Page 46 of My Darling Clementine

“How do you know that?” She looked up at Clem.

“I was on the platform and heard it all. As you said goodbye to your mother, I was the one who took your suitcase and helped you aboard.”

“I don’t remember.” Her small voice sounded apologetic.

“You were a little busy at the time.” Clem rubbed her shoulders. “You caught my attention even then, handling the situation with grace. And then, Kizzy, when you did focus on me, you saw me as a woman in an instant when no one else ever has.” Clem tipped her chin up to meet her eyes, smiling into watery blues.

“Then, you fearless minx, you chased me down in the night, and invited me to your room to check my ‘bona fides’ for yourself, then convinced me to take you to California, with a pistol ready if I got out of hand. You’ve got gold fever as bad as any man I know, and were savvy enough to grab an opportunity when you saw it. Tomorrow you head west on a wagon train, doing what most never do, chasing a dream.” Clem intensified her gaze, meaning every word. “Kizzy, you are the bravest woman I’ve ever met.” She brushed a thumb across her trembling lips. “All things considered, it’s no wonder your emotions are raw, poor girl.”

She leaned down to taste her lips, urging limp arms up and around her neck. Another thought struck her. “And even though you’ve been to bed with other women, they weren’t me. This is our first time.” She kissed Kizzy with the gentleness of a spring breeze.

Leading her to the edge of the bed, Clem sat and pulled her onto her lap, wrapping her in both arms. “It’s alright,” she soothed, rocking her. “Please don’t be embarrassed. You’re safe with me, darling, I promise.” She waited, holding Kizzy until her misty eyes rose, and trembling lips offered her a kiss. Clem took it with all of her heart.

“Now, inside that box over there,” unwilling to loosen her arms, she pointed with her nose, “there is a surprise for you.” She kissed Kizzy again, longer, deeper, and welcomed her rising response. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, or want to wear it,” she said, “but I just couldn’t let you have a wedding night in that prim and proper nightgown.” She rubbed her face, chagrined. “It’s probably the reason Mrs. Blair supplied such spectacular pantaloons.”

Curiosity piqued, Kizzy rose from her lap and crossed to the box, holding it in front of her as she brought it to the bed. Lifting the lid, she gasped. “Oh, Clem,” she sighed. With both hands, she raised the soft pink material to bunch up around her face. “It’s beautiful!” She pulled out two pieces, one a slender sheath of pale pink silk, the other a robe in a darker shade. “They’re beautiful,” she amended, holding the gown against her and returning to the mirror.

Clem admired the view, both front and back, without moving. When Kizzy’s reflection grinned back at her from the mirror, she rose and crossed to stand behind her. Putting both hands on her shoulders, she kissed her head and met her glance. “I’m going to go downstairs before the bar closes and get us something to drink. I’ll be back up in a few minutes.”

“Wait,” said Kizzy with a sly grin, her playfulness returning. “You can’t go down there looking like that.” She turned around and unbuttoned Clem’s vest, yanked her shirttail up from the waistband of her pants, and did the vest up again, one button off. She looked her over with a critical eye. “Your hair’s disheveled, but you don’t look kissed enough.” Kizzy reached both arms around her waist, snuggling her bare breasts into Clem’s catawampus vest.

They kissed, arms tightening as it deepened, the sense of anticipation returning between them.

“Give me ten minutes,” her pretty young wife said, then shooed her out the door. “And bring me some cake if there’s any left over.”

Sailing downstairs, Clem didn’t have to pretend to be a smitten bridegroom.

That’s what she was.

Chapter twelve

Their Wedding Night

What’s wrong with me? I have to calm down right now! I refuse to be the type of woman who cries on her wedding night, especially when she isn’t really married. She looked down at herself in disgust. Or the kind to wear crotchless underwear.

Quick as she could, Kizzy untied the scandalous pantaloons at her waist and stepped out of the two legs sewn from knee to ankle, tossing them into the box. She lifted the pretty nightdress by its two slender straps, then dropped it over her head and let it fall down around her. The simple gown draped her; pink silk clung to her breasts and hips, ending mid-calf and leaving her ankles exposed. Anxiety easing, she slipped on the sheer robe and waltzed around to the fiddler’s tune downstairs.

Watching herself dance in the mirror, she realized her nipples were tight and poking the light fabric enough to tantalize without being sleazy. She felt elegant, and much more desirable, wearing this gown instead of those obscene French bloomers.

Surprised it mattered, since she had been the subject of a few scandals in her time, Kizzy realized she didn’t want Clem to think of her that way. I’m not one of her ‘working girls’.

What was she then? They weren’t legally married. Clem couldn’t love her; they met less than forty-eight hours ago. Why was it so important to impress her? She didn’t know, but it was.

Kizzy twirled in front of the mirror, tingling in anticipation. I want her to want me. Closing her eyes, an erotic shudder coursed through her. And I know she wants me sexually, as much as I do her.

But if they were going to live as man and wife, she wanted to be taken seriously, her opinions considered, and her feelings respected. How she sees me as a person, who I am to her, matters.

Every woman dreams of her perfect wedding day, right? And everything happened so quick and fast, these feelings for Clem must be part of the fantasy she’s spun of a romantic wedding night.

After spending a few minutes brushing her hair until it shone, she wove it into the braid she wore to bed. Hearing the doorknob rattle, she hurried over to open it.

Standing there looking disheveled and handsome, holding a packed bar tray, Clem’s eyes grew round as saucers. She froze in place as her eyes drank in Kizzy’s ensemble.

“Hurry inside, husband,” she said with a saucy wink. “I’m thirsty.”

“Then allow me.” Clem became a butler, placing the tray on the table beside the bed. “Would madam prefer lemonade, or a glass of champagne?”

“What is champagne?” she asked, relocking the door and hanging a shoe over the keyhole.