Jane did not expect that Morgan would invite her to dance, but there were those present who had expectations contrary to her own and were not shy about voicing them. She hoped that Morgan would hold firm, as much for her sake as his, but when the crowd began to clap and chant only a pillar of stone would not be moved. She held her breath when Morgan turned to her.
“Shall we?” he asked.
She looked at the perfect arch of one of his eyebrows and wondered if it hinted at wry humor or resignation. “I don’t know the steps,” she said.
“No one does.”
Thinking she could save him from himself, she tried again. “You told me you don’t dance.”
Morgan angled his head toward Buster Johnson gamely trying to corral Cil Ross in his arms after another spin that went wild and wide. “That’s not dancing,” he said. “I can do that.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “I don’t think I want you to.” If he heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. She was lifted off the ground as easily as he had lifted her from the train. His hands at her waist were at once familiar and foreign. She did not try to resist.
Morgan set her down in the midst of the dancers, faced her, and took one of her hands in each of his. “Ready?”
She was not. It didn’t matter. The clapping quickened and then he was leading her sideways, always with the shoulder first, dipping into the rhythm. Three steps right, three steps left. Backward. Forward. Around and around. He made her dizzy. He made her light. She caught sight of herself in the mirror once, head thrown back, beads of perspiration glistening on her brow, pink blossoms on her cheeks, and only knew her reflection because she recognized the man she was with. He seemed unchanged to her, his features set with a Spartan’s grit even while he guided and spun her across the floor. The music moved his feet, but it did not move him. His narrow smile never touched his eyes, and when he watched her—and it struck her that he had never stopped watching her—she could not see her way through to his thoughts. His impenetrable green gaze made her shiver suddenly. In spite of the heat, she felt a frisson of excitement, and yes, of fear.
As the improvised reception went on until well after dark, Mrs. Sterling invited Morgan and Jane to spend another evening in Bitter Springs, this time as special guests of the Pennyroyal at no charge. Morgan politely declined the offer. Mrs. Sterling gave him a pointed look for making this decision without consulting his bride. For his part, Morgan pretended to be oblivious, which provoked Ida Mae’s heaviest sigh.
They left as soon as Walt loaded Jane’s trunk and bags on the bed of the buckboard. People spilled out of the Pennyroyal to send them off. Morgan singled out Cobb Bridger at the forefront of the crowd and tipped his hat to the marshal and Mrs. Bridger before taking up the reins.
The night was clear. The Milky Way laid out a trail of stars across the black sky. There was no visible moon to diminish the majesty of the heavens. Morgan saw Jane glance behind her and imagined she was seeking a last glimpse of town before the lights disappeared. He felt no such urge. It was not long after that he heard the last of the music and laughter.
“Did you want to stay?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
Jane sifted through the fringed ends of her scarf, straightening and smoothing them over her knee. “I would have liked to have been asked.”
“So Mrs. Sterling was right.”
“Yes. I did not think you noticed her disapproval.”
“I’ve never learned to dodge her darts. Ignoring their sting is how I get by.” Morgan looked sideways at Jane. “I’m used to making decisions on my own. Taking your opinion into account will require some getting used to.”
“So you do intend to take it into account.”
“When it suits,” he said.
“Of course.”
Morgan thought he might have seen Jane’s lips twitch, but it could have just as easily been a grimace. “You were satisfied with the ceremony?”
“Yes. You?”
“Seemed a little crowded.” He could not mistake her soft laughter for anything but what it was. “I suppose back in New York there would have been a hundred people at your wedding.”
“Back in New York,” she said, “there would have been no wedding. Regardless, it seemed to me that there were at least that many at the Pennyroyal. That was unanticipated.”
“That was free liquor and curiosity.”
“Powerful motivators,” said Jane. “Still, it was kind of everyone to wish us well.”
“I didn’t know the half of them.”
“I never noticed that it mattered. They greeted you as a friend.”
