Home Before Sundown Page 26

  “Yeah.” George glanced at him. Frank had volunteered to take the kids to see the sights, such as they were, and they finally had some time alone together.

  Bart was lying on the bed in their hotel room, admiring the sight of George fussing with his hair. Bart liked the fact it was longer than men usually wore it—he loved burying his fingers in it when they kissed or made love—but it wasn’t as long as a woman would wear it. If anyone asked, George would give a delicate cough and tell them he’d had to have it cut after he came down with a fever.

  “You know if anyone comes asking after you and the kids, my family will play dumb.” For a second, Bart thought uneasily of Mary Beth. Sam Pickett had managed to get a message to him that Mary Beth had been awfully curious as to their whereabouts and almost threw a tantrum when he questioned her about her curiosity. Bart would talk to George about it later. Now…Bart swung his legs off the bed and crossed to where George stood. “And you know Frank’s family really do think he’s on his way to California by way of steamship.”

  “I know.”

  “But you’re still nervous.” Bart wrapped his arms around George, and George sighed and leaned back against him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” Bart turned George to face him and tipped up his chin. “We’ll pack up the wagon tomorrow morning and head out.”

  “You mean it?”

  “I do.”

  “That’s what you said when the preacher asked if you’d take me.”

  “And I always will, especially in bed.” Bart reached down to squeeze George’s rump, and frowned.

  “What is it, querido?”

  “I know it’s handy having you wear a dress—I can kiss you whenever I want, and no one will object. But this damned bustle…I can’t get a good grip on you.”

  George burst into laughter. “We can’t have that.” He turned and moved his hair out of the way, giving Bart access to the row of buttons that ran down his back, and Bart got busy with them.

  He pushed the gown off George’s shoulders, and it slid down his body. He wore stockings fastened just above his knee by fancy blue garters that matched his eyes and that Bart had bought for him. His father’s knife was tucked into the one on his left leg. Cotton drawers hung low on his hips, and Bart turned George to face him. Bart almost couldn’t catch his breath; George’s prick was very hard, causing the drawers to stick out in front of him. “Oh, I like that.”

  He wrapped his fingers around Georgie’s prick, and George moaned and rocked his hips, encouraging Bart to hold him tighter, which Bart was more than willing to do. George might not be as tall as most men, but he was nicely endowed when it came to his male parts.

  Bart ran his lips up the column of George’s throat and nipped George’s ear, pleased when he hummed his pleasure.

  “Know something, querido?”

  “What, hummingbird?”

  “I never thought I’d get a honeymoon.”

  “I’m glad I could marry you and give you one.”

  George had known of a preacher on Houston Street, and once he’d put on a dress, Bart had hailed a cab and taken him there to exchange vows.

  “Do I know you?” the Reverend Stephens had asked, peering intently at George.

  “No, sir,” George said in a breathy voice. Fortunately, since the reverend wore spectacles, he couldn’t see very well and took George at his word.

  And when the reverend blessed the ring and handed it to Bart to slip on George’s finger, Bart had been concerned to see the tears in his wife’s eyes.

  As they drove back to Sam Pickett’s office, Bart caught a tear on his finger. “What’s wrong, hummingbird?”

  “Nothing. Papa forget to get the ring for Mama when he married her. You remembered.”

  “It’s just a plain gold band.” He’d found it in Mr. Feinstein’s shop.

  “It’s perfect.” George held his hand out and admired it. “You’ve made me so happy, querido.”

  Bart took George’s hand and kissed the ring. “I’ve made me happy too.”

  He unfastened the tapes that secured the bustle’s frame to George’s slim hips, and it collapsed onto the floor. “Now, suppose you come here.” He held out his arms.

  “But you’ve got too many clothes on.” George stepped out of the frame and grinned at him.

  Bart grumbled and hopped from one foot to the other while he yanked off his boots, then stripped off his shirt and trousers. With that done, he opened his arms again. “Satisfied?”

  “That you’re naked, yes, more than I can say! But that you’re there and I’m here…no.” George barely gave Bart time to chuckle before he leaped into Bart’s arms and sent him toppling back onto the bed.

  He closed his hands over George’s rump, rocked up against him, and shivered as George enclosed their pricks with his own hands and pulled and stroked and drove them insane.

  It didn’t take long—they were still too new to the pleasure of having each other whenever they wanted—and soon they were coming.

  “I love you, hummingbird,” Bart murmured when he finally caught his breath.

  George turned his head and whispered words of endearment in Spanish. He didn’t need to translate them—Bart would never forget their meaning—”My soul, my life, my heart.”

  He was sorry George’s life had so much sadness in it, but Bart had him now, and he’d make sure it was filled with happiness from now on.

  Bart smiled and closed his eyes. Just for a minute or so, he promised himself.

  * * * *

  He woke to the sounds of whispering.

  “Have you washed your hands and faces?”

  “Yes, Georgie.”

  “All right, then go on down to the restaurant with Frank. Bart and I will be right along.”

  “Hurry, Georgie! We have so many interesting things to tell you!”

  “We’ll hurry.”

  Bart could hear the sound of pattering feet, Frank’s deep voice, and then the door closing. He cracked open an eye. Fortunately, George was dressed, and he’d taken the time to draw a blanket over Bart before he’d opened the door.

  “You’re awake?”

  “I am. How long have I been asleep?”

  “Just a couple of hours.”

  “I won’t be able to fall asleep tonight.”

  George waggled his eyebrows. “Why do you think I let you sleep?”

  He laughed and got off the bed, realized Georgie had cleaned the spend from his belly and groin, kissed him, and pulled on his clothes.

  “Do you think Frank suspects anything?”

  “If he does, I don’t think it will matter to him. Three musketeers, right? Now, come on. After we eat, we’ll make a list of what needs to be packed.”

  “So bossy.”

  “Darned tootin’.”

  “Just a second.” Bart caught George around the waist and pulled him into a long, thorough kiss. Finally, he set George away from him. “All right, I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”

  “Worked up an appetite earlier, did you?”

  “As you said, darned tootin’.” Bart kissed the tip of George’s nose and escorted him out of their room and down to the hotel’s restaurant.

  * * * *

  George packed away his fancy dresses and their bustles, and laid out more suitable clothing for traveling. And as Bart promised, they were on the road by midmorning the next day.

  * * * *

  Two months later, they arrived in St. Joe, Missouri. Captain Marriott was out of town just then, so they took the time to buy some furniture for the house Bart intended to build for George and packed the disassembled pieces into the wagon.

  He was especially pleased with how George carried on over the bed Bart had selected for them.

  “There will be so much for you to do, querido.”

  ‘You too, getting the ranch set up for cattle and horses.”

  “Our own place.”

  “And the thought of having you in that bed in
our place will be an incentive to get the work done fast.”

  Almost as much of an incentive as the kiss George pressed to his lips.

  George began to get nervous again, but before things got too bad, the captain rode into town.

  “Uh…where’s George?” The captain looked confused, and Bart exchanged a sly grin with George.

  “Captain, let me introduce you to my wife, Georgiana.” Bart had to fight back laughter as the captain’s eyes grew huge and his jaw dropped.

  “George?”

  “It might make things less confusing if you call me Georgie.” George looped his arm through the captain’s. “Come on,” he said softly. “We’ll tell you all about it.”

  * * * *

  “You still have Bella,” George said as he stroked the mare’s soft nose. There were threads of silver mixed in with the gold of her coat now.

  “Yes. I gave Salida to a good friend. I’m sorry, Georgie.”

  Bart was pleased the captain remembered to use the right name. It could cause problems if he had to keep correcting himself.

  “Will he take care of her?” As much as George might want to object, Bart knew he wouldn’t—he’d sold the horses to Captain Marriott after all.

  “He will. I wouldn’t have let him have her otherwise. He’s a reliable young man.”

  George nodded. “Thank you for seeing to that.”

  “I…uh…have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Ask away.”

  “I ran into a family of five in Independence who are looking to settle in the Badlands. They want me to be their wagon master.”

  Bart slid an arm around George’s shoulders. “They’re going in the same direction we are, hummingbird.”

  “A family of five, you say?”

  “Yes, the Foxes, a husband and wife, a boy a little older than Chris, and two little girls who are around the same age as Charlie.”

  “I think it would be a good idea. Is he a rancher?”

  “No, a farmer.”

  “Well, we need crops.”

  “Then you don’t object?”

  “Not at all.”

  “You’re a good man, Georgiana Pettigrew.”

  “Georgiana Hall, Captain.”

  “You two really got married? I can’t get over that.”

  “Do you object?”

  “Not my place to. I’m just pleased you’re happy, Georgie. Now, come on. I’ll take you to meet Albert and Judith Fox and their children.”

  Chapter 41

  Nate scowled at his mother and the man she’d taken up with. They’d got a letter from Bart and were so fucking happy that his oh-so-perfect brother was on his way west.

  Oh, yeah, Nate knew about that. He’d overheard them talking about it just before they left the apartment. It was a good thing the walls between his room and the parlor were so thin, otherwise he wouldn’t have known anything, because Ma and that bastard Sam Pickett wouldn’t have said a word about where Bart was going.

  Bart and George Pettigrew were out of this tenement, and Frank Thompson was going to practice law in California.

  And meanwhile, Nate had to work sweeping floors in Bradway’s Dry Goods instead of working for a lawyer like Frank Thompson had been.

  Mary Beth walked into the room and smirked at him. “You’ve got a puss on.” She was always taunting him.

  “Get lost.”

  “Don’t be like that, Natey.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, don’t call me that!” He turned his scowl on her.

  “Language, little brother.”

  He could feel the heat in his cheeks, and he growled.

  “What’s bothering you?” she asked.

  “Ma got a letter from Bart.”

  “She did?” All of a sudden Mary Beth looked interested. “What did it say?”

  “How should I know? Think she lets me read it? Think she’ll let any of us read it? Get out of my way. I have to go to work.”

  “Nate.” She had a honeyed tone to her voice.

  “What?” In spite of himself, Nate paused.

  “You don’t like working for Bradway’s, do you?”

  He huffed. “That’s no secret.”

  “Mrs. O’Connor might know someone who could give you a better job.”

  “Yeah? Who?”

  “I’ll take you to see her, and she’ll tell you. But first…”

  Nate knew there had to be a catch, but he really hated working in the dry goods store. “What?”

  “Can you get Bart’s letter? Mrs. O’Connor used to know George, and she’d like to hear about him.”

  “Take the letter from Ma? So someone who isn’t family can read it?”

  “Get off it, Natey. You don’t care about the family.”

  “Then why should I do it for you?”

  “Because I’ll do something for you. What do you say?”

  He turned away from her, as if he didn’t care one way or the other and was going to leave the room, but he knew he’d do it. Anything to get out of Bradway’s. He stopped and glanced at her over his shoulder. “I reckon I could do that.” He went back to her and grabbed her wrist. “But if you’re making a fool of me, I’ll tell Ma.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I never thought there was any love lost between us.”

  “Nate, my feelings are hurt! You’re family!”

  As if family mattered a hill of beans to either of them. “All right. I’ll get it. Then what?”

  “Once I’m done helping Ma make the goat cheese, you’ll come with me to Mrs. O’Connor’s boarding house.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? I’ve got work, y’know.”

  She huffed. God, Nate hated when she did that. “Work a couple of hours, then tell Mr. Bradway you’re feeling sick, come home, and find that letter.”

  “He’ll think I’m lying.”

  “What do you care? You’ll have a new job, and what he thinks won’t matter a tinker’s dam.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay. Now hurry up.”

  * * * *

  Nate wouldn’t admit it if anyone asked him, but he was nervous meeting Mrs. O’Connor. She was a beautiful woman, a little older than Ma, but she looked a lot younger. Well, she hadn’t had eight kids to raise and a husband who wound up dying when the youngest had just been born.

  Mary Beth led him in through the kitchen entrance. “Now give me the letter and wait here. I’ll tell her you’re here, then come get you.”

  He handed her Bart’s letter. “And she’ll really get me a good job?” He worried his lower lip. He’d read the letter before he gave it to her, and it didn’t seem to contain anything of importance.

  “I said she would, didn’t I?” She left him standing in the middle of the room that felt almost as big as their whole apartment.

  Kitchens didn’t much interest him, so he just stood picking at his fingernails.

  His head shot up when the door opened.

  “Nathaniel Hall?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m Mrs. Keogh, Mrs. O’Connor’s companion. She’ll see you in her office.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He followed her to another room at the back of the house.

  Mrs. Keogh knocked on the door.

  “Come.”

  She opened the door and stood aside to let Nate enter. “Master Hall, Deirdre.”

  “Thank you, Eilis. You can leave us. Oh, and send for a cab, please.”

  Mrs. Keogh nodded and closed the door behind her.

  Nate stood shifting from one foot to the other while Mrs. O’Connor studied him carefully.

  Finally, she spoke. “You did a very good job, Nathaniel.”

  “Th-thank you, ma’am.”

  She tapped the letter against her palm and smiled warmly at him. “I understand you’re looking for a position more suitable to the station in life you wish to attain to.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I believe I know just such a one. I’ve sent wor
d to Mr. St. Claire—are you familiar with the name?”

  “Uh…no, ma’am.”

  She murmured something he barely caught. Why would it be excellent if Nate hadn’t heard of the man?

  “Mr. St. Claire lives on Park Avenue. However, we’ll meet him at his father’s home in Gramercy. He’s been looking for an assistant.” She rose and shook out her skirts, then waited until Nate jumped forward to open the door. “Nicely done. Yes, I think you’ll do very well.”

  He followed after her, unable to tear his gaze from the gentle sway of her hips as she sauntered down the hallway to the front door. Mrs. Keogh held her coat, and again, Nate jumped forward and took it. While he helped Mrs. O’Connor on with her coat, Mrs. Keogh opened the door.

  “Don’t hold dinner for me, Eilis.” Mrs. O’Connor took Nate’s arm, and he thought he’d burst his buttons as he escorted her down the steps to the cab waiting at the curb.

  * * * *

  Nate tried to contain his curiosity—he didn’t want to come across like a country bumpkin—but this house was even more lavish than Mrs. O’Connor’s. He stole glances around as the housekeeper showed them to a room off to the side.

  “You have news for me, Deirdre?” The man sitting behind the desk had thinning blonde hair and washed-out blue eyes. Nate stared in uneasy fascination at the right side of his misshapen jaw.

  “I do. This is Nathaniel Hall. Nathaniel, this is Mr. St. Claire. He’s the man you’ll be working for.”

  “Eh? Oh, yes, yes. Of course,” Mr. St. Claire said.

  “Nathaniel, why don’t you find the kitchen and tell the cook to give you some cookies and a glass of milk.”

  Milk and cookies? Nate grimaced, although he made sure she didn’t see it. Why did everyone treat him like a kid? He took his time leaving the room, intending to hear as much of this conversation as he could.

  “Young Master Hall has brought me a letter that might be the answer to your dilemma, Lewis.”

  “How many times have I told you to call me Mr. St. Claire?” But then he brushed that aside. “Let me see it.”

  Nate glanced over his shoulder in time to see her giving him the letter. Mr. St. Claire took it with his left hand. That was when Nate noticed his right hand was missing, and he shuddered.