Sweet Words of Love

by Betty Brooks

  "They can't hear me," he said. "But I guess I'd better stop before my body reveals my thoughts to them."

  Her gaze flashed quickly to that part of his anatomy that would give away the evidence of his desire. His breeches were strained to the maximum, pulled tightly across his muscled thighs. Her face flushed hotly and she looked quickly away and heard him laugh softly. "Don't, Thorne," she said.

  He pushed his hat forward and leaned his head back against the seat. "I think I'll catch a nap before we get to St. Louis. You should, too, Rainey. There's no telling when we'll have the opportunity again."

  Then, without another word, he closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply. Rainey stared at him, amazed that he could so easily fall asleep when her own emotions were so tightly wound that she was certain she'd never be able to achieve that state.

  She looked out the window again and stared outside at the landscape, which was passing by at such a swift pace. But the scenery wasn't enough to hold her attention. Her thoughts were on Thorne, and the words he had spoken to her. She mulled them over and over in her mind. He'd said he wanted to be more than friends. Was that his way of telling her he loved her as a man loved his wife? She wished he'd been more explicit. But he had not, had only raised a lot of questions in her mind that she couldn't answer without his help.

  She considered waking him and asking those questions, but quickly dismissed the idea. She couldn't talk about such things on a train that was filled with people. But the minute they had time alone, she wanted answers. And by golly, she would have them.

  Rainey thought she was too excited to sleep, and yet, she fell into that state unaware. Several hours later she woke to a loud voice, calling out the next stop, and realized it was the conductor. "Next stop, St. Louis," he shouted. "St. Louis, next stop."

  The screech of metal against metal told her the brakes were bein’ applied, and she looked out the win­ dow and saw they were pulling into the station.

  "Did you sleep well?" Thorne asked. "I sure did," she replied. "Stay close to me when we leave the train," he said. "The station is large enough that you'd get lost for sure if we get separated."

  Thorne hired a carriage and they rode down the street toward the outskirts of town.

  "Is it far to your pa's house?" she asked. "Not far. In fact, there it is." He pointed to a house that looked more like a mansion, built high above the river to allow the scenery to be enjoyed with no danger to the house or its occupants.

  Rainey suddenly felt nervous. Her hands were clammy and her pulse beat rapidly. Had Thorne told his sister he was bringing a visitor? Would she resent Rainey for coming?

  Her question was soon answered. Thorne barely had time to lift the knocker when the door was opened by a black suited man who was obviously the butler. A woman appeared at the bottom of the stairway behind him. She was elegantly dressed in a plain skirt over which she wore a jacket decorated with deep-scroll braid.

  "Thorne!" he cried, winding her arms around his waist and pressing her head against his chest. "I can't believe you've really come."

  He laughed huskily and swung her around in a flurry of skirts before setting her on her feet again.

  "Who is that?" she asked curiously, spying Rainey. Then, "My God, you haven't gone and got married, have you?"

  "No. Not married." He pulled Rainey forward. "Yet. This is Rainey Watson. Rainey, meet my sister, Eloise." Having no knowledge of how society women greeted each other, Rainey gave Eloise's hand a quick shake. "Howdy, ma'am," Rainey said shyly. She stared at the elegant woman with bemusement. Although she was similar in features to Thorne, her appearance was definitely not masculine. Her hair was dark, her eyes brown, and her skin a flawless white. It was obvious that she took great care to protect it from the sun.

  Eloise smiled at her. "Rainey. That is a beautiful name. I bet I can guess how you came by it, too." “It don’t need no smarts to know that.” Rainey laughed, then blushed rosily covering her mouth quickly. “oh, golly, I don’t mean no offense, ma’am. I wasn't sayin’ you ain’t right smart. I meant you was right if you was athinkin’ I was born on a rainy night.”

  "I knew what you meant, dear child. You have no need to apologize for anything." Eloise looked at her brother. "She's absolutely precious, Thorne."

  Rainey frowned at her, wondering if she should take offense at the other woman's words. She'd never been called precious before. At least, not since she'd passed the toddler stage. But since Thorne ignored his sister's remark, Rainey decided to do the same.

  "How is Father?" Thorne asked his sister.

  The question seemed to embarrass Eloise because she blushed. Her eyes slid away from her brother's gaze. "Nothing has changed since I wrote you," she said slowly.

  His gaze narrowed on his sister's rosy cheeks and he frowned. "He's still !ingering on?"

  Eloise's gaze flickered to Rainey, then back to Thorne again. "We need to talk," she said. "There's something you should know, but I'm sure Rainey is exhausted. I'll get her settled in one of the guest rooms, then I'll meet you in the library."

  Rainey was quick to protest. "No need to bother yourself about me," she said. "I'll just set myself down on these here steps and wait for you and Thorne to finish with your jawing. Thorne will be anxious to take a look­see at his pa."

  "Don' t be silly," Eloise said. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you on the stairs when there are perfectly good rooms upstairs that have been made ready for visitors. Go on in the library, Thorne. I'll be hack momentarily."

  Eloise gripped Rainey's arm and hurried her up the stairs. They entered the first room on the right and Rainey's astonished gaze traveled around the elegant room. "Are you sure nobody will object to me stayin' here?" she asked, her gaze lingering on the magnificent four­ poster bed.

  "Of course they won't." Eloise looked around as though she were looking for something, then shrugged her shoulders. “I think you'll be comfortable enough here," she said. ''I'll send Bertha to draw you a bath."

  Rainey felt affronted. "I had a bath afore I left home," she said indignantly. “I wasn’t implying that you were dirty, dear," Eloise said quickly. "I just thought a hot bath might relax you. The evenings here can be long and drawn out if you're overly tired. I'm sure you would benefit greatly from a nap."

  “A nap?” Rainey stared at the woman as though she'd taken leave of her senses. “I don’t need a nap. I'm a woman fully growed."

  Eloise looked momentarily confused. "Oh, dear," she said. "I seem to be making things worse."

  The woman looked so concerned that Rainey felt sorry for her. Her rising temper immediately cooled. "I guess we both been barking up the wrong tree. Prob'ly 'cause you're city folk and I come from the hill country. I can see I got me a heap of learning to do afore I lay my trap for the teacher man."

  "Lay your trap? For the teacher man?" Eloise looked even more confused. "Oh, dear. I don't think I quite understand."

  "Maybe Thorne better explain," Rainey said. "I ain't right sure we're up to understanding each other." Eloise summoned up a quick smile. "You're probably right. Anyway, I must hurry back to Thorne before someone else reveals my duplicity."

  Rainey watched the woman leave the room, wondering what on earth she'd meant by her final words.

  Thorne stood before the open liquor cabinet and poured a shot of brandy in a glass. He tossed it back and swallowed quickly. Why had Eloise been so insistent about him waiting in the library instead of going to see his father? he wondered. Perhaps, he thought, it was because his father had already passed on.

  But no. That couldn't be the reason. She'd told him there'd been no change in the elder Lassiter's condition.

  Thorne had mingled feelings about his father. Uppermost was sadness that the two of them could not be reconciled before it was too late. Beneath that, though, was anger that his father had spent most of his life hating his only son and trying to make his life miserable. Picking up the liquor bottle, Thorne poured another drink just as the door opened and Eloise
entered the room.

  "It's so good to have you home again, Thorne," she said, sliding her arms around his shoulders and giving him a quick hug. "I was so afraid you wouldn't come." He returned her hug, then put her away from him. "I wouldn't have if not for the circumstances," he said bluntly. "Now tell me about Father's illness. Just how

  serious is it?"

  Instead of answering his question, she posed one of her own. "You are still bitter, aren't you?" "Why should I feel any differently now than on the day he threw me out?" Thorne asked. "Even though he's at the end of his life I'm almost positive his attitude toward me is the same."

  "Oh, Thorne. He has changed. He is sorry about the estrangement between you." "I find that hard to believe." He turned away from her, and stared unseeingly out the window, feeling suddenly plagued by old wounds.

  "But it's true," she protested.

  "Then why didn't he send for me? He knew where I was." "He's a proud man, Thorne. You know that. He's never admitted to a mistake in his life, and you are very much like him."

  "No! I am not like him," he said sharply. "I would never deliberately hurt a child of mine." He stared reproachfully at her. "Do you know how I felt, Eloise, living in this cold house? Being constantly told how worthless I was? He said that I had bad blood in me . . . the O'Brien blood of my mother."

  "I know. We both know how opinionated father has always been.”

  "That is no excuse," he said coldly. "If he considered the O'Briens so far below him, then why in hell did he marry my mother?"

  "Because he loved her," she said simply. "He loved Mary O'Brien more than life itself. My mother knew that when she married him."

  "And still she married him."

  "Yes. She thought her love would change him." "And in the end she ran away."

  "Yes. She was strong enough to fight for his love with a ghost but not strong enough to fight a memory."

  "A memory? I'm afraid I fail to see the difference in a ghost and a memory. Aren't they one and the same?" Her eyelids lowered, hiding her expression. "There are things about Father that you don't know. And I'm

  not certain you can understand." And you do?" He arched a dark brow. "You always were more sympathetic to his moods. But I'm afraid nothing will change my opinion of him.”

  "Don't be that way, Thorne," she replied. "It's time to put old hurts behind us. Time to get on with our lives."

  "Like that old man has done?"

  "Thorne, please." She gripped his forearm tightly, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Just listen, please. Listen to what I have to say."

  ''I'll listen." He slumped down in a stuffed leather chair. " But it will make no difference to my way of think­ ing. I'll make you a promise, though, Eloise. I won’t utter a word of recrimination to him when I go to see him. I'll let him leave this world without more bitter words being spoken between us." He eyed her grimly. “I take it he is still alive. That I came before it was too late."

  She lowered her lashes again and looked discomfited. "Yes. It's not yet too late."

  He straightened his length and set his empty glass down on a nearby table . "Then perhaps I'd better see him now."

  He strode across the room, but she hurried to stop him. "No, wait!" She took a deep breath. "Somebody is blackmailing Father, Thorne. We're in danger of losing the shipping lines."

  His gaze narrowed. "What do you mean by that? Who's blackmailing him? And what for? And why

  should the shipping lines be in danger?" He rapped the words out with the rapidity of bullets fired from a re­ peating rifle.

  "I don't know who's blackmailing him. Father refused to say as to why he's being blackmailed? I'm not sure. He told me it was an early indiscretion of his, something that happened twenty years ago. But that, if the events ever came to light, he would be so disgraced that his shipping lines would go under. He said if that happened he would end his life."

  "Well, hell!" Thorne exclaimed. "His life is over any way, isn't it?"

  Her eyelashes lowered, covering her expression. When she spoke again, her voice was low. "No. Not yet anyway."

  A muscle worked in his jaw. "Then he's better?" Her hesitation was barely perceptible. Then her eye­

  lids swept up and she met his gaze with a long look. "You wouldn't have come if I hadn't sent the letter," she said quickly. "I only did what I had to do, Thorne. You must understand that."

  Something flickered in his gray eyes. "What are you talking about, Eloise?"

  "Father is not anywhere near death," she admitted slowly. "He's in his office at the shipping lines."

  The heat in the bedroom was oppressive, almost stifling in intensity. It increased the discomfort Rainey felt at having been left in the room by herself. But she could understand Eloise's determination to be alone with her brother. It had been years since they'd last seen each other, and they must be busy catching up on lost time, as well as discussing family matters.

  Nevertheless, Rainey continued to feel uncomfortable. She was a stranger here, unused to their ways. She frowned. Hadn't Eloise promised to send someone to her? A maid, perhaps? Had she forgotten? Suddenly Rainey realized how thirsty she was. Her mouth was dry as cotton. She needed a drink of water, and there had been plenty of folks standing around the entry hall, gawking at them, as though they had nothing better to do with their time. One of them could have shown her around. Finding the room suddenly stifling, she wiped beads of sweat from her brow, then crossed to the window and attempted to lift it. But her efforts proved useless. The window was either stuck or had been nailed shut. Determined to get some fresh air, she opened the door to the upper hallway, and went straight to the nearest window and tugged at it. To no avail, though. It, too, refused to open.

  Further examination told Rainey a latch kept it in place. She pushed it aside and the window slid smoothly up, allowing cooler air to flow through. She was leaning out the window, breathing in the fresh air when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Spinning on her heels, she saw a tall, elegant man with silver hair approaching. His austere black suit revealed his position in the household, that of a butler, obviously sent to attend her needs.

  Her lips twitched, preparing for a smile that died when she saw the coldness of his silver-gray eyes. They slid over her.

  "What in hell are you doing here?" Her back stiffened immediately, and she glared at the offending butler, who appeared to think himself above other folks. "Certainly not waiting for the likes of you!" she snapped.

  His gaze slid past her to the open window. "Came in the window, eh?" His glare was thunderous as he scanned her person, making her painfully aware of her shabby attire. "What are you trying to steal, girl? Answer me!"

  She didn't like the way he spoke to her, nor the tone of his voice. It was downright rude. "You got no right to accuse me of stealin'," she said sharply. "It would serve you right if I told Thorne how you talked to me." He looked taken aback by her outburst. "I was let into this house by Thorne's own sister," she continued. “And I ain’t so sure you go right to be, or you woulda knowed that already.”

  "Thorne?" he questioned, narrowing his cold eyes on her face. "What do you know of Thorne?" "More'n you're ever gonna know," she said waspishly. “An’ he ain't gonna take it kindly that somebody like you, a man who's been hired to do a day's work for his folks is atalkin’ to me like I was no better’n a two-legged low-down polecat."

  "Young woman! You keep a civil tongue in your head before I call the constable and have you jailed for break­ ing and entering. And whatever else I can think of." His cold gray eyes measured her and seemed to find her lacking in every respect.

  How could someone who appeared so stately be so vicious and unfriendly? she wondered.

  He started toward her and she backed up, snatching a vase from a nearby table and hefting it over her head. He stopped abruptly, his gaze on the vase. "Put that vase down," he ordered crisply.

  "Make me," she said, her lips pulling back into a cold smile. She raised it hig
her, preparing to fling it at his head if he moved closer.

  "I'm not beyond doing exactly that!" he snapped. "Now put it down before I take it away from you." ''You an' who else?" she spat, her fury almost overcoming her. "It's agonna take more'n some mean ol' man like you to wrestle it away from me."

  "I have no intention of wrestling with you, young woman, but I will not allow you to break my priceless Ming vase." His voice rose until it was loud enough to carry all over the house. "Now put it down! If you break it, I'll take its value out of your worthless hide."

  A scurrying on the stairway caught his attention. He turned momentarily to look at the servants who seemed frozen in a huddle, their mouths open as though they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing.

  "George!" The man who faced Rainey snapped. "Come here immediately. Take this woman out of my house before I lose my temper and teach her some manners."

  "You come one step closer, George," Rainey threatened, "and this here vase ain't gonna be so priceless no more."

  "Uh , s-sir," the roan called George stuttered. "I th-think there's s-something you should know."

  "Do as I said!" the other man snapped.

  "Uh, y-yes s-sir." George took another step upward. "You come anywheres near me, George and I'm

  gonna lay your head open with this here fancy jar!" Rainey threatened.

  Suddenly a stern voice rang out. "What in hell is going on here?"

  A guilty flush swept over Rainey as she met Thorne's eyes. “It weren't my fault, Thorne," she said quickly. “It was his. He started bad-mouthing me the minute he laid eyes on me. An’ you know how quick my temper is." She looked beyond Thorne to Eloise. I’m sorry, ma'am. I get riled real quick-like, especially at folks who act like they're better than other folks. But I shouldn't of started a·ruckus in your house. It was plumb unmannerly of me and. . .”

  She broke off, realizing suddenly that nobody was listening to her apology. Instead, they were all staring at Thorne and the hateful butler who'd been shouting at her and calling her names.