Mercy turned back. "Borden. Lizzie Borden."
Tate put a hand to his porch's pillar, feeling reality spin. He didn't know how long he stood there with the laws of the universe changing around him. When he finally turned back to the house, there was Lita standing in the doorway, her "prediction" book clutched to her chest, her eyes bright.
"Do you need to see it in writing, or do you remember?"
He slowly walked back to her. "I remember."
He backed her into the house and shut the door behind him, still feeling dazed. "So… I guess you're from… the future."
She nodded.
Tate ran his hand down her hair, all pretense and proper boundaries gone. Then he took his new governess in his arms and kissed her.
Chapter 22
Lalita's heart was soaring as Tate kissed her over and over, his hands in her hair and sliding down her back. She held him tight, never wanting to let go. Finally, he pulled away, smiling. "My Lita," he breathed.
"My Tate," she countered. "I think you've been holding back for a while, huh?"
He nodded, desire unrestrained in his eyes. "Yes." He pulled her head to his shoulder and kissed her forehead.
Lalita reveled in his embrace. "Oh, Tate, thank you. Thank you for believing me."
He shook his head. "I was left with no real alternative. Only a fool denies the evidence when it hits him squarely between the eyes."
She pulled back to look at him. "So what now?"
He ran his fingertips through her hair, looking thoughtful.
"Tate? Do we tell Nellie?"
He brought his attention back to her face. "No, I don't think that would be wise. Little ones do not have wisdom in what they say. Best to be careful around her."
"Sooo…"
He slowly moved his hands to her arms and set her away from himself. "We must continue to practice restraint in front of others—including Nellie. If anyone gets the idea that we are more than a doctor and a patient, you will have to move out."
She hitched a brow. "You're okay with that—a lie by appearance?"
He raked a hand through his hair as he turned and walked a few steps down the hall. Facing her once more, he nodded. "We don't have a choice. Even if you don't tell anyone you're from the 21st century, you're not proficient in the 19th. Most of what you say sounds like gibberish, and people will label you…"
She took a step toward him. "Crazy. Just like you did."
He closed the gap between them, taking her in his arms once more. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." She nuzzled her nose into his neck, smiling. "I'm willing to overlook your flaws," she teased.
He leaned his mouth toward her ear, chuckling softly. "Are you. Good thing I'm willing to do the same."
She pulled back slightly, her mouth agape. "Dr. Cavanaugh, I'm pretty sure it's ungentleman-like to insult a lady by bringing up her flaws." Then her lips quirked to the side. "But I'm pretty sure I've failed at being a lady this week."
"Perhaps in the conventional sense." He kissed her nose. "But I find" —he whispered against her lips— "that I still want to kiss you."
She pressed her lips to his, and he responded so slowly and gently that she nearly wept with his tender soft lips on hers.
Lalita knew they should stop before they both got carried away. Tate was right—if they were going to live together, they had to practice restraint. She knew it, but nothing in her life had ever felt this perfect. Then she thought of something and pulled back a few inches. "Tate, how did you get this little scar right here." She put her index finger to the spot just above his lip.
His eyes met hers with a look of contrition. "I'm afraid there's something you should know about me. The church lawn wasn't my first fight. I…" He sighed. "I just can't stand to see an underdog bullied. It just does something to me. It—"
"It pushes your buttons."
He put a hand to the side of her head, his thumb caressing her cheek. "I love you, Lalita Torres."
Kissing resumed.
***
"Something's different," Nellie announced over dinner.
With wide, innocent eyes, both adults looked to the blue-eyed blonde and spoke at the same time, pulling their feet apart under the table.
"Wh–what are you talking about, sweetheart?"
"Different in what way?"
Nellie swished her long curls back and forth that had been gathered together at the back of her head. "Polly did it, although I have to give her ribbon back to her the next time I see her."
Tate let out a sigh with a nervous chuckle. "I see. She's tied it into a queue. It's very pretty, Nellie."
"A 'queue'?" Lita raised her eyebrows. "Where I come from, that's called a ponytail."
Tate paused, nodding his head. "A good name, although I've never seen one on a real pony so curly."
"You don't have enough hair for a ponytail, Lalita. Why is your hair so short?" Nellie looked completely baffled, although it had taken her a week to notice or care. Tate wanted to know the answer to this one himself.
"Well," Lita began after taking a sip of the wine that Tate had pulled out of the cellar," I used to have really long hair, but after I went to college, I started getting it trimmed a little shorter every time I went to a salon." She gave her short layers a shake. "Finally I ended up with this, and I decided I liked it."
Tate smiled. He liked it too. Most women's elaborate hairstyles were completely untouchable. He could slide his hands through her hair all day and never mess it up.
"But you look like a boy! I don't think you should get it cut anymore."
Tate wondered at his daughter's worried expression. "Nell, Lalita has been with us for more than a week and you haven't been concerned about her hair until now. Why?"
"Polly said it. She said Lalita looked like a boy." She hung her head. "And she laughed at her."
Tate looked to Lita apologetically, but she didn't seem fazed at all by the child's taunt. She laughed. "A boy, huh? Well, I've been called worse." She sliced off a piece of ham and chewed on a bite while Tate looked at her in surprise. She blinked at him. "What?"
"It doesn't bother you one bit to look different from everyone else, does it? That's why you haven't complained about the dresses that don't fit you or the hats that won't stay on your head."
"Don't forget cooking in a swimsuit, Papa. Polly thought that was queer, even when I told her how much cooler we were making noodles."
Both the adults looked to her then, all smiles gone. "Miss Nell, what goes on in this house is nobody's business but ours alone, do you understand? You will not discuss what I do or what Lalita does or even what Mrs. Kettler does with anyone else. And I believe I've told you this before."
Nellie's lips went into a pout as she fought tears. "I'm sorry, Papa."
"I think you're finished with your meal. Go up to your room and think about what I've said."
Nellie slid off her chair, sniffing, and a moment later sobs could be heard as she went up the stairs.
Lita rose, her brow knitted, tears of her own threatening, but Tate grabbed her hand. "No, Lita. She needs this time to consider her actions."
"But Tate, she's just a little girl. She didn't know any better."
"Like I said, I've warned her of this before. The first time was just that—a warning. Now more is required. A bit of thought in her room won't hurt her." Tate stroked the back of Lita's hand with his thumb. "There must be true repentance to give meaning to forgiveness."
"But I know what that's like." Tears were running down her cheeks. "To be sent to my room to wait for the hug of acceptance." She turned to face him, and his heart clenched at her tears. "I waited and waited, Tate, on many occasions, for absolution that never came."
He rose and wiped the tears from her face. "I promise I won't let her cry long."
She nodded and turned into h
is arms, and Tate had to keep reminding himself that this was real. He was holding a woman who wanted him to. They stood there whispering exchanges of love and caring, a little bit of the past breaking off of them both.
Chapter 23
Lalita walked down the stairs once again with Tate's gaze on her, but this time she was wearing a dress of her own design, and his eyes couldn't be rounder or his jaw more slack. "Lita, you can't be serious. You're going to church, not the Burly-Q."
She couldn't help grinning, stepping down each step slowly and dramatically. Her new creation was a light blue, sleeveless dress with a midnight blue overskirt that split in the front and was pulled back to gather into a small bustle. She carried the matching fitted shirtwaist hooked over a finger behind her shoulder just so Tate knew she didn't intend to go into church with—heaven forbid—her arms showing.
But what really had captured his attention was her legs. The skirt in front was pulled up with fabric tabs in three places, higher in the center than the sides, giving it a scalloped effect and taking the hem to a few inches above her knees. She'd covered one of Augusta's hats with the light blue fabric and added some feathery plumes for good measure.
He brought his eyes to hers as she stepped down to the floor. "Lita, you can't possibly…" he sputtered. "You told me about the miniature skirts of your time, but this is not…" He trailed off as she reached down to unbutton the tabs, letting the hem fall to the floor. Then she slipped the mutton-sleeved jacket on, buttoning it up the front to a modestly scooped neckline.
Tate just stood there staring, his brows frozen in a raised position.
She did a slow turn, and he finally found his voice. "Well…"
She laughed. "I think I've rendered my favorite doctor speechless."
"Quite. Where's Nellie?"
"Still in her room, I believe."
He pulled her quickly into the dining room, lifted her chin, and kissed her. Lalita wanted to melt into him, but they'd already been nearly caught several times by Nellie and had a very close call with Mrs. Kettler, who had come back to work two days ago. Showing restraint was proving difficult.
He pulled back, looking into her eyes, then gave her another quick peck before pulling her back out into the hallway and calling up the stairs. "Nellie, are you ready, sweetheart?"
"I'm putting on my shoes."
Tate let his fingers slide between Lalita's, and she smiled. "I think you're going to have a tough time sitting through church this morning with me sitting two feet away."
He sighed. "That I am."
Nellie's footsteps were heard in the hall, and Tate released Lalita and stepped away. Tate smiled at his daughter as she descended the stairs in a green and gold frock with a big grin on her face. "Look, Papa! See how Lalita braided my hair?"
"I see." It was loosely French braided around the crown with Nellie's long curls hanging down. "It's quite beautiful." The deep green ribbons intertwined matched the sash around her waist.
She looked at Lalita then tugged on her daddy's sleeve until he bent his ear to her. "Did you see what Lalita's dress can do?" she whispered loudly.
Tate blushed, and Lalita stepped in. "Now, Nellie, remember that was to be our secret."
She put her hand to her lips. "Oh, I forgot." She looked back to her dad, who had straightened to full height. "Most of those buttons on Lalita's dress are just for decoration." She hastily shook her head. "Only three are for buttoning, and I promised not to say what."
Lalita watched Tate's mouth strain against a smile. "I'm proud of you, Nellie, for keeping your promise." He looked back at Lalita. "And now I think we best be going. You two beauties will attract enough attention without walking in late."
Lalita followed the two out the door, smiling at the sunny day that greeted them along with the fresh mountain air. So much had changed in the Cavanaugh house since the news of Lizzie Borden had proven her true. As much as she hated to be grateful for a thing like that, she couldn't be sorry that Tate now believed her.
She still got the Tate stare on a regular basis, but at least now, he asked her to explain, and she tried to use terms he'd understand. She couldn't resist, however, throwing in some modern slang every now and again just for fun.
***
Tate whistled a hymn while Maisy trotted through town. The last several days had been like something out of a dream. He'd been busy with an outbreak of chicken pox, mining injuries, and another baby delivery, but in between he'd spent every minute with his daughter and the woman who'd stolen his heart. He and Lita had even shared a few evenings on the settee, after Nellie had been put to bed, with the shades drawn and the lights low, his arm around her.
After Augusta's cold, touch-me-not personality, he savored every stroke of Lita's hand on his and every stolen kiss. He knew it wasn't proper, and the whole community would decry their behavior if they knew, but he also knew that Lita needed to stay with him. She didn't fit in even when she thought she did. She was too bold and outspoken for this time. She was even different from the suffragettes, as she wasn't angry, protesting, or demanding; she was simply sure of herself and all that she could do or become. She just didn't see the limitations.
And because of that, Tate worried. Her beauty and heritage already puts her in a spotlight. And once they're looking and listening, eyebrows are bound to raise. He sighed. I tried to make Augusta fit into society, and now I want to keep Lita out. It was a shift born of experience, but he wondered if the latter was really any better than the former.
"What ya thinking, Doc? You stopped whistling, and that was an awful big sigh you let out."
Tate smiled at the nickname she only used now when they weren't alone. "Sorry." He ignored her remark about the sigh. "Would you like me to continue?"
"Sure. Since we don't have a buggy radio."
He looked at her questioningly, and she winked—a promise for a later explanation. He took in a big breath, looking into her eyes over Nellie's head. His daughter's upward tilt told Tate she could "feel" their nonverbal exchange above her, and that got his eyes back on the road. The longing remained, however, and he wondered how he could marry this woman who had his heart racing without starting scandalous rumors.
Society demanded a certain amount of courting, and courting demanded she be out of his house. No one married without the proper passage of time and observance of the courting rituals by the church and the community as a whole.
Usually there were two families involved that made sure it was all done correctly, but since his was in Denver and hers even more remote, being distanced by time as well as miles, they were completely on their own. Lita seemed non-plussed by this. She said women made their own decisions about who to marry and when in her time, but he knew that would not work here.
The church bells began to peal as he guided Maisy to a hitching post. He lifted Nellie down and couldn't help but swell with pride as Lita took his hand and stepped down beside him.
She leaned in and whispered. "Tate, if you don't get that look off of your face, everyone is going to know our little secret. You're looking at me like you want to eat me up."
He turned and tucked her hand at his elbow then reached for Nellie's. "That, Lita, is a fair description."
She squeezed his arm as they walked to the church. "Well, think about something else," she hissed while smiling at another couple converging with their path.
Blowing out a breath, he put his mind to the task of thinking on something solemn or at least less cheerful. Luckily, he was a doctor and had a fair repertoire of those kinds of memories to draw upon.
***
As Tate ushered them toward the same pew they'd occupied last week, Lalita caught sight of the backs of all the Dickson men and pulled Tate to a halt. He followed her gaze and leaned toward her. "Do you want to sit in the front?"
She looked around then back to him. "Why the front? There are lots of open spots."
"No one ever sits up front, but the other spots will probably be filled eventuall
y."
"Assigned seats?"
Tate tried to guide her toward the aisle. "Not exactly. People just usually sit in the same place."
"But they don't have to."
"No, but—"
"Then this one will do." She slid into a pew in the center of the right side.
Tate reluctantly pulled Nellie toward it and slipped in after her. "This is the Calvins' pew."
Lalita shrugged. "They can sit where you usually do."
Tate looked around, getting red. "They are a group of six; we are a group of three. We can't just switch."
Lalita put a hand to her mouth. "Oh my heavens, they might have to split up. How horrible for them," she whispered.
An usher tapped Tate on the shoulder, wanting to know if he could move them back two pews. Lalita knew that would put them right back where she did not want to be—in front of the Seth Dickson clan. She leaned forward and caught the man's eye. "Excuse me, but this spot is just fine, thank you."
Tate gave her a look that was not at all like he wanted to eat her up. The minister took his place behind the pulpit, and Lalita pressed her lips together while pointing discreetly toward the front. Tate slowly turned his head.
The minister looked over the congregation, smiling, his gaze doing a little hiccup as his eyes lit on the Cavanaughs. Lalita watched him work out the reason for the switch, and his chin rose just for a moment before speaking. "Good morning and welcome." The organist began to play. "Let's lift our voices in song."
The first hymn was a cheery song in melody, but the lyrics proved to be quite a dire warning.
"All deceived and deceiving, see the city and her lords
Riot in their carnal pleasure, heeding not Jehovah's words;
For He speaks, now revealing mystic Babel's utter fall,
And the holy read the writing of their God upon the wall."
The next, called the Fount of Purity seemed to continue on the same track…