Whippoorwill (8 page)

He looked down at her then and shuddered at the thought of her womanly flesh. His gaze moved from her body, to her face, and to the rapt expression that she wore. It was then he knew a moment of fear. He couldn’t do this—shouldn’t do this. She was an innocent, not a widow well-versed in the ways of a man.

Then she touched his arm. Her voice was low and trembling.

“Randall, please hurry.”

He swallowed suddenly. Randall? Her familiarity was unlikely for a woman who dreamed of being a nun, but the darkness was a blanket to his conscience. He dashed up the steps ahead of her and stood aside as she unlocked each of their doors. He escorted her inside the room that was to be hers, staying until the lamp had been lit. When he looked at her again, she was shivering.

Concern overrode lust.

“Miss Doone, you should get out of your wet clothes and into a warm bed immediately, or I fear you shall catch your death.”

Charity swayed toward the resonance of his voice. She looked at him then. The image of him surrounded by light was burned in her brain. Do it! Do it now, a voice said. Her hands moved to the long row of buttons that ran down the front of her dress. Her eyes were wide and fixed upon his face as she began to undo her clothes.

Frozen to the spot, Randall stared. There was no mistaking her intent.

“Miss Charity… what are you doing?”

“The dream. I have to fulfill the dream.”

He knew he should look at her face, but he couldn’t. His gaze was fixed upon the revelation of her pale, creamy skin, as one by one, the buttons came undone. His tongue felt thick—almost as thick as the swelling body part inside his pants.

“Dream? What dream?”

“I was wrong about my dream. It wasn’t about becoming a nun. It wasn’t God I was standing naked before.” She threw herself into Randall Howe’s arms. “Oh Randall, it was you.”

It should be stated that on Randall’s behalf he did think about resisting. But it should also be mentioned that the thought came and went as fast as a fart. Within moments they were lying together in bed. Highlighted by the flickering light from her lamp, their naked bodies writhed upon the covers.

Caught up in a passion of which she would never have believed, Charity Doone lost her virginity, and what she thought was her heart, to a man she’d known less than a day.

Randall’s lust was easily overwhelmed by what little conscience he had. It wasn’t until he’d shot his own wad that it began to dawn on him just what he’d done, and by then it was too late to take anything back. Charity was in convulsions of rapture and moaning words of happy ever after in his ear. He waited with his heart in his mouth until she’d fallen asleep before he’d crept to his own room.

From there, he watched the storm until it had passed, and then he watched for the first signs of gray to break the bleakness of night. This wasn’t Boston and there was no bishop to stand between him and what he’d just done. Out here, people made their own laws and he shuddered to think what kind of retribution a woman like Mehitable Doone might take on a man who’d done what he’d done.

He dropped to his knees by the side of the bed and began to pray, making promises to God from the depths of his heart, swearing that he would never, as long as he lived, take advantage of a woman again. From this moment on he would be celibate—even if it drove him mad.

At daybreak, he tiptoed to her door and looked in. She was sprawled out across her bed, her nudity all the more blatant for her lack of covers. He shuddered, silently cursing himself for his weaknesses and slipped back to his room.

As he stood beside the window, he heard a sound that gave him some hope. It was the distant whistle of a west-bound train. In that moment, his decision was made. Without a backward glance, he grabbed his coat and his bible and headed for the stairs at a lope. Out the door he ran, then toward the livery to recover his bag.

Just this once. Just this once, let me please get away and I’ll never do it again.

***

Charity came awake within seconds, and as she did, the memory of last night came crashing down upon her.

“Randall,” she gasped, and then bounced out of bed, grabbing clothes as she went.

Haste made her nervous. She giggled girlishly as she tried to force buttons into holes, all the while planning the next fifty years of her life. And it was comforting to know what that would be. She shook her head as she thought of the dream and her own misconceptions.

A nun. How silly. She couldn’t be a nun—not now. Not when she’d experienced the wonders of being a real woman.

Finally she was dressed. She dashed next door, knocking lightly upon Randall’s door, but he didn’t answer. She knocked again, thinking to herself that he was just sleeping in. After all, the rigors of last night had been strenuous indeed. But still he didn’t answer. She frowned and then tried the knob. When it turned, she peeked inside. The room was empty. His clerical robes were gone, as was his bible. Her heart gave a funny twitch, which she ignored.

Outside, she heard the loud, mournful wail of the train whistle as it began to leave. She turned and walked to the window, absently watching the smoke billowing from the smokestack and the slow flow of people and horses moving about in the street.

The train whistled again, and as it did, a sudden panic came upon her. She spun around, gazing wildly about the room.

“No,” she moaned, and clutched at her stomach. “He wouldn’t. He couldn’t!”

Out into the street she ran, heading for the livery with single-minded intent. Once inside, her worst fears were revealed. He was missing and his bag was gone, too. She stood then, listening to the beat of her heart and hearing the last mournful call of the train as it disappeared into the distance.

Without speaking, she hitched up her horses and climbed up in the buggy. A few minutes later, she started home. Back to Mehitable. Back to her shame.

At first she was numb. But as the miles sped away, her emotions began to kick in. She went from heartbreak to humiliation and back again. By the time she topped the rise leading down to the ranch, she was sobbing hysterically and the horses had begun to stampede. The reins slipped from her fingers, but she didn’t care. She fell back in the seat, hoping that she would die before her shame could ever be revealed.

Near the barn, a young wrangler named Beau James was the first to hear the commotion. When he looked up and saw the runaway buggy, his heart skipped a beat. He’d long been an admirer of Mehitable’s sister, and the knowledge that she was in danger sent him running for his mount. His race from the barnyard brought the others out to see.

Mehitable cried in alarm and jumped on her horse as she, too, gave chase, but it was Beau who got there first. Riding at full gallop, he leaned sideways and grabbed the lead horse’s reins. With every ounce of his strength, he began to pull back.

Moments later it was over. The team had stopped.

He leaped from his horse and dashed to the buggy. “Miss Charity! Miss Charity! Are you all right?”

She took one look at the tenderness and concern on his face and fell forward into his arms.

It has to be said now, that at that moment, Beau James fell the rest of the way in love. With her warm body against his and her soft hair tumbling around his face, it was all he could do not to cry. As for Charity, the knowledge that she had even failed at dying sent her into a new spasm of sobs.

Beau’s heart twisted with panic as he looked back over his shoulder. Hetty was bearing down upon them at a fast pace. He didn’t know what to do except hold her.

Moments later, Mehitable was on the ground running. “My God, girl, what happened? Where is the Reverend? Why did you come back alone?”

Just the mention of his name was enough to send Charity into new fits of sorrow. She forgot Beau James was holding her. All she could think was to tell Sister. She would know what to do.

“The preacher,” she sobbed. “He’s gone.”

“Gone! Already? But why? What happened?”

“It’s ruined,” Charity sobbed. “Everything’s ruined… including me. I thought he was… I trusted him to…”She swallowed, unable to voice the truth of her disgrace.

Mehitable’s face turned a dark, angry red.

“Are you a’sayin’ that he had his way with you and then skipped out of town?”

Charity swayed on her feet. “I want to die… I just want to die,” she whispered, then fainted in Beau James’s arms.

A rage unlike any he’d ever known began to fill young Beau’s heart. His Charity—his secret love—had been ruined by the lies of a stranger. And as he gazed at her tear-ravaged face, he knew what he had to do. His eyes were hard, his expression grim as he turned to Mehitable Doone.

“Miss Hetty, I reckon I’ll be turnin’ in my notice and leavin’ you now. There’s somethin’ that has to be done.”

Mehitable’s own ire was rising with every breath that she took. She looked deep into the young wrangler’s eyes and saw something she hadn’t known was there. The man was in love with her sister and now it was too late.

“Put Charity in the buggy and drive it back to the house, then help me get her inside. And you ain’t goin’ nowhere. It’ll be me that puts the bullet in that fat bastard’s belly.”

Beau did as he’d been told, but what she’d said had not changed his mind. A few minutes later he carried Charity into the house with Mehitable right at his heels. When he laid her down on her bed, her head lolled limply on the pillow. He kept hearing Charity’s words. She wanted to die from her shame. When he stepped back, the anger in him was palpable.

“Miss Hetty, I reckon if you’re goin’ after the bastard, I’ll be goin’ along with you… with or without your permission.”

Hetty looked at Beau and then down at Charity and sighed.

“So it’s like that, is it?”

“Yes ma’am, I reckon it is.”

She nodded. “So be it, then. And it’s probably just as well. I’ll need someone to help me look after Charity.”

His eyes widened. “You’re takin’ her with you?”

Hetty frowned. “Hell yes. You heard her. She wants to die. It would be just like her to do something foolish to herself before I got back.”

Fear slipped through him as he turned to look at her. The thought of that beautiful face and sweet laugh buried beneath six feet of territory dust made him sick. His voice shook.

“There ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. Any man would be proud to call her his wife.” Then he flushed, realizing he’d gotten too familiar with his boss. “When you plan on leavin’?”

Hetty glanced down at her sister. “I’d like to say now, but I reckon we’d better give her a day. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.” She gave Beau a hard look. “It may take a while. I ain’t got no idea where he was goin’ from here.”

Beau pulled his hat down low on his head. “Don’t matter,” he said. “I got as long as it takes.”

***

One day passed into another as Randall Howe traveled farther and farther away from his shame. But the distance in miles did not lessen his guilt. He’d done the unthinkable and taken a virgin—a young, helpless woman who’d been caught up in the throes of her own passion. He should have known better. They’d sent for him to counsel with her. He’d fucked her instead.

He stared at the changing landscape without seeing the green give way to a flat, open plane. Heat intensified. And for the first time in his life, Randall let his personal hygiene slide. When it came time to embark upon the next leg of his journey, he was sporting a three-day growth of whiskers and his suit was covered with dust. Considering himself unworthy to even read holy words, he’d buried his bible in the bottom of his bag.

When he got off the train and discovered the next leg of his journey would be by stagecoach, he decided it just punishment for what he’d done. That was the day he boarded the stage, bound for a place called Lizard Flats.

***

Gentleman Jim poured a dollop of witch hazel into the palm of his hand and then rubbed his hands together before patting his freshly shaved face. The sharp, spicy scent made his eyes water and his cheeks burn, but the sensations soon passed, leaving a clean and pleasant aroma about his person. He’d made up his mind that tonight he was going to confess to Letty his growing admiration for her. He knew it was a long shot, but lately he’d been hungering for a different kind of life and hoped that Letty would, too. Will the Bartender had told him a little about Letty’s childhood and when questioned, she’d told him the rest. Jim understood all too well how a woman could come to the place in which Letty now found herself and held none of it against her. The way he looked at it, everyone sinned. It was the ones who didn’t regret it who were the losers and he knew that Letty hated her life. He heard the longing for something better when she sang of sadness and retribution.

He glanced out the window and noticed the setting sun. Within a few minutes, Will would be calling up the stairs for Letty to come down, and he wanted to talk to her first before she re-entered that world. Smiling to himself, he reached for his hat, settled it on his neatly combed hair and started out the door of his hotel room when he realized his derringer was still on the bed. He slipped it in the pocket of his jacket and then hurried down the stairs, suddenly anxious to get to the White Dove.

***

As usual, Letty was out on the balcony, girding herself for another night of drink and debauchery and waiting to hear the call of her good luck bird when she saw James Dupree exit the hotel. An ache rose in her throat as she watched him start across the street. The past few days with him had been heaven on earth for her. He had yet to take her to bed, although his good night kisses on the hand had progressed to tender kisses on her lips. Each night when she went to sleep, his face was in her dreams, and each day when she awoke, thoughts of seeing him that night were all that got her through the days. She didn’t want to think of the day when she’d awaken and once again find that he was gone, although she knew that it could happen.

In her eagerness to see him, she forgot about the bird and leaned over the balcony to call down to him.

“Jim!”

He stopped in the street and looked up with a smile of delight on his face.