The Seduction of Roxanne Page 18

  He'd kissed that neck; he wanted to kiss it again. Now.

  "Hello,” he said as he crossed the street, surprised that he sounded slightly out of breath.

  She spun around quickly, surprised. “Good afternoon, Cyrus,” she said a moment later. She didn't immediately turn to leave him behind, didn't turn her back and leave him standing breathless and stupid on the street.

  There were many more reasons to stay away from her than there were to run to her. He knew that too well. Still, he was compelled to do just that; to run to her, now and forever.

  She didn't smile; he didn't expect her to, not yet. But there was something in her eyes that told him she was glad to see him, something that gave him hope where he should have none.

  "Is something wrong?” she asked when he continued to stand, silent, in the middle of the street.

  "No, I just.... “I just had to see you. Too soon. “I wanted to remind you about the picnic Sunday."

  What might have been a smile tugged at the corners of her wide mouth. “That's just two days away,” she said. “Do you think me forgetful?"

  "No,” he said honestly. “I just don't want you to change your mind.” He heard a carriage coming, the clop of horses and the squeak of wheels, and stepped out of the street and closer to Roxanne.

  "I should,” she said softly. “Change my mind, that is."

  "No, you shouldn't,” he whispered.

  She shifted her books restlessly. “Cyrus, can I ask you one question?"

  "Anything."

  They waited while the carriage passed. Cyrus looked into blue eyes that were not happy ... but they weren't sad anymore, either. He'd do anything to keep that terrible sadness from her eyes. Anything.

  "I've been wondering about something. Every day ... well, almost every day when I walk home from school you're there. You're on the street, on the boardwalk, or walking somewhere along the route I take home.” She latched blue eyes to him, as if setting herself to gauge his reaction. “Is that a coincidence?"

  She seemed to hold her breath as she waited for an answer.

  "No,” he finally said. “No coincidence."

  He'd done it; told the truth and set himself up for rejection and humiliation from the one person in the world who had the power to destroy him.

  But Roxanne just nodded once, and again he was certain he saw the tug of a smile at her lips. Not a grin that said he was ridiculous for so much as thinking of her, but a warm, welcoming smile that gave him more hope than he had a right to.

  She finally opened the gate and walked away from him, and he stood there and watched her go. If anything came of this he'd have to tell her, one day, about the scheme he and Calvin had hatched. He'd have to tell her that he had been the one to speak to her in the dark, to pour out his heart in those letters, to touch and kiss her. He would have to tell her that he had been the one to make love to her in the dark, to answer her plea as she whispered an irresistible love me.

  Would he even have to tell her? If he touched her, wouldn't she know? He knew without question, that he would recognize her scent and her touch on the darkest of nights, that to feel her touch again would be too familiar to deny. When ... if he kissed her, would she realize his deception?

  When Roxanne was inside the house with the door closed solidly behind her, Cyrus walked away.

  Was it possible that Roxanne would remember his touch?

  Hellfire, that remembrance was likely the only way she'd ever know the truth about that night. He'd never tell her that he'd deceived her, that he had gone to her in another man's place, that he'd hidden behind Calvin's pretty face to take what he'd wanted more than anything in the world. He would never risk dousing the spark of life he'd seen in her eyes; he'd never risk losing Roxanne when he'd just found her.

  Not even with the truth.

  Scott's Mercantile was crowded, but that wasn't unusual for a Saturday. Not only did the townspeople crowd the store, there were a number of shoppers from nearby, ranchers and farmers come to town to stock up on supplies.

  Roxanne shopped for needed molasses and sugar, cinnamon and flour, tea and coffee, and tobacco for Josiah. Her list was quite long, and already her basket hung heavily at her side. It seemed that Ada had miraculously run out of almost everything.

  From the front of the store came an unexpected, quite loud, baby's cry. Roxanne flinched at the annoying sound that reminded her of her predicament. What if her foolish encounter with Calvin had left her carrying his child? She shuddered as she adjusted her basket on her arm. While there was no need to worry needlessly about something that either already was or wasn't, she couldn't help herself.

  She already had a plan, of sorts. The West was growing every day, and new, burgeoning towns needed schoolteachers. If she found herself in a predicament she couldn't explain away, she'd sell everything she owned, buy a stage ticket west, and disappear.

  The prospect was terrifying, but what other choice did she have?

  The cry came again, this time followed by a familiar, soothing voice cooing, “Now, now."

  Roxanne headed for the front of the store, and sure enough there was Merilee with a child on either hip and Mary Alice at her heels, begging for licorice in a high, whining voice. Poor Merilee had two bright spots of color on her cheeks, she was so embarrassed.

  Setting her basket on the front counter, Roxanne instinctively reached out and took the crying baby. It was the boy, little Henry, she surmised as she smoothed the front of his blue shirt.

  "My goodness,” she said, cradling the baby in her arms. “He's so heavy."

  More surprised than soothed, she supposed, the child stopped crying and looked up at her with wide, wet eyes. His lower lip trembled pathetically. His face was red from his temper tantrum, a wispy strand of pale hair stood straight up in the center of his head—and he was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. Why had she never noticed before how absolutely beautiful he was?

  "I'm so sorry,” Merilee apologized. “It's past time for his nap, and he tends to get cranky when he's tired."

  As if to prove his mother's point, Henry screwed up his nose and mouth and looked as if he might begin crying all over again. He didn't cry, though. Instead, he laid his head against Roxanne's shoulder and let out a long, shuddering sigh as he closed his eyes.

  Roxanne savored the warm heaviness of the limp body in her arms, the complete trust and the innocence and the softness that was beyond words. “It's all right,” she said, taking a glance at the other baby, a little girl with pale curls and a pink ribbon in her hair, and a pink shift that didn't quite cover her fat legs. “You certainly do have your hands full."

  Merilee sighed. “Hank was supposed to stay home with the children while I shopped, but there was a problem at the sawmill and he had to head out there for the afternoon. I had hoped to have everything done by now, and get the children home in time for their nap, but one thing and then another slowed me down and here I am.” She lifted desolate eyes to Roxanne. “Still not finished."

  Accustomed to taking charge of her classroom, Roxanne didn't hesitate here. “Mrs. Scott,” she said with a nod to the shopkeeper. “Put those on my uncle's bill and have them delivered this afternoon, will you?"

  Mrs. Scott nodded and began to tally the items in the basket.

  Roxanne reached out and took Mary Alice's hand. “Mary Alice and Henry and I are going to head for home, while Mommy finishes her shopping."

  "Oh, Roxanne, I can't ask you to do that.” Merilee protested, but a spark of desperate hope lit her wearied eyes.

  "You didn't ask,” Roxanne said. “I offered.” She balanced the baby she held and looked, almost longingly, at the other one. “I would take all three, but I'm afraid I'd drop one of the babies.” She smiled. “I swear, I don't know how you do it."

  Roxanne turned around, a sleeping baby on one shoulder and Mary Alice's hand in hers. She felt oddly content, even though these were not her children, even though she could not be sure she would ever have c
hildren of her own.

  Deep in the darkest part of her heart, she'd always envied Merilee her family, and on a few bad days the envy had turned rather ugly, becoming more resentment than jealousy. That resentment was the reason she'd seen Merilee as little as possible over the past three years.

  But at this moment, taking charge of these little ones for Merilee, just for a while, seemed only right. There was no jealousy in her heart.

  She'd only taken a single step forward when a tall figure filled the doorway. She lifted her head, and smiled instinctively at the sight before her. Mary Alice squealed and yanked her hand away as she sprinted forward.

  Turning to Merilee, Roxanne said, “Well, this works out just fine. Hand that baby over to Cyrus."

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  Chapter Fifteen

  How had he gotten roped, so easily and quickly, into this duty? Little Chloe insisted on gnawing on his shoulder as she squirmed in one arm, while Mary Alice held his hand and chattered happily. Beside him, Roxanne seemed amazingly content to cradle a sleeping baby in her arms. A quick glance confirmed that Henry continued to sleep, slack against Roxanne's chest without a care in the world.

  "You know,” he said testily, and in a very low voice so Mary Alice wouldn't hear, “Merilee Smith could hire someone to watch her children."

  Roxanne shot an amused glance in his direction. “How can you say such a thing?” She whispered so as not to disturb Henry. “A mother doesn't want a stranger caring for her babies. Most days Merilee handles everything just fine. She was just having a difficult afternoon and I offered to help."

  Cyrus grumbled beneath his breath, and the baby in his arm answered by reaching out and grabbing his ear, giving a good, hard tug.

  "Thank you for the licorice, Mrs. Robinette,” Mary Alice said with a joyful skip.

  "You're welcome,” Roxanne said softly.

  "I thought you were still mad at me, since I ran into you the other day and made you drop your papers.” Mary Alice cocked her head so she could see past Cyrus to Roxanne.

  "That was just an accident. Of course I'm not mad at you."

  "You sure looked mad,” the little girl said in a disbelieving voice.

  Roxanne smiled softly. “Perhaps I was angry with myself.” She raised a hand to Henry's fair head. “For being so clumsy,” she added.

  "You don't have to whisper,” Mary Alice skipped forward, tugging on Cyrus's hand. “Once Henry falls asleep he's not waking up until he's good and ready, no matter what's going on around him. Why, Chloe can cry and cry and cry, right there in the same room, and Henry sleeps right through it."

  Mary Alice continued her discourse on her siblings’ habits, happily sucking on a whip of licorice between complaints and the occasional compliment.

  Henry didn't cry as much as Chloe, she said, but when he did cry he was much too loud. Chloe was the most fun to play with, but sometimes she liked to bite, and since she was teething she slobbered too much. Mary Alice made it clear she couldn't wait for her brother and sister to grow up.

  Roxanne held little Henry with such tender care it was obvious how much she wanted children of her own. On occasion, during their slow walk toward the Smith house, she would smile for no apparent reason. Her fingers caressed Henry's spine and the back of his head as if she couldn't get enough.

  Chloe clamped down on his shoulder again, and Cyrus contained a vile curse by the greatest force of will. Of course Roxanne was content; her bundle of joy didn't bite.

  "Stop that,” he said sternly, and Chloe answered by turning her face up and assaulting him with big blue eyes that filled instantly with tears. Her chin shook and her pink lower lip trembled, and she wrinkled her pert little nose, gearing herself up for a good cry.

  "Sorry,” Cyrus said in his most soothing voice. “Don't cry.” He forced a smile that only pushed her closer to tears. “I tell you what,” he said, shifting the baby in his arms. “Go ahead. Chew on me all you want."

  Beside him, Roxanne laughed softly. “For a tough, no-nonsense sheriff, you certainly do fold easily."

  He glanced at Roxanne as Chloe tried to climb over his shoulder. She was surprisingly strong for one so small. He dragged her back down and she immediately clamped her mouth to his shoulder. Thank goodness he wore his leather vest; there wasn't much skin in this particular mouthful.

  "It's the big blue eyes,” he confessed. “I swear, I'd rather face a loaded gun any day."

  Roxanne laughed, and then she fixed her own big blue eyes on his face as they finally reached the Smith house.

  Mary Alice led the way to the nursery upstairs, where both babies were put to bed. Henry, of course, simply continued to sleep. Chloe started to fuss, until Mary Alice fetched her favorite blanket. With the small quilt in hand, Chloe flashed a heart-grabbing grin at Cyrus, then closed her eyes.

  Mary Alice had a tea party planned, and she took Cyrus's hand to lead him back downstairs. At the doorway to the nursery, he looked over his shoulder to watch Roxanne hover over Henry's crib.

  "I'll be down in a minute,” she whispered. “I just want to make sure they're napping soundly before I leave them up here all alone."

  Cyrus hesitated while Mary Alice tugged impatiently on his hand. This was what Roxanne wanted; babies, family, chaos.

  He'd decided long ago that he didn't need chaos. He needed peace. There had been no peace in his years on Gil's farm. In the years after he ran away, survival had been his only objective, as he worked his way from place to place, from job to job.

  The closest he'd ever come to true peace had been in his early years in Paris, but the war had come along to turn his new home and everyone in it upside down.

  For four years he'd felt responsible for every poorly trained boy who came along, for every sad, unfit soldier and homesick husband. There were moments when he swore he didn't want to be responsible for anyone ever again.

  Making that promise to Louis had made him responsible for Roxanne's life and her happiness. Falling in love with her threatened to change everything.

  She wanted children of her own, and while Cyrus had always rejected the idea of taking on that kind of obligation, he wondered, as he watched Roxanne, if it wasn't already too late. He wondered if there wasn't already a child, his child, growing inside her.

  The real hell of it was, if there was a baby she didn't know it was his. What the hell had he done?

  Mary Alice led him away from the nursery. Before they reached the stairwell they strolled across a long section of hallway that looked over the foyer, and there the little girl stopped to grab the rail with her one free hand and look down.

  "Sometimes it makes me dizzy to look down,” she said as she moved on. “Does it make you dizzy?"

  She led him downstairs and directly to the kitchen, and there they arranged a plate with freshly made shortbread. When did Merilee find time to bake? The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was spotless. Merilee Smith was perfectly put together whenever he saw her, walking with her children or shopping or at church. Hank seemed to be disgustingly happy and, for a thin man, well fed, and the children were certainly well cared for. So, when did the woman sleep?

  They were walking toward the parlor, shortbread in hand, when Mary Alice lifted her head. “Look down,” she said loudly. “Does it make you dizzy?"

  Cyrus turned about and lifted his head. Roxanne stood above, her hands on the banister, her eyes intently locked on him. His heart skipped a beat. She couldn't possibly recognize him, not like this. Still, her head tilted strangely to one side as she studied him. She looked at him, for a split second, as if she saw something that didn't quite fit. As if she were puzzled. As if he were someone else.

  Merilee threw open the front door, her arms full of packages, her smile impossibly wide, and as she thanked Cyrus for his assistance, he made a quick, cowardly escape.

  It was another beautiful spring day, just windy enough for a few of the children to be flying their kites, just cool enough for Roxanne to n
eed the thin shawl she kept wrapped around her shoulders.

  Getting ready for church this morning, she'd rejected the rose-colored dress in favor of the gray she'd worn to church a hundred times, but standing before the mirror, ready to go, she'd heard Cyrus's soft voice. Wear the pink dress. So while Ada and Josiah waited impatiently, she'd quickly changed her dress.

  The look on Cyrus's face when he'd seen her had made her bravery worthwhile. He'd looked pleasantly surprised and, a moment later, oddly cheerful. Sitting just a few pews up from her family, and on the other side of the aisle, he'd glanced over his shoulder more than once during the service. She'd pretended not to notice, of course.

  Watching his back when she should've been listening to the sermon, her eyes on the set of his shoulders and the strength of his neck and the way his dark hair lay against that handsome neck, she'd recalled the moment she'd looked down from the Smiths’ upstairs hallway to see him standing below. For a second, no more, she'd had the strangest feeling that she'd looked down on him just so before. There was such familiarity in the way he walked, in the way he lifted his hand when he spoke to Mary Alice. She'd quickly dismissed her foolish notions, crediting them to the softness of the moment, the warmth in her heart, and plain old wishful thinking.

  Yesterday's wishful thinking put firmly behind her, the church service already forgotten, Roxanne sat beside Cyrus in Mallory Park. They had the blanket that he'd brought to themselves, and both of them were comfortably full of Ada's rolls and braised chicken and Roxanne's apple pie. Cyrus had stretched out on his side, and with his eyes half-closed he looked like he wanted nothing more than to lie back and take a nap. He looked, in fact, quite content.

  She was at ease with Cyrus in a way she'd never been with Calvin. Why had she so stupidly set her cap for a man she didn't know? Calvin had never been anything to her but dreams and fantasy, escape from the lonely prison she'd built for herself. Cyrus was no fantasy; he was real and true and good, and no matter what he said he was a man who needed a woman and a family.