On a Winter Morning

For Improv #2

By

The Tahoe Ladies

"…And I'll have coffee, black, please." Ben Cartwright folded his menu closed and handed it to the waiter with a smile. Across the table from him, he saw Hoss do the same.

"I done checked on the stage, Pa. It'll leave on time even though it's still snowin'."

Ben merely grunted in reply, his eyes sweeping the hotel restaurant. Here, in the early morning hours, there were few patrons. They, like the two Cartwrights, appeared to be anxious…to have their first coffee of the morning or to leave on the morning stage, he couldn't tell which. As his coffee appeared at his elbow, reflex made Ben thank the white apron clad waiter. He sipped the warming brew and again returned his studying gaze to the others in the room.

Directly across from where Ben sat with Hoss, a young woman sat facing him. The man with her had his back to them so Ben assumed that the coy smiles and flirtatious head motions were for her companion, not for him. He chastised himself silently for even the thought that the lady would be making eyes at …his breakfast appeared and he forced himself to pay attention to it rather than her. Watching Hoss dig into his meal, Ben knew there would be no chance for distracting conversation and he found himself again looking at the woman.

He put her age at somewhere in the early thirties, mature yet still young enough to have a free-spirited look to her. What he could see of her showed that she was what some would refer to as full-bodied. She leaned forward and Ben's eyes were drawn to the plunge of lace-edged fabric at her bustline. He swallowed hard, seeing the pale flesh pressed against the material, pushing up and filling the V. Old habits were hard to break and he'd long ago found this portion of a woman to be …interesting…to…study. He found his mouth had gone dry so he sipped more coffee.

She looked across the man's shoulder and caught Ben studying her. She smiled, not demurely as she had been doing but boldly now.

"Green," Ben muttered, noting the color of her eyes even at a distance. He didn't realize that he had spoken aloud, his forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth.

"Huh?" Hoss studied his father carefully. From what he could tell, Pa must not have been feeling well since his eyes surely weren't focusing on his breakfast.

Feeling very much like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Ben yanked his wandering thoughts and perusals into a straight line. "Just remembered that I need to talk to Hiram Green."

"But the bank ain't open this time of a mornin', Pa. Is there something I can tell him? I mean, you're still headed to Sacramento on the stage, ain't ya?" The only Hiram Green Hoss knew was just a teller at the Virginia City bank and for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what his father would need to tell him.

Just as quickly as Ben had marshaled his thoughts away from the woman, they ran back like naughty children. He scolded himself silently when he found himself looking in her direction again. In the buttery golden glow of the restaurant chandeliers, her hair was a shimmering waterfall of a brown so dark it appeared black at first. When she turned her head, he saw the light disappear into its depths then return more brilliant than before. He checked to see if Hoss was paying him any attention and seeing that he wasn't, Ben smiled at her.

She smiled back There was no coyness about her now but a clear frankness to her stare. She tipped her head to one side and Ben thought he saw her lick her lips. It was as though he could feel her eyes roving over him with the same directness his had done to her just moments ago. He felt the blood rush to his face, heard his heart begin to pound furiously in his chest, and had to shift in his chair to remain seated comfortably.

"You sure you're feeling okay?" Hoss asked again, seeing the sudden flush of color on his father's face. "Maybe you need to put off this trip. What with the snow and all maybe blockin' the passes," he suggested lamely, knowing his father would do no such thing.

Clearing his throat, Ben did just that. "No, I am going to Sacramento, son. We need to set things up with the cattle buyers there. A little snow isn't going to stop the Overland Stage nor is it going to stop Ben Cartwright."

He resumed his attack on his breakfast, feeling his heart rate slow, his face regain its normal color. You're too old, he mentally berated himself. Old enough to probably be her father. Old enough to behave myself better. You'd think I was some young stud stallion, straining at the corral fence wanting to get at a filly in heat!  He clamped down on himself, determined not to look in her direction again.

When Hoss made a comment on how tough the steaks were, Ben made a mistake. He looked up. Of course, right there, over his son's shoulder, seated two tables away, she still sat. Worse yet, she was aware of him and, when she caught his eye this time, lifted her chin slightly, challenging him almost. With his eyes locked to hers, he answered Hoss, agreeing with him.

Across the table from his father, Hoss was wondering how he could manage to get him over to see Doc Martin. Pa had to not be feeling too sporting, Hoss decided to himself. Why, hadn't he just answered that his steak was indeed tough and he hadn't even ordered steak? And why did Pa keep staring at him?

She laughed. The delicate sound tingled Ben's flesh with delight. It was almost as though she had reached out and touched him with it. He glanced at her hands, resting there on the white tablecloth, willing there to be a wedding ring. That, he thought, would enable him to shut down his mind, and his body, to her no matter what else she did.

There was no ring on her finger.

He swallowed more coffee than he had intended to and it scalded his throat.

She dropped her napkin to the side and leaned over to pick it up.

It gave Ben a renewed view of soft, pale flesh straining against white lace and dark blue cotton. His eyes riveted to her, he missed the saucer when he set his cup down. For that split second, he wished his son and everyone else but her gone from the room. He smiled at her and saw it answered.

"Somethin' wrong with your chair, Pa?" Hoss asked. After all, his father was durn near to squirming in his seat.

It was on the tip of his tongue to reply that indeed there was something wrong with his chair. It was at the wrong table! Feeling a long absent but delicious warmth spread over him, Ben gazed unabashedly at the young woman. There was only one problem with the view. Hoss kept getting in the way of it.

"Hoss, do me a favor, would you? Go see if the morning stage to Sacramento is going to be full." He dragged his attention away from her for only as long as it took for him to say his son's name.

Now Hoss knew something was amiss. His father never cared if the stage was empty or so stuffed with folks that he had to sit up top. Just the way Pa had asked him made Hoss wonder again about whether his father should take the trip or not. He mumbled a 'yessir' and laid aside his fork, lumbered to his feet, slapped his hat on his head, shrugged into his coat and headed for the door.

Ben, of course, saw none of it. As chance would have it, the man sitting with the young lady also rose and left the table. She let a brow raise and extended her hand toward the now empty chair, inviting him.

Canting his head to the side, he smiled. His breathing became ragged and he clenched his jaws tight, fighting a losing battle.

She crossed her arms in front of her on the table, lifting her chin, as well as other endowments. When she went to smile, she let her even white teeth clutch her lower lip for just a fraction of a second.

Ben Cartwright knew that he couldn't have stood up without embarrassing himself so he wisely stayed seated. Old fool, he again raked himself over the coals. She's most likely a gold digger. Out to catch an old man - just like me! Take me for everything I've got, right down to my coat! Ha! Once she's done, I'd be not just coatless, but shirtless as well. Take me right down to my hide! Don't look at her, Ben Cartwright. Don't look and don't think! Not about her! Okay, think about how deep the snow is out there. That's it - cold snow should do the trick! Lots of it. Think about how it drifts and mounds….  It was beginning to work but then she stood up and began walking towards him.

She wasn't all that big of a woman. As he measured her, Ben figured she would come about chest high and it had been her dress that had made her look bigger than what she was - except for what the dress' neckline didn't cover. That was - Ben groaned aloud at the thought - a little more than a handful.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice soft, demure and, Ben silently hoped, wistful. "I heard you tell the other man something about the stage. Are you leaving on this morning's stage?"

Ben turned sideways in his chair, half rising but her hand on his arm begged him to remain seated. "Yes, I am." He fought the urge to babble. Her hand, so warm and so soft on his arm brought back that long neglected need for procreation. He sent a quick prayer up that he was still seated.

"Good," she replied and smiled again. "Could I ask you to be my escort then? See, my brother has business here in Virginia City and I so want to hurry home."

At the word brother Ben was sure that his heart would leap from his chest. So she wasn't married to the man after all! With no wedding ring and traveling with a brother, she was undoubtedly single. And she had said home!

"I'd be pleased to, miss?" He raised his tone on the last word, asking for a name. With her this close, he could smell the lilac water she'd used and all he could imagine was a warm summer day beside Lake Tahoe…perhaps a picnic…alone…with her. Again, she licked her lips and he could just about feel them beneath his own, taste them, delight in how they parted as he kissed her.

"Sherwood. Amanda Sherwood. And you are?"

"Ben Cartwright," he introduced himself as he finally found his legs and stood up, his napkin held before him.

She curtseyed daintily.

He nearly dropped his napkin, looking down at her, then took her hand in his and brought her back up and, pulling out a chair for her, seated her at his table.

"You said you were going home?" Ben tried to sip his coffee and make small talk at the same time.

"Yes, I've been visiting relatives and my brother has been taking care of family business. We're in the freight business," she explained.

Ben couldn't help but watch the escaped tendrils of dark hair as they brushed her ivory neck. There were tiny pinpoints of diamonds at her earlobes that fascinated him as they caught the light and danced for him. Just before the lace collar met her shoulder, he saw a small mole. To some, this would be seen as perhaps a blemish on her otherwise flawless skin but not to Ben. Indeed, once discovered, he longed to touch it, for it said to him that she was real, not an imagined angel.

"….To Kansas City?"

It was the last three words only that he caught, snagged as he had been by other things more tangible than words. "Kansas City?" he repeated, sounding even to himself like a silly fool. She was taking the second stage out that morning, the one headed east not west! He felt his stomach drop to his boot heels.

"Yes," she repeated, "Kansas City. That where I live. I wondered what you would be doing there? Business? Family?"

Speculation would run rampant as to why the Cartwrights, who for years had taken their cattle business to Sacramento, suddenly started shipping their herds to Kansas City. No one would ever stumble on the answer and, of course, for propriety's sake, Ben would never tell anyone, his sons included, that it had started one winter morning while having his breakfast.

They would never have believed him anyway.

The End

Tahoes (guess which one)

January 2004