Longing for Julia, page 7
After that disclosure, Shapiro tore off a long thin claw from his lobster, then slurped the juices until they dribbled down his chin.
The preacher was just as noisy, but not as sloppy. “A fine meal. Fine meal.”
Julia kept her head bowed over her plate. She finally took a bite of lobster tail and began to chew. And chew.
“How is it?” Ryan asked, since no one else seemed to notice this was her first time eating this exotic dish.
The preacher and lawyer turned their heads while cracking open the guts of their lobster.
Julia paled. “Very good. The texture is a little strange. Sort of like a rubber boot.”
Ryan tried to suppress a smile.
“Now then,” continued the preacher. “Let’s get right to the heart of the matter. The sanctity of marriage includes the intimate privilege of man and wife. Do you two intend to have children?”
Julia gasped, brought her napkin to her mouth and struggled to rise. “Please excuse me. I’m not feeling well and must return home.”
The preacher rose from the booth to let her out. She leaped to her feet and made her excuses. “Please, gentlemen, finish your dinner. I’ll be fine and I’ll—I’ll see you another time, Mr. Shapiro. Thank you for dinner.”
All three men were on their feet as they watched Julia run through the crowd, dodging seated customers. Shapiro had his checkered napkin tucked neatly inside his collar. It draped over his suit like a bib. “What on earth is troubling her?”
The preacher continued to suck on a claw, but winked at Ryan. The preacher had scared her away on purpose.
Ryan was sorry about what had just happened. “I’ll go see if her indigestion has gotten the better of her.”
“Yes, thank you, Doctor,” Shapiro called after him. “Do go and see what ails my future wife.”
CHAPTER 6
“The first time I ate lobster was when I watched them drag some out of the Indian Ocean. I couldn’t believe we actually boiled those beautiful creatures.” Ryan caught up to Julia on the boardwalk as the setting sun moved across store rooftops. The rays cast a rich orange glow over her skin and turned her hair that deep auburn shade that mesmerized him. Behind her shoulders, eighty miles to the west, the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains formed a rugged ridge.
“I don’t care when you first ate lobster. Please stop bothering me.”
Julia’s paisley bag bulged in her arms. It looked heavier than it had appeared in the restaurant. Could she have taken…? No. Ryan banished the thought.
He tugged the brim of his hat. “Is your indigestion acting up? Perhaps you have an aversion to seafood. That can be dangerous. I once saw a man in India choke—”
“It was very rude of you to join us at our table.”
“I noticed that you’re quite taken with Shapiro. The way he eats his lobster—”
“You have no business judging him.”
“On the contrary, I was just observing.”
“I shall—I shall be seeing him tomorrow.”
“Do you have many like him in the running?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“If I were you, I’d go for a stronger man. One who can chop a cord of wood while knee-deep in snow.”
“Really? Is that the type of man you’d fall for, if you were a woman?”
Ryan cast his eyes over her, all dressed in navy as if she’d just come from church. He ran a hand across his black shirt. “I can honestly say no one’s ever asked me that before. Let’s see…if I were a woman, what type of man would I fall for?”
He tilted back his Stetson and laughed softly. “I don’t rightly know what women see in men. In my opinion, we’re a bunch of ugly mules.”
“You only like things done your way.”
“I’d agree with that. We are mostly self-centered.”
“Only want us when you need something.”
“I told you, we’re mules.”
“Most of you have only one thing on your mind.” When she gave him a pointed scowl, Ryan knew what she meant.
“Unlike Mr. Shapiro,” she added. “Why, maybe I should take him up on his offer, if only to have time away from the bed—”
She stopped herself from finishing, squeezing her lips together.
Her admission was unbelievable. “He doesn’t want you in his bed?”
“Never mind.” The wind mingled with her hair. “It’s an inappropriate topic.”
“Between who? You and me? Or you and your future husband?”
She huffed in response and increased the length of her strides.
He gasped. “There haven’t been any men in the last five years, have there?”
“None of your business.”
“Intimacy is important. It’s not healthy for a woman your age to be totally inactive. You’re suppressing—”
“And you’re an ugly mule.”
“We’ve already established that. What you don’t seem to see is that you’d be willing to give up that part of yourself that makes you human, that makes you whole. I may not believe in marriage, but I believe the passion between a man and woman is sacred—”
“I do not wish to discuss this with you.”
She accidentally hit his thigh with her bag. He thought he detected the scent of fresh baked rye bread.
“Sorry,” she snarled, as if not the least bit contrite that she’d smacked him.
“Don’t marry that man. You and everything beautiful about you would go to waste. Pick someone smarter. Pick someone who makes your heart speed at the thought of making love.”
The way that his had on their night together. “Remember?” he whispered.
“Yes, I remember how it was with Brandon.”
Ryan was unprepared for the wallop to his heart that her words brought.
They continued along the boardwalk. Golden light glittered across the hemline of Julia’s navy skirt as she walked. The same light washed across her face and cast shadows along her throat. He noticed she’d removed her velvet choker for the evening.
Ryan thought he heard a strange sound and wheeled around, hand on his gun.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Put your hand on your gun at every sound?”
“I guess I’m jittery at the thought of possibly being punched in the face again.”
“Grandpa was never able to mask how he feels.”
“Unlike his granddaughter.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s…it’s hard to read you, Julia. I used to be able to tell how you felt just by the way you moved. Now I’m not sure what you’re thinking even when you speak.”
“Good.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your son?”
She kept walking, silent.
They turned down a dim alleyway toward her back porch.
“Do you have any other children?”
“Only Pete.”
“He looks just like Brandon.”
“Yes. I’m very proud.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about your boy?”
“Maybe…I didn’t want you to hurt him, too.”
Ryan sighed. “I had no idea you were ill when I left town,” he said as gently as he knew how. “The thought of that tears me apart. I’m sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago.”
“Scarlet fever is one of those illnesses that wracks your body.”
“As a doctor, you would know that, but—”
“Did you get the high fever? The painful throat?”
She nodded but didn’t add more.
“There’s a danger of it spreading to your heart. Was there any problem—”
“I’m fine, Ryan.”
“Did you have much pain? The vomiting and abdominal pain—”
“It worked through its course,” she said, hushing him. “I have no idea where I picked it up, and to rest your physician’s concern, it didn’t spread to anyone else. And let me assure you,” she added, “the past is no longer important.”
Her meaning was clear. He was no longer important.
They reached her back porch and she leaped up the stairs.
“I’d like to ask you something.” Ryan was uncomfortable being on her property, especially since she wanted to escape him so badly. He pushed back his Stetson so that he could see all of her, standing two feet above him in the beaten-up alcove. “Supposing you were gone for a long time, separated from your family and friends. Maybe you felt some shame at how you might have left things with them. Supposing they wouldn’t accept your apologies. What do you think would be the best way to approach the people you feel you might have…might have hurt badly?”
She pressed her heavy bag against her chest and studied him. “That would depend on them. If they felt that my word had been untrustworthy, then I would have to rebuild my integrity in their eyes. But for some folks, integrity can’t be rebuilt. Once you’ve lost it, you’ve lost it.” Her words were softly spoken, but their sting was sharp. “I suppose I would take my cue from how they reacted upon seeing me again. If they…they shoved me away, or punched me, or told me point-blank to stop bothering them…then I would show my respect to those people for once in my life, and keep my distance.”
With that wretched announcement, she disappeared into the dark shadows of her home, allowing the screen door to slam in his face.
Julia arose to the early morning sun streaming through her bedroom window, wondering what her meeting with Sergeant Holt MacAllister would bring today, and hoping not to see Ryan again for quite some time.
Her conversation with him last night on the back porch had unnerved her. Afterward, she’d tossed in her bed for hours, churning with all sorts of unwelcome feelings. She was angry that Ryan assumed a simple apology could make up for what he’d taken from her, and she was disappointed in herself for letting it matter so much.
At the breakfast table, she deflected Grandpa’s questions about her dinner with Mr. Shapiro, saying only that the loss of his first wife was too recent to go forward with another marriage. Grandpa seemed satisfied with that, but Pete wanted to know more. As he inquired about the men, she passed her son two slices of the rye bread she’d saved from her dinner at the Picadilly last night.
“Who do you think’s gonna win?” Pete asked.
“It’s not a matter of winning or losing,” she replied. “I’d like to find a friend we can both count on when we need him.”
“You mean like when we need someone to lift the heavy crates of ink?”
“More than physical strength.”
“You mean like when there’s a dance and you wanna go?”
“That’s part of it. Mostly what I mean is that I’d like someone who’ll be on our side, just like Grandpa always is. If there’s a storm outside, or one of us gets sick, or for fun things like going swimming in the river with us on a beautiful sunny day.”
Julia kissed her son on the cheek, helped him rinse his teeth with cleansing powder, then walked him to his cousins’ house. The little boy, Max, was already waiting with a game of checkers set up. Brandon’s eldest sister, Anna, always smothered Pete with love. She greeted him fondly as soon as she saw him, allowing Julia to run her errand with just a trace of guilt at leaving Pete behind.
Julia met Mr. and Mrs. Rossman at their mercantile, and the three of them set out for a walk to the depot. Holt’s train from the Rockies was scheduled to arrive at nine o’clock.
Grandpa had agreed to introduce the barber to David’s elderly aunts in the print shop later this morning, thereby relieving Julia of that duty. Grandpa had also agreed to hand-deliver letters of rejection to three other would-be suitors. One had been rude to Pete. One was a widower with seven children of his own and seemed interested only in a nanny. The third was a miner who surely hadn’t bathed in months.
Counting Mr. Shapiro—whom Julia was avoiding at the moment—Holt would be her sixth candidate. She wasn’t hoping for much, but the Rossmans were decent people and perhaps their nephew, if he didn’t look too young, would be an interesting choice. At least at his age, the odds were in his favor that he could keep up with the vigor of seven-year-old Pete.
Mrs. Rossman, a short round woman with a ruddy complexion and friendly manner, waved to her nephew as he stepped off the train. Mr. Rossman remained silent beside Julia.
Julia felt a tingle of heat race up her skin at the sight of Holt MacAllister in uniform. Due to the crowd, he didn’t spot his aunt and uncle immediately. He leaped off the train with a duffel bag slamming against his broad back, and curly light hair skimming the collar of his red tunic. He looked a bit worn at the edges, perhaps from having been stuck in the woods for a week and unable to properly shave or bathe. Julia found the tiny imperfections attractive. Hardworking men had always appealed to her. They showed strength of character and dependability. The Mountie uniform and half-grown beard made Holt look strong, but she had to admit, with some discomfort, that he seemed a bit young. Younger than her.
Holt peered down the platform at a group of two or three other Mounties. To Julia, they were a blur of red uniforms and dark breeches. Her eyes were on him.
The other scout accompanying Holt, a red-haired, youthful man, jumped off the train and headed toward the troops.
“Come this way,” Mrs. Rossman urged her. “We’ll catch up with him at the end of the platform and I’ll introduce you.”
Julia fell into step behind the buxom woman, while Mr. Rossman followed. Julia was careful not to allow her newly pressed beige skirt and lace blouse to scrape against anything dirty. She adjusted her velvet choker and swung her loose hair over her shoulder.
With a sigh of pleasure, Julia bounced to Mrs. Rossman’s side as Holt reached the waiting group of Mounties.
“Holt, it’s so wonderful to see you’ve come back without harm.” Mrs. Rossman reached up on tiptoe to give her well-built nephew a hug. “Your uncle and I would like to introduce you to someone special.”
A nervous smile touched Julia’s face as Holt stepped back to take a good look at her. Appreciation sparkled in his eyes.
“Sergeant,” one of the Mounties said, stepping through the crowd. “Good to see you back. We’re here for your report on the wildfires.”
Julia turned toward the Mounties. She recognized the voice. Her heart fluttered. Ryan. Also dressed in full uniform, he was several inches taller than the other brawny men, and was staring, perplexed, at Julia.
Why did he have to be here? Was it some sort of cruel joke that he always appeared when she was conversing with potential husbands?
“Yes, sir,” Holt replied to Ryan with an easy nod.
Julia sent Ryan a well-deserved scowl. He glanced from her to Holt. His expression turned from curious to a smug grin.
She wanted to kick him. What did he know of her or her dreams?
Ryan gave her a covert signal with his hand, indicating that her choice was not bad. As the others introduced themselves to Holt and his family, Ryan leaned in close to Julia’s ear and whispered, “A little young, isn’t he?”
“Button your lip,” she whispered back, vexed beyond belief. “Perhaps his youth could coax me out of my so-called suppression.”
“In the bedroom, experience is better than youth.”
Ohhh! He knew just the thing to say to make the tide of crimson rush up her cheeks.
“And now,” said Mrs. Rossman with the poorest of timing, standing aside to clear a direct path from her nephew to Julia, “we’d like to introduce you to Miss Julia O’Shea.”
Julia uttered a flustered hello, stepped forward with an outstretched hand and prayed that the Rossmans would not announce to everyone here that she had placed an ad for a husband. Surely, they would sense the need for privacy.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Holt, enveloping her hand in both of his. His smile was warm and gracious. He glanced at his aunt but said nothing more, as if he, at least, could sense the need for a private conversation.
Why had Julia agreed to meet him at the station?
Falling behind the Mounties as they walked beside the boxcars, Julia supposed she was enthusiastic to meet him because of her dismal failure with Mr. Shapiro. Or perhaps she was eager to prove to Ryan that she could find a match who suited her just fine. Or maybe there was a secret desire to meet the man who might be interested in a woman seven years his senior.
Weaving along the platform’s edge and questioning the two scouts on the status of the wildfires, Ryan found Julia’s choice of Holt MacAllister amusing. What could a mature woman find appealing in such a young man?
It would fizzle to nothing, Ryan was certain.
He preferred to concentrate on his task. Since his medical skills weren’t needed at the fort for the moment, Ryan had requested active duty, so that he could get to know some of the Mounties beneath his command and dive right into police work. The superintendent had asked Ryan to meet and question these Mounties.
Everyone followed the two men to the boxcar that held their horses. While Holt and the other scout, Evan, retrieved their bays, Ryan noticed across the crowded platform that another train had arrived, this one from the East. A strange-looking fellow caught Ryan’s attention.
He was a short, heavyset man in a gold plaid suit, with a bushy ponytail. Ryan overheard him ask the porter carrying his bags to direct him to the nearest hotel.
The porter mumbled something Ryan couldn’t make out.
“Yes,” the newcomer declared. “From Worldwide Antiquities.”
Ryan grumbled in disappointment. So the fellow had arrived. Ryan supposed he could simplify things and walk across the platform to introduce himself.
But he had little patience with incompetent people. Still annoyed that the company had dispatched a dealer without his permission, when he wished to keep his affairs private, and that the spelling in their letter had been so poor, Ryan decided more pressing things needed his attention.
