Page 48

Salted Pork ‘n’ Eggs

Rumi

Rumi woke in a cold sweat, completely disoriented, her heart pounding against her chest and breathing ragged.

Shadows slashed across her quilt where the bed posts blocked the dim light from the window.

Dark shapes haunted her mind, reaching for her, pulling her back into her nightmare.

She clutched the blankets around her and scooted her back against the wall.

“Be brave Rumi.

Desert Rumi,”

she whispered to herself, the crackling sound slipping through the large space as she squeezed her eyes shut.

It was no use.

Strange creaking noises had her jumping at every sound, and the distant peal of laughter wound her tighter and tighter.

She did not know how long she stayed on alert like that, but a sudden bang like the crack of thunder had her leaping from her bed.

She dashed to the other room, her heart in her throat, praying that he was there.

Bursting through the closed door on swift feet, Rumi darted toward the bed, hoping he could calm the terrors.

Imagining his arms wrapping around her, warm and soothing, like they had before.

“Rumi?”

His nightstand thumped under the weight of his piercer, the one he’d had at the ready, as she flew into his arms.

She heard the piercer clink against the nightstand as he wrapped an arm around her, unintelligible murmurs weaving into her hair as she tucked herself against him.

He breathed deeply, his chest slowly rising and falling against her.

“I missed you, too.”

She heard the smile in his voice.

“Is it okay if we share a bed here?”

she whimpered into his chest.

“I cannot sleep.”

“You’re welcome to stay with me,”

he replied, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“I like feeling you near me.”

That was all the permission she needed.

Callum tugged the covers over the both of them, his strong hands warm against her back as he held her close.

Like a magical shield of light, Cal seemed to wield the power to keep her fears banished beyond reach of her.

It was easy to think that nothing could ever harm her with him there.

“You’re so beautiful,”

he mumbled sleepily, his breath feathering over her hair.

She did not think he had meant to say that, already drifting, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

The cotton of his undershirt wrinkled under her cheek.

It smelled like him.

A scent she had grown accustomed to and found unexpected solace in.

He traced swirls on her back as her breathing slowed and her heart calmed, her limbs relaxing into his chest.

Surely this was paradise.

She could not think of anywhere else she would rather be.

“I think you are beautiful too,”

she whispered, already drifting off once more.

She meant it.

Beautiful in every way.

***

The sun greeted her with warm caresses, fingers of light fanned over her face and decolletage like a gentle summer’s day.

With a catlike stretch, she blinked and looked around, her hands automatically searching the bed covers for Callum.

Finding nothing but cool sheets, Rumi leapt from the bed and scanned the room wildly.

Anxieties battered her mind, demanding her attention as she wandered the hallway in search of the large man.

His soft humming washed away all her worries as though she were sitting beneath a cool water stream.

The soft sizzle of meat accompanied his cheery singing with pops and splattering percussion.

Leaning against the door frame, she watched as he swayed.

The smells of food filled the kitchen and she was surprised she had not noticed it before now.

Watching his broad shoulders hunched over the stove, the sun lighting his golden hair like a halo, the beautiful voice bringing a smile to her face, she imagined, just for a moment, what would happen if they stayed here together.

He had asked her once if she could be happy going back and marrying a man she hardly knew to serve her people and, at the time, she could say yes.

She would.

But now…now she was not so sure that was true.

Here in this moment, she could imagine waking up every morning to a quiet life in a small house with him.

Sensing her eyes on him, he looked up to meet her gaze, and a flurry of birds took off in her belly.

“Hey,”

she said shyly, leaning her cheek against the doorframe.

“You are always awake before me,”

she teased, stepping forward through the slashes of light on the floor.

“It just proves my theory that you do not get tired and apparently do not sleep either.”

He smirked and it made her knees weak and her fingers curl in her hair.

“Why don’t you go and get dressed while I cook,”

he suggested, his gaze traveling lightly over her nightgown.

She might not have noticed them linger over the undone buttons if his cheeks had not reddened.

“Jameson could be here any time, then we’ll need to move.”

Right.

Clothes.

The reality of the situation dimmed her smile a bit, but she nodded, trying to keep her face from falling.

“Of course,”

she replied tightly and turned on her heel before she could reach out to touch his arm like she had intended to.

Reel it in, Rumi, she told herself.

The room looked brighter in the daylight, and all evidence of the shadows from the night before had fled from the sun’s rays.

The bag of ruffles and satin sat open on the floor, the contents spilling out in swaths of silk and lace.

She selected a wine-colored gown and set it on the bed and then began the puzzling process of figuring out how all the other pieces fit.

A strange pillow with ribbons on each end, and several skirts of various colors and lengths, plus the corset.

She had, of course, seen what the women had been wearing in the streets, but she had very little idea of how to put it together.

It took a long while and she eventually vetoed a couple of pieces as they would require help.

But, by the end, the burgundy dress and black satin corset tightly embraced her.

Between the plunging neckline and lifting power of the corset, she felt very exposed.

All the skirts had slits up the thighs lined in ruffles, but she had layered a couple of them to keep her legs covered.

Then she had slapped on her belt and Sweet Pea, twisted her hair on top of her head, stuffed it inside the white bonnet, and called it good.

It was a mishmash of fabrics and styles and she did not quite look like the other ladies, but she was dressed, so hopefully, it would suffice.

“Hi,”

he smiled warmly when she returned.

“I hope you like salted pork ‘n’ eggs.

They don’t smell as good as the eggs from Fyn’s ugly birds, but they can dance.”

He wiggled one on the plate he offered her, his smile growing wider as he took in her ensemble.

The dimples were more prominent now, and she noticed golden flecks in his eyes when he crossed the room.

A pop turned his attention back to the stove.

“Would you like some help with your dress?”

He tossed the question over his shoulder.

“Is this not good?”

Rumi asked, glancing down at her dress and swaying so the skirts swirled.

“It is.

You look good—I mean the dress is good.

It’s great.

I just thought I’d offer, you know? Never mind.

Did you want some bread to dip with?”

“I love bread.

I have never had saldedporkinecks, but I trust you.”

She sat down at the table and took the offered plate, settling with a rustle of satin.

Cal laughed as he took the toast off the skillet.

He turned and slid them off the spatula.

“Salted…pork.”

He pointed the spatula at the steaming meat.

“Eggs,”

to the mound of fluffy golden pillows.

“Toast.”

He touched the crisp bread.

“Or…toasted…bread.”

The spatula made a circle over her plate, “Salted pork, eggs, and toast.”

His smile was hesitant as he bent closer.

“And beautiful Rumi.”

Oh.

Oh.

He was going for a kiss.

His smell enveloped her as his large frame closed in.

Butterflies in her belly caught fire and her whole body turned hot.

She wanted this.

She leaned into him. She could not want this. Her heart stalled and she choked. Panicked, she turned her face at the last moment so his lips brushed her cheek.

Her skin sizzled where his lips had branded her.

If her denial offended him, he did not show it—merely pulled back and turned to the stove once more.

“Thank you for cooking,”

she said, awkwardly, stuffing a bite of eggs into her mouth.

“I am excited to see the railway.”

He made a sound in his throat that sounded affirmative, but she thought there was an undercurrent of hurt.

Rumi stared at her plate, keeping her thoughts to herself and quietly ate her breakfast, her stomach squeamish now at the idea of food.

Her dilemma and desires waged a battle that stole her appetite.