Harvest Moon

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Tessa carried it with her into the office. Standing in front of the potbellied stove, Tessa worked at the knot in the laces of her stays. Once she had it undone, she took the big wooden spoon out of the cupboard, reached over her shoulder, and shoved the long handle between the corset and the laces, then wiggled the spoon back and forth. Where was the man when she needed him? Her arms aching from the effort, Tessa finally managed to loosen the strings. With a satisfied sigh, she pulled the corset over her head, then donned the comfortable nightgown. Gathering up her stays, Tessa returned to her bedroom and tucked it into the dresser drawer along with her other unmentionables.

  She straightened the bedroom, then went into David’s office to wait. Tessa stood next to the stove. The coffee pot and the covered plate of beans she’d left for David were still warming on the burners. Everything was as she’d left it. Now all she had to do was wait for him to return.

  She closed her eyes. It had been a long, horrible day and a night full of surprises. More than she’d bargained for. Tessa was exhausted, tired to the bone, but she didn’t dare fall asleep. Not yet. Opening her eyes, she sighed, then jumped in fright as something soft brushed against her ankle. Her heart pounding, Tessa looked down and recognized Greeley.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that. I’ve had enough scares for one night,” she admonished the cat, before reaching down and lifting him into her arms. “You’d better watch yourself,” she warned. “I don’t much care for cats. Or their owners.” She pressed her nose against his orange fur for a moment, feeling heartened by his loud purr, then set him on his feet. Greeley trotted off down the hall. Tessa watched him go, then sat down on a chair beside the stove to wait for David Alexander.

  * * *

  David pulled his collar up around his ears. The night air was just as cold as it had been when he’d left his office hours ago. Though his eyes were bloodshot and his sight bleary, David was able to see his way along the street in the moonlight. His normally long strides were uneven and unsteady, testimony to the long hours he’d worked and the amount of sleep he’d missed. Sleep. He’d left Charlotte snoring in drunken oblivion on the tiny bed where, earlier in the day, Arnie Mason’s lifeblood had soaked the sheets and stained the mattress before trickling down to the hard plank floor.

  It still made him shudder. David had paid two dollars to engage a prostitute in conversation, then spent the time asking leading questions and studying the little room in minute detail. She’d drunk half a bottle of whisky before her tongue was loose enough, her senses dulled enough, to relax her guard and talk about the murder and the occupants of the saloon.

  He jerked to a sudden halt outside his office door, fumbled in his trouser pocket, and pulled out his key. He had Tessa’s silver rosary in his other pocket, but this… David knew he’d seen it before—on someone. If he could just remember where and on whom. He studied the length of chain entangled around his key. It was gold and very delicate, part of a necklace or bracelet, with a tiny Celtic cross dangling from one end. A Celtic cross, David thought, sometimes called an Irish cross. He carefully unwound the broken chain, and closed his gloved fist around the tiny links. David slipped it into the safety of his coat pocket. He’d found the piece of chain wedged in a crack in the wooden planking near the washstand as he leaned forward to pick up the bottle of whisky Charlotte had set on the floor by the bed. David knew the value of that gold chain; it could be a vital piece of evidence in his search for Arnie Mason’s killer. He just hoped to hell it didn’t belong to Tessa Roarke.

  David leaned toward the door and attempted to insert the key. It bounced off the keyhole, slipped from his grasp, and fell to the sidewalk with a loud metallic ping. David swore vehemently, first in Cherokee, then in English, and bent to retrieve it.

  He groaned in agony, cursing louder as his head struck the polished brass doorknob. He grabbed the key from the wooden planks near his right boot and, holding it firmly, aimed again for the keyhole below the knob.

  Suddenly the door opened. Off-balance, David lurched into the office, only to be brought up short by the feminine softness pressed against the front of his coat.

  Tessa staggered beneath his weight. Reacting instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his waist to steady him and keep them both from falling to the hard floor.

  David grabbed hold of her.

  She gasped in shock when the cold metal key touched her shoulder. It burned through the nightgown she wore, just as the bitter cold wind whipped the door back on its hinges and whirled through the office. Tessa stepped back, half-dragging David with her.

  “Come inside,” she hissed through teeth clenched against the cold. “You’re freezing both of us!” She released her grip on him, moving farther back into the room, stamping her bare feet against the wooden floor in an effort to warm them.

  David lunged forward.

  Tessa stepped around him and slammed the door before hurrying toward the stove. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms, shivering in the chilly air. She turned back to him, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it without uttering a sound.

  He stood completely still, just inside the doorway, staring at her.

  Tessa sighed heavily, then walked over to him. She took the door key from him and placed it on his desk, then grasped his index finger and jerked his calfskin glove off his hand. The other glove followed. Tessa laid them next to the key. She unwound the scarf from his neck and shook the snow from its folds. After tossing his muffler in the direction of the chairs arranged near the stove, she began unbuttoning his heavy coat and brushing the snowflakes from his shiny black hair.

  David watched her as she went about the task of undressing him. She removed his clothing automatically, with complete disregard for the fact that he was a grown man. She undressed him as if he were a slow, backward child, and she was afraid he might catch cold. But David was a man, a man very much aware of her nearness and her own scant clothing. His heart thudded against his chest as she undid the last button on his jacket and pulled it open. He moved then, for the first time since she’d closed the front door, pulling Tessa forward into his arms, wrapping her up inside his coat to warm her against his body.

  Tessa absorbed his warmth, pressing closer to him. His heat banished the chill throughout her body, leaving only her feet exposed and frozen. She shifted in his embrace, moving closer, rubbing her face against the softness of his linen shirt. She sighed in sheer bliss. He was the embodiment of all that was warm and strong and safe. Tessa inhaled the scent of him, seeking the clean, masculine smells she remembered from the jail. But she got instead the odor of cheap cigars, beer, whisky, and perfume. Too much perfume. A sweet, cloying fragrance she’d smelled too many times to count.

  Forgetting her plan to lull him into a sense of security and remembering how he’d looked with that harlot, Tessa shoved at his chest, pushing him away with a force that took David by surprise.

  “You’ve been to the Satin Slipper,” she stated.

  “What?” David was momentarily stunned by the sudden change in her. His warm, willing kitten had turned into a spitting hellcat.

  “The Satin Slipper,” she repeated, carefully enunciating each word so his whisky-sodden brain could comprehend. “You’ve been to the Satin Slipper.”

  “And?” David prompted, wondering where the discussion was heading and why.

  “And you’ve been drinking and carousing, no doubt.” Her brogue thickened with each word, her breasts heaved against the fabric of her nightgown, her cheeks pinkened, and her blue-eyed gaze shot daggers at him. She gave every appearance of a woman betrayed.

  The accusation fascinated David. “You knew I was going to get a drink,” he reminded her. “I told you before I left.”

  “Before you ran out of here, you mean,” Tessa retorted. “And I thought you were going to get a drink, not while away the whole night in the bed of some…you know…” She looked up at him, then turned on her heel and headed for the stove.

  “How do you know
I was in bed with one of the girls?” David asked, wondering if she’d try to lie.

  “You stink of cheap women and drink. Where else could you have been?”

  “At the bar,” David answered, waiting for her reaction.

  “I’ll heat some water so you can wash.”

  “I don’t want hot water.”

  Tessa ignored him, taking the kettle from the stove and carrying it to the pump.

  David followed her as far as the stove, then opened the iron door and shoveled a scoop of coal inside.

  Tessa finished pumping the water and turned to face him. “Hot or cold, it makes no difference to me. But I’ll not have you drunk and stinking of excess while I’m here.”

  David slammed the door to the stove closed. “I’m not drunk.” Tessa’s self-righteous act was beginning to wear on his already thin restraint. He had been to the Satin Slipper. She knew damn well he’d been there and what he’d done because she’d been there watching him when she should’ve stayed where he’d left her in the apartment.

  “I suppose you always fumble around trying to unlock doors and making enough noise to wake the dead while you’re doing it.” She raised her chin a notch higher, looking down the slope of her upturned nose.

  “I did have a drink or two,” David admitted, wondering all the while why he found it necessary to explain himself to her when she already knew what had happened. “But I’m not drunk.”

  Tessa snorted in disbelief. “A drink or two? More like the whole bottle, I’d say. I know Irish whiskey when I smell it.” She slammed the kettle down on the stove with enough force to send drops of water up the spout and out onto the hot surface where they sizzled a moment before disappearing.

  “Scotch,” David corrected. “It was Scots whisky and only half a bottle.” He reached over and grabbed the handle of the coffee pot, shaking it a bit to measure how much remained in the pot.

  Tessa marched to the sink once again and returned with a clean cup. She handed it to David without a word.

  “Thank you.” He reached for the mug. Their fingers touched a second before Tessa snatched her hand away. “I’m not drunk.” He moved closer to tilt her chin up with his index finger. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” Tessa moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  David stared, mesmerized by the sight of her pink tongue licking her lips. Suddenly he wanted to do that. He wanted to lick her lips. “Good. Because you never have to be afraid of me.”

  “I’m not.”

  David raised one eyebrow, silently questioning her words.

  Tessa wet her lips once again.

  David almost groaned aloud as his body reacted to the sight. He placed his cup on the table, no longer thirsty for coffee, but for the taste of Tessa’s lips. Wanting, needing to reassure her, David forced himself to finish his thought. “Despite what people say about Indians and half-breeds like me, I want you to know that I’m not a mean drunk.”

  Her blue eyes opened wider at his admission. “You’re not?”

  “I’m not.” David smiled, and Tessa realized once again what a handsome man he was. Extraordinarily handsome. His dark brown eyes, copper-tinted skin, aristocratic nose, and beautifully-shaped lips were almost perfect. “Liquor doesn’t make me want to fight or be cruel or slap women around.”

  “It doesn’t?” Tessa was surprised. All the men of her acquaintance, including her father and brother, had gotten ugly when they drank to excess. She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “What does it do to you?”

  “It makes me want to take a woman in my arms and make love to her all night long.” He answered her honestly. This time he didn’t smile.

  David gazed at her face, his dark eyes searching.

  “Oh.” The simple word was all Tessa could manage. She leaned toward him, the sound of his deep, husky voice and the look in his eyes coaxing her closer to his waiting mouth. She breathed deeply and once more the smell of the Satin Slipper intruded, tainting him. She caught herself just in time, placed her hands against David’s inviting chest, pushed him into a chair by the table, and glared down at him. Tessa had seen David work his charms on Charlotte and she wasn’t about to fall into the same trap.

  “From the amount of liquor you drank and from the way you smell, I’d say you enjoyed most of the night with someone. Myra, perhaps?” She wondered if he’d tell the truth, or if he’d try to weasel out with a lie.

  David looked up at her and suppressed a smile. The she-cat in Tessa had bared her claws once again. She expected him to lie. He surprised her by telling the truth. “No,” he told her. “Not Myra. Charlotte the Harlot.”

  Tessa’s blue eyes widened at his honest reply.

  “She has your old room, you know. And most of your things.” As David watched impassively, Tessa took a step backward. He didn’t like the way his words seemed to cut into her any more than he’d liked the way her claws felt ripping into him. God, he thought he’d given up spying. He didn’t like games. He didn’t like the way she tested him, trying to catch him in a lie or the fact that he was forced to uncover her secrets to find the truth. And he’d done nothing but try to help her, yet she still didn’t trust him. That stung. And while David knew he was bordering on deliberate cruelty, he couldn’t stop the flow of words. “I spent the night drinking with Charlotte, encouraging her to talk to me. I listened to her describing in excruciating detail every sex act known to man. And do you want to know why, contessa?”

  She shook her head.

  “I did it because I’m trying to find some evidence that will keep your pretty little neck from swinging at the end of a rope. I did it because I need some answers. I needed to search your old room.” He dismissed her with a sharp look and a wave of his hand. “If I stink of whisky and the perfume of unsavory women, you only have yourself and your stubborn silence to blame. And since my presence disgusts you, I suggest you take yourself off to bed.”

  Tessa took a step forward. “Wait, I—”

  “Go to bed.”

  “But—”

  “It was nice of you to wait up for me, but it won’t be necessary in the future.” David’s tone was sharper, more cutting, than Tessa had ever heard it.

  “You bumble-headed man.” Tessa walked to the stove, picked up the plate of beans, and slammed it down on the table in front of him. “I didn’t wait up for you to be nice. I did it because I wanted to see what condition you’d be in when you got home. I wanted to know what time you got home and how you’d spent the night—drinking or gambling or…or whoring.” She banged a spoon down next to his plate. “And I wasn’t disappointed.”

  David wearily rubbed the bump on his head, then at the bridge of his nose where a headache was beginning to form. “Weren’t you?” he asked. “Even a little? When you couldn’t get your hands on this?” He reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out the silver and onyx rosary, and placed it on the table.

  “How…?” Tessa grabbed the rosary.

  “I heard you open the door and sneak behind the curtain,” David said. “And I saw your green skirt peeking out when I looked under the bed. You were looking for this, weren’t you?”

  “You knew? You weren’t asleep?” Her voice rose.

  “No. I wasn’t asleep. I took the rosary off her when we were drinking under the covers. I wasn’t very subtle, but then I was afraid you might try to yank it off her neck.” David picked up the spoon.

  “I thought…”

  “I know what you thought.” He ate a mouthful of beans. “I said a lot of those things to Charlotte because I knew you were listening to every word.”

  “But—”

  “I’d appreciate it if you don’t say anything more tonight. I’ve heard all the talk I can stand. And we’ve both said enough. So do me a favor and just go to bed. We’ll talk later.”

  Tessa turned on her heel, padded barefoot down the short hallway toward her room, and slammed the door.

  “Tessa…” David�
��s voice reached her.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “You needn’t bother to lock it. I’m too tired to be interested.”

  She paused for a moment, listening, then locked it anyway, just to spite him.

  David heard the distinctive click of the key turning in her lock. “I haven’t had that much whisky.” His voice carried down the hall.

  In the space of a couple of days, his whole life had been turned upside down. All because some hot- tempered, redheaded Irish girl had been unfortunate enough to have Arnie Mason get killed in her bed. And David had the feeling it would be quite some time before he could return to his quiet, peaceful…isolated existence.

  He banked the coals in the stove, blew out the oil lamp suspended overhead, and headed toward the storeroom. He paused there long enough to make sure Coalie was sleeping before heading toward his own room. On impulse David paused in front of Tessa’s door and reached for the porcelain knob. Checking.

  Tessa saw the doorknob move, heard the slight rattle of metal.

  “Thanks for supper,” David said softly.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered. “Thanks for my rosary.”

  “You’d have gotten it on your own eventually.”

  “But I didn’t have to,” Tessa whispered. “You got it for me.” She clutched the rosary close to her heart as she listened to the muffled thud of his footsteps fade.

  Chapter Six

  Tessa entered the office the next morning to find David seated behind his desk, engrossed in a towering stack of legal papers. A wisp of steam floated up from the coffee cup near David’s right hand. He didn’t speak, nor did he look up at her, but Tessa knew he was well aware of her presence.