The Rascal (20 page)

He nodded. “Now the next foot. Follow me.”

“No.” But Grace did it all the same. She clutched Jack’s shoulders, her whole body stiff. But then… “Look! I glided!”

Jack only nodded. “Keep going. You’re doing fine.”

“I’m doing wondrously!” She could scarcely believe her own agility. She concentrated on Jack’s movements, rapidly learning to discern which way she was supposed to move next. “I can feel your shoulders bunch up, then you lean back a bit—”

Fascinated by the wonderful flex and tug of his muscles, Grace forgot what she was saying. For a saloonkeeper, she decided, Jack Murphy boasted an unusual quantity of brawn.

He caught her ogling and laughed outright.

Affronted, Grace walloped him with her scarf.

“Careful,” he warned, giving her arm a teasing squeeze. “Reformer’s garb like yours has been known to injure a man.”

“Not a big, strong man like you,” she argued.

“Ah, Grace.” Guiding them both across the ice, Jack cupped her cheek in his hand. He gazed at her, finally releasing a sigh. “When it comes to you, I’m not so very strong after all.”

His admission moved her. Especially given, as it was, while the wind tossed their coats and the snowy trees slipped past
and Jack’s very strength in keeping them both upright proved him wrong in his claim. He was strong, Grace realized.

He was strong and brave and powerful enough to risk shoveling an entire pond for a woman who might easily have been too obstinate to appreciate the gesture. To try something new.

To try and falter and, in the end, do everything but swoon.

“Let’s go around another time,” Grace said.

Jack peered at her. “Another ladies’ club brewing?”

“Mmm. Perhaps,” was all she said. Because if things went well, Grace dared to hope, she might not need so many clubs in her future. But not even a certain Irish rogue’s kiss could have made her admit such a girlish wish aloud.

A
fter her skating lesson with Jack, Grace found herself enjoying the rest of February in a way she never had before. The weather was wintry, as usual, the winds blustery and cold, but the sun came out every day all the same—as it often did in the territory—and so did Jack. To see her.

Now when they passed on the street, they shared a secret smile and sometimes brushed gloved hands together in hello. When they emerged from their shared building at the same time—as they were magically wont to do—they stopped to talk and laugh and steal a kiss in the shadow of the stairs. When they heard each other moving about late at night, practicing their individual duties, they often quit those tasks altogether… and met for a heady conversation instead.

“Hmm.” Jack paused in the passageway between his saloon and his living space one afternoon, looking Grace up and down. He seemed especially handsome in his shirtsleeves and vest, all dark-haired and broad-shouldered and smiling at her in that unique way he had. “Grace, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, no?” Demurely, Grace produced a note from the pocket of her dress—an ordinary one, not chosen for its practicality and utility but instead for the way Jack had once said it made her eyes look pretty. “Then I suppose this note is a code. Tell me, Jack. Where it says
meet me at four
, does that mean—”

“It means I’m glad you came,” he said and kissed her.

Exactly as she’d known he would.

He surprised her in other ways though. Jack’s vocabulary improved steadily, augmented with words Grace could not remember having taught him—but which she must have, she reasoned. His demeanor progressed rapidly, featuring more talking—but with a quantity of grunting nonetheless.

His views on subjects ranging from literature to science to history astounded her—but whenever she pressed him on them, Jack merely blinked as though taken aback to hear himself expressing such notions…then pulled her near for another seductive kiss.

It was as if he could not get enough of them.

Which, Grace had to admit, did not bother her as much as perhaps it ought to have, given her avowed intellectual stance.

But then…several things changed for her during those weeks, and her analytical outlook was the least of them. Somehow, Jack learned that she enjoyed Molly’s cinnamon buns. He arranged to have a whole dozen delivered to her as a gift, wrapped in a vivid blue bow and sprinkled with extra sugar.

“Mmm.” Grace sucked cinnamon from her fingertip, heartily enjoying her second bun. She scooted closer to Jack on the newly shoveled steps leading to her meeting rooms, regarding him with evident fondness. “Delicious. I can’t imagine how you knew I enjoyed these so much.” She paused. “Aren’t you having one?”

“Maybe when I’m done watching you have yours.”

“Oh?” She nudged the box across her lap in open invitation. “But you look awfully hungry to me.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “I am. But not for sweets.”

Then he pulled her closer and kissed her, right there in broad daylight. His touch melted the sugar on her lips. Licking them eagerly afterward, Grace was abashed to find Jack watching her with an even more devilish expression.

“Next time,” he promised, “two dozen cinnamon buns.”

Grace only smiled and devoured another bite.

Not that Jack’s new thoughtfulness was confined to treats alone. He also learned that she enjoyed attending the spelling bees and recitals down at Sarah’s schoolhouse, and waylaid her one evening when Grace had walked only halfway there.

“A spelling bee is better shared,” he announced in cocksure tones, giving her a wink. He took her arm and escorted her through the snow, cheerfully ignoring Grace’s astonished look.

The two of them scrunched onto short benches at the back of the schoolhouse like overgrown children. Jack left his arm chivalrously around her shoulders, provoking more than one whisper from the townspeople nearby—and a few approving nods as well. Grace couldn’t help but snuggle closer, feeling wanted and appreciated for herself at long last…and less like an overlooked spinster than ever she’d dreamed.

There was something marvelous about having someone special to share things with, Grace thought happily, watching Jack applaud a particularly spectacular effort at the word
quixotic
. Someone special like Jack, who truly understood her and did not find her peculiar because of her interests or her passions.

“I’ll bet you were the best speller in all the territory when you were a girl,” he judged, leaning near to whisper in her
ear during a break in the spelling bee. “I can picture it now. I’ll bet you beat everyone plumb easily.”

“Of course I did. But it wasn’t easy.”

Jack nodded, his dark hair tickling her cheek. “I reckon so,” he agreed. “Nothing worth having is ever easy.”

Then he straightened to watch Eli and several of his schoolmates square off in the next spelling round, looking the perfect gentleman all the while…and oblivious as ever to Grace’s pleased contemplation.

There was more to Jack Murphy, she realized, than even she had hoped. More than sparkling eyes and rugged features and a manner as charming as the most blarney-tongued Irishman.

There was kindness. And intelligence. And trust.

Even if Jack could not hide anything to save his soul, Grace recalled with a private smile. It had taken her only a matter of minutes to locate his drawings after Jack had stashed them away that night. She had very much enjoyed perusing those sketches at her leisure later, feeling proud all over again at his level of artistic skill and inventiveness. Not that he would discuss as much with her. Every time Grace broached the subject, Jack grunted his fiercest and swept her off her feet, off to some new adventure or joke or indulgent variety of kissing.

They were alike in surprising ways, the two of them. The fun they both had in attending the spelling bee—and the cider-fueled social afterward—did more than prove it. As did their private ice-skating party a few days later, the intimate poetry reading they conducted next and the sleigh ride they enjoyed.

But she and Jack were different in important other ways, and Grace would never have expected to enjoy those differences quite so much. Jack was stronger than she was, for instance, as evidenced by the burly way he helped crowbar
open the hidey-hole where Grace had stowed her contraband baseballs, allowing her to hoard a few stragglers till springtime.

“Interesting tactic,” was all he said of her strategy.

He was also funnier than her, and Grace couldn’t help laughing at all of his jokes. Who would have expected taciturn Jack Murphy to make the adventures of a dancing frog sound so terribly, madly funny? Not Grace, that was for certain.

She’d only quit chuckling for an instant when she caught Jack smiling at her, his eyes sparkling. “You look beautiful when you laugh,” he said, his tone serious.

“Nonsense.” She swiped a wayward tear, knowing she must be red-faced and scrunch-nosed and possibly in need of a hankie. “I am many things, but beautiful is assuredly not—”

“You are.” He stopped her with a kiss, even though they’d only met for a moment on his snowy saloon steps. Ostensibly they were exchanging neighborly pleasantries. In truth they hadn’t been able to resist lingering. Jack leaned on his shovel with no pretense at all of working. “You’re beautiful to me.”

And Grace had only blushed all the hotter, surprised to find the snowbanks not melting all around them from his warmth.

All that month long, she found herself rushing through her days, dreaming about when she could next be with Jack. His new attentiveness thrilled her; his insight into what she found appealing made her marvel. He even indulged her admittedly unusual interest in all things scientific, when Grace knew perfectly well a brawny, plainspoken man like him probably cared little about new discoveries and spectacular improvements.

But they shared them together all the same.

“Now this is unexpected.” Jack handed her the stereoscope, offering her another turn with the viewing device at
Jedediah Hofer’s mercantile. Usually such things were kept under lock and key. Somehow—undoubtedly though sheer deviltry—Jack had finagled a way to get access for himself and Grace. “You—the redoubtable Grace Crabtree—enjoying an activity that’s strictly leisurely.”

“My goodness. Redoubtable?” Pleased by his progress, she glanced up. She grasped the device carefully by its handle so that the stereograph card attached to it wouldn’t wobble while they completed the transfer. “I’m impressed.”

“It means formidable,” Jack supplied with a naughty grin as his fingers brushed hers. “Also extraordinary. Just in case you’re wondering.”

“Yes, I know.” Unable to help herself, Grace smiled at him. How could she not, when Jack regarded her so very tenderly, as though she were…precious? “And I’ll thank you to quit looking at me as though—” she leaned nearer, feeling scandalized “—as though you would like to kiss me right here!”

“I would,” he said bluntly. “Let’s. Put that down.”

Grace knew she reddened all the way to her toes.

“And besides all that, I’ll have you know this device is highly educational, not strictly leisurely.” Feeling giddy at Jack’s continued sultry perusal, Grace affected her best instructive tone. “The stereoscope is a great invention, one I have the utmost respect and gratitude for.”

Demonstrating, she raised it with a flourish.

A slightly wobbly, flustered flourish.

He gave a grunt. “A great invention, you say? I reckon that explains why you squealed with delight when you saw it,” Jack guessed, his features deadpan but somehow teasing all the same. “Why you jumped up and down with glee.”

“Yes. Well.” Doing her best to muster a bit of dignity—
however belatedly—Grace peered through the stereoscope’s viewfinder. Like magic, a view of a New York City street greeted her, full of tall buildings and myriad traveling buggies. “It just so happens that I often find myself unable to contain my enthusiasm lately…when it comes to certain things at least.”

Like you
. She dared to glance at Jack as she said it. His gruff nod was all the agreement Grace required. Even the mercantile storeroom seemed romantic when he gazed at her that way, she realized delightedly. All she wanted now was more time with him, alone like this.

“Are there more images?” she inquired.

Obligingly, he reached into the box of stereoscopic cards. After a short perusal, Jack selected one and inserted it into the device’s holder with ease. “Try this one. It’s a good view.”

“For a saloonkeeper,” she remarked, watching closely as he surrendered control of the stereoscope to her again, “you seem awfully familiar with scientific devices.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been good with my hands.”

“But the way you handle mechanical things is—”

“Look.” Jack tapped the stereoscope. “You’ll see.”

Giving up on her questions for now, Grace raised the viewer. “Oh, did you see this? Look, Jack!” Unable to keep the excitement from her voice, Grace tugged his sleeve with her free hand. “It’s Paris! And the buildings almost seem to jump out at you. It’s just as though you’re strolling the Champs-Elysées.”

She passed the stereoscope, watching as he enjoyed a turn, too. “I’ve seen ordinary pictures in books of course,” she chattered on, “but none of them could compare with that.” Struck with an idea, Grace turned toward the box of cards, which they’d propped on a nearby pile of flour sacks. “Let’s see what else we have here….”

“You’ve barely seen this one and you already want more?”

“Naturally.” Eagerly, Grace thumbed through the ordered cards, examining their labels one by one. She seized one, its side-by-side pictures looking unremarkable as they were. Once viewed through the stereoscope though, they would form one dazzling three-dimensional image. “Let’s try this one!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Grinning, Jack held out his hand.

“Oh, I’m sure I can manage.” Biting her lip, Grace cautiously removed the stereograph of Paris. She mimicked all the movements she’d watched Jack perform, then stepped back with a flourish. “Voilà. This time you go first.”

For a moment, he only went on smiling at her. “You are a capable woman, Grace. I’m impressed.”

She blushed with contentment. “Go on. Look.”

He did, allowing her an unhindered view of his chest and muscular arms as he lifted the stereoscope. She studied him with unabashed longing, wondering how she had found herself in such good fortune. After all this time, she’d found a man who understood and admired her. It felt almost too good to be true.

Suddenly, Jack stiffened. He thrust the stereoscope away.

“I just remembered. I have an appointment.”

Confused, Grace stared at him. “An appointment? But when you spirited me away from the
Pioneer Press
offices this morning, you said we had all day.”

“I was wrong.” Grimly, he packed up the cards they’d scattered while viewing. “You can stay. I’ll speak to Hofer.”

“No, I—” Grace didn’t understand. What had happened? “It won’t be the same without you. I’ll just have one final look.”

Jack crossed his arms. “Do what you want.”