Forever Love Page 4

  “There was pain…before. When I thought you’d never love me. It still hurts that you never trusted me enough to legally marry me.” How strange after all this time that wound never healed.

  Her hand reached up to gently cup his cheek. “You know why I couldn’t do that, love. After what I’d been at the saloon, no one in town would have accepted me as your wife. I couldn’t ruin you like that. I loved you too much. If only things had been different when we met. There just weren’t many opportunities for women to support themselves back then. Truth be told, there still aren’t.”

  Beau shook his head in surrender. “I know—but I didn’t care. Still don’t. I just told you—whether we were wed in church or not, I always considered us married. You’re more important to me than what anyone else thought—or thinks.”

  He slapped his forehead with his hand and almost fell backward off the banister. “Drat. You’d think I’d have the hang of this after all these years.” He leaned over to brush a kiss against her cheek. “Don’t you see, Angel? Hank has the same problem. All his life he’s lived with the stigma…of us. Of his ma.” He moved his fingers over his chin in contemplation before continuing. “Our Ella was one of the most beautiful women ever—aside from you, of course.”

  Angel smiled sadly and nodded. Why had things seemed so important then, yet had little value now…now when it was too late to change them?

  “But,” Beau continued, “she made the same mistake we did. She didn’t get married. Hank’s lived with that all his life. Never thought he was as good as everyone else because he didn’t have a pa. It doesn’t matter that Henry would have returned and married Ella if he hadn’t gotten killed in that there battle. All Hank knows is he was born on the wrong side of the sheets.”

  “Don’t say that. I hate it!”

  “It matters little how you say it, Angel. To our Hank it means one thing—he’s not good enough to court this young woman. So, yes, you have the right of it.”

  Angel’s brows furrowed. “I do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m right? Can I announce that to the world?” A mischievous grin slowly spread across her lips.

  “No one would hear you, Angel. We’re spirits. Now pay attention. What we have to do is…”

  * * * *

  Hank awoke with a start. Darned if it didn’t feel like someone had hit him on the head. Whatever had awakened him had ruined a perfectly good dream. One in which he’d been kissing Jessie Ashbury.

  You fool!

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed. Man, he had it bad. He thought of the woman all day—and dreamed about her all night. He’d never felt this way about anyone before. Protectiveness. Jealousy. Desire. Oh, he’d felt desire before, but this was different. This was Desire with a capital D!

  This was madness! He had to stop thinking about her. Dream of kissing her? He huffed in disgust. He’d never even gotten close enough to kiss her. She belonged to another man. No. She…didn’t belong to another man. Her husband was dead. His mind’s eye still saw her crying over her man’s grave. But in truth she was now fair game for every unmarried man in Redrock City. And any man that rode into town. He hated that thought. Did she miss being cradled in a man’s arms at night? Sheltered from anything and anyone that might harm her? He would do that if she’d let him. He’d protect her if it took his last dying breath.

  What did it matter? She hadn’t gone out with him since she’d been here. She’d gone for a buggy ride with Andrew so he could show her the area surrounding the town—even though it was all covered with snow now. She’d never go out with the likes of Henry Morrison Beaumont. Oh, he had a fancy name. Had been named after his pa, or so his ma had told him. But his last name was still Beaumont. Just like hers had been. If the man had loved her so much, why hadn’t he married her before he went off to fight? Why hadn’t he married her before they…? Like they’d learned in church. That you waited. He’d tried to ask her those questions growing up, but she’d always brushed him off by saying it was too painful to talk about.

  Painful to talk about? It was a whole lot more painful living it. Being the brunt of jokes. Being ridiculed by folks in town. Being talked about behind his back. How many times had he been snubbed by people because he didn’t have a pa? Because his grandmother had been a madam? Well, he’d shown them all. He was one of the most prosperous men in town. People didn’t snub him anymore. He had too much money.

  But he was still lonely. And a respectable woman like Jessica Ashbury would never have anything to do with him. But he wanted that. Wanted Jessica Ashbury.

  He’d never loved anyone before. Had never had anyone take his breath away. Tear down the walls surrounding his heart. And she’d done it with one look. But no matter how much he wanted, that look was all he’d ever have.

  Loud banging sounded at his door. “Hank Beaumont, you answer this door this instant!”

  Jessie? What…? He started to walk to the door. Stopped. He couldn’t answer it naked! Wouldn’t that just take the words out of Miz Jessie’s mouth? Reaching for pants slung over the chair beside his brass headboard, Hank pulled them on, then headed for the door to silence the pounding. Unlocking it, he pulled it open to find a furious Jessie on the other side.

  “Miz Jessie? What are you—”

  Catching him off-guard, she pushed him aside, giving her enough room to storm into his personal suite above the saloon. “Don’t try that innocent game with me, Mister Beaumont.” Stepping forward, barely glancing around his room, she began beating him with her fists. Tears glistened in her eyes. “How could you…? How could you…?” She swallowed, clearly unable to continue.

  Gently, Hank stilled her hands with his, loved the softness of them. “Jessie, you can’t be here. How did you get inside the saloon? Ladies can’t come in there.” He glanced around his room. To him it held everything he’d ever needed—a bed, a dresser, a table and lamp. To her he imagined it lacking, just like he was probably lacking in her eyes. “And you’re not just in the saloon now, Jessie. You’re in my rooms. If anyone found out…”

  Her chin quivered. “What? I’d have to leave town? That’s what you want, isn’t it? You don’t care what anyone thinks of me, you just want me gone.” She plunked down on the side of his bed and buried her face in her hands. Hank closed his eyes. This was too much. The woman of his dreams was in his room, sitting on his bed. On the bed where he’d just had a very vivid dream.

  And she was crying. Doggone it. He moved toward the bed, threw caution to the wind and sat beside her. He gently cupped one of her hands within his. “What’s wrong, Jessie? Why are you so upset?”

  Her tear-filled eyes rose to his. “Why do you hate me so much?”

  “Hate you?” His brows furrowed. If she only knew.

  She didn’t say anything, merely brushed the back of her hand across her cheek to wipe away the tears.

  “I don’t hate you, Miz Jessie. I…” Watch it! He’d almost revealed too much. She might be upset, but she’d laugh in his face if she knew the truth. The likes of her could never love someone like him. “I don’t hate you.”

  “Then why are you trying to humiliate me?”

  He put his arm around her. She tried to pull away and he tightened his grip. “Jessie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just woke up before you started pounding on my door.”

  Her eyes widened as she looked at him—really looked at him. At his disheveled hair, bare chest. Her eyes swept across his rumpled bed linens. Embarrassment flooded her face. Again she tried to push away from him and this time he let her go. She rose and crossed to the window, moved the white lace curtain aside and stared out at the street below. The town was just starting to come awake—shopkeepers opening their stores.

  “Umm, Jessie, it’s probably not a good idea to stand in front of the window.” He moved behind her, eased the curtains back into place. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and draw her close. Maybe even press a kiss to the top of her head. Instead he said,
“If anyone looks up here, they’re likely to see you. I still haven’t figured how I’m going to get you out of the saloon without drawing attention. Not to mention I have no idea who saw you come in here this morning.”

  He turned her to face him. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you may be—”

  “Ruined?”

  He raised a brow. “Compromised sounds better.”

  “Not to the people of the town. It will mean the same.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “You can’t stay here any longer. Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll come to the hotel with you. Clearly you’re upset, and I still don’t know why.”

  Stepping to the wardrobe, he reached for a clean shirt. He stopped buttoning it when she said, “You rehung the portrait.”

  He spun toward her. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “As if I believe that.” She reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. Her mouth quivered and he figured tears weren’t far behind. Her tears always undid him.

  Sitting on his bed, he quickly put on socks and pulled on his boots. After fastening his belt, he opened the door, took her hand and led her out behind him.

  At the top of the stairs, he listened to voices. Several people were talking. Still too early to drink, so they were probably at the gaming tables. Probably the Faro table since he’d just put it in. So much for hoping everyone would be sleeping off a drunk. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  Turning to face her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Jessie, I’m afraid there’s no way out of…wait a minute. I’ve got an idea. Come back to my room with me.”

  “Are you deranged?”

  Maybe he was a lunatic.

  * * * *

  “You really think anyone is going to believe this?” Jessica looked over her shoulder to view her image in the cheval mirror.

  Hank thought he might swallow his tongue. Looking at Jessica’s derrière in a pair of his breeches was almost more than he could bear.

  Focus, Beaumont, focus. He hunted for the floppiest hat he had and plopped it on Jessica’s head. “Pile your hair up under the hat and pull it down over your eyes. And whatever you do, don’t stop walking. And don’t talk to anyone.”

  “Hank, the breeches are falling down. I can’t fasten my hair up and hold the breeches at the same time.” Her soft, chocolate hued eyes pleaded for help. Hank groaned. Was nothing about this woman simple?

  After hunting around the room, he finally found a short piece of rope to hold up the pants. He held it out to her.

  “Hank, I’m still trying to put my hair under the hat. Can’t you do it?”

  She’s killing me. Lord, help! I don’t talk to You as often as I know I should, but I vow, if I have to touch this woman again, without Your help, we might not make it out of the room.

  Moving forward, he stood an arm’s length away. No, this was not going to work. How could he fasten this without touching her? He stepped closer. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue edged out to moisten her lips. Her eyes met and held his. I’m going to die.

  Sighing, he closed the distance between them. Wrapping his arms around her, he eased the rope from her back around to the front. Slowly he drew the two ends together, tying them in a knot. Just as she was shredding his heart and tying it into pieces.

  His arms tightened around her as her eyes met his in expectation. Lowering his mouth to hers…he straightened and cursed. “We can’t do this! You’re a lady proper.”

  Pulling her behind him, they headed to the hallway and down the stairs.

  “Follow me. Stay right behind me and keep your head down. And remember, don’t talk to anyone. When we get in the hotel, do not stop. Head directly to your room and I’ll stay downstairs and go into the dining room. Once you change clothes, come downstairs and meet me there. Then we’ll talk.”

  He started to turn the corner to head down the stairs.

  “Hank?”

  Sighing, he faced Jessica. “What now?”

  She searched his eyes, then stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his. “Thank you.”

  His heart slammed against his chest. He couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Without another word, he continued down the stairs. She’d best be behind him, because he wasn’t stopping.

  ~5~

  Dressed in a robin’s-egg blue dress with a prim white lace collar, her ever present black ribbon on her arm, Jessica came down the stairs, her dark brown hair swept into an updo, a few tendrils escaping at the sides. Hank drank in the sight of her as she walked into the dining room and dropped into the chair across the table.

  “That was quick,” he teased. She tried to appear serious, but there was a devilish glint to her eyes.

  “Yes, well one learns to move quickly when they’re trying to pull off a charade.”

  He laughed. “You’ve done this often?”

  She pulled a face. “You know perfectly well I haven’t.” She looked out toward the registration desk. “I never would have done something so foolhardy if I hadn’t been so upset. I…I didn’t think. When I came downstairs and saw you’d hung the portrait again, I was so angry I just reacted. I never once thought about what I was doing. I just charged into the saloon and…well…you know the rest.”

  Hank arched a brow in acknowledgement. Thank the good Lord she’d found the right door to pound on. “Yes, I do.” He, too, glanced out toward the painting of his grandparents. “Except I didn’t rehang the picture.”

  “Well, if you didn’t, who did?”

  He looked at the banister, then up toward the portrait before shifting his eyes back to hers. “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

  Narrowed eyes stared back at him. “Who rehung the portrait?”

  “If I was to guess, I’d say it was Grandfather.”

  “Mister Beaumont, puh…leese be serious. You don’t really expect me to believe the nonsense you’ve had everyone telling me? About ghosts?”

  “Spirits,” he corrected.

  “What?”

  “They don’t like being called ghosts. They prefer spirits.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “Hank, this is ridiculous.” She huffed her frustration. “I will never believe in ghosts.”

  Hank groaned. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”

  Jessica poured coffee from the tin pot into her cup, then set it on the table. The cup tipped over and spilled its contents on the white linen. Jessica screamed and jumped back as the brown liquid soaked into the tablecloth and onto her blue dress. She tried to mop up the stain and keep as much of the hot liquid off her as possible, as tears rolled down her face. Suddenly, all around the room flowers mysteriously rose from the vases on the tables and were thrown to the floor.

  Eyes wide, Jessica pleaded with Hank. He stood and rushed to her side, yelling, “Grandmother, stop!”

  A flower that had been snatched, rested mid-air, settled gently back into its vase. Nothing else moved.

  Heedless of the stares around them, Hank pulled Jessica into his arms. “Jessie, are you all right? Are you badly burned?” Her head bumped his chin as she shook her head. Well, those here for the ghosts had finally gotten their show. He ran his hands up and down Jessica’s back, murmuring words of comfort into her hair. Glancing up, he saw Miz Bishop rooted to a spot in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. Although he motioned her forward, she didn’t move. Swallowing a curse, he swooped Jessica into his arms and strode from the dining room. Forget the gossips. Hopefully their talking about what they’d just seen would over-shadow his carrying her upstairs, past the greenery with little red bows wrapped around the handrails all the way up to the top of the stairs. Ah yes, Christmas was in the air—and two crafty old spirits had turned the place upside down!

  At her door, he quickly slipped inside. After everything they’d gone through to protect her reputation when in his room, here he was in hers. Without Doc. Without Miz Bishop. This time they wouldn’t be able t
o escape the talk. But it didn’t matter anymore. Because he was going to marry her. Now he just had to convince her of that.

  * * * *

  Setting her gently on the edge of the bed, Hank walked to the nearby pitcher and poured water into the basin. Dipping in a cloth, he wrung it out and took it to Jessica. “Here, wipe your face and hands. It might make you feel better. Then I need to check your burns.”

  When she continued to shake and didn’t take the cloth, he knelt in front of her, reached up and gently eased it over her cheeks to wipe away her tears. Then, with strong, sure hands he smoothed it over her fingers, her palm and up her arm, carefully searching for blisters. Next he moved to the other hand and repeated the procedure before rising and rinsing the cloth in the basin. He looked around for a towel and found one on a nearby chair. Even in here she’d started to decorate for Christmas. She had candles situated throughout the room with evergreen and red berries around the base. After drying her hands and arms, he sat on the edge of the bed, lifted her and pulled her into his lap.

  “Jessie, say something, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes rose to his.

  “Jessie?” He moved a hand gently up and down her back. She looked almost as frightened as the day he’d met her. The day she’d wormed her way into his heart.

  “Th-there was a gh-ghost downstairs,” she stammered.

  “Spirit,” he corrected.

  “Spirit,” she repeated.

  “Actually, that would have been Grandmother.” He nuzzled his face in her hair. She smelled so good. Like roses. “If Grandfather had been angry, he would have thrown things against the wall instead of just spilling something. Grandmother was considerate of the cost, so we wouldn’t have to replace anything.”

  Jessica chewed on her upper lip. “Considerate. Yes.”

  He turned her in his arms, tilted her face up. “Thank God we were late getting to the dining room. I hate thinking of how seriously you could have been burned if Miz Bishop had just brought out the coffee instead of it sitting out awhile for our other patrons. Are you okay?”