by Cindy Nord
His jaw tightened as he studied her. What worry simmered below the surface of that calm to create the faint lines that now creased her forehead? And her eyes…Jeezus…deep-set and round, they were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, their color a mesmeric green encircled by lush, black lashes.
On a hard swallow, Brennen tore his gaze away. If he’d learned anything about women, it was that they could torment the hell out of a man. He shrugged, hoping the gesture would cover up his…what? Interest? His face heated.
“Yes, some thinking.” He wobbled the bottom of his small tumbler in a circle on the table. “How ‘bout I hire you to educate Jubal…and Ruby?” What the hell…where did this come from? His heart thumped faster as he scrambled to make sense of the senseless. “You know, for when I sell the place. The new owner might keep ‘em on if they know how to read and write.”
The forkful of pie stopped inches from her mouth. “Y-You want me to teach them?”
A breeze tangled with the scents of the peaceful night and wafted in through the open window. He suppressed another curse, even more irritated at himself for noticing. “Teach ‘em. Educate ‘em. Whatever the hell you want to call it. I’ll pay you.” Footing the bill meant he’d keep everything above board.
He justified the bullshit with a half-smile.
And Annabelle’s expression shifted into joyous approval that sent a blush riding high across her cheeks. “I think it’s a most benevolent plan, Brennen.”
His heart wrenched in his chest at the way she said his name in that Frenchy-filled intonation. Brennen cleared his throat. “Well, yes. That’s me, a benevolent man.” The chair scraped across the floor as he rammed to his feet. Unfathomable want for the woman surged through him, and he gripped the table’s edge. “You can begin as soon as Ruby’s health allows.”
He needed more air.
“I-I’ll require some supplies,” she said. “Books…and slates for writing lessons. You know, a few instructive things.”
“That’s fine. Just give me your list and I’ll purchase whatever you want when I go into town.” As silence fell between them, he realized he required a hell of a lot more than fresh air…he needed to be admitted to the nearest insane asylum.
On a sharp curse, he strode from the kitchen. Cheap whiskey or not, maybe he’d just go finish off the whole damn bottle.
Chapter Fourteen
Knoblick Creek
Late afternoon the following day
At the crunch of wagon wheels on stone and a jangling harness, Brennen glanced up and squinted southward. Head pounding a punishing reminder of his tryst with the rotgut, a groan slipped free.
“Looks like we got company, suh,” Jubal hollered from upstream.
With an acknowledging hand wave, Brennen dropped his bucket and headed toward the dusty lane.
From around the bend, a black-lacquered, roofless phaeton rolled into view.
His gaze narrowed on the driver. A short-brimmed derby topped a flowing red mane, and notable facial hair and mutton chops filled the majority of the stranger’s red-flushed face. He resembled a long-bearded Viking, with an extra hundred pounds of fat packed on for good measure.
Despite his headache, Brennen snorted at the comical sight. Most likely a traveling merchant. As the driver drew an impressive pair of Belgians to a stop, Brennen glanced to the back of the rig.
No goods.
No trader.
The gent raked a buff-colored coatsleeve across his forehead, then touched the brim of his expensive derby. “Greetings to you, my good fellow.” He tucked the reins beneath a massive belly that extended over a tweed-covered lap.
Though he spoke like a salesman, the holstered revolver peeking from beneath the man’s jacket indicated otherwise. On alert, Brennen nodded. “Kinda hot to be out and about.”
“That it is,” the stranger agreed, his grin widening. Rounded cheeks pushed upward to nearly engulf his eyes. “Heard someone had acquired the Chiswell place. Might that be you, sir?”
At least the corpulent bastard proved friendly, if not a bit nosey.
Brennen tugged off his gloves. “It would. Brennen Benedict.” A long stretch allowed him to reach the extended hand. Their palms slid together into a clasp before separating. “And you are?”
“Samuel D. Gruden.” He straightened. “I’m the county sheriff.”
The sheriff? Brennen nearly choked as he bit back a laugh. Any outlaw worth his salt would have little trouble outrunning this overstuffed officer of the law.
The man angled a thumb backward. “Just finished a visit with the blessed virgins over yonder at Mount Maple. They mentioned you’re the one providing bricks for their forthcoming compound. Wanted to meet you on my return to Owensborough. Seems we’ve a mutual friend in Wallace Wise.”
“That so?” Brennen asked, slapping his gloves against his thigh. A veil of dust billowed upward. “Wise is a fine attorney, but unfortunately could do little for me in regards to the nuns. Don’t suppose you could make that lien go away, could you, Sheriff?”
Gruden laughed. “Heard about that property hold, too. But, nope…’fraid not. You’re roped in good and tight on that one, son. Though the Reverend Mother did mention she’s sympathetic about you getting hornswoggled into the providing part.” The belly covered by a brown silk vest wobbled beneath another chuckle. “Frank Chiswell was highly respected in these here parts, along with being an upstanding, law-abiding businessman. That is, ‘til he lost his family and turned to the bottle to help him forget his pain.”
“Well, if this brick-makin’ process doesn’t move any faster,” Brennen quipped, “I might do the same damned thing.” The man’s booming laugh pierced his skull, and Brennen tightened his jaw against another potent reminder of last night’s idiocy.
Gruden wiped at his eyes. “Years ago, my family traveled here from Ohio. Believe I was around ten at the time. Felt much the same as you do now ‘bout the area. After a while, though, I grew to appreciate this part o’ the Commonwealth. Give yourself time, Benedict. You’ll come to laud Kentucky as I do now.” He peered across the Knoblick and his smile widened. “Howdy, Jubal,” he hollered. “You and the Mrs. doing all right?”
Brennen turned in time to see Jubal wave back.
“Yes, suh,” he yelled, tossing aside his trowel. “Me ‘n Ruby’s doin’ just fine, sheriff. Thank you for askin’. I’s Mista Brennen’s foreman, now.”
“That’s good to hear. Honest job. Honest pay. Glad things are getting back to normal for you all. You keep out of trouble now, all right?” Gruden’s gaze shifted back to Brennen, and he lowered his voice. “I helped out the Chiswell’s with some of their…um…non-bricking activities before the war. Hell of a good man, Jubal Jones.” The sheriff tugged on the hem of his vest, then gathered up the reins. “Well, I guess I’ll be lettin’ you all get back to work.” He paused. “Oh, a couple more things to mention ‘fore I head off. I’m running for political office come November, the House of Representatives over in Frankfort. Want to go work for John Stevenson. Hell of a governor, that one. Insisted the negroes’ new rights promised ‘em during Reconstruction be observed.” The sheriff gave a wink, then whispered, “And when they weren’t, he had the knackers to rally the state militia to quell the uprisings after the war.” He leaned against the black leather seat and smiled. “Yes, sir…that’s a fine man, too, even if he was a damned Confederate sympathizer. Well, just wanted to say howdy. Sure ‘preciate your support come Election Day.”
Brennen nodded.
Hell of a talker…and a Yankee partisan, to boot. Regardless, the man had grit. Only a dedicated politician would be out campaigning on such a sweltering day. “You’ll get my vote if I’m still around.”
The sheriff hooted. “If those good Sisters of St. Joseph have anything to say about that, you will be.” He narrowed his gaze. “But don’t get me wrong…‘til election day, I’ve still got eyes in the back o’ my head. Been sheriffing these parts for nigh on twenty-five years.
Nothing gets past me. Not one damned thing. Don’t you forget that, now, you hear?”
Despite his portentous bluster, Brennen understood the man meant business. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Glad to hear it, my friend. Yes, sir, glad to hear it. Good day to you.” Gruden slapped the reins across the horses’ rumps, and the team cantered off at a fast clip.
“You too,” Brennen scoffed as the carriage rolled from view. A moment later, Jubal joined him. “That lip-flapper sure don’t look like any sheriff I’ve ever seen.”
“Yes, suh, dat’s true. But don’t let his looks fool ya none. In his younger years, he captained Mista Chiswell and others from around here to Texas durin’ da Mexican War. Afterwards, when da big war came, Sheriff Gruden hung most o’ da Copperheads who disrespected da Yanks dat fought for da Union.” Pride filled Jubal’s voice. “More den dat, though, God bless ‘im for refusin’ to allow even one murderin’ Klan chapter into his county. No suh, he ain’t one to trifle wif, dats fo’ sure.”
Brennen shifted his gaze to the dust settling on the horizon. In Gruden’s case the truism more than meets the eye proved true. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to steer clear of him while I’m here.”
Not that he had one blasted thing to hide from the man.
* * * *
A rustle of silk filled the room as Annabelle laid her apricot-colored dinner dress on the bed alongside her Worth gown of emerald-green. With a sigh, she stepped back and glanced at Ruby. “Now, you pick which one I should wear tonight.”
Ruby smiled.
Even before the Great War, Annabelle had never understood slavery, or the divisiveness of class. And since she’d been here, she’d come to know this proud woman and valued her opinion.
“Lord A’mighty,” her new-found friend exclaimed as she dropped her attention back to the dresses, “Deys both just about da finest I’s ever seen.” She skimmed her fingers over the black lace gracing the neckline of the closest one. “But, I’d have to say, dis green’n here matches yo’ pretty eyes da best.”
Annabelle squashed her embarrassment, and widened her smile. “I appreciate your help, Ruby. Thankfully, I have all the underthings necessary for this ensemble. Even the silly bustle, since the sweep of the skirt requires one.”
Ruby nodded, although she’d probably never worn a bustle in her entire life. The woman slid her gaze to the apricot dress. “But, den again, dis’n here might add a bit o’ glow to ya cheeks.”
Annabelle arched an eyebrow. “My cheeks need more glow?”
“Yes’m,” she chuckled, “yo’s as pale as I be sick.”
“Nonsense. You’re healthier with each passing day.”
“Dat I am,” Ruby agreed, “on account o’ yo’s good nursin’. Can’t say da same ‘bout yo’ pallor, though.” With a laugh, she motioned toward the looking glass. “Go have a look for yo’self.”
Nodding, Annabelle crossed the room, then frowned at her reflection. “I am pale, aren’t I?” Her hands rose to cup her cheeks. “And yet…” she glanced back, “paleness is quite acceptable. I’ve even used buttermilk soaks before to help achieve such a look.”
The woman snorted. “Wastin’ good milk to beautify a lady’s skin is pure bunkum, ‘specially when dats meant for makin’ pancakes.”
Annabelle giggled. Ruby, you are a treasure. And not one living soul from Philadelphia’s social registry would be dining with them tonight. She slid her fingers through tresses still damp from her bath and combed the tangles free. Weeks had passed since she’d first sat in the sunshine jotting notes about Brennen for the Reverend Mother.
How quickly time flew.
She leaned closer and pinched her cheeks, and a swath of pink appeared to brighten her face. “Rest easy, mon chérie. I promise not to filch any of Elle’s buttermilk while I’m here.” The succulent smells of the meal the cook was preparing wafted through the house, and Annabelle’s stomach rumbled. “Now that you’re gaining your strength, I assure you, we’ll both be going outside more often.” Straightening, she smoothed her palms down her wrapper-clad belly and hips. “I’ve gained a bit of weight this past week, though, so I’m hoping everything still fits.”
Ruby laughed. “Oh, we’ll let out da seams if need be, ‘cause I’m good wif a needle and thread. I sewed most‘a Miz’ Chiswell’s dresses for her.”
“You’re a seamstress?”
“Yes’m. Come’d natural to me, I guess.”
“I’ve never sewn my own clothing. All I can do is crochet and tat, and of course, knit. You know, hats, gloves, and trim for my dresses and such.” She assisted her patient into a wobbly stance. “Did you enjoy our visit to Elle’s summer kitchen this afternoon?”
“I surely did. Weren’t so hot, neither. But, now I’m just a’wonderin’…” Ruby peered deep into her eyes. “If yo’s just a caretaker, how’d yo’ get all dese here beautiful things?”
Annabelle lowered her gaze to the Worth gown. How much of her life should she share? None of it. “Well,” she struggled to keep the loathing she felt toward Edward from her voice. “My sister’s husband came from wealth, so my gowns were gifts bestowed upon me before Bernice died.” The truth, if a bit tempered. They walked toward a chair near the small slipper tub.
As if satisfied with the reply the woman nodded. A moment later, her wracking cough filled the room, and she lowered to the seat.
Annabelle added two drops of laudanum to the glass of water on the sidetable, then handed over the murky liquid. “Here, sip slowly.”
Without hesitating, her patient emptied the medicine. Offering a weak smile, she handed back the goblet. “Dat coughin’ jag wasn’t near as bad dis time.”
“Each day you’re getting better. Soon you won’t need the laudanum.”
Ruby’s gaze shifted to the gowns. “Yes’m, Miz’ Annabelle, you in dat green dress be just da thing for Mista Brennen.”
For Mister Brennen? Her heart lurched as she returned the glass to the sidetable. She was absolutely not dressing for that blackguard. Liar. “The Worth gown it is, then,” she snapped. Enough of this. Still, last night had been a surprise. After her initial shock at seeing Brennen in the kitchen, she’d enjoyed their brief visit. Relished, in fact, the taste of the apple pie, their opera discussion, and the night air that mingled with the aromas of cinnamon and whiskey.
Then, with her barriers against him weakened, he’d impaired them further by hiring her as a teacher. Why? Or, did his reason matter? All she knew was that now she wouldn’t have to leave so soon. Furthermore, no matter how much she wanted to deny the fact, each day her feelings for this man grew.
Enough.
Annabelle propped her hands on her hips and imbued her expression with sternness. “With or without buttermilk soaks, I am merely dressing for my evening repast. Nothing more. Now let’s get you into the tub before the water goes cold. I’ll even fetch my lavender-scented soaps.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned to retrieve the bath items. Anything to steer their conversation away from the card-slinging, magnanimous scoundrel.
Chapter Fifteen
The aromas from their evening meal filled the air as Brennen eased onto his chair at the head of the table. He scanned the bowls of food in the center, then smiled. “Ellie’s outdone herself again.”
Jubal scooted his chair into place. “She sure has, Mista Brennen. Everythin’ smells mighty good.”
“That it does.” Brennen settled his whiskey glass near his plate and glanced at the dining room’s arched entrance. “All that’s missing now are the ladies.”
“Dat’s all.” A smile in his eyes, Jubal tucked his napkin into the vee of his worn plaid shirt. “When I checked on Ruby after washin’ up, she shooed me right outta da room. Said dey was gettin’ ready.”
Women. Brennen chuckled, then withdrew his watch from the pocket of the vest he’d donned after changing from his work clothes. Seven o’clock. A soft swoosh sounded as the kitchen door swung open, and th
e cook carried in yet another dish.
Good God, this feast would’ve fed my Grey Ghosts for a week.
He stiffened at the remembrance of war and his company of soldiers, then forced his thoughts back to the now. He drew in a deep breath and savored the enticing smells.
“Potatoes,” Ellie exclaimed, scooting the heaping bowl closer. “And they’re nice ‘n fluffy, with a wee bit of fresh butter plopped right there on top, too.”
“You’ve worked hard today, Ellie,” Brennen said. “I’m grateful.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Brennen, me boy. Hope you like the brisket roast. Even made up a batch o’ soda biscuits to go along with me hominy. And we have sorghum cake for later.” She, too, glanced toward the entryway. “Where’s the womenfolk?”
“Dey’s coming,” Jubal reassured her.
On a grunt, the cook pivoted and headed toward the kitchen. “I tol’ those lassies when they visited this afternoon that I promptly serve my dinners at seven o’clock. Didn’t work all day just to let everything get as cold as a well-digger’s ass...” The smacking thump of the door stole the rest of her words.
Brennen stifled a laugh. “Remind me never to be late.”
“I surely will, suh.”
A rustling in the center hallway brought Brennen’s attention to the dining room’s opening.
Moments later Ruby entered, a smile plastered wide across her face. “Sorry we be late, Mista Brennen.”
“You’re fine,” he said as the woman slid onto a chair beside Jubal. “Good to see you up and about again.”
She dropped her gaze. “Thank ya kindly.”
The chandelier flickered.
Another rustle sent Brennen’s gaze to the entry.
A breathtaking moment later, Annabelle entered the room. Candlelight rippled over silken folds of emerald green as her evening gown ebbed and flowed around her with each step.
He’d vowed to keep this half-innocent, half-temptress beauty at a distance, not to allow her to matter, but in that instant, everything else fell away as Brennen watched her lower to the chair.