Texas Angel, 2-in-1 (64 page)

“Maybe. If it turns out the way your dance did.” Micah smiled as he thought again of Tom’s story. When Tom allowed himself a smile, Micah knew the tension was dispersed. “Give me a Comanche attack any day!”

“Go wash these duds of yours.” Tom picked up the pile and tossed them in Micah’s face.

Laughing, Micah gathered the clothing in his arms, rose, and marched resignedly to the river. He didn’t know what he was doing or why. Even as he knelt by the water and began scrubbing his shirt, he still hadn’t made up his mind about the dance.

CHAPTER

14

B
ILL MCBROOME HAD A BOTTLE
of toilet water stashed among his belongings. In a moment of extreme stupidity, Micah let the man convince him to splash some on himself. Now as he strode toward the hall where the dance was to be held, Micah was certain he smelled like a bordello.

Music emanated through the open doors and windows of the place. Inside, it looked very festive, with garlands hanging from the ceilings and candles and lanterns lit all around the room. The hall was crowded with at least a hundred people. It was hard not to be self-conscious of his shabby appearance, since almost everyone was dressed in their Sunday best. There were a few other rangers present, and some of them looked no better than Micah. A couple of them were sharing a suit jacket between them, taking it in turns to dance when they had the jacket.

At least Micah had shaved, and one of the Mexican rangers who had been a barber before joining up had trimmed his shaggy hair. He was also wearing his buckskin coat, the one made for him by his stepmother shortly before he left home. It was probably the only reminder he had kept of his home, and he told himself he only kept it because good coats were hard to come by. It was stifling hot, but it was the nicest thing he owned, and it somewhat camouflaged his other worn garments.

He headed toward the punch table, where a couple of rangers were standing. He tried not to scan the crowd for the face of Lucie Mac-callum. In fact, he was trying so hard to keep his eyes fixed on the punch bowl ahead as he skirted the edge of the dance floor that he failed to maneuver around a dancing couple. It was a reel, and they were moving fast. The woman slammed forcefully into him.

“Ugh!” he grunted.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she said.

“Watch where you are going, fellow!” her partner said.

“I’m sorry. It was my fault,” Micah said when he gathered his wits about him.

Only then did he see he had bumped into Lucie. Visions of Tom’s debacle jumped into his head.

“Why, Mr. Sinclair, you did come!” She seemed not in the least disturbed by his clumsiness.

“Yeah, I did,” he said obviously enough.

“Who might this be?” asked the gentleman a bit unsociably.

“This is Micah Sinclair. He’s a ranger.” Then to Micah, “This is Grant Carlton, a local rancher.”

The two men nodded, and Micah sensed immediate hostility from Carlton. They did not shake hands.

“Come, Lucie, let’s finish the reel.” Carlton put an arm around Lucie and nudged her back to the disrupted reel.

Micah thought Carlton acted rather possessive toward Lucie. Fleetingly he thought about leaving right then. But with a dogged determination he could not explain, he instead headed to the punch table. So Lucie had a beau. Well, that pretty much let him off the hook. Why didn’t he feel relieved, then?

He ladled himself a glass of punch and frowned when he realized the sweet concoction had not even a drop of wine in it. He could use something a little stronger right now. But he gulped the punch, realizing as the liquid slid down his throat that his mouth was as dry as sand—from nerves, not exertion. He casually watched the dancers and, he thought just as casually, let his gaze rest upon Lucie. She was wearing a frock of a deep red wine color, and now that he had let himself observe her, she was all that he could see except for her partner, whom he was forced to take note of as well.

He was a handsome man, Micah supposed, in his fancy suit and black cutaway coat with its velvet collar and his striped silk vest. He complemented the lovely Miss Maccallum quite nicely. And they danced well together, too. Lucie was smiling and laughing while Carlton’s hand took every opportunity it could to rest upon her trim waist. Micah’s throat got even dryer as he watched. He gulped another swallow of punch.

Bill McBroome sidled up to him. “Ya want a little fortification in that punch?”

“I’d like more than a little,” Micah said wistfully.

McBroome took a flask from his pocket and poured a measure into Micah’s glass. Micah never expected his wish to be fulfilled, but he grinned his appreciation. Several glasses of Bill’s punch later, Micah was emboldened to stride onto the dance floor, right up to Lucie and her partner.

“Ahem!” he said politely, tapping a finger on the fine fabric stretched over Carlton’s shoulders, for indeed it was Carlton dancing again with Lucie.

Carlton ignored him, but much to Micah’s pleasure, Lucie didn’t.

“Mr. Sinclair, are you ready for that dance I promised you?”

“I reckon so.”

Carlton glared at him as Lucie stepped between the two men. “You have been monopolizing me, Grant.”

So
Grant
, was it?

“People will talk, you know,” she added.

“I wouldn’t mind that, Lucie,
my dear
.”

The way Carlton emphasized “my dear” set Micah’s teeth on edge.

Lucie gave Grant a rather coquettish smile, then grabbed Micah’s hand. “Come, they are starting up a new reel.”

As they moved deeper onto the dance floor, Micah drawled quietly, “I ain’t the best dancer.”

“Just follow my lead and watch the other men. You’ll catch on.”

He did as she instructed and managed quite well. All the while, though, he kept track of his own feet. No way would he trip and tear her pretty dress.

Lucie was glad to be rid of Grant Carlton, but she knew that accounted for only part of her joy at the moment. Micah had decided to come to the ball! And he had mustered the courage to ask her to dance. She well appreciated it must indeed have taken some courage to break in on another man and risk refusal. But he had done it, and now they were hand-in-hand, stepping to a lively Virginia reel. He was a bit awkward on his feet and had stepped on her slipper more than once, but she supposed he had not been to many balls such as this. At any rate he was picking up the rhythm and the steps well. He seemed to be enjoying himself if the smile on his face was any indication.

Too soon the music stopped, but the leader of the musicians had an announcement to make. “We’re gonna try something new. A waltz. I heard several of you know the steps. Everyone else can watch and learn.”

“Shall we give it a try, Micah?”

“Sure.”

Glancing around, she saw Grant heading toward them. Quickly she placed a hand on Micah’s shoulder, drawing him close. Then the music began, and it was too late for Grant.

“Put your hand here.” She took his hand and placed it on her waist.

“Whoa!” Micah breathed. “They allow this sort of thing?”

Lucie giggled. “It is currently very popular. Now listen to the beat of the music. One, two, three . . . one, two, three.” She moved her free hand in an approximation of the rhythm. “Let me have your other hand.”

Free hands clasped, she nudged him into step with the music. His boot nicked her slipper once or twice, but she bit back a cry of pain even though it did hurt some. It was easy to overlook pain when she concentrated on his nearness. His hand on her waist was warm and oddly secure. The touch of his other hand in hers sent a tingle through her entire body.

“D-do you like it?” she asked, her voice cracking a little as she looked up at him. They were barely an arm’s length apart.

“Yes,” he replied.

Lucie sensed he wasn’t talking only about the dance. The way he was looking at her made her knees rather weak. He was so handsome, but not in the polished, slick way of Grant Carlton. She could tell he had spruced himself up for the dance, but there was still something very rough-cut about him. And thinking in those terms, she thought of an uncut gem. That’s what Micah Sinclair was. Wild, her father had said, but even he had to admit there was something solid beneath the untamed exterior. Remembering his tenderness with that orphaned baby only reinforced her conclusion. And that was the difference between Micah and Grant. Grant was a diamond, cut in all its glory. But what shined on the surface was all there was to him. She thought of the quote she’d read in
The Merchant of Venice
: “All that glitters is not gold.” How true in this case. Lucie was certain the real gold dwelt beneath worn cotton and denim, not serge wool and silk.

“I’m glad you came to the dance,” she murmured.

“So am I.” There was a very slight tremor to his voice. But his gaze was so steady, almost boring into her like a shaft of blue light. His hand tightened on her waist, and she thought he had eased her ever so slightly closer to him.

Neither of them noticed when the music had stopped. Lucie was certain it was several heartbeats before that fact penetrated. He dropped his hand first and stepped back, obviously flustered.

“That was nice,” she said dreamily.

“I gotta go now.”

“What?”

He turned and all but fled the dance floor. In another moment he had disappeared among the crowd. She strained to see over the heads of those pressing in about her and thought she caught a glimpse of him exiting the building. She would have gone after him, but Grant came up to her.

“That was rude of him to leave you standing here like that,” he sneered.

“He . . . he . . .” She didn’t know what to say or what to make of Micah’s surprising behavior.

“What more can you expect from trash like that,” Grant droned on. “As I waited for the dance to finish, I was told by one of the gentlemen that he was a horse thief who barely escaped hanging by joining up with the rangers. Had I known that, I would never have let you in his company.”

“I . . . I think I need to freshen up.” She was feeling a trifle flushed and warm, but it wasn’t really the seclusion of the ladies’ parlor that she wanted.

Without waiting for a response, she headed across the room in the direction of the parlor, passing her father on the way. She smiled at him—at least she offered a thin disguise of a smile—then continued on her way. She stepped into the corridor that ran at the rear of the ballroom and, seeing a woman exit a door, noted the location of the parlor. But Lucie went down the corridor, past the parlor door to the end, where she found another door she knew led to the outside. This she opened and plunged into the cool night air.

Indeed it was a warm evening, but the air was fresh and pleasant after the crowded, stuffy atmosphere indoors. It seemed Micah felt the same way. He was leaning against the sidewalk rail in front of the building next door. His hands gripped the rough wood of the rail, and he was gulping in air as if he had just risen from being buried alive.

Lucie had never chased after a man in her life. Her father’s words came back to her with alarming clarity. “Lucie, can you try not to fall in love with him?” Perhaps it was too late.

“Micah,” she said, coming up behind him.

He jerked around, truly startled. “What’re you doing out here?” he asked sharply.

“I . . . I was afraid you might be ill. You left so suddenly.”

“Go on back inside. It’s not right for you to be here all alone.”

“I don’t like people telling me what to do.”

He rolled his eyes with just a hint of humor. “I surely feel sorry for your pa, then.”

“Yes, I am a sore trial to him.” Her lips twitched with uncertainty at how her attempt at humor might be received.

“You ain’t worried about your reputation at all?”

“I suppose I am a little.” She moved up beside him and leaned her back against the rail so as to face him. He turned back to the way he had been standing before, hands on the rail, looking into the now quiet street instead of her probing eyes. “I was having a nice time dancing with you and didn’t want you to leave,” she added.

“Well, it ain’t right, that’s all!”

She gazed at him. He could have meant so many things with that statement, and perhaps he meant them all.

“Why did you leave?”

“If I’d have stayed . . .” He loosened his grip on the rail long enough to run a hand through his thick pale hair. It hung in waves to the top of his collar and curled slightly around his ears. He wasn’t wearing his hat. Maybe he had planned to return to the dance after all.

“I was afraid I might have . . . kissed you!” He swung around now, facing her full on. “Right there in front of everyone.”

“Oh . . .” She hadn’t expected that response, but now that he’d said it, she understood that the feelings she had been experiencing on the dance floor had been mutual. It pleased her, though she knew it ought to frighten her as well.

“I still want to.”

His eyes were riveted upon her and her heart nearly stopped with anticipation. But he made no move toward her.

“Oh my.” She could think of absolutely nothing else to say.

“Go back inside, Lucie, before—”

“Before what?”

His eyes, now pools of confusion and something else she could not quite define, raked over her in a manner that caused her to wince.

“You don’t belong with me, and I don’t belong with you. Simple as that,” he said.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!” she replied crisply to hide her quelling insides.

“You are a God-fearing woman, aren’t you? Churchgoing and such?”

Perplexed, she answered, “Yes.”

“There you go!” There was a triumph in his tone, as if that settled everything. “You ain’t supposed to be unequally yoked.”

“Are you a heathen?”

“Look at me!” he practically yelled. “What do you think?”

“I do not judge people on surfaces. Neither does God.”

“Don’t tell me what God does. I know all about it. And believe me, God turned His back on me long ago. I’m a reprobate, a sinner—”

“We are all sinners, Micah.”