3. A Man Bothered
CHAPTER 3
A MAN BOTHERED
A few minutes later, Galena Stable
“Perfect,” John murmured, unaware he had said the word out loud.
She was, though. Perfect. Even when they’d been in the same schoolroom, year after year.
Miss Ella Mae Montgomery. Blonde, with eyes the color of the cornflowers that grew wild along the banks of the Galena River. A voice with the barest hint of a British accent, as if she had been born to an aristocrat and was trying to hide it. Her manner wasn’t the least bit condescending, though. Not like some of the townsfolk who kept their horses at the stable and still treated him as he were the boy he was when he had left Galena to join the war effort the year before. He had returned a grown man, his eye injury from an errant gunshot preventing him from continuing his service in the Union army.
He supposed they couldn’t help that their small town, which only two decades prior featured a single church, a few stores, and a nightlife consisting of laborers and miners getting drunk at the local tavern, had grown into a full-fledged town with over a dozen churches, at least fifty businesses, and who knew how many taverns. Despite the destruction caused by the fires of 1854 and 1856 along Main Street, the businesses had all been rebuilt, although not with wood. Social functions, such as the upcoming masquerade ball, enlivened the city several days every month.
Galena was a far cry from the town his father had come to forty years ago to mine lead and to work as a laborer on the canal.
Whatever in the world had brought Miss Ella Mae Montgomery’s mother to such a backwater, he had no idea. But what had Ella Mae been doing since she completed school? Working in her father’s dry goods store? She had looked as radiant as the white-on-white roses in the fabric she was stitching when he had arrived. Although most in town spoke of the war and nothing else, she behaved as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps being the daughter of a store owner was secure enough that she didn’t have to worry about war or money. She certainly wouldn’t have to resort to prostitution to make her living, nor was spinsterhood in her future.
At least, not according to her father.
Even if John didn’t know otherwise, he knew it was unlikely she would remain an unmarried woman for long. At least, not around Galena. Due to the lead mines, men outnumbered women. Or rather, they had. With the war on and so many young—and older—men off to join the Union forces, the numbers might have evened out a bit.
That was obviously why Robert Montgomery had come to the stable the day before and asked for a moment of his time. The man’s concern for his daughter’s future had been the topic of their brief conversation. Before he knew it, John was nodding his head, promising he would at least consider her father’s proposition.
A plaintive ‘ meow ’ sounded from below, and John glanced down to discover an orange calico cat at his feet. “Colonel?” he asked in surprise.
The cat purred and rubbed his body against John’s legs.
“Uh, you need to get back to your store,” he said. “Before you’re missed.” He moved to the first stall, where one of four carriage horses had been left by its owner earlier that morning. Exchanged with other horses owned by the same railroad baron, the matched set would remain until the gentleman passed through town again in a week or so.
He began brushing the bay, one of his hands resting on its withers as he worked. A thought of brushing Ella Mae’s hair came to mind, the long blonde hair shining with his every stroke. He wasn’t actually sure how long her locks were—she always wore her hair in a bun atop her head, a pair of bouncy ringlets framing her face—but he was imagining it past her shoulders. If she was lying in his bed, her head on the pillow, he was sure the golden blonde locks would be splayed out, making her appear angelic. Instead of the horse’s quiet knickers, he heard Ella Mae’s sighs of satisfaction.
He thought of her long fingers as they took the tiny stitches in the white fabric, as they smoothed the wrinkles from the material. Thought of her fingernails, perfect ovals, how they would feel should she spear them through his dark hair and scrape his scalp. He involuntarily shuddered, his eyes closing at experiencing what he was thinking.
An image flashed before his mind’s eye of her stroking his skin with her fingers. Of her hands smoothing down his chest, over his stomach, and down through the dark curls surrounding his manhood. Of one of those hands gripping it, rubbing it until it was hard and ready for release.
John blinked and dropped his head back, a soft curse sounding when he realized how uncomfortable his nether region had become with his carnal thoughts. The horse suddenly turned to regard him with a look of annoyance, and John realized he had stopped brushing the beast. “Sorry,” he said, resuming his work.
His thoughts quickly returned to Ella Mae, to the gown she was making for the masquerade ball at the DeSoto House Hotel. Mrs. Watkins had mentioned it when she had come for her daily ride earlier that morning. She seemed insistent he attend the ball. “Young men will be lacking in numbers,” she had explained. “And young ladies like Miss Ella Mae Montgomery will be so disappointed if there aren’t enough men with whom to dance.”
Was it possible he could obtain a ticket to the ball? Dress in his Sunday best and claim a dance or two on Miss Montgomery’s dance card?
It’s a masquerade ball , he reminded himself. His Sunday best wouldn’t be required. A costume of some sort would be, though. As for a mask, he probably didn’t require one. He already wore an eye patch.
Did he even remember how to dance? His mother, God bless her, had done her best to teach him when he was a boy of fourteen. She had died a year later, and she had never seen him dance in public.
John had nearly talked himself out of attending the ball when he felt Colonel rubbing against his legs again. Scoffing, he set aside the brush, bent, and picked up the cat. “Time to take you back where you belong,” he said, cradling the calico against his shoulder.
He half expected the cat would object and try to escape his hold, but instead, Colonel purred loudly as John made his way back to Montgomery Dry Goods. He grinned at feeling the vibration through his shirt and waistcoat, and once again he imagined being in a bed with Ella Mae. Would she purr like Colonel when he pleasured her? Purr with satisfaction whilst he held her body against the front of his ? Purr when he kissed her?
Glad he carried a cat—no one would notice the bulge in his trousers given the orange calico—he found Miss Ella Mae sewing at the counter, an orange cat curled up near where she worked.
“Why, hello again, Mr. O’Connor,” she said brightly, displaying a huge grin when she noticed he carried a cat.
“Hello,” he replied, stunned at seeing the cat who lounged next to where she worked. “I was thinking to return your cat, but…” He motioned to the one on the counter. “I see you’re not missing one.”
Setting aside her sewing, she giggled. “Sergeant, you naughty boy,” she said, coming from behind the counter to lift the orange cat from his hold. “I wondered where he’d gotten off to,” she added, directing her attention to John.
For a moment, John wished his name was Sergeant. The thought of being her naughty boy held more appeal than it should have. “He... he was in the stable. I thought…” He pointed to Colonel. “I thought it was him.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry if he was a pest. He’s the worst of all of them, though.”
“All of them?” John repeated. He really should be getting back to the stable, but stealing another moment with the delectable Ella Mae surely wouldn’t hurt.
“There are four of them. That we know of,” she replied, dumping Sergeant onto the counter to join his brother, Colonel. “Admiral and General are the others. As for if they’re ours , well, do cats ever actually belong to anyone? I’ve always had the impression we belong to them .”
He chuckled softly. “Is that why one is named General? Because you report to him?”
A musical laugh sounded from Ella Mae. When he grinned in response, a dimple appeared at the base of his cheek. “He is in charge,” she remarked. “They all are, truth be told,” she agreed.
“Ah,” he replied, grinning “And I suppose they all look the same?”
She tittered. “Almost exactly,” she agreed. “The older two were litter mates, and these two... well, they are probably General’s sons.”
The bell on the front door tinkled, and John gave a start. “Oh, pardon me. I… I need to be getting back to the stable,” he said, wincing at the thought of having to leave her.
“Of course. Thank you for returning Sergeant,” she said. “Naughty boy,” she said again, directing her comment to the cat.
John tipped his cap and took his leave, stepping around the two matrons who had just arrived.
Naughty boy. He struggled to keep a straight face as he made his way across the street.
He was unaware of the orange fur ball that escaped the shop along with him.