~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She moved towards him, her skirts swaying with the movement of her hips. But he knew it was more than that. His sisters used to practice that walk. Shoulders back, chin high, toes pointed in, so that their gowns would sway seductively as they entered the ballroom. This woman had practiced too; he could tell.
She was beautiful, and she knew it. This he could also tell. She held herself with a confidence that could only come from knowing, no matter who was in the room, no matter how many other women there were vying for attention, all eyes would be on her.
Right now, his eyes were on her. He couldn’t help it, really. He was a man, after all. Even more so, now with his heart pumping, his flesh warm. She smiled as she saw him approach, the small, dainty tip of her tongue slipping out to wet her lips. In that brief moment, he felt his cock harden beneath the stiff denim of his jeans. Vampire or human, some things never change.
“William.” She looked as if she was about to reach out a hand to him, but then thought better of it. Instead she clasped her hands together in front of her. “It’s so kind of you to pay a visit this morning.”
Spike tipped his hat, tugging the brim of the black Stetson lower over his brow. “Just wanted to make sure your wagon was set to rights before we needed to take off.”
Katie Monroe pursed her lips and looked to be appraising him. He wondered exactly what she would calculate his worth to be.
“Well, that was mighty kind of you.” Her eyes sparkled and her gaze met and matched his, as if daring Spike to look away.
Her soft, syrupy southern drawl seemed to envelop him and he felt even more of his newly pumping blood head south of the border. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his duster, pulling the coat closed over the evidence of his arousal.
From the first fluttering of her eyelashes, the first touch of her hand on his sleeve as she’d stood beside him while he fixed her wagon’s wheel, Spike had known that this woman’s charms had been finely honed. He’d no doubt that she’d used them – and her beauty – to get what she wanted many times before.
And from the look she was giving him, she apparently wanted him.
“As I told you yesterday, I don’t have much, but please let me offer you something for your services.” The shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders, dropped lower, hanging from the crooks of her elbows and gently hugging the curve of her ass.
And a fine ass it was, Spike thought, an eyebrow quirking. He suspected that her idea of payment had nothing to do with money; she was letting him get a bit of a look at just what she had to offer.
“A cup o’ coffee would be nice.” He kept his smile friendly, but nothing more. He was, for all intents and purposes, a married man. At least the Widow Monroe thought so. He wasn’t sure exactly what game she was playing, but for right now he wanted to keep his cards close to the vest. Besides, no use giving Buffy a bigger stick to beat him over the head with.
Katie’s smile faded slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit. She wasn’t the type of woman who was used to being turned down, and it seemed she wasn’t quite sure what to make of this blond, English, cowpoke. “Of course. I have some on the fire; let me get you a cup.”
Spike watched as she bent to retrieve the dented tin pot from the ashes of her campfire. She was wearing a dingy white blouse tucked loosely into the waistband of her dark brown skirt. The collar of the blouse lay open, the top buttons undone, and at this angle he was afforded a tantalizing glimpse of the long line of her throat and décolletage.
There was a hint of cleavage. Nothing one would consider too risqué, just an edge of lace, a flash of camisole, following the lush curve of a breast. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, not a mark, not a freckle to be seen. When she straightened, turning to pour the hot liquid into a tin mug, Spike’s gaze moved to her hands. They too were smooth, flawless. Her nails were neat and filed into a delicate oval. These were not the hands of a farmer’s wife. She didn’t have the skin of a woman used to hard labor.
“Sugar?”
Katie’s voice startled him and he realized he’d been caught daydreaming. He averted his eyes, as any gentleman would, and took the cup of coffee, cradling it in the palms of his hands. “Sorry,” he offered, hoping he sounded properly aghast that he’d been caught sneaking a peek. “We didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
He regarded her raised eyebrows and slightly shocked expression. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean . . . what I meant was, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Buf—Elizabeth got plenty.” As Katie’s eyebrows continued to rise, he rushed on. “Sleep, I mean. She got plenty of sleep.”
Silence fell as Spike considered just how deep a hole he’d just dug for himself.
After what seemed like hours, a smile quirked at the corners of Katie’s mouth. “I’m sure Elizabeth got plenty . . . of sleep.”
Spike winced, turning to the large white horse that stood harnessed in front of the widow’s wagon. “Let me check the traces for you.” He could feel the heat radiating from his face and he grimaced. It had been more than a century since he’d had to worry about blushing. Funny how it only took a second to go from the Big Bad to the awkward gawky teenager he’d once been.
A hand plucked the sleeve of his duster, pulling him from the jaws of his past and memories as hideous as any he’d created in his years as a vampire.
“Thank you, William.” Katie had poured herself some coffee and was looking at him through the steam rising from the cup. “Shay always gets them ready for me. He said he’d be back to double-check them before we started off. He’ll appreciate you saving him the work.”
Spike nodded, busying himself with checking the harness trappings, his fingers moving smoothly over the worn leather and buckles. He’d hoped to catch the medicine man and was happy he’d have the chance to finally talk with him. “He’s a fine man. Takes care of you, does he?”
“Yes. I don’t know what I’d do without him. There’s no way I could have made this trip if he hadn’t arranged for someone to drive for me.”
Spike stoked his fingers along the great beast’s coat, making sure there were no mats under the heavy harness collar. “Met him yesterday. The Taylor’s oldest boy, yeah?”
Katie nodded, taking another sip of her coffee. “Even so, it will be nice to reach Plattsville.”
Spike, who was now down on one knee, inspecting the girth, looked over at her. “What’s a Plattsville?”
“No place special,” Katie sighed. “But it’s where I’m headed. Just a little mining town. Maybe not so little since they hit gold a few months back.”
Spike continued what he was doing, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Didn’t figure you for bein’ a miner.”
“No,” she chuckled. “We . . . my husband and I, we bought a business there.”
Spike stood, dusting off his pants legs. “What type of business?”
Katie tilted her head and peered at him. “You’re just full of questions. I’ve never seen a cowboy quite as talkative as you.”
“Sorry,” Spike turned to finger the horse’s bridle. “You’re right, none o’ my busin—“
“No.” The red-head walked over to him. “I was just teasing. The business is sort of a . . . hotel. Lots of people traveling in and out of little Plattsville these days. I just hope I can handle it on my own.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do jus’ fine. You seem very . . . competent.” Spike smiled at her, before giving the horse a scratch behind its ear.
The young woman tossed her head back and laughed. “Competent?” She reached out to run a finger along Spike’s sleeve. “William, I think that’s the sweetest thing any man has ever said to me!”
It was one of those crisp, cool mornings that made you just want to take a deep breath and hold it in your lungs. The sky was so clear and sharp, Buffy felt like she could reach out and grab hold of the brilliant blue and roll it in her hands.
Her mind wandered to thoughts of other brilliantly blue things – like Spike’s eyes. She expelled a quick breath and tried to push away the insistent images that kept popping into her mind. Ever since their talk last night, she felt shaken—almost light-headed with the feelings that were beginning to bubble up at the thought of the vampire.
Ex-vampire, she thought, shaking her head. She had to keep reminding herself of that little fact. The talk last night, concerning his soul, had helped to make the issue a bit more real for her. Until that subject had been broached, it had been easy for her to slip him into the ready made, neatly labeled box she’d always kept him in. Vampire. Evil. Okay, to be honest, he had amazingly hot abs and biceps to swoon over—but that was just hormones talking. She’d made the mistake once of losing her heart to a member of Club Undead, she wasn’t going to tread down that road again.
Besides, Angel had his soul when she’d fallen for him and Spike was . . . well, she wasn’t quite sure exactly what Spike was, but he definitely wasn’t boyfriend material --- soul or no soul. And at this moment the jury was still out on that question. He’d said he thought his soul had been restored along with his humanity. But he certainly didn’t seem any different. He certainly didn’t seem to have that same brooding essence of dread that Angel had always carried with him when he was souled. Other than being slightly more interested in her welfare – which could also be because he figured he needed her to get out of this mess — he appeared to be the same old Spike.
Okay, maybe he was a little different. A tiny bit more introverted. Not quite as mouthy or belligerent as she’d known him to be before the leap into their own version of Wagon Train. But it certainly wasn’t enough to constitute his being all soul-having. Wouldn’t he be wracked with guilt? Why wasn’t he wracked with guilt? Filled with remorse? Brooding and pouting? Granted, she didn’t have a lot of experience with souled vampires, but she probably had as much as anyone. And, frankly, Spike just wasn’t fitting that mold.
Frowning, she paused from stoking the fire she’d built to prepare breakfast. She wanted Spike back in his nice little box. Immediately, if not sooner. Right now, he seemed more like a recalcitrant child, refusing to bend to her vision of him.
A high-pitched, feminine giggle caught her attention and she turned to see Spike on the other side of the circle of wagons, adjusting the bridle of a large black draft horse, while smiling down in the face of a young woman. A very pretty young woman.
Buffy narrowed her eyes, moving casually to the other side of the fire so she could get a better view, without appearing too obvious. It would seem this was the infamous Katie. She’d seen her from afar the day before – and what with trying to wipe the sweat and dirt from her eyes, hadn’t gotten that good a look at her.
The girl was very attractive, she’d grant her that. Buffy gnawed on her lower lip, peering a bit closer. Katie was fairly tall, nearly as tall as Spike, with long curly red hair that fell to her waist. It was tied back by a bit of gold ribbon into a soft ponytail, with tendrils of curls framing her oval face. Yes, she was pretty.
If you liked that kind of tall, willowy, Grecian statue kind of look.
Apparently, Spike did.
As Katie moved closer to Spike, Buffy dropped the stick she was using to poke at the fire and placed all her attention on the couple. She didn’t care if anyone observed her eavesdropping; something just wasn’t right with this picture.
Buffy continued to watch as the woman reached out to run a slender finger along Spike’s sleeve, down to the cuff of his duster, barely touching his hand, then back up to his elbow.
That floozy is flirting with my husband! Err, my Spike.
What ever Spike was, he was hers, not some bottled-dyed – because that color just didn’t exist in nature – red-headed, ho-bag's.
So, he wasn’t really her husband. Nobody knew that except Buffy. This cheap piece of wagon-trash was openly flirting with Spike, believing that he was someone else’s spouse. What would people think? Why was he smiling at her like that? Why was he leaning in towards her? What was wrong with him? Couldn’t he see what a wench-cookie she was?
That bastard!
Buffy sucked in a breath, holding it tight in her chest. She watched as Katie continued to smile at Spike, her eyes-lids fluttering in a beguiling way – and Spike seemed unable, or unwilling, to look away. This woman was nearly drowning the poor oaf in soft smiles, charming giggles, and sweet blushes.
That bitch.
In the few short days she’d spent in this era, Buffy had learned that women did not act this way. Well, not ‘decent’ women. Whether it was fair or not, that’s the way it was. Married women stayed close to their families and pretty much followed their husbands’ leads. And single women – well, single women were the exception to the rule. As far as she knew Katie was the only single woman traveling in the wagon train, short of some elderly grandmothers with some of the other families. But she had a feeling that the current societal rules were more than likely even stricter for single woman.
The object of her perusal let out another giggle and Buffy’s spine stiffened, a muscle in her cheek tensed, and the breath she’d been holding hissed out between her teeth. Picking up her skirts, she strode toward the unsuspecting twosome. She might be currently lacking in the Slayer strength area, but that wasn’t going to keep her from kicking some skanky-bitch prairie ass.
As she approached the duo, Buffy donned a broad, albeit a tad scary, smile. Wrapping her arms around Spike’s waist she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to the side of his throat, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his shoulder. When Spike turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow in surprise, she took the opportunity and pressed her lips firmly to his, her arms coming up to snake around his neck.
Spike emitted a low groan from somewhere deep within in his chest, his hands fluttering about her sides as if he wasn’t quite sure where or even if he should touch her. His eyes slowly drifted shut as Buffy deepened the kiss, her body pressing intimately to his. At last, his hands came to rest on her hips, his fingers curled into the soft fabric and flesh.
Feeling Spike’s hands settle upon her, his long, slender fingers pulling her close, crushing her breasts against his chest, Buffy wondered briefly if she’d really thought this plan through enough. Those concerns quickly disappeared, however, when his arms moved low around her waist and he pulled her more tightly against him. So tightly, in fact, that she had no problem whatsoever in determining, even through a petticoat and her voluminous skirt, that Spike dressed to the left was, indeed, very happy to see her.
Buffy felt Spike’s hold on her relax a bit, his hips shifting slightly so that his now formidable erection was no longer pressing against her. She didn’t know why he was pulling away, only that she didn’t want him to. In an automatic response, she pressed herself back to him, her fingers tangling in the curls at his nape, stoking sensuously along the sunburned skin of his neck.
Off to the side there was a gentle cough and clearing of a throat.
Slowly, as if the sound had just penetrated through a protective layer of thick cotton, Buffy and Spike broke their kiss. Buffy, her lips pink and slightly swollen from the pressure of his own lips, simply looked up at him, blinking.
Spike swallowed, and the movement drew Buffy’s eyes to his Adam’s apple. Rational thought flooded through her mind and she remembered the reason she was in his arms. The reason her lips were still warm and tingling from his kiss. She pulled her arms from around his neck, her hands coming to rest lightly on his chest. Turning slightly in his arms, which still held her loosely, she looked over at Katie.
Their eyes locked and held for a long moment. Then a smile, the likes of Spike had never seen before, blossomed on Buffy’s face, but only on her face. Her eyes remained focused on the red-headed woman, as if they were stone, cold green daggers and Katie was the bullseye.
Slowly, her eyes swept up to capture Spike’s. “So, Sweetie, are you going to introduce me to your new friend?”
To Be Continued