Longing for Julia, page 4
“I’ve come to say hello, Julia. There’s no need to be afraid.”
“Take your hands off me,” Julia demanded, wrenching free of his grasp. When she looked at him as if he had the plague, Ryan struggled with uncertainty. It had been a long time since he’d felt such misery around a woman.
He’d once been in an earthquake on the northern border of India, and that was how it now felt, watching Julia. While he stared at her upturned mouth, the straight nose and crystal-blue eyes, he felt as if the shaking ground couldn’t hold him, that no matter where he ran, he wouldn’t be safe.
After ten years, the curves of her body had softened, but they still made his body ache. He wished he could say that she hadn’t changed, but she had weariness in her eyes now, harsh lines on her forehead and, at times, a hollowness to her voice. Still, her olive-hued skin was beautifully taut, and her eyes dazzled him with her intelligence.
For a brief time when they’d been lovers, she had been so receptive to his conversation, so giving in her nature. And how had he repaid her? By taking something from her she could never regain. Her virginity.
He should have known better. He should have done better. Then she’d fled back into Brandon’s arms. Many a night in Africa, Ryan had lain awake wondering whether Brandon had ever discovered she’d lost her innocence. Since she’d married Brandon, Ryan’s competitor must have known.
Julia snatched her hat off the bed. She took her newspaper, too.
“Hey,” he said, “that’s mine.”
“I’ll give you next week’s paper for free.” With skirts whirling, she grabbed her notebook off the bed and stretched to reach her pencil, which had rolled under the pillow.
“But I want this one.”
She refused to return it.
He twisted forward to help locate the missing pencil, his bare shoulder brushing her clothed one. Her touch could still shake him. “I can try and explain about my absence, Julia, but—”
“You had ten years. Not a word, not a letter.”
“That’s why you’re so angry—”
“You have no right to tell me why I’m angry.” She jammed her straw hat onto her head. The blue feathers shook.
“I didn’t write because I thought you hated me.”
“I do.” She extracted her pencil. “Aha, here it is.”
“Thanks for the homecoming.”
“What did you expect? All you Reids are nothing but spoiled men. You always seem to get what you want.”
How much more of this did he have to swallow? “How the hell do you know what I want?”
“You want whatever pleases you this instant, with no regard for consequences.”
He swallowed hard. “If you didn’t still feel something for me, your face wouldn’t be so red.”
“What a vain thing to say. Just as high-and-mighty as pretending you didn’t know me when I walked through that door.” She went to walk away, but he grasped her wrist.
The blue satin ribbons from her hat fell down her shoulders, intertwining with her auburn braid. His gaze traveled the length of them, lingering where the outline of her corset strained against the cotton fabric of her blouse. Her hair was longer than it used to be, and the color had changed to something indescribable. It sparkled red in sunlight but turned a deep brown-chestnut when she stood in shadow. Her curves looked just as tempting as they always had.
Glancing lower, he caught sight of the newspaper that had fallen to the floor. An ad in the bottom corner caught his attention because her name was written at the top. “‘Wanted, one gentleman husband.’ What is this?” He laughed heartily as he read further. “‘Seeking a refined man of quality. If you have a respectable steady occupation and enjoy family life, please schedule an appointment with Miss Julia O’Shea at your earliest convenience.’”
Julia was after a husband, and the poor thing had to advertise for one. “That’s what you’re hiding.”
The deep crimson of her face and icy gleam in her eyes telegraphed what she thought of him in a way that no words could.
Oh, those eyes.
Boldly, he dipped his face close and kissed her.
She froze. Ever so gently, he withdrew the pressure on her mouth, until he coaxed her lips to respond.
So she did feel something. There was that exciting draw between them. When he stroked the back of her neck, every part of his body tingled.
When Ryan yanked Julia closer, she allowed it. Pressing forward, he slid his hands along her waist. She was everything he remembered, and more.
She broke free and pushed against his chest with all her might.
Caught by surprise, Ryan staggered back.
She turned the knob behind her and flung the door wide, leaving the newspaper at his feet.
“I suppose I deserved that, for pretending that I didn’t know you.”
“No,” she said, pivoting back around, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen from his kiss. “You deserved that for assuming you still do.”
CHAPTER 4
Julia hoped her shop might provide a safe haven for a few hours, or even a few precious moments to collect her wits after that horrendous kiss, but she was mistaken. Chaos reigned.
Grandpa, Pete and David were handing out the remaining newspapers to half a dozen distributors, while David’s monkey, Willy, scurried across the counters. Willy had been left behind years ago by a traveling circus, and now, whenever David allowed, spent hours with young Pete. She was used to the sight of a monkey, but most strangers weren’t. Monkeys were uncommon on the prairies. Adding to the commotion, three of the most unlikely men looked up from the counter to nod at Julia as she burst into the shop. She felt a nervous twitch in her chest. Perhaps they were here about her ad.
At the counter stood Todd the barber in his shiny brown vest, plus Mr. Shapiro, one of the town’s newest barristers, and Mr. Rossman, the mercantile owner.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Julia flew behind the counter, shoved her straw hat onto a lower shelf and faced the three men.
“Ma!” Pete raced up from behind. “Is lunch ready?”
“Haven’t you already eaten?” She glanced at Grandpa.
“We thought we’d wait for ye,” Grandpa replied in his Irish lilt. “Where were you just now?” Grandpa rolled up his sleeves and stared at the three men.
She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d just seen Ryan Reid. She had to break it to him gently, alone. She feared his reaction.
“I—I already had a bite to eat while you were collecting Pete from his cousins’.” It was just a little white lie. There was so little food to go around, and only two pickled eggs left. She’d been counting on payment from her two suppliers this morning to stock her pantry shelf with several cans of beans, but it would be difficult to do now, since they’d paid her with rags and tin.
Grandpa eyed her. “Are you sure?”
Julia nodded toward the back hallway that led to the rooms where she, Pete and Grandpa lived. “You two go on ahead. The boy’s hungry.”
As they walked away, Julia scanned the shop and noticed that David’s picnic basket had already been delivered by his two elderly aunts, who took good care of him. He bit into a huge yellow apple as Julia spun back to the three men at the counter. The fragrant scent of the apple—even if she only imagined it—made her stomach growl.
But she heaved in a breath and smiled at the lineup. “Now then. What can I help you gentlemen with?”
Todd wasn’t shy. “About this here advertisement you placed, Miss O’Shea. I can tell you with undisguised candor that I’m interested.”
If only he were forty years younger. Julia was somehow pleased that he was showing an interest, and didn’t want to embarrass him by turning him away in front of the others. “Drop by tomorrow, Mr. Mead, around eleven forty-five. We can speak then.” That was roughly the same time David’s elderly aunts, both unattached, came in to deliver their picnic basket, and Julia would introduce them to Todd. They were more compatible in age.
“That makes me…utterly rhapsodic.”
“Pardon me?” asked Julia, amused by his language.
“I’m pleased.” The barber smiled, revealing a straight row of teeth. He did take meticulous care of himself. Julia had never seen such lovely teeth on a person his age.
When he left, Mr. Shapiro, heavyset and wearing a wool plaid suit, stepped up with hat in hand. “I’m here to ask you out for dinner tonight, Miss O’Shea, at the fancy hotel. Just this morning, they received a shipment of frozen lobster on the eastern train. Their seafood never lasts long.”
“My goodness.” Julia fanned herself. This quest to find a husband might prove to be exciting. “I’ve never tried lobster.” A full meal sent from heaven.
“Then you must. If I come back at six o’clock, would that be suitable?”
“Yes, quite. Thank you.” Her mouth watered at the thought of ordering anything off a menu. How many years had it been?
He tipped his hat goodbye.
Sharp and to the point. She liked that. He did breathe a little too loudly, and his gait was a bit lazy, but she reckoned it was due to the hot spell and having to wear such heavy suits in his line of work. Lobster! Instinctively, she wondered if she could bring home a portion of her meal for Pete and Grandpa. Maybe if she brought a square of linen in her bag this evening…
Glancing through her front windows, she watched Mr. Shapiro walk by on the boardwalk. Fancy that. An accomplished man like him interested in her. And why not? She glanced beyond his rounded shoulders to the Prairie Hotel. No sign of anyone at the front doors. No Ryan Reid. Irritated with herself for looking, she brought her attention back to Mr. Rossman.
He leaned over the counter. “I’m here for the ad, too.”
“Why, Mr. Rossman, you’re already married!”
“It was my wife who sent me.”
“Good grief. What on earth are you two thinking?”
“The missus has a nephew who’s new to town.”
Julia wilted with relief. “Oh, it’s your nephew.” She eyed the old man. Mr. Rossman’s wife was twenty years his junior, which would make her nephew even younger. “How old is he?”
“Don’t know for certain. Twenty-five. Twenty-six.”
Good heavens. Julia was thirty-two. That would put him possibly seven years younger. The age gap was likely too much for her. She wondered if he looked young or old for his age. She didn’t want to become a town spectacle.
Mr. Rossman seemed to notice her hesitation. “He’s a fine young man with steady employment.”
She lowered her voice. “May I be candid, sir?”
“It’s the only way to be.”
“Why does he need you and your wife to speak for him?”
“Because he doesn’t know about the ad yet. He’s been out of town for two days as a scout for the wildfires.”
“A scout?”
“He’s a sergeant with the Mounties. Sergeant Holt MacAllister.”
“Oh.” On the whole, Mounties were hardworking men devoted to the community. Of course, not all of them were desirable. She gazed again through the dusty windowpanes toward the Prairie Hotel. This time, Ryan burst out of the doors.
The sight of him startled her. Dressed in a black shirt and brown Stetson, he didn’t bother to glance toward her shop before sauntering down the street in that self-important manner that David had so aptly described. She found it painful to watch Ryan. Painful to acknowledge that a part of her heart was still so shaken at seeing him again. Painful to realize that the chasm between them had widened into an insurmountable valley. Painful that at the age of thirty-two, she hadn’t been able to overcome the hurt and sorrow he’d caused her when he left.
She swallowed against the big ball in her throat. She had other dreams now. Spectacular dreams for herself and her son. And goodness, she was eating lobster tonight. Turning back to Mr. Rossman, she smoothed her lace collar. “Do tell me more about this sergeant.”
Ryan headed to the bank to make a small deposit of gold. He’d suspected the sight of his scarred jaw and missing earlobe would garner the attention of a few folks, but by the time he reached the bank’s front doors, irritation had set in. Three barefooted boys, roughly twelve years old, were following him along the sagging boardwalk.
“Go on,” he said. “Run along.”
“What happened to you, mister?”
“Nothing special. Go on!”
They shrieked and dashed away, dirty feet flying.
Indoors, it was cooler and darker. Ryan’s eyes adjusted to the light as he headed to the teller’s cage, deposited his gold, then asked to speak to the bank manager.
“Well, well, well. The Edge is back in town.”
Ryan wheeled around to face an old acquaintance. It surprised him that this man with a gray beard and ramrod spine was the bank manager. The friendly teller left abruptly while the two men assessed each other.
“Cleveland Bosley.” Ryan extended his hand, but Bosley declined the handshake, which left Ryan feeling slighted. “Bank manager, are you? And how’s your wife?”
Through gold-rimmed spectacles, Bosley’s eyes flickered over Ryan’s face, then settled on the slashed earlobe. The banker grimaced. “Still heartbroken that you made our Johnny skip town.”
“He wanted to be a boxer. I didn’t give him that skill.”
“You showed him how to use it.”
They wouldn’t settle anything by talking. They never could. “How’s he doing?”
“Heavyweight champion of New York.”
Not bad. It was what Johnny had always wanted. “I’m here on business, Bosley. Can you help me or not?”
Bosley raised his hand. There was an envelope in it. “I suppose this is why you’re here. It came two days ago.”
Ryan accepted the letter. When he had passed through Toronto, he’d asked a teller at a branch of this bank to forward his mail. Judging by the return address, Worldwide Antiquities, this was the letter he’d been expecting. “Mighty obliged. My regards to Mary.”
At first, the manager didn’t respond. Ryan knew no kind words would be said about him at their dinner table tonight.
The man adjusted his stiff tie. “I’d like you to take your business elsewhere.”
“But I just deposited—”
“There’s a savings and loan across the street. Or the Imperial Bank around the corner.”
Fighting humiliation, Ryan rubbed his jaw. “All right.”
When Ryan turned back to the teller’s cage, the handful of people in the room—three customers in line, plus two other tellers—grew uncomfortably silent. To top off his disgrace, Ryan waited twenty minutes before he was served again, pretending he didn’t hear the whispering, didn’t see the awkward shift in people’s postures. His original teller no longer smiled as she served him.
It took another forty-five minutes to open a new account at the Imperial Bank. Thankfully, no one in there knew him. But as soon as he walked out, he bumped into Val Zefield and his brother.
“Hell,” said Val. “Look what the snakes dragged in.”
“Good to see you again, too, Val.” Ryan crossed the road to keep the peace. There were women and children passing in the streets and they didn’t need to witness anything nasty.
“I’ve been waitin’ a long time, Reid.”
Ryan pressed on, but felt an unexpected hand on his shoulder. Turning, he raised his arm to protect himself from Val’s swing. Ryan dodged the first jab, but Val slugged again. Ryan twisted away but was hit hard on the shoulder. He stumbled backward.
“I’ve been picturin’ doing that for nearly ten years. I lost a lotta money the night you ran out. A hundred and fifty dollars. My whole damn house because you lost that fight!”
Ryan cradled his sore shoulder. Nothing broken. “You should have bet on someone better.” As much as he wanted to pound the life out of Val, Ryan controlled his burning temper, and backed away instead.
When Ryan had been younger and more impulsive, he would have had it out with Val right here in the street.
Val and his brother glared, then spat in the dirt. “Some Edge.” They laughed and sauntered away.
Ryan picked up the envelope that had fallen to the ground, and nodded to a group of concerned women that he was all right.
Once on the battlefield in Africa, when the wounded men on stretchers, dozens of them, had overflowed beyond the walls of the medical tent, and the flies had created a constant hum, Ryan had run out of suturing material. He’d made himself a promise as he looked at his assistant, Adam Willeby, the young man who’d bequeathed Ryan his violin—just before rebels shot him in the head. No matter how bad things got in the future, no matter how miserable Ryan might feel, he knew that nothing could ever be as desperate as that moment. He’d bargained with the Almighty. Not that he really believed, but he didn’t disbelieve, either. He’d promised never to complain about his own life again, if the Lord would just see fit to send him more suturing material to stitch the wounded. As soon as he’d voiced the thought, Adam’s violin came to mind. It had been the best use of violin strings Ryan could imagine. Adam had died nonetheless. But two other men were walking on the planet at this very moment who still had violin strings holding their joints together.
Being slugged by Val was nowhere near as bad as sewing up men with violin strings. Ryan folded his letter and tucked it in his shirt pocket, deciding to read it later. Right now he had unfinished business. He swallowed a trickle of blood and headed for O’Shea’s Printing Shop.
Ryan spotted Julia the moment he walked through her shop door. Removing his cowboy hat, he acknowledged to himself that he didn’t have to answer any more of her newspaper questions. But in all the time he’d known her, this was the only thing she’d ever asked of him. Even strangers on his journey had asked more of him than she had.
