Blood and Iron Ch. 02

"Fine?" Disbelief, scorn quarreling on her tongue. And quiet disappointment, as his hand dropped away. "I'm...I made a damn fool outta myself." A quivering ache in her throat. "Trippin' all over my own feet. I ain't cut out for this."

"Hell, Alice, it's your first time in the saddle." He shook his head, slight but emphatic. "I'd be damned surprised if you didn't stumble a bit. And where I stood, you looked like you was learnin' fast. Still need to relax a trifle, but..."

No response yet - she merely stood, silent, staring back with hesitant, skeptical eyes. Arms loosely crossed just above her waist, fingers curled uncertain at her elbows. "Anyhow," James continued gently. "You want to call it quits, I can't hardly tell you otherwise. But me, I was havin' quite a time out there." That subtle smile pulling warmly at his lips. Sliding smoothly down her spine. "Ain't had a proper dance myself in a good long while, tell the truth. So as a selfish sort'a lout, I'm hopin' you'll try again."

"You're lyin'," she finally returned. Lips softly pursed, with tentative accusation.

"Not a bit!" A sparkle in his eye, while his brow lifted as though shocked, offended. "I really am a lout."

Alice shook her head, dismissive, disapproving...but could not help the tugging of appreciation on her expression, the brief note of laughter she had to suppress. And with it, a lightening of the great mass of frustration, humiliation which sat upon her heart. She glanced back over to the square, where those who had watched her fall were already back to their own dancing - the incident, her failure, seemingly forgotten. A feeling of slight, self-conscious silliness warm on the back of her neck, at how swift and strong she had reacted. "I..." Barely past a mumble. "I s'ppose I could give it another shot."

"Attagirl." The grin briefly bloomed in his expression, setting her heart to softly flutter with the sight of greying whiskers arched and bristly, the tips of teeth slightly dingy with age. And again, as he took her by the hand, his calloused fingers loosely clasped on hers. Leading her gently back towards the open space at the edge of the crowd. "Prob'ly a good thing you ain't got on a dress, anyhow. Spill like that might'a gotten it all kinds'a dirty."

"Mm," she acknowledged quietly, preparing herself once more for the effort that was to come. Standing before him and to the right, hands up near her shoulders, waiting for their intended mates...and grasping them tightly when they arrived. Pulling him inward, towards her slender neck, against the uppermost seam of her sturdy yellow shirt. Letting the warmth of contact blossom inside her, soothing away the remaining ache of embarrassment with the gentle weight of his hands upon her shoulderblades.

"I suppose this here's probably the first time you danced with somebody in blue jeans." She managed a little smile as they began again to move, shuffling forward, back, in a step somewhat more familiar now than it had been minutes prior.

"Actually, it ain't." Lightness in tone as he turned neatly on his heel, and she scrambled to maintain position. "Been at a few dances where there weren't nearly enough womenfolk to go around, and I had to partner up with another man."

She turned her head to look at him, lifting an incredulous eyebrow. "You're pullin' my leg."

"I most certainly am not," he chuckled brightly. The next turn going smoother, both of them reversing nearly in synch with the music. "Like I said, it's a friendly thing. Place fulla mostly miners, you don't want half the town just standin' around, starin' at their boots. So one fella ties a bit of cloth around his arm t'show he's willing to play the lady's step. Mind you," another turn, - his hands guiding her, despite the weakness of injury. Awareness of his body close behind her, perhaps just a handsbreadth away. "Ain't usually as close a dance as this. But you make do. I wore the heifer brand a couple times myself. Ain't much different, down at the brass tacks of it." A moment's gruff laughter tickled at her ear. "A few men'd really dress up, put on petticoats'n such...I always figured that was takin' things a bit too far."

"Can't say I disagree," Alice murmured back with faint bemusement. Strange enough just to think of him letting himself be led. Even if all she'd thought she knew of him was a lie...he still had the feeling of a man without master, without fear, wild and untamed. The man who had sparked such excited admiration in her young heart, whose memory had been her aspiration in the mad flames of adolescence...dancing with her now. And the sensation of her fingers upon his palm, a shiver carried swiftly through her nerves like a bird upon the wind.

It was easier, this second try. A greater confidence in her step, accustoming itself to the steady repetition of the dance. The knot of worry at her breast mostly undone. The thoughts, the fantasies which had so distracted her before now held in abeyance, as she bathed instead in the simpler pleasure of the music, of motion, nurturing the vague and blissful glow that shimmered at her center. Like being pleasantly drunk - which she was, a little. But this was more, finer, a purer feeling. Happiness.

Almost a shock to think it, reflection slow and sweet as molasses between half-steps and turns. Happiness was a childish emotion, naïve. Gone forever, once life dealt a harsh enough blow to knock away one's innocence. So soft a feeling could not survive amidst the bitter thorns and briers of reality; it had left her when he did, desolation in its wake. Since then, there had been moments of triumph, of enjoyment, of grim satisfaction - but not of happiness. Not of that gentle warmth that filled her so completely, wrapped like a cotton blanket round her soul, tugged her lips irresistably to the slight arc of a quiet smile.

Not until now. Now, here, in this almost-embrace...the feeling was resurrected, returned to her after so long, and she could conceive of no desire but for it to continue. Remaining out there on the hard-packed dirt, dancing with him. Each song giving way to the next, her feet growing confident enough with at least this basic step that she could sometimes close her eyes, let herself be guided only by the melody, and by the gentle tug of his hands in hers. Only when the band took a break from playing did she grudgingly stop, ambling back to their table to laugh and to chat and to imbibe a little more with her father, waiting for the music to start again.

In slow cycles this continued, dance and drink and the silent glow of a nameless delight. James was cautious enough not to comment on the new tenderness of manner which infused her as evening fell towards night, even as he walked from the square with Alice still clutching at his hand - and, what was more, with her head rested softly on his shoulder, learning against him for support. She had shown a greater unsteadiness on her feet in the last round of dancing that suggested she'd finally hit her limit, and it was perhaps influencing her behavior, too; he was left to grapple with the quiet, protective pleasure of her weight gently rested against him, of her hands clasped and fingers interlaced with his. Wondering if he ought to push her upright, away, stand her up on her own two feet...but there was no strong impulse for that. Too great a satisfaction in this closeness. This intimacy. As though his great regret had never been, and she were still his adoring little girl. Or, perhaps, as though she were not his child at all. Just some woman here beside him around whose waist his arm might slip, upon whose flesh his fingers might curl...dangerous thoughts, scurrying like shadows at the edges of the alcoholic haze in his own mind. Perhaps they'd both had enough.

She was staring at his fingertips when he turned to speak, clutching his hand with palm turned upward and fingers spread. Her gaze poring over the tight spirals in his skin like an old native shaman reading the signs, so intent that he hesitated a little to distract her.

"Gettin' late." Lanterns lit against the growing darkness. The children who had earlier scurried to and fro now back at home, along with a good portion of the others who had once crowded into the square. "Reckon we better find Hernández, see if he plans to follow through on that place to stay."

"Hell, it ain't late s'all that," she slurred, glancing up from his fingertips with a flash of muddy green. A smile, alluring in its drunken earnesty, curled upon her lips. "We got time, yet. An'...an' we got music, too." Her hand reached for a still-unopened bottle of amber liquid at the center of the table, the side of her body pressed upon his as she lithely stretched forward. Her grin crooked and whitely gleaming, pulling it back. "An' we got liquor. Most important thing, right there."

She was just settling back down to the wooden bench when he plucked the dusky bottle from her hand. "I figure you've had enough already."

"And I figure I ain't." Fire leapt up sharply to her eye, to her tone. Grabbing again the alcohol - it was but a moment's effort to tear it from his grasp, overpowering the efforts of his damaged fingers to stay locked around the neck. "Wouldn'a pegged you to turn temperance on me so quick." Disapproval wavering glassily in her gaze, clutching it possessively to her chest. "I'm havin' a time here. Issa...a fine thing."

"Alice." The name gave her pause, arrested the slow waver of her eyes. So did his tone, low and firm, and the solemn frown that pulled heavy at the corners of his mouth. The weight of his gaze, sweeping past the fuzz in her thoughts to remind her once more of who he was. "You've had enough."

Quiet reigned for long moments, the struggling of feeling keeping words from her tongue. Her heart spurred again to a rapid canter. Her answer came first as a little nod, the bottle set back upon the table, aside. "All right." Her voice quiet, a trifle clearer than it had been a moment prior. Her eyes hesitant in his, almost apologetic, touching softly at the bottom of his pupils. "I...um. I think I maybe saw'm, over by the blacksmith's." Her gaze darted briefly over to show the direction.

"Good," he acknowledged gruffly. "C'mon now." But despite the artifice of sternness, he could not conceal his concern at her unsteady wobble as they rose to their feet. Wordlessly he offered her his arm, and wordlessly she accepted - leaning solidly against him, much as she had after their final round of dancing. Her elbow hooked around his forearm, reaching upward such that her fingers curled gently upon his bicep. A tiny caress as together they began to walk, each keenly aware of the other's nearness. Alice, of the arm she held so tightly against her, the hand that hung down empty between them. Thinking of how it would feel if it were just to turn and grasp at the top of her leg, a shiver down her spine to imagine his fingers stroking slowly into her inner thigh. James, of the gentle weight of her head upon his shoulder, the soft resilience and warmth of her modest bosom pressed to his upper arm through the thick fabric of her clothing. An impossible temptation slipping like a serpent through foggy corridors of feeling. Visions called up to his mind's eye, only to be guiltily buried a moment later. Tearing away the layers of linen and drill which concealed her away, the woman beneath revealed in curves of pink and white. Tasting of those trim breasts that rubbed so subtly compelling against him. Taking her to a private place, where he might-

He was glad for the distraction when she squeezed at his arm, trying for his attention. Her voice following slightly after, slurring sweet and quiet. "I saw somebody."

He glanced down - she was staring with narrowed eyes and frowning lips off into the shadowy crowds of minglers still scattered across the tables. "You mean Hernández?"

"No..." A distracted, uncertain tone. "Just...I'unno. I thought I saw somebody I recognized."

"Well, you did pass through here before." He shrugged once, faintly dismissive, before letting his gaze slide back to his destination. And hardly a handful of moments before his eyes picked out the familiar brocade vest worn by their host, shining energetic in the torchlight.

Javier was engaged in animated conversation as they approached - but he broke off with a dazzling smile when he caught sight of them. "¡Discúlpeme, discúlpeme! My friends!" His hands clapped together, wringing with enthusiasm. "I trust that you have enjoyed our festivities here? Certainly you two have made a spectacle, dancing." Laughter, briefly, before James' narrowed gaze suggested he cut it short. "But, yes. Is there anything I might do for you?"

"Lady here's had a bit much to drink," James answered tersely, and continued over her mumbled protestations of sobriety. "You said somethin' about a place to sleep?"

"Yes, yes, most certainly." His gaze paused a moment on Alice, taking note of how she clasped herself to James' arm, before smoothly moving on. "Please, I will escort you to the villa myself. I took the liberty already of having your horses moved up into my stable; I trust that you do not mind."

A trace frown crossed James' expression at the presumption...but he shook his head, mildly enough. "Saves us the trouble, I s'ppose." An errant gesture outwards with his free hand. "Lead the way, then."

The villa was but a few minutes' walk away, though that time was somewhat magnified by their slow pace, Alice almost hanging from his shoulder. Large outer walls made the complex fairly reminiscent of a fortress, but colorful banners and artwork softened the overall impression. Javier chattered along the way in genial tones of its construction, its cost, his business, the weather...rapid, lilting words streamed mostly unheard past the pair walking together, arm in arm. Quieter here, away from the band still playing and from the boistrous conversations of those who still sat and drank around the tables; it was a peaceful feeling, almost hypnotic, walking forth in the wan light of the moon and the dim, flickering radiance of distant lanterns. James could not even say when it was that his hand slipped outward, sliding round his daughter's waist. Fingers clasping softly in that gentle saddle curve, holding her against his side. Treasuring the warmth of her there, beside the chill of a deepening night.

In the face of this feeling, it was almost a disappointment to arrive. Javier ushering them gaily inside the expansive structure, up a set of steps, to a bedroom at least as fancy as the finest James had ever enjoyed. "I entertain guests here from time to time," their host smiled urbanely. "So I generally have a number of spare accomodations. I hope it will be to your liking, señorita; the bell on the nightstand there will summon the maid, if you should need anything. She speaks..." A frown now, briefly. "...well, a smattering of English. Enough, I should think."

Alice stirred a trifle at James' side, made a quiet sound - a hum, a sigh - but gave no more response than this. Her cheek still resting on his shoulder, features hidden from his gaze. It was a few moments' hesitation before he could bring himself to push her gently upright, his tongue to shape the terse, reluctant words. "Go on, now. You got to sleep this off." A sense of loss inside him as she moved unsteadily away, weariness, as though her touch had been shielding his old bones from the relentless tug of gravity. Now he could only grit his teeth for it again. Both men watching in silence while she half-stumbled inside the room, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

Javier's voice was politely inquiring, addressing James after. "I confess, Señor Blake, that I do not quite grasp your relationship with the young lady." Glancing inside as she collapsed upon the spacious bed, still fully clothed. "Though you two are clearly close."

James snorted at that, a humor snide and bitter. Cold now, in his absence from her side. 'Close.' For a businessman, their host had little sense of people. They could have been close. If he hadn't got his head stuck in fool ambitions, glory and infamy. If he hadn't run off, abandoned her...he might still have had his daughter's love. Might have still carried the paternal pride and devotion that had once brightened his days. This evening - whatever seeming of affection there had been was but a brief reprieve, born of drink and celebration. A last meal, for a man condemned.

Javier's delicate cough drew back his thoughts from these dark corridors. "I do not mean to pry into your affairs, of course." A smile, trim and polite. "I am only wondering if you will need another room for yourself, or if you plan to share this one with her."

Incredulous, James turned his gaze to meet that of the other man, his lips parting for some shocked rejoinder - only to hold there, silent, surprise swiftly fading as comprehension dawned. Of course - in his ignorance, Javier though them perhaps to be lovers. Imagined that James might slip in after her and spent the night locked in carnal passion. How blind an assumption...and how dark and guilty, the answering temptation that swam up from the murky depths of his soul. His eyes crossing over to Alice once again, sliding across the curves of her body, dimly visible in the flickering candlelight. Lingering on the taut derriére vaguely outlined beneath her dusty jeans as she lay curled on her side. The tugging of that familiar hunger in his gut, the male drive, thoughtless and urgent.

He could go in after her. Their host clearly would think nothing of it. Blow out the light and slip into the bed beside her. Feel her form pressed to his, hot and desirable...perhaps let his better hand to fumble with her buttons, to unveil the woman beneath that thick and sturdy cloth. Perhaps to taste of her lips, of her skin, as her body opened before him. Perhaps...

Decency finally sliced back into his consciousness, sharp and cold as an icy wind. Perhaps what? To take advantage of her drunken state? To force himself upon his own daughter, commit a sin still greater than those which had brought them to this juncture? He must have drank too much himself, to think such things. Shame twisted savage at his lips as he stepped into the room just far enough to extinguish the candle on the dark wooden cabinet, pulling closed the door on the way out. An acrid taste upon his tongue, finally answering the man's question. "Reckon I'd be better off with another room, if you got one to spare." His soul, at least, might be.

"Of course," Javier agreed, quick and polite. Showing him forward with a small gesture and a friendly smile. But the next door at which they stopped proved to be an office, not a bedroom. "I have an impression," he genially commented, making his way over to a substantial-looking safe half-concealed behind an expensive mahogany desk. "That the señorita does not intend to accept from me any material reward, given how prone she is to departure when I simply mention the subject." A glance up at James, a wry grin, while his practiced fingers worked at the smooth-spinning lock. "That being so, your presence with her is perhaps a blessing. I believe I mentioned earlier that I have a small sum of American dollars which are just now only sitting in my safe." There was a solid thunk of machinery shifting as he threw the lever and pulled open the small metal door, reaching inside to retrieve a dull green bundle of paper. "I would consider it a favor if you were to ensure that she takes possession of it. Or at least, that it is used for her benefit."

James stayed carefully silent until the other man had closed the safe, laid the stack of paper in his hand. Flipping slowly through them. "Must be near two hundred dollars here." He could not entirely keep the surprise from his tone. "Quite a figure to give a woman who ain't even asked for it."