Silver Hearts. Jackie Manning

he had been dismissed. Well, let her get gussied up for whomever she thought would be waiting for her in Crooked Creek. For once, she wasn’t bothering him.

      He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but the ping of the rain pelting the metal washbasins echoed above the storm like rifle shots.

      “Jeezzo, woman! What other kind of torture will you think up next?”

      Noelle chuckled as she slipped inside the thin bedroll and blew out the lantern. Outside, the wind and rain droned like a coyote howling at the moon. Despite the storm’s fury, she felt safe and protected, thanks to the disquieting man who slept beneath her wagon.

      

      Noelle bolted up from her bedroll, wide awake. She glanced about. Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed, then another clap of thunder boomed. The wagon creaked against the wind. Brushing the loose tendrils from her face, she laid back against the makeshift pillow. Would the rain prevent them from reaching Crooked Creek by tomorrow? If so, would Luke go on ahead without her?

      Another crack of lightning lit the sky, then earsplitting thunder. Suddenly, Noelle remembered the basins of rainwater. A gift from heaven.

      Wrapping the shawl about her shoulders, Noelle braced for the storm. Wind tore at her as she wedged her way to the ground. As quietly as she could, Noelle crept to the enameled pans. Delighted to find them almost full, she lugged each container back inside the wagon.

      Excitement rushed through her as she realized this was her first preparation for the most important event in her life since her father died. Of course, deciding to leave New York City had been the most important decision, but finally to meet her uncle—the only relative she had. Yes, it was decidedly the most important event.

      Noelle carefully poured the precious essence of lilac into the cold water. The fragrance always restored her spirits with happy memories. She smiled as the sweet floral essence filled her lungs. She felt as if she were ten years old, hand in hand with her mother, strolling Central Park after attending Noelle’s father’s Saturday matinee performance at the Niboli Theater. How her mother had loved the hedge of blooming lilacs along the park.

      A sudden sadness wrenched her as she remembered her mother’s tearful surprise when Noelle purchased the essence of lilac for her mother’s birthday. Noelle had tutored students in Latin and mathematics to earn the extra money. She knew the perfume was extravagant, but that was why she bought the gift She knew her mother would never lavish something so expensive on herself.

      Noelle blinked back the sting of tears. The smell of lilacs also reminded Noelle of her own wish. Someday, she’d have a house and garden, just like the one her mother had always wanted. But Noelle would have her dream, unlike her mother, who had no choice but to settle for the rented rooms above Harrison’s Saloon where Noelle and her parents lived.

      Noelle put the thought from her mind as she poured the soft water over her head. Then, she soaped her long hair, enjoying the simple luxury. When she’d finished, she carefully squeezed the thick, white lather from her coils of hair before dipping her head into the rinse bucket. The rainwater felt silky to her fingers. Definitely a gift from heaven.

      Soap stung her eyes. She muffled a cry as she squeezed her eyes shut while carefully feeling in the darkness for the towel she had carefully laid on top of the trunk. Suddenly, the water bucket tipped and a whoosh of water spilled into her lap. She forced her eyes open.

      “What the hell!” Luke yelled, coughing and sputtering below the prairie schooner.

      Oh, no! Noelle felt her way in the darkness for the lantern. She reached on the top shelf for the Mason jar filled with matches. “I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Savage,” she offered. Her eyes stung with soap as she forced herself to see. “I-I tried not to disturb you—”

      “Disturb me? Jeez, woman! You just drowned me.” Her fingers shook as she lit the lantern. “I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Savage.” She winced at the thought of him beneath the wagon, jarred from sleep by the deluge of water between the floorboards of the wagon.

      She crouched down beside the sputtering lantern, moving clothing and boxes out of the way of the spilled water.

      Suddenly the curtain jerked back and Luke stood, glaring at her. Black hair streamed down his face, his shirt and vest were splotched with white suds, his leather pants and boots glistened with dampness, and essence of lilac permeated the air.

      “Mercy!” Her hand shot to her mouth as she took in the sight of him.

      “Where’d you think the water was going to go?” Luke’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. His anger vanished, replaced by a feeling like a boot kick to the stomach. In the soft yellow lantern light, Noelle bent over the spilled water bucket. The neckline of her gown dipped provocatively over one shoulder. He caught sight of the dark cleft between her breasts.

      Cursing himself for the effect she had on him, Luke tried not to look at the wet-stained bosom where a long tangle of hair, the color of saltwater toffee, fell over one shoulder.

      “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, jumping to her feet. Her nipples were hard beneath the thin, wet nightgown. Suddenly aware of her appearance, she grabbed her shawl and pulled it modestly around her. Unfortunately, the gesture did nothing to halt his imagination of how she would look, naked beneath him.

      She rose to her feet, clutching a thick towel. Before he could say anything, she took a step toward him and daubed his wet shirt and vest with the cloth.

      “I-I’ll do that,” Luke managed to growl, yanking the towel from her. Their fingers touched, and he felt as if he’d been struck by the lightning streaking outside the wagon.

      Noelle released the towel as if it were a hot branding fork. She stepped back, suddenly self-conscious for touching him. “I-I didn’t mean—” Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “I-I’m so sorry.” She stroked her wet hair, as though she didn’t know what to do with her hands. He wondered if she could possibly feel the same way as he did.

      Of course she didn’t. She was a proper New York bluestocking, and she trusted him, damn his soul. She had no idea what low-down thoughts were going through his mind faster than a Nevada jackrabbit.

      He forced his gaze away, but in his mind, he could still see the way her breasts strained against the drenched, sheer cotton nightgown. “I’ll dry myself off with the horse blanket.” He chanced a darting glance at her. “Here, you need this worse than I do,” he said, tossing the towel back at her.

      Noelle shivered, catching the towel. For the first time, Luke realized that she might take a chill. He took off his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders.

      “Dry your hair and change into warm clothes. I’ll bring you some whiskey to chase that chill.”

      “Whiskey?” Her chin lifted a notch. “Amelia Bloomer says that liquor is the devil’s own hell’s broth. Look what trouble those poor Indian braves encountered after drinking Mr. Douglas’s whiskey, besides—”

      “Who the hell is Amelia Bloomer?”

      She sniffed. “Amelia Bloomer is the publisher of Lily, a very respected ladies’ periodical—”

      “You’re in Nevada, Little Miss Sunshine, not New York City. Here, whiskey is medicine, among other things.” He turned and shot out of the wagon while he still could. He swore, then put on his hat while he trudged to his saddlebags. He reached inside, pulled out the bottle of whiskey and gulped a generous swig himself. Noelle’s shadow was silhouetted against the schooner’s stretched canvas, reminding him of her every feminine curve, much to his consternation.

      Damn, what did he ever do to deserve this temptation? He swallowed, then strode back toward the tailgate. He could force himself to be a gentlemen for one more day. But once they reached Crooked Creek, that lady was on her own, Uncle Marcel or no Uncle Marcel.

      “I said I don’t drink spirits.”

      He pulled out the cork and handed the jug to her. “This might be the only thing