Ballad Beauty Read online

  The small woman whisked through the door, a steaming bowl of oatmeal in her hands. “I couldn’t bear the thought of sending you off without something hot sticking to your ribs. It’s quite chilly out there.”

  “You are so thoughtful. Thank you.”

  The older woman shrugged. “Least I can do for you. You’ve got a long ride ahead of you. I cain’t understand why you have to go off so early, though.” She handed Jenny the wooden bowl. “Now eat up.”

  She spooned a bite into her mouth. “Mmmm. This certainly hits the spot.” She placed the spoon back in the bowl. “Mr. Webster feels that we should leave early every day. I am not as experienced a rider as he, and so he would like us to take a longer break in the afternoon once we eat, so I can rest some before we set out again.”

  She dipped the spoon in and swallowed another bite. She looked at Mrs. Swenson. “That seems to be a reasonable and sound plan, don’t you think?”

  Mrs. Swenson snorted. “I suppose. Though why you’d want to set off on such a back-breaking trip to the middle of nowhere is lost upon me. Won’t find anything better than Texas, mark my words.”

  Jenny savored another bite of her breakfast. “I’m anxious to meet up with my father. I would do just about anything at this point to reach him.”

  As soon as she finished her oatmeal and gathered her things, she looked at the watched pinned to her bodice. Six o’clock sharp. Mr. Webster was to meet her in front of the hotel at any moment. She hurried down the steep stairs quietly, so as not to wake Mr. Swenson, and eased the door open.

  She stepped outside, and the cold air settled around her like a blanket. Thank goodness they weren’t undertaking a long journey from Boston. She couldn’t imagine riding in one of those harsh winters. Everything she’d read, though, assured her that the day would warm up considerably. She thought back on her last few days in Texas and knew that to be true although her guide last night warned her about blue northers.

  “Just when you think the weather is doing tolerably well, Miss McShanahan, a blue norther will whip down from the Panhandle and sweep across the state faster than lice jumping on a schoolboy’s head.”

  “I assume that means it gets very cold.”

  “Colder than a witch’s tit on a frosty day.”

  She remembered pinkening slightly at his turn of phrase, but Noah Webster went on speaking as if nothing were out of the ordinary. She wondered if he said things to make her deliberately uncomfortable. She certainly did a lot of blushing in his presence.

  She walked with her valise down the steps to the uncobbled road. She caught a glimpse of Mr. Webster and watched him come up the street. He was a very handsome man, almost too handsome for his own good. He was astride a beautiful black horse that had a touch of white on his forehead.

  Come to think of it, he had a glib tongue, as well, and though she’d told him she enjoyed his conversation, she wondered about it now. He was probably what would be termed a charming rogue. She wondered again if she should trust going off with a total stranger. In her other life, it would be against her better judgment, but she was starting fresh now. She was stuck with Mr. Webster and he with her.

  He was leading an unfamiliar horse, as well as a pack horse laden with their supplies.

  “Where is my horse, Mr. Webster?” She found she hadn’t kept the snooty schoolmarm tone from her question because he raised his eyebrows at her.

  “Your horse, Miss McShanahan, is back where it should be. In the stockyard. I had Whitey trade it for a new one.”

  “You had no right!” She slammed her suitcase to the ground for emphasis.

  He dismounted from his horse and strolled the few paces to her. “I had every right, ma’am, seeing as to how I’m your guide. That nag you chose wouldn’t have made it twenty miles before it keeled over. You have a nice piece of horseflesh now. She’s even-tempered and should be fairly easy for a greenhorn to handle.”

  He walked to her new horse and brushed a hand along its flank. Jenny had to admit it was a lovely horse, a deep chestnut color. She moved closer and lifted a hand to stroke its silky coat. With one pat, she fell in love.

  “Now shall we help you mount this replacement and be on our way?”

  Before she could reply, he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the horse as if she were lighter than a floating balloon. Startled, she griped the horn of the saddle. Then just as suddenly, he pulled her back down.

  “You look might pretty, but that’ll never do,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Now what?”

  “You’ll have to change, Miss McShanahan.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Not this again.” She crossed her arms. “My outfit is perfectly fine. I felt very comfortable in it for the limited time I sat upon my horse. Which, by the way, Mr. Webster—what is her name?”

  Noah looked surprised at her question. “Why?”

  She blew out a noisy breath, not trying to hide her irritation with him. “She must have a name, Mr. Webster. How can you expect me to ride her without being able to talk with her?”

  He wore a bemused look on his chiseled features. “She doesn’t have a name.”

  She pressed him further. “Does your horse have a name?”

  “This here’s Star, ma’am,” he said with pride.

  “Then I’m sure you see my point.” She leaned over and petted his horse. “Hello, Star,” she cooed. “I’m Jenny, and this is . . .” She eyed her mare speculatively for a moment. “Sassy. We’re going to be traveling together. I know we’ll have a nice trip.”

  She swept a gentle hand along her own horse’s flank. “Hello, Sassy, dear. I know we’ll get along famously. I’ve always wanted a horse, and you’re a real beauty. I’m going to need lots of help, though. I know you’ll take good care of me.”

  She looked to Noah. “Well? Are we ready to leave or what?”

  “Not till you take off that corset.”

  Her face immediately registered bright red. “I beg your pardon! That is not a matter for discussion, sir.”

  Noah tipped his hat away from his forehead. “We’ll discuss it and anything else I see fit to discuss. You simply cannot ride any length of time, especially as far as we need to go, in such . . .” he searched for the appropriate words, “. . . restrictive attire.”

  He had the grace to look a little sheepish. “It’s just for your own good, Miss McShanahan. Besides,” and he gave her a slow, heated look as he took in her tall frame. “You don’t really need to wear one. Your curves are already in all the right places.”

  Humiliated, she stormed back into the hotel, past a confused Mrs. Swenson, and up to the room she’d recently vacated. How dare he talk about her undergarments! She was ready to fire him on the spot.

  Instead, she practiced a few of the choicer epithets from Mulholland’s guidebook under her breath as she removed her clothing. She unlaced the corset and slipped it off, redressing hastily. And then she took a deep breath.

  Freedom.

  She took another. She couldn’t believe how liberating it was. She couldn’t remember ever having worn her clothes without a corset. She felt as comfortable as she did when she stepped into bed every night.

  She scooped up the corset and flew down the stairs, passing Mrs. Swenson on the landing.

  “Miss McShanahan. You can’t carry about your corset in public! Miss McShanahan!”

  She ignored the woman’s outraged cries. She could and would take her corset anywhere she chose. She was a Western woman now, with a mind of her own.

  Her boots clomped down the front steps of the hotel. She didn’t even feel the cold anymore. Instead, she flung the wadded up corset into her guide’s hands and placed a booted foot into the stirrup. On sheer adrenaline, she hoisted herself up into the saddle and smiled down at Noah Dani
el Webster.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  He tossed the corset over his shoulder and remounted Star. She heard him mutter, “Women,” under his breath.

  By two in the afternoon, Jenny McShanahan was hot, cranky, and saddle sore. Noah knew she was because she’d told him so every few minutes for the last two hours. He gritted his teeth for the umpteenth time and tried to ignore her prattle. Obviously, she’d been on her sweetest behavior earlier. Now it was much later, and the real Jenny McShanahan popped out. If he had known what she was really like, he might never have taken on this assignment.

  She was the exact type woman he intended to avoid for the rest of his life. She was a know-it-all, bossy, a complainer, and worse. He glanced over at her and tried to harden his heart to her.

  It was difficult to do. Jenny McShanahan had a simple beauty rarely seen. Her oval face held a beautiful complexion, as flawless as a white rose brushed with a trace of pink. Her neck was as long and graceful as those of swans he’d seen in a book once. He imagined starting at that soft mouth of hers and working his way down her jaw to that slender neck. Lord, he could spend a month of Sundays kissing that neck alone.

  Where in the blazes did these thoughts come from?

  He gave himself a good mental shakedown. Even though he continued to drown out her complaints, he couldn’t totally remove her voice from his head. When she wasn’t squawking away, she had a low, sweet voice, soft-spoken and very articulate. He was definitely attracted to her. What fool wouldn’t be? One look at those deep green eyes and any man he knew would be a goner.

  He repeated to himself for the tenth time that day that Jenny McShanahan was off-limits. She was the daughter of an outlaw, her blood probably as tainted as Sam’s. No way he would get involved with Famous Sam McShan’s daughter, no matter how delicious a curve her small, high breasts made and despite her tempting little waist. She was bad news, and she would hate his guts the minute he arrested her daddy right in front of her. No sense in borrowing trouble.

  Besides, nice girls weren’t for him anyway. He would never settle down. He had Pete’s wanderlust in him, but he’d curbed it by putting it to good use as a Ranger. Very few Rangers married. Any woman who married a Ranger would be filled with a life of disappointment and probable widowhood. No, Noah Daniel Webster was never getting married. Period.

  “If you’ll stop your caterwauling, we’ll pause here and eat us some dinner,” he said pleasantly.

  Her eyes went wide. “I am not caterwauling, Mr. Webster. I am simply explaining to you the current state of affairs.”

  “Thank you for that note of progress, ma’am. You can bring me up to date again in say, two weeks.” He swung a leg over and touched the ground. As much as he loved to ride, it always felt good to plant his feet on solid ground. He patted Star’s rump and walked around to Jenny.

  She wore a desperate look.

  “Having a problem, Miss McShanahan?” he drawled.

  Her lips formed a thin line. “I’m having trouble feeling my legs, that’s all. I fear they’ve gone to sleep.”

  “Let me give you a hand.”

  She took his hand and leaned forward, but nothing else happened.

  “I think I may need more help than a hand,” she confessed.

  He grinned. “That’s all you had to say.” He put his hands around her waist and set her on the ground. She promptly crumpled. He caught her and held her up as her legs wobbled unsteadily.

  Tears formed in her eyes. Oh, Lord, he’d be a lost soul if she cried. He’d always been a sucker for tears, his mama’s in particular, but any woman’s would do him in. Sometimes he thought women turned them on and off just to get his goat. But as he looked at her, he could see Jenny’s were real.

  Noah tried to think back on the first time he’d ridden a long distance. He recalled how stiff he was as he dismounted and how tired his bones felt, despite the fact that the horse had done all the work. His bottom had blisters rubbed on it, and he’d been miserable for a week. A pang of sympathy sprouted in him for Jenny’s predicament.

  She gripped his shoulders with fingers that seemed to be made of steel. He could feel her nails slice into him through both her gloves and his wool shirt. Damn, but he wanted to kiss her!

  “Miss McShanahan?”

  Her eyes met his. Fortunately, she held back the floodgate, but the tears swam in her eyes. He took a calming breath.

  “If you’ll let me carry you, I’ll take you over to that rock.” He motioned to it with his head. “I don’t think you’ll be walking there on your own between now and sunset.”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded slightly. He scooped her up and walked the few steps needed, concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other, doing his level-best not to think about the womanly package in his arms.

  “Now I’m going to set you on the rock, then I’d like to help rub some feeling back into your legs.”

  Most ladies would be appalled, but Jenny McShanahan looked grateful. He set her down as gently as he could and leaned back on his heels as he knelt before her.

  “May I take off your boots?”

  “Please,” she whispered. She hiked up her skirt a little so he could better maneuver the boot from her leg. He figured about now her bottom and her legs would start stinging as the feeling returned, so he kept up a constant conversation to distract her.

  “These are awfully nice boots, ma’am. Not quite what we have around here, but they’re nice all the same.”

  She grimaced as he began working the first one off. “They’re men’s boots.”

  He stopped and studied her.

  “Oh, go ahead. Don’t stop. My legs are starting to feel like I’ve fallen in a bed of pine needles and decided to dance in them.”

  “That kind of stabbing sensation?”

  “Yes!” she threw out as the first boot came off. “I have rather large feet for a woman. I suppose it’s because I’m so tall. I’ve always had trouble finding shoes. When Papa sent me some money to buy a few new things, I knew from Mr. Mulholland’s guidebook that I would need sturdy boots. The sales clerk told me that they made no sturdier—ouch!”

  “Sorry.” He eased off her woolen stockings and saw what she meant. She had feet longer than most men he knew, but they were perfectly shaped, each toe better than the one beside it.

  He handed her the stockings and began massaging her legs. She moaned a few times, and he began to grow hard. Oh, God Almighty, this would never do. Here he was in the middle of nowhere, stroking the long, alabaster legs of Sam McShan’s daughter, and they were the best set of legs he’d ever had the pleasure of touching.

  Noah turned until his back was toward her and sat on his heels, placing her legs on his thighs. At least his front side was hidden from her view this way. He continued his circular motions for a few minutes, and she quieted considerably. Thank goodness she didn’t sound like a painted lady anymore.

  Jenny was in heaven. At the first touch of Noah’s hands on her leg, she almost jumped six feet into the sky. No man had ever touched her before. All the rules of propriety that Miss Thompson ground into her echoed through her head. An unmarried lady did not spend time alone with a gentleman without a proper chaperone, much less let him massage her bare feet and legs.

  But did Miss Thompson have a glimmer of how good it could feel? Through the stinging sensations that darted up and down her legs in a frantic dance, she sensed a marvelous warmth rushing along her, past her legs and into the pit of her stomach, spreading faster and faster. She had no control over it.

  She wondered what had come over her to go off with a handsome stranger, much less let him stroke her intimately less than a day into their journey.

  She didn’t care. She was a Western woman now, one who was simply being practical in the situation. She may have cr
ossed a line she’d never even considered existing before, but the West was a radically different place. She could toss a bit of pride aside and let Mr. Webster help make her a bit more comfortable. That’s all it was. Besides, no witnesses to this spectacle meant no gossip would reach anyone’s ears.

  Noah reached over and took one of the stockings from her and carefully slid it back up her leg. He repeated the action with the other.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know I must seem brazen to you. Normally, I would never allow a man to take such liberties.”

  “You’re in a bad way, Miss McShanahan. Don’t worry about it. I told you last night—do what you think is right and to heck with what others think.” He looked around them. “No one’s here anyway to think poorly of you.” He smiled wickedly. “Well, maybe Miss Sassy thinks less of you than she did before.”