"They don't have much in the way of ready-made clothes, and what they do have would never fit you properly." Mae kissed Vance lightly. "No, I'll enjoy dressing you."

A shiver of wholly unexpected anticipation raced down Vance's spine and she groaned softly, eliciting further laughter from Mae. "You please me in ways I never imagined."

"I must go in," Mae said regretfully. "It's getting late, and I'll be missed." She kissed Vance again, both hands clasped behind Vance's neck. Breathlessly, she brushed her mouth over Vance's ear. "And if I stay here, I will need your hand on me very soon."

"Please, have you no mercy?"

"Where you're concerned?" Mae stepped down onto the running board. "None at all."

Laughing, Vance jumped down to assist her, not because Mae needed her arm, but because it pleased her to offer it. She was astounded and grateful that Mae understood that. She walked Mae to the stairs, suddenly loath to let her go. She knew what awaited Mae inside, and the image of fresh bruises on Mae's face caused a cold sweat to break out on her forehead.

"If he comes around again and I'm not here--"

"Vance, I'll not have you worry--"

"If he touches you again, kill him." Vance shivered as the thunder of cannon and hundreds of marching men closed in around her. "Don't wait. Fire first."

Mae studied Vance in the hazy yellow light that flickered from the windows above them, watching long-ago ghosts dance over her stark, haunted face. She took her hand, pulled her against the building, out of sight of the street, and framed her face with both hands. "Vance. Don't go back."

"It's all right," Vance said hoarsely, fighting back the mists of memory. "I'm here." She put her hand on Mae's waist and rested her forehead against Mae's. "I have nothing to go back to and everything to stay for."

"I'll be careful. Promise me that you will be, too." Mae pressed her fingers to Vance's mouth, then stepped away and started up the stairs. When she was out of touching range, she turned. "I love you, so you be sure to be here in the morning."

Vance pressed her hand to her heart. "You have my word."


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The sun was just coming up as Vance rode back into town. She was pleased to see that the laundry was already open, and she stopped to collect her clothes. Despite Mae's admonition that she come directly to her rooms, Vance wanted to wash off the sweat and lingering hints of sickness before going to her. The cold-water wash refreshed her, and just before seven, dressed in her best clean clothes, she tapped lightly on Mae's door. Far from feeling tired, she felt alive with expectation. When the door opened and Mae smiled up at her, the thrill of possibility shot through her. It had been so long since she had looked upon a day with anticipation.

"Thank you," Vance murmured.

Mae's eyes widened in surprise. "Whatever for?" She took Vance's hand and drew her inside, closing the door behind them.

"For reminding me what pleasure feels like." Before Mae could reply, Vance slid a finger beneath her chin, tilted Mae's head up, and kissed her. "You always look beautiful, but in the morning, you're exquisite."

"I'm not wearing even a touch of powder on my face, my robe was once lovely but is no longer new, and I haven't had a chance to put up my hair." Mae caressed Vance's cheek. "But when you look at me the way you do, I feel--"

"Cherished, I hope," Vance broke in. She turned her head and kissed Mae's palm. "Because you are."

"I don't believe I'm ready for this conversation before breakfast."

Vance laughed. "Then I shall take you to breakfast and we can resume thereafter."

"We're paying a visit to George Smith after breakfast, so anything else you might have planned will have to wait."

"I had nothing planned, only hoped for."

"Hush now," Mae said softly. She still didn't quite know how to take the attention that Vance lavished on her. She'd never been the object of anyone's true affection. Even her mother, who had cared for her as well as possible, often gave the impression that it was more duty than love that motivated her. Mae didn't blame her for that. Widowed young and with no money to tempt another husband nor skills to provide for herself and a child, she had gone into service and managed to provide a home for them both. Nevertheless, the drudgery and disappointment of her life had hardened her heart without her even knowing it. "I must get dressed, and while I do, you're to sit here on the settee."

Vance lifted her brow. "I'm not to be trusted, then?"

Mae smiled. "You might be, but I most certainly am not. I dreamed of you last night and woke up wanting you."

With a sound close to a growl, Vance caught her swiftly around the waist. She pulled her near and kissed her, harder this time, without apology for her demands. "The tailor can wait."

"He can," Mae said breathlessly. "But I fear if we don't go now, we won't go at all." She nipped at Vance's lower lip. "And you do need new clothes."

"Mae," Vance said with a warning glint in her eyes. "I'll not be patient much longer."

"I don't want you to be. Just for a few more hours."

v Two hours were beginning to feel like a life sentence. The only thing that made the process bearable was watching the way Mae's eyes moved over her body when George Smith wasn't looking. Vance stood in the center of the small, cluttered room in her undershirt, drawers, and boots while the impeccably dressed, fastidious tailor measured and fussed and remeasured. He'd blinked once in surprise when Mae had explained why they'd come, then given a small bow and gestured with an open arm toward the curtained-off back room.

"Three shirts, two trousers, and a coat for everyday and business both," Mae repeated. "Cotton for the shirts and wool for the coat and trousers. None of that linsey-woolsey that stretches out of shape after one wearing."

Smith looked affronted. "I assure you, I use only the finest materials that come all the way from St. Louis."

"Well, don't plan on charging us for the entire train."

Vance grinned and said nothing. She had to admit, it was rather enjoyable having clothes made for her that would actually fit and in which she would be comfortable. She also discovered that having Mae direct the tailor as to precisely how she wanted the clothes to look was unexpectedly arousing. When Mae circled her, a contemplative expression on her face, and touched her here and there to demonstrate where she wanted the shirt to fall or the trousers to start, Vance had to stifle a moan. Even though Mae gave no indication that she was aware of Vance's growing discomfort, it seemed that as the morning wore on, Mae found more and more excuses to touch her.

"There," Smith proclaimed as if he had just completed a work of art. "That should be everything we need. I'll have these for you, Dr.

Phelps, within a week."

"Thank you," Vance said with as much dignity as she could muster while dressed only in her underwear. She gratefully took the pants that Mae held out to her, removed her boots, and pulled them on. The shirt she slid over the remnant of her left arm and across her shoulders with ease of habit. When Mae stepped close to do up the buttons, Vance caught a flicker of heat in her lovely eyes. Knowing that Mae warmed to her that way only increased Vance's desire.

Once dressed and outside, Vance cupped Mae's elbow and led her quickly down the street.

"Have you forgotten an appointment?" Mae asked, reaching up to settle her hat more firmly upon her now neatly pinned tresses.

"Something like that," Vance muttered, intent on reaching the Golden Nugget as quickly as possible. Caleb would not expect her until evening at the earliest, knowing that she had been out all night working.

Of course he would assume she was sleeping, although that was the furthest thing from her mind.

"You're going to look very handsome in those clothes," Mae said somewhat breathlessly as she concentrated on not catching the heels of her shoes in the hard-packed ruts of the street. She held her hem above the dust with one gloved hand.

"If you like them, that's all that matters to me," Vance said with one swift glance in Mae's direction. "You seemed to enjoy the fitting enough."

Mae smiled pleasantly. "I find that I like having you half-dressed and helpless."

"Mae, so help me," Vance warned, "I'll not temper my urges much longer."

They'd reached the stairs in the alley leading up to Mae's rooms, and Mae stopped abruptly to kiss Vance full on the mouth. "I certainly hope not."

Vance led the way up the stairs, Mae's hand clasped in hers. She waited while Mae unlocked the door, dizzy with the scent of spice and invitation that wafted from Mae's faintly flushed skin. Once inside the room, she removed her coat while Mae locked the door. When Mae turned to her with a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, Vance's urgency drained away to be replaced with a sense of expectation that she had no desire to hurry.

"Before I'm through," Vance said with absolute certainty, "I'm going to know every inch of you."

Mae's lips parted but no sound emerged. With shaking hands, she deposited her bag and shawl on the nearby sideboard and reached for her hat.

"Let me do that," Vance said. Gently, she removed the pins that held the hat and set everything aside. Then she took Mae's hand. "Let's finish this in the other room."

The shutters were closed in Mae's bedroom, and Vance lit the oil lamp that sat on the bureau, suffusing the room in a golden glow. She crossed to Mae, who stood by the bed, and kissed her softly. "With only one hand I may be a little slow at it, but I'd like to undress you myself."