"Sarah?" he mumbled her name, his vision tunneling as he focused upon his dead wife. Stumbling forward he moved trancelike toward her. "Sarah?"
But she stirred. Was it possible that he was awakening from a dream? Was his Sarah alive and the past years nothing but a nightmare?
***
Cold air sped across her body, gripping her in its frosty fingertips. Bobbie moved unwillingly from sleep’s sweet embrace into the stifling grip of reality. Opening her eyes, she focused on the jagged stones that made up the hearth.
David had come back. Now, if he would just go bed, she could get back to the pleasure of dreamless sleep.
"Oh, dear God!" he shouted, his footfalls heavy upon the floor.
She pressed her irritation down. It did no good to argue with a drunkard. He'd no doubt found drink in the barn and was ready to take his place before the fire to drink more, dream about Sarah and call out her name.
Lifting her head, she met his gaze, but his eyes were not the eyes of an intoxicated man. No, they were worse. They were the eyes of a crazed man. Eyes that didn't see her. No, he looked through her.
She fought the tendrils of sleep that clung to her and rose to her feet. "David? Are you all right?"
His lips lifted into a smile, his glassy eyes suddenly focusing upon her. The joy on his countenance warmed her heart. She pushed herself upright and returned his smile.
"You're well!" He opened his arms and stumbled toward her.
Dear Lord something wasn't right. She backed away, the skirt of her gown coming precariously close to the fireplace.
"I am, but you are most certainly not."
Rushing forward, he lifted her into his arms and held on tight, his grip uncomfortable as he squeezed her to his hard frame. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Never meant to make you so miserable."
Bobbie pushed her palms against his shoulders. "David, please. Let me go." His passion frightened her. His hold on her was overpowering.
"Never," he whispered in her hair.
He leaned in and took her lips in the most passionate of kisses he had yet to bestow. The need was raw, fierce and despite better judgment she leaned in, savoring the contact. Oh, to be kissed in such a manner. He slipped his tongue between her lips and held her closer still. She melted into him, her fingers clutching his jacket. How she loved him.
He pulled away and gazed down upon her. His cheeks glowed red with the cold, and the smell of cold wind and snow clung to his perspiring flesh. "You're not dead. All this time I thought you were dead."
Shame washed over her, humiliation saturated every bit of her brain. He thought she was her…Sarah. It was always Sarah. "No, I'm Bobbie. Roberta. Don't you remember me?" Angry, she pushed at him, needing to feel more distance, needing to get away from him! Wishing beyond reason to be anywhere but where she was.
He reached for her, latching onto her hand. "I'm sorry. I should have never made you stay."
"You're not making me stay. I'll be leaving soon," she shouted, pulling free and marching toward the far side of the room. Jealousy nested in her heart. She admitted to herself that she loved this oaf! Oh, God, she wished she didn't.
"Sarah, where will you go? Home? I'll come with you." His voice took on a somber quality, one that had her meeting his gaze. His face was drawn, his eyes hollow and crazed. He was so sick. He trembled, his usually proud stance replaced by a slouch. His body swayed, the smallest of breezes a threat to his upright position.
Just like that, her anger faded. "Come sit down. You need something to eat."
"No."
"Yes," she said emphatically, yet as she moved toward him, trepidation tugged at her hem. She didn't know what to expect and despite her angry disappointment, her compassion took hold. Reaching him, she grabbed his hand and led him toward the bed. He followed her, his feet shuffling with each step.
"Do we have any whiskey?" he asked, as he sat down on the edge of the mattress.
"No." She stared down at him, a dark curl rested atop his forehead, his green eyes watery as he looked up at her. "You don't need it."
"You're right. Now, that you're home, I don't need anything but you."
If only those words were meant for her. Tears stung her eyes as she walked toward the pantry. She'd see him fed, she'd repay her debt. But dear God it was going to be hard to love a man that loved another. Of course, that wouldn't stop her. No. Like her mother and her grandmother, she'd do what was needed. With a grimace, she supposed that was her lot in life.
Fetching the kettle she filled it with water. He needed something to drink other than alcohol. Coffee. That's what he needed and the stronger the better. While the water heated, Bobbie fought the nerves that had perspiration dotting her forehead. What was she supposed to do with a wild, trembling man?
"You need to sleep, David," she said standing before him. "Will you rest for me?"
He smiled up at her, uncertainty marring his countenance. "I never did enough for you."
She swallowed hard, hating that she had to pretend to be someone she wasn't. Someone she could never be. "Well then, it's time to remedy that." She fell to her knees and began unfastening the laces of his boots. "I want you to sleep."
"Will you be here when I wake up?" His expression alarmed her. Gone was the man she knew to be so rugged. Instead, the large wide eyed stare of a frightened animal met her worried gaze.
"Of course," she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. "I'll make you a fine meal and when you wake up you'll feel all the better for eating and sleeping."
He let out a chuckle of disbelief. "You're going to cook? I don't know if that's going to help me to feel better or not."
His good natured jibe startled her. She didn’t believe it! Sarah, not good at something? Why did his revelation give her a small surge of satisfaction?
With his boots off, he leaned back on the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. She watched him for a moment, anxious just witnessing the way his body convulsed. It was a bizarre scene and when he moaned, she instinctively went to him. The look upon his face was beyond frightening. His eyes were wide, his teeth chattering and despite the chill in the room, sweat poured from his forehead.
"David," she whispered his name and bending over him, she placed her hand on his cheek.
With a singular motion, he grabbed her wrist and with a strength that defied his current physical state, he sprang to his feet. She stumbled at the sudden, dizzying shove. He slammed her against the wall, her shoulders aching, the breath knocked from her lungs. Dear God, what was he doing? Was he trying to kill her?
"Tell me, what was he doing here?"
"Who?" she asked, her heart thundering against her ribs. "David, no one has been here. What do you mean?"
"Stop it!" he shouted his breath hot on her cheek, his crazed eyes dancing with fury. "You're lying to me. I know, because I saw him."
"I don't understand. No one was here. It's been just you an me s-since we got home from Mr. Crocker's."
"Crocker," he hissed the name through gritted teeth. He narrowed his eyes to slits. "Tell me, is the babe mine or will he be born with blonde curls?"
Her mind spun at his question. He seemed to regard the woman so highly and yet in his deluded state his true feelings sped to the surface. Worry, fear and confusion settled over her like a sopping cloak. Why did he lie to himself? Certainly the truth hurt, but what would lead him to drink the way that he did?
"Answer me, Sarah? I saw you kissing him. Tell me the truth now! I demand it!"
A shiver ran through her body and despite the pain of his grip, she did not struggle. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared into his face, her gaze locked upon his eyes. "I am offended that you would accuse me of such a crime." She swallowed the fear that clogged her throat and fought the tremor in her jaw.
"I saw him holding you, kissing you."
"And you did nothing to stop him? Why?"
A deep scowl wrinkled his forehead. "Why didn't you?" He leaned in close, his mouth hoverin
g above hers. "I kept waiting for you to deliver a blow. To push him away and yet you wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close."
The calm in his tone disturbed her more than the passion. There was an eeriness to it, a seriousness that frightened her and had her wondering just what he was capable of. "I love you, not Reg." And even though she spoke the words for Sarah, she knew they came from her trembling heart.
His grip eased. "Don't speak of love with the same mouth that kissed another." He pushed away from her, his lips pinched into an angry, bitter line. "I don't know if I love you, anymore."
"I know you do. Please, forgive me."
His brows shot up with his surprise and releasing his hold on her arm, he slipped his fingers around her neck. The gesture had her clawing at his hands as terror gripped her. "Forgive you? I could kill you."
He let go, the angry red tint of his skin blanching to a sickly pale. Stumbling back, he fell to the bed.
Chapter 13
David woke. The light from the window blistered his tired eyes and he longed to pull the dingy blue and white checked curtains closed.
Instead of venturing to stand, he moaned and closed his eyes, reaching for a pillow to lie atop his aching head. Sure, he'd felt sick with too much drink before, but never from a lack of it.
His hand landed on the solid form that nestled against him. Soft, sweet curves met his touch and a welcome peace enveloped him. Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled Bobbie closer, melding her supple curves to his body. Oh, it felt good to hold a woman again.
"David?" she said his name, the sound every bit as soothing as the rest of her. "Can I get you something?" But wait. Why was it her voice called to him from across the room?
"No, just stay here. Just let me hold you."
"I'm over here," she corrected, irritation filling her tone. "I'll get you some coffee. The water is ready. I've also found some flour, would you like some biscuits?"
He groaned and pushed at Alfred, the beast moaning as he jumped from the bed. "Damnation." He pulled the pillow down over her eyes. "No, I don't want anything to eat."
"But you must try," she said.
Peeking from beneath the white linen pillowcase, he watched her walk away. With her back to him, he admired the way her skirts shifted and he wondered just what beauty lay beneath the gray wool. With her hair cascading down her back, he smiled. The idea of tangling his fingers in her curls offered him great pleasure.
"Just the coffee, all right?" The notion of putting anything in his stomach made him queasy.
"You've been in and out for two days, David."
"Really, two days?" Her words should have alarmed him, but he was too tired to care. Five days without drink, no wonder they were little more than a blur.
"Yes and I've only been able to get coffee in you. Please eat something for me."
At the concern in her voice he conceded and tossed the pillow aside. "We have oatmeal left?"
"Yes," she said, looking over her shoulder. "I'll fetch it for you."
"Thank you." He ran quaking fingers through his hair and wondered if her offer of a hair cut still held. God, had he slept with a dozen nesting mice? "I'm sorry you had to see me like this."
She didn't answer, but the aroma of strong coffee signaled her presence. The smell usually enticed but today it had his stomach roiling. Nothing, absolutely nothing appealed to him, except whiskey. Yet, when she came to him with the steaming mug, he struggled to sit.
The shift in position had his head swimming and he set an unsteady hand atop his forehead. Pain shot through his skull like the hooves of a half dozen runaway steeds. He let out a low moan and looked at Bobbie through splayed fingers. Her alarm was visible and was it wrong for him to enjoy the concern that flashed in her eyes?
"Be careful now, you're as weak a newborn colt," she said, setting the cup down and aiding him in his struggle to right himself. His vision blurred and the world around him seemed to vibrate. Still, her hands on his arm eased his distress.
"Bobbie…" he said but the look on her face gave him pause. The expression she offered was one of confusion, followed by relief as she met his gaze. He swallowed. "I need a drink."
She straightened and set her hands upon her hips. Her eyes were droopy from fatigue and tears, her pale skin almost as white as snow. And although concerned for her, he was a little afraid she was going to take a razor strap to his hide. "No, you don't. You want a drink. But you're not getting one. We've nary a drop in this place, for if we had I would have emptied it in the snow."
Panic jostled him and had his stomach churning. "I've been without for near five days--"
"And if I have my way, you've had your last swallow. I did not go through what I did to see you fall back into bad habits." Her glower had him wondering what she meant.
"What you've been through? Watching me thrash around for a few days was too hard for you to bear?" And judging by the way his muscles ached, he had done quite a bit of thrashing.
She crossed her arms over her chest and continued to grimace. Gone was the softness that he had grown so accustomed to. No, her features had hardened, her expression flat and cold.
"Let's just say, you're not the nicest of men when you don't get what you want."
Lifting the cup, she offered it to him. "Now, drink this and I'll get you your food."
His stomach dipped as if he were in trouble with his Ma. No one could give the evil eye like Amelia Henderson…no one except Roberta.
"What did I do?"
She didn't answer and God help him, he didn't like the silence anymore than he liked the change in Bobbie. Whatever it was, he was sorry….so very sorry.
***
With David awake and lucid, she should have been relieved. Instead she was confused. Should she tell him that he kissed her, called her Sarah and then…
"Bobbie," he said to her from bed, his voice so weak that her heart stung. "Please, tell me what I did."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and kneeling by the kettle that hung above the fire, she stirred the oatmeal. Its bland aroma did little to fuel her own appetite. Melancholy had taken control of her thoughts and despite her desire to remove the strain from his tone, she was simply too tired to help him anymore than she already was.
Her family gone. Her heart broken. Her life in tatters. There was nothing left but to keep moving or fall down.
"Don't concern yourself with that," she said, filling a bowl and doctoring it with a little sugar and cinnamon. She pulled herself to standing, the gesture taking more out of her than she thought possible. But, there was still work to be done, wasn't there? That's how she found relief. She busied her body to slow her erratic thoughts.
She offered him the bowl and he gazed up at her, his mouth dipping into a frown. "If I said…did anything, you must know I was out of my mind. I've heard the devil takes control of a man when he quits drinking."
"Yes, well, I suppose that's why you shook like a marionette while the devil pulled your strings."
His eyes grew wide. "Really?"
She didn't respond and when he reached up to take the bowl, his fingers grazed hers and he stilled, his touch lingering. The sweet shiver of contact had her pressing the dish toward him. "Take this. I need to see to Ned and I'm sure Alfred would enjoy a romp."
He accepted the oatmeal and slowly stirred it, a small dot of light from the sun glinting off the handle of the silver spoon. "If you wait a moment, I'll come with you." He moved to set the oatmeal on the bedside table but she shook her head.
"No, there's no need. I've been keeping up with chores and that's what I intend to keep doing."
His brows knitted with obvious concern. "I'm the man--"
"You're sick. Get well so you can take up the chores and not die in the process of proving your manliness to me."
Her words obviously took him aback and he leaned heavily into his pillows. "Don't be long, all right? It's dangerous out there."
She shoved her arm into her c
oat sleeve. "I know that as well as anyone." How she loathed the hateful tone in her voice. But honestly, she was very angry and hurt and the sight of him only compounded the sorrow that seemed to encompass every fiber of her being.
"I know, but I don't know if I can cope with something happening to you."
He said the right things now, but she knew just what venom he was capable of.
Pulling open the door, she left without another word, the silence as harsh as anything she could say.
Drawing in a deep breath, she savored the feel of being outside rather than stuck in the stuffy cabin. Despite the chill, the fresh air pulled at her unsettling thoughts and cleared the worry from her mind. She knew it would only be a momentary reprieve, but she accepted it, relishing the quiet moment.
Alfred bounded off toward the wood, no doubt trying catch a hare or raid David or Reg's traps. She didn't care as long as he didn't set one off on his own leg. The thought had her calling after him.
Lifting her skirt, she slogged through the shadow dappled snow and into the wood. She could hear him barking, the sound unsettling. Not the happy yips of the frolicking hound that he was, but an angry beast ready to attack.
"Alfred," she called to him again. When he didn't come back, she lifted her skirts higher, longing to once again wear the britches of her youth. Perhaps tonight that's what she would do. Sit by the fire and fashion a pair of pants from her fine wool skirt. What did it matter? David was no longer someone she wanted to impress. No, her hero had become someone she would have to endure.
She had seen him at his worst and there was no taking back the things she'd learned about him…no taking back what she had learned about Sarah. Their relationship was not something to be cherished but something to regret. His rosy vision of the woman a lie he told himself with each sip of drink.
Memories of his hands on her neck as he pressed her to the cabin wall filled her mind. "Don't speak of love with the same mouth that kissed another." His eyes filled with anger, his face so menacingly close that she could almost feel his hot breath on her cheek. "Forgive you? I could kill you."
She shuddered at the memory, her fear as real as Sarah's must have been. Had he been the one to kill her? Was the story he told of finding her dead before the fireplace a lie? She didn't know and there was no way she would trust him ever again.
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