playing our wedding waltz, Mrs. Fraser.”
She let him lead her to the center of the room. Surprisingly, his hand felt warm and strong, maybe because hers was so cold and trembling.
The orchestra struck up the strains of a Strauss waltz, and Clay took her into the circle of his arms. The warm pressure of his hand on the small of her back stirred awareness of his nearness, and made her more conscious than ever of the power contained within that tall body and the commanding set of those wide shoulders. As if his tantalizing scent of bay rum and pure male wasn’t enough of a reminder.
She didn’t know what made her more self-conscious: knowing how many eyes followed their movements, or her awareness of Clay’s nearness. His steps were easy to match as he fluidly led her in the dance. Clearly he was no stranger to a Viennese waltz. But why would he be? Cotillions and balls were all part of that southern culture he’d fought to preserve.
To block out her growing awareness of him, Rebecca closed her eyes. Imagining herself in Charley’s arms, she tried to recall the last time they had waltzed together. To her dismay, she couldn’t remember. The lack of memory was a painful stab at her heart. Daily, her memories of him were fading away. She wanted to cry.
As soon as the music ended, Rebecca stepped out of Clay’s arms and quickly turned away. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. To her further distress, Clay followed her.
They walked in silence back to the hotel. He saw her to her room, and without a backward look she entered and locked the door. Within seconds a light appeared from under the connecting door.
Rebecca leaned back against her door and let her tears flow freely.
Clay shucked his gunbelt and boots, blew out the lamp, and stretched out on the bed. Alone in the dark, his thoughts immediately turned to Rebecca. He’d sensed she’d been on the verge of tears but was too plucky to let them flow in his presence. Since she had the gumption to head West alone, he doubted she’d been crying from fear of what tomorrow would bring. It took courage, and she sure as hell had enough of that.
As lowdown as it was, she’d taken a big chance in marrying a stranger. Another man might have beaten her—or even killed her—for pulling the trick she had on him. She had no idea how easily her scheme might have backfired on her. The West was too wild and uncertain for a woman on her own.
For that matter, it was no place for him, either. After four years he was finally able to go home—only to have to leave again to chase after Lissy. Unlike most of these people, he wasn’t looking for a new beginning; he wanted to go back to the life he’d known before. Was it too late to recapture that, or could it be the same again? One thing was certain: Once they caught up with Lissy and were satisfied she was happy and that the Yankee had made an honest woman of her, he was making a beeline back to Virginia.
Clay yawned and closed his eyes. After his marriage was annulled, of course. If he took that delectable little termagant back to Virginia, she’d probably succeed in restarting the war.
But for now, it looked as if he was stuck with her.
6
Too excited to sleep a moment longer, Rebecca rose at four o’clock and peeked out the hotel window. Fires from a dozen blacksmiths’ forges blazed brightly, and the clanging of their hammers had sounded day and night from the time she’d arrived in Independence. Due to the wagon train’s departure, the hotel and general stores had remained open throughout the night for any necessary last-minute sales. She packed up her belongings and went down to the dining room.
She had just finished eating when Clay and Garth came in. “Good morning,” she said pleasantly.
“Good morning, Becky,” Garth replied, but Clay ignored her greeting. “All ready for the big day?”
She smiled excitedly. “I’m about ready to burst at the seams.”
“I think we all are,” he
She let him lead her to the center of the room. Surprisingly, his hand felt warm and strong, maybe because hers was so cold and trembling.
The orchestra struck up the strains of a Strauss waltz, and Clay took her into the circle of his arms. The warm pressure of his hand on the small of her back stirred awareness of his nearness, and made her more conscious than ever of the power contained within that tall body and the commanding set of those wide shoulders. As if his tantalizing scent of bay rum and pure male wasn’t enough of a reminder.
She didn’t know what made her more self-conscious: knowing how many eyes followed their movements, or her awareness of Clay’s nearness. His steps were easy to match as he fluidly led her in the dance. Clearly he was no stranger to a Viennese waltz. But why would he be? Cotillions and balls were all part of that southern culture he’d fought to preserve.
To block out her growing awareness of him, Rebecca closed her eyes. Imagining herself in Charley’s arms, she tried to recall the last time they had waltzed together. To her dismay, she couldn’t remember. The lack of memory was a painful stab at her heart. Daily, her memories of him were fading away. She wanted to cry.
As soon as the music ended, Rebecca stepped out of Clay’s arms and quickly turned away. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough. To her further distress, Clay followed her.
They walked in silence back to the hotel. He saw her to her room, and without a backward look she entered and locked the door. Within seconds a light appeared from under the connecting door.
Rebecca leaned back against her door and let her tears flow freely.
Clay shucked his gunbelt and boots, blew out the lamp, and stretched out on the bed. Alone in the dark, his thoughts immediately turned to Rebecca. He’d sensed she’d been on the verge of tears but was too plucky to let them flow in his presence. Since she had the gumption to head West alone, he doubted she’d been crying from fear of what tomorrow would bring. It took courage, and she sure as hell had enough of that.
As lowdown as it was, she’d taken a big chance in marrying a stranger. Another man might have beaten her—or even killed her—for pulling the trick she had on him. She had no idea how easily her scheme might have backfired on her. The West was too wild and uncertain for a woman on her own.
For that matter, it was no place for him, either. After four years he was finally able to go home—only to have to leave again to chase after Lissy. Unlike most of these people, he wasn’t looking for a new beginning; he wanted to go back to the life he’d known before. Was it too late to recapture that, or could it be the same again? One thing was certain: Once they caught up with Lissy and were satisfied she was happy and that the Yankee had made an honest woman of her, he was making a beeline back to Virginia.
Clay yawned and closed his eyes. After his marriage was annulled, of course. If he took that delectable little termagant back to Virginia, she’d probably succeed in restarting the war.
But for now, it looked as if he was stuck with her.
6
Too excited to sleep a moment longer, Rebecca rose at four o’clock and peeked out the hotel window. Fires from a dozen blacksmiths’ forges blazed brightly, and the clanging of their hammers had sounded day and night from the time she’d arrived in Independence. Due to the wagon train’s departure, the hotel and general stores had remained open throughout the night for any necessary last-minute sales. She packed up her belongings and went down to the dining room.
She had just finished eating when Clay and Garth came in. “Good morning,” she said pleasantly.
“Good morning, Becky,” Garth replied, but Clay ignored her greeting. “All ready for the big day?”
She smiled excitedly. “I’m about ready to burst at the seams.”
“I think we all are,” he
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