Summer Breeze

by Catherine Anderson

“I’m sure you don’t.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “What is it then?” she challenged.

  His full mouth quirked at one corner. “For starters, I’m afraid of ghosts.”

  Rachel half expected him to suddenly snap his fingers, point at her, and say, “Gotcha.” Then she searched his face and realized he was actually serious.

  “Ghosts?” she echoed, the revelation so astounding that she forgot about the hole for a moment. “Ghosts?”

  He nodded. “It’s loony, I know. Most folks don’t even believe in ghosts.” He narrowed an eye at her. “Tell anyone, and I’ll swear you’re lying. I’ve never told anybody, not even my brothers.”

  A strange ache filled Rachel’s chest. “Why are you telling me?”

  His lips twitched again. “Now there’s a question. Maybe because I know you’ll understand and not laugh. And maybe because I think you need to know. You’re not the only person on earth with irrational fears, Rachel. If that makes you insane, then all of us are off our rockers.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Don’t cry. I’m trying to make you feel better, not worse.”

  Rachel smiled through her tears, for he had made her feel better. Joseph Paxton, afraid of ghosts. Imagine that. “I’m not crying.”

  He tugged a hand free to thumb moisture from her cheek. “If that’s not a tear, what is it?”

  “Maybe the roof sprang a leak.” She dragged in a shaky breath. “Ghosts? I never would have thought it.”

  He shrugged. “I believe in God, and I believe in eternal life. How can I believe in those things and rule out the possibility of ghosts? To my way of thinking, I can’t. That being the case, if there are good people and bad people in this life, it stands to reason that there must be good spooks and bad spooks in the next life, and it also makes sense that the truly bad spooks may remain true to character, not following any of the rules. So what if they just up and decide not to go to hell? I sure wouldn’t if I could weasel out of it.”

  “So you believe the really bad spooks who are destined for hell sometimes stay here?”

  His sun-burnished face flushed to a deep umber. “Yes, and the thought scares the bejesus out of me.”

  Rachel couldn’t feature Joseph as being afraid of anything. “Truly?”

  He nodded. “I’m fine with things I can see. I’ve got my fists and my gun. I’m confident that I can defend myself. But how can you protect yourself from things you can’t see or hit or shoot?”

  Rachel totally understood that feeling. “I’m afraid of things I can’t see, too,” she whispered. She glanced past him at the hole and squeezed his fingers with all her strength. “Things I can’t even name.”

  “I know,” he said softly.

  Her gaze jerked back to his. He was smiling sadly. As she searched his dark face, she realized that he understood her terror in a way that no one else ever had. Darby accepted her strangeness because he loved her, and he’d stood by her through all the bad times for the same reason. But he’d never really understood. More tears sprang to her eyes, the shimmers nearly blinding her.

  “I know it’s only a hole,” she squeezed out. “In the old days, I walked through that archway dozens of times a day. I don’t know why it frightens me so to have it uncovered now. It just does.”

  He brushed the wetness from her cheeks. “That’s good enough for me.”

  It wasn’t good enough for Rachel. She wanted to be well again. “When I was a girl, my absolute favorite pastime was to lie under an oak tree on a sunny afternoon and stare at the fluttering leaves until I fell asleep. I watched the clouds drift by, and I fancied sometimes that there were whispers in the wind. And I loved listening to the birds sing. Denver used to lie beside me, with his nose on my shoulder, and snore.”

  Joseph watched the expressions that drifted across her pretty face, and his heart ached because he could almost feel her yearning. “Denver, your dog?”

  She nodded, tears glittering like diamonds on her pale cheeks. “He was my very best friend in the whole world.” Her eyes fell closed. “In the end, he died for me.” Her voice went thin and taut. “The man was on horseback, and Denver jumped up and sank his teeth into his leg. He wouldn’t turn loose, so the man drew his revolver and shot him right between the eyes.”

  Joseph’s insides went suddenly quiet—so quiet that even his heart seemed to stop beating for a second. “You remember that?”

  Her lashes lifted. “I’ve seen it in my nightmares. Not a memory, exactly. Just a picture that moves through my mind and brings me awake, screaming.” Her chin quivered. “There are so many horrible pictures, Joseph. But they just flash and then go black.”

  Joseph squeezed her hands. “You ever get a flash of the bastard’s face?”

  Her already pale countenance lost all remaining color. “No, I never see that part of him, and the things I do see don’t string together.” A distant look entered her eyes. “It’s like my brain has erased his face.”

  Joseph wondered if she had known the man. He couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than to look into the face of a friend who’d suddenly peeled away his mask to reveal a monster. His stomach turned a slow revolution. If that was the case—if Rachel had known the killer and counted him as a friend or trusted neighbor—was it any wonder that everything once dear and familiar now terrified her?

  Holding both her hands in one of his, he pushed forward on his toes, grasped her chin, and trailed his lips lightly over her tear-streaked cheek. He meant to end it there, just a comforting show of affection, but somehow his mouth found hers, and what had begun innocently somehow became a searching kiss. Again that strange quietness filled him, as if everything within his body had gone still in anticipation.

  Despite the saltiness of her tears, she had the sweetest mouth he’d ever tasted. It was also the most inexperienced mouth that he’d ever kissed. Careful, Joseph. After only a taste, he greedily wanted to plunder every tempting recess. Only the training of a lifetime held him back. This was her first kiss. He knew that, both rationally and instinctively. Yet she surrendered completely, her lips soft, slightly parted, and offering no resistance.

  When Joseph drew away, she blinked and swayed on the chair. “Oh, my.”

  He almost chuckled. Not a wise move. He didn’t want her to think he was laughing at her. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

  Her eyes slowly came into focus, the expression in them dreamy and slightly confused. “Why? It was very nice.”

  Better than nice, Joseph thought, and therein lay the problem. She wasn’t a sporting woman at the Golden Slipper who flitted from man to man. She was likely to take a kiss very seriously, possibly even as some kind of commitment from him. He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression and end up hurting her. She had experienced enough hurt in her young life.

  “Yes, it was nice,” he agreed. “Nice enough to get us both into trouble.” He leaned in to kiss the end of her nose. “You’re a lady from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, Rachel Hollister, and a lady isn’t for the likes of me.”

  She tipped her head to study him questioningly. “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m not the marrying kind.” Joseph pushed to his feet. “You’ll do well to remember that.” He walked across the room to the archway. “I take my pleasure where I find it, and then I move on. I don’t have it in me to love just one woman. I’m more what you might call a buffet man.”

  “A what?”

  Joseph strained to shift the table. “A buffet man. I like to sample all the dishes and don’t have a taste for any particular one.” He angled her a warning look. “I love first helpings, but I rarely go back for seconds. I’m the same way with women. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “That you’re a scoundrel?”

  He grinned. “There you go, a scoundrel. When it comes to kissing and that kind of thing, don’t trust me any farther than you can throw me. Are we clear?”
<
br />   “Perfectly clear. What are you doing?”

  He managed to scoot the table off to one side so he could squeeze through. “No worries.” He returned to collect the tools. “I’ll move it back to cover the opening while I’m gone.”

  The noise that filtered into the kitchen told Rachel that Joseph was making grand headway on removing the door and casing from her parents’ bedroom. She sat on the chair, where he had told her to sit, staring dry eyed at the upturned table, which hadn’t budged from the archway. Buddy lay beside her, snoozing. She took comfort from the fact that he seemed to be bored with the whole business.

  Finally, she heard footsteps returning to the dining room, interspersed by crashes, bangs, and muffled curses. “Rachel?” he called. “I’m gonna move the table now. Don’t get scared and shoot, all right? It’s just me.”

  “Me who?” she couldn’t resist asking.

  Long silence. “It’s me, Joseph.” Another silence. “Are you having me on?”

  Rachel smiled. “I am, I suppose.”

  “Will miracles never cease? The woman cracked a joke.”

  The table grated across the floor, and a moment later Joseph’s blond head poked around its edge. He flashed her a grin that made her stomach feel all squiggly. “Howdy. Long time, no see.”

  “Howdy.”

  He set to work on installing the doorframe, cussing almost constantly under his breath because the measurements of the archway weren’t exactly the same as the doorway in her parents’ bedroom.

  “Can you make it fit?” she asked.

  “Not snug,” he confessed. “It’s gonna be as loose as a fancy woman’s nether regions.” He froze and shot her a look over his shoulder. “Pardon me. I forgot for a second who I was talking to.”

  Rachel went back over what he’d said and couldn’t make much sense of it. When he saw her bewildered frown, he chuckled, shook his head, and went back to work, muttering under his breath again.

  When the door was finally installed, its swinging edge was an inch shy of touching the jam, and the top rail didn’t stretch all the way across. It nevertheless provided a barrier. Joseph had hung it to open into the kitchen. He borrowed the niches and pine plank from the pantry door to bar it shut.

  The instant the plank fell into place, Rachel let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Joseph.”

  He came to lay the tools on the table. “Better?” he asked.

  “Much better.” She felt safer now. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I know it was a bother.”

  “Not a problem.” He glanced at his watch and then tucked it back in his pocket. “Now here’s the question. When I get back from doing the chores, are you going to be able to open up for me?”

  Rachel thought about it for a long moment. Normally the very idea of opening a door sent her into a panic, but with Joseph standing on the other side, she thought she might be okay. “I think so.”

  He flashed her a teasing grin. “It’ll be a hell of a note if you can’t. I’m leaving Buddy here with you.” He bent to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “He needs to go out every now and again.”

  Thanks to Joseph’s morning-after remedy, Rachel’s headache and nausea were completely gone within the hour. With a door in the archway, she felt relaxed enough while he was off doing chores to follow her usual morning routine, emptying the wood safe, stoking the range fire, and starting breakfast, a workingman’s meal of bacon, fried potatoes, biscuits, eggs, and gravy.

  A buffet man? Every time Rachel remembered him telling her that, she grinned. He was far too kind a man to possess an inviolate heart. One day soon, when he least expected it, he would meet a lady who would make him forget all that nonsense about second helpings. She’d seen how good he was with Little Ace, a sure sign that he’d make a wonderful father. She also felt confident that he’d be an equally wonderful husband. He just hadn’t found the right woman yet.

  Rachel refused to let herself wish that she might be that woman. Her situation didn’t lend itself well to getting married and raising a family. Too bad. She had truly enjoyed that kiss. His fingertips on her chin had made her skin tingle, leading her to wonder how it might feel if he touched her in other places. Shocking places. She had no idea where such thoughts had come from, but come they had, and now she couldn’t push them from her mind.

  Did two people actually do stuff like that? A part of Rachel couldn’t imagine it, but another part of her thought maybe so. As a girl, she’d sometimes seen her parents caressing each other when they thought she wasn’t watching, and though she’d never seen them touch each other in truly intimate places, thinking back on it now, she could remember their coming close. Her father, as she recalled, had been especially fond of touching, running his hands upward from her mother’s waist almost to her bosoms and sometimes cupping her posterior in his palms to pull her hips snugly against him. Her ma had always giggled and given him a playful push, as if she hadn’t liked it, but it was obvious that she actually had.

  Rachel realized that her hands had gone still. She stared stupidly at the dry biscuit ingredients in the bowl, unable to remember what she’d already added and what she hadn’t. Lands. There was nothing worse than biscuits made bitter with too much baking powder. Dampening a fingertip, she took a taste, trying to determine if the rising agent had already been added. It was hard to tell. To be on the safe side, she measured more in, stirred industriously, and took another taste. No bitterness. That was a good sign. She could only hope she hadn’t used twice as much as needed.

  Enough woolgathering! She’d end up ruining the entire meal. With determined concentration, she began cutting in the lard, trying her best to think of nothing but the biscuits. Only a picture of Joseph’s face crept into her mind again. At some point over the last two days, she’d come to think that he was extraordinarily handsome in a rugged, sun-burnished way. His large, bladelike nose now seemed perfectly right for his face, and she barely noticed the knot along the bridge anymore. She also found his sky blue eyes to be wonderfully expressive and compelling. And his mouth, ah, she loved his mouth. For a man, he had full, beautifully defined lips, and they were fascinatingly mobile, the corners curving up and dimpling one cheek just before he smiled. They were also delightful to watch when he talked, shimmering softly in the light like polished silk.

  Rachel realized that her hands had gone still again, and she sighed with frustration. Enough. They were just lips, after all. She had work to do after breakfast. If Joseph would take her homemade goods into town to sell them, she needed to make bread, some butter, and a new batch of cheese to start it aging. Otherwise, she’d find herself with nothing in her cellar to replace the blocks of cheddar that were coming ready to be sold now. Her cheddar cheeses were popular items at Gilpatrick’s general store, and she needed the money they brought in.

  So that was that. No more daydreaming for her this morning.

  Cursing to turn the air blue, Joseph kicked an empty oilcan across the barn. What had he been thinking to kiss her like that? Sweet, innocent, decent young ladies were forbidden fruit. He knew that. But he’d gone after her anyway, conscienceless bastard that he was. Afterward, she’d looked at him as if he’d just hung the moon. If he didn’t watch his step, he’d find himself with a ring through his nose.

  Rachel was a sweetheart, and he had to admit, if only to himself, that he liked just about everything about her. Last night, for a fleeting moment, he’d even considered the possibility that she might be the woman. That was dangerous thinking, the kind of thinking that could lead him to make a decision he would come to regret.

  No way. He liked his life just fine the way it was, and he meant to keep it that way. No fuss and folderol. No female drawers hung to dry over the edge of his bathtub. No grabbing the wrong soap and coming from the water closet smelling like a whore. No woman harping at him like a shrew when he stayed gone all night. Ha. Ace could have it. Joseph enjoyed his freedom.

  From now on, that girl was totally off-limits, he lecture
d himself as he milked the cows. No more looking through her nightgown when she got between him and the light. No more salivating over the taut tips of her breasts when they pushed against her nightdress. No more doing that eye thing, either. He’d always laughed at men who talked about drowning in a woman’s eyes. Now here he was, gazing into blue depths himself like some kind of mindless fool.

  The lady spelled “trap” in capital letters. Now that he was away from her, he honestly couldn’t think what had gotten into him. He felt sorry for her. Maybe that was it. She hadn’t asked for the sorrow that life had dished out to her, and she certainly hadn’t asked to live as she did. He couldn’t be around her without wishing he could make things better for her.

  That was it, he assured himself, as he left the barn with a can of chicken feed. He pitied her, and his feelings were all in a tangle. It had been a spell since he’d gone into town on a Friday night. He needed to visit Lucille again. Or was her name Cora? Damned if he could remember. It wasn’t about names, after all, or even about being friends. He had needs that couldn’t be ignored, and she took care of them, for a price. It was as simple and as awful as that.

  Joseph stopped dead in his tracks. Awful? And just where had that thought come from? What was awful about two people scratching each other’s itch? Nothing that he could see. So why did he suddenly feel guilty?

  Shoving his hand into the can, he started throwing feed with such force that the hens squawked and scattered. Damn it all, anyhow. She was messing with his mind, making him find fault with himself, with how he lived his life, and with every other damned thing. Like his house, for instance. He’d liked it just fine before he met her. Now he found himself looking at her rugs and doilies and knickknacks, thinking his own place could use a woman’s touch.

  What was that all about?

  Chapter Ten

  Thirty minutes later when Joseph shoved half of a fluffy, buttered biscuit into his mouth and decided it was equal to none, he knew exactly what his problem was. He’d found the perfect woman.