in the world, sort of a rapt anticipation, and that’s when his opinion about who she was began to change.

Leisurely, he let his eyes roam over her face, and down her body. She was dressed for a man; that much he could tell. Red lips, wide eyes artfully accentuated with kohl. A neckline that had probably been demure once, except she’d removed the traditional lace collar and was now showing off quite a bit of skin. Dmitri tightened one arm around her, and lifted his other hand to brush across the exposed creaminess; she shivered when he caressed the tops of her plump breasts, but didn’t look away.

She was bold. He liked that in a
shlyukha
, a woman who offered men pleasure for a fee. None of the simpering and pretending they both didn’t want what was about to happen. No, she just watched him, her breath coming in little pants that made her breasts jump under his palm. Her little tongue flicked out in what must have been a carefully calculated way to moisten her lips, and he felt his body react, like she’d known it would.

He would taste those lips.

Suddenly, this town didn’t seem too terrible after all. There wasn’t any vodka, but the beer wasn’t horrible, and this
shlyukha
was certainly a pleasant lapful. Maybe being stuck here a while wouldn’t be so bad.

Right before his lips met hers, he felt her suck in a breath, but didn’t have time to think about it, because—
bozhe moy
!—she tasted as good as he’d hoped. Like strawberries. At first, he contented himself with just pressing his lips against her, getting used to the feel and the scent of her. But then, when she made a little noise in the back of her throat that sounded a bit like a kitten’s purr, he deepened the kiss. And after a moment where she’d frozen, not even breathing, she began to respond enthusiastically. Another one of those sexy moans, and he felt her fingers twining in the hair at the base of his neck. When had she wrapped her arms around his shoulders? Did it matter?

Pulling her tighter against his chest—knowing that she could feel his interest already—he caressed the bare skin along the smooth column of her throat. Creamy, but sun-kissed, in a tantalizing combination he hadn’t seen at home. This
shlyukha
was a true American beauty, and Dmitri decided that maybe he
would
stay here in Everland for a few extra days, for the sake of learning all that he could…about America, of course.

He didn’t think he’d ever eat a strawberry without remembering her, and the enthusiastic way she responded in his arms. After a million heartbeats, he pulled away from her, not at all satiated, but just wanting to
look
. Sure enough, her lips were swollen, her eyes wide in wonder, and her chest heaving in what he knew was passion. As his thumb stroked her cheek, marveling at her softness, her lips pulled into a smile. A sweet smile that was more beguiling than any look any other
shlyukha
had ever given him.

“You look like a cat who’s just found the cream.” Her voice was surprisingly husky. Or maybe it was just the way the kiss left her.

He had to smile at the analogy, because it was true. “And you look like a woman who knows what she wants.” Green eyes widened at his accent, but she nodded.  So he pressed her. “And what is it you want?”

“A kiss.”

“Another one?” he teased. But he was already pulling her sweet lips towards his, more than willing to oblige her. Hopefully she had a room upstairs, so that they didn’t have to go far; he wasn’t sure that he could walk far, in his current state.

Her gaze fastened on his lips, and her tongue darted out again. She was leaning towards him, and he was more than ready to feel her again, when a sharp voice cut through Dmitri’s thoughts.

“Miss Carpenter? Is that you?”

The
shlyukha
in Dmitri’s arms stiffened at the voice, and turned her face towards the wall. Irritated at the interruption, he glanced up at the man who was standing uncomfortably close, and his two nearly identical companions. “Can I help you, gentleman?”

The spokesman ran his fingers across a mustache that looked like a small ground squirrel glued to his upper lip, and nodded quickly. His brothers—they had to be brothers, or cousins, they looked so similar—began to nod in unison, like some sort of trained-pony act. “Yeah. You’ve got no right to mosey into this town and start handling our women like that. Miss Carpenter’s a real lady.” The way he was dressed and stood told Dmitri that this…this
cowboy
wouldn’t know a “real lady” if she stepped on his foot.

Resisting the urge to point out that the
shlyukha
didn’t mind the way he’d been handling her at all—she would be used to it, after all—Dmitri sighed as he lost the last of his pleasant arousal. He nudged her off his lap and stood up, careful to keep his body between the threatening trio and the woman with whom he hoped to spend the night. He towered over the men, but that wasn’t surprising; he towered over most people. These three just kept nodding. Maybe they were too stupid to see the threat in the way Dmitri held his shoulders and fists.

Sure enough, the cowboy in the front had the audacity to ignore Dmitri, instead trying to peer around his bulk to the woman behind. “You alright, Miss Carpenter? You want us to fetch your Daddy?”

Dmitri thought he heard a little groan from his sweet-tasting companion, and he didn’t bother to think about the spokesman’s words. “Gentleman, I don’t believe she wants to talk to you. If you’ll be so good as to allow us our privacy…”

“So you can touch her again?” This started a new batch of head-bobbing from the other two, in some sort of mechanized choreography. “No sir, I don’t think so.” With that, the churl actually put his hand—had he bathed recently?—on Dmitri’s shoulder, as if to force the large man out of the way.

Dmitri smiled.
At last
.

He was still smiling when his fist connected with that horrendous bushy mustache, and the other two foul-smelling men launched themselves at him. He was still smiling when he took a punch to the gut and another to the chin, because if it was one thing a Volkov liked, it was a challenge. And he was still smiling when he felt the
shlyukha
’s hands on his back, pushing at him. Was she urging him on, or trying to get out from behind his bulk? He didn’t have time to find out, because he was too busy making sure no stray fists came her way.

In fact, he didn’t stop smiling until the roar filled the saloon, and the cowboy in his grasp went limp. In fear? Dmitri slowly straightened, loosening his opponent, and turned his attention to the man in the suit standing in the doorway.

He wasn’t quite middle-aged yet, with a full head of thick black hair. He carried a little black bag and wore what probably passed for a suit in this uncivilized town. And he was very, very angry. “
What
do you think you’re doing? Fighting around my daughter?” His face was red and his fists were clenched and Dmitri thought that he could see veins standing out on the man’s neck. The Russian raised a begrudging brow in admiration, at the way this older man could control a room. He obviously understood power.

The cowboys were all staring at the ground, except for the one who was nursing not one, but two swollen eyes. Dmitri heard a chorus of “Sorry, Doc Carpenter”, and a horrible suspicion began to creep its way up the back of his neck.

Turning slightly, Dmitri allowed the woman to step out from behind him, which she did reluctantly, her hands gripped tightly in front of her stomach. Seeing her discomfort made Dmitri uncomfortable for some reason; made him want to destroy the cause, to keep her safe and smiling again. But she didn’t look
scared
exactly, just nervous.

That’s when she raised those bright green eyes and met the doctor’s across the room, and smiled. Maybe Dmitri was the only one close enough to see the smile waver slightly, to see that it was only bravado. But still, she made a good show of it, uncurling her fingers and waving pertly to the other man. “Hello, Papa.”

Dmitri groaned as the man stalked across the room, glaring at the combatants, and grabbed his daughter by the elbow. Right before he dragged her out of the door, she glanced back over her shoulder at Dmitri, and the smile she sent him didn’t waver in the least bit.

And
chert
if he couldn’t feel that smile tugging at something deep in his stomach. It probably had been a mistake to kiss her without knowing more about her, but he couldn’t regret it.

And as he righted his chair, gesturing for another beer, and watched the trio of cowboys slink back to their table, all Dmitri could think was
Had she been a shlyukha, I would’ve liked this town very much indeed.

“So? Did you get in trouble? What did your father say?” Briar was sitting on Mother’s stone bench, idly swinging her legs and watching Zelle kneeling beside her herb garden.

“He just lectured me. Forever, it felt like.” Zelle ripped out a weed that had found its way into her thyme patch, taking great satisfaction in dropping it beside the others. “His usual line about how it’s a dangerous world, and men can’t be trusted, and I need be careful about where I go and who I see.” Another weed, another yank. “I swear, it’s like they would prefer to keep me locked up in a tower, sometimes. What harm would having a little adventure do?”

“Well? What harm
did
it do?”

“None!” Zelle flushed slightly, remembering the way it felt to be held—to be kissed!—by the handsome stranger. “Besides, what kind of trouble could I get into, around here?”

Briar snorted, and began to braid a clump of pine needles. “Living here, in this little town, is like being kept in a tower
anyhow
. Nothing exciting happens.”