The tub was rather ill-adapted for a man of his stature, and Luther felt decidedly foolish sitting in it with his knees cocked out at awkward angles. The soap his hostess had provided smelled flowery and girlish, but Luther lathered it on a washcloth and set to work.
The mud and grime slid from his skin like oil. His back ached with every move he made, but at last there was more filth in the water than plastered on his body, and Luther felt a bit more like himself.
He left a great, greasy smear behind as he emerged from the water. His shoulder felt again as though someone had taken a flame to his flesh and ground the embers into his veins. His head throbbed as he hastily toweled himself dry and tugged the new trousers on over his bare legs. For a moment, he thought he had accidentally placed his feet into a worn hole in the pant, but then he discovered that the trousers were at least six inches too short for him, the hemline coming to rest above his ankle.
Scowling, he picked up the shirt he had worn the day before as a knock sounded on the door. “Have you died in the tub?” said an irritable voice.
“Nearly,” he grunted, and he bent to open the door, leaning heavily against the vanity.
Missus Rhyan’s blue skirts took up most of the available space in the washroom as she entered.
“Sit,” she instructed, pointing a thin finger at the stool. “I have been researching the proper way to dress a shoulder injury.” She was carrying several cloth bandages that looked as though they had once been fine linen sheets. “You’re bleeding again,” she added matter-of-factly, indicating his shoulder with a nod. “Had you noticed?”
Luther glanced down at the washroom floor and shook his head at her. Crimson drops dotted the rug and the wooden planks all around him.
“My apologies,” he murmured. He turned and planted himself back onto the stool, noticing as he did so, that she was watching him closely. Her expression was, as yet, an unfamiliar one, because he had yet to see the woman displaying a single ounce of pity for him. There was something else lurking beneath the pity as well, an emotion less easily definable.
“You needn’t apologize for bleeding,” she said.
Luther shrugged, but immediately wished he hadn’t. Pain lanced through him once more, and he gasped.
“Sit still,” she murmured softly. “We’ll get you tidied up.”
His brain sluggish, Luther let his head fall forward as she dressed his injury. It was an oddly comforting feeling to be looked after this way, despite the irritability of his hostess.
“I am sorry for the mess, Missus Rhyan,” he said, staring down between his feet. He felt exhausted, as though he had been shoveling coal into a scorching fire for hours on end. His body felt weak, straight down to the tips of his fingers and toes, and there was an itch forming on the tip of his nose. He could not even summon the energy to scratch it.
“It is quite alright,” she whispered near his ear. Luther felt chills erupt down his spine, and wondered if she could see them slinking down his back. “And you may call me Victoria.”
“Victoria,” he repeated, tasting her name on his tongue. It felt intrusively unfamiliar and yet… rather pleasant, like her. He grinned down at the floor. “Vicky?”
Her movements stilled. “Certainly not,” she stated. “It will be Victoria, and that is all, thank you.”
He grinned. “Vicky has a nice ring to it,” he murmured. “I think I prefer it.”
“Well, I do not,” she barked, and she gave the bandage she was winding about his shoulder an unnecessary tug. He winced, but continued to grin.
Her fingers were working against his flesh, and Luther was attempting to ignore the silken feel of them trailing over his skin, but his mind was slipping. The fingers of his good arm twitched strangely as he fought an unprecedented desire to reach for her.
Her scent was all around him, acting like a salve on his aches and pains— distracting him. He found he was breathing very deeply, and when she reached around his bare chest to wind the bandage around his torso, the air caught in his throat. He coughed, and glanced up at their reflection in the mirror.
She did not appear to have noticed his discomfort. She was completely consumed with the task at hand, and Luther did not look away from the mirror. Her hair was dark and woven carefully into a bun atop her head. Here and there, an escaped strand would curl around her ears and into her eyes. She brushed them away irritably, frowning in concentration.
After a few moments, she began humming softly, and Luther was transported back to the night she had saved him. He had thought she was an angel then. Perhaps he still thought it now…
He shook himself mentally. What was he doing? Yes, Victoria Rhyan was very nice looking and all that, but he could not very well think of her in such a way. Not when they were the only two people in this very large house, with so little to interrupt them if he were to desire a… better acquaintance with his hostess. He frowned and breathed a sigh of relief when she drew away from him, snapping a small pair of scissors closed and placing them into a kit on the shelf just behind her.
“There,” she said. “How does that feel?”
Hesitantly, he straightened his back, rolling his shoulders down away from his ears and trying not to look at the way her face seemed to glow with pride when he did not flinch.
“Better,” he breathed, looking anywhere but at her pretty smile. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “I’ve made up the guest room for you,” she said, reaching out a hand to help him to his feet. His stomach gave a lurch as he rose, and his knees felt shaky. She eyed his thick beard as she tucked his arm around her slender shoulders. “And I quite think you are overdue for a shave,” she added.
She chuckled when he let out a low groan.
Chapter Six
She led Luther into the room on the left side of the stairs. It was the one she had been using ever since Jack had passed. She had changed the sheets and made to move her belongings back into the master bedroom… but in the end she had been unable to face it. She placed them instead in the linen closet downstairs and hoped against hope that Mr. Garrison wouldn’t notice and ask uncomfortable questions.
“Here we are,” she said, trying to inject a note of cheerfulness into her voice.
Mr. Garrison’s breathing was labored once more, but he paused in the doorway and looked around. “Is this not... your room?” he asked. She saw him eyeing the lace coverlet.
The heat of him was pressing against her side, and Victoria teetered slightly as she shifted his weight forward. “Not at the moment.”
He took another shaking step into the room and flinched with the movement, pressing his fist against his mouth to keep the gasp of pain from escaping. Victoria was overcome with a fresh wave of pity.
“Come now,” she whispered. “Almost there. You’ve done very well, Mr. Garrison.”
“Luther,” he grunted at her. “My name is Luther, Vicky.” He smirked at her, and Victoria huffed in annoyance.
She guided his hulking form around the edge of the bed nearest the window and they sat down together in a bit of a heap. The mattress slanted towards him, and Victoria felt herself tipping sideways. The hard length of his thighs pressed against her skirts for the briefest of moments before she scrambled to her feet.
A bead of perspiration had formed on her brow. She wiped it away, contemplating his ashen face.
“I’ll bring up a pot of tea, shall I?”
He did not respond. His eyes were open, and he was gazing at her with his brow furrowed. Victoria had the impression he was undergoing some sort of painful internal struggle, something quite apart from his injuries.
“That would be welcome,” he said at last. The frown melted from his face and was replaced with another grimace as he negotiated his long legs onto the bed and propped himself against the pillows, but as Victoria made to turn away, he grasped her fingers.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For everything. I am sorry to be such a burden on your time.”
Victor
ia let her fingers rest in his for a moment longer than she ought to. His hand was warm and comforting, and the touch of his skin seemed to ease some of the caustic loneliness that had welled up inside her since her husband’s passing.
“You are most welcome, Mr. Garrison,” she said, feeling a soft smile turning up the corner of her mouth.
“Luther,” he corrected.
“Luther.”
It was a relief to have him away from the main part of the house. At last, she felt that she could walk past the sitting room without her heart spinning its way into her navel.
Having Luther situated in the upstairs portion of the house also made it easier to conceal his presence from anyone who happened to call. She accepted the weekly grocery parcels from Jackson Hershel the following day, trying her best to look cool and unconcerned as she answered the door.
Jackson was hefting the boxes onto the kitchen counter when a board overhead gave a loud squeak. The boy looked up, giving the ceiling a questioning look.
“The house has liked to settle quite often since the quakes,” Victoria explained hurriedly.
“Is someone here?” he asked, still gazing upwards, his head cocked to the side as though straining to hear the noise again.
“Certainly not,” Victoria declared.
“Right,” said the lad, looking rather embarrassed by the sharpness in her tone. “I’ll be off then.”
Victoria ushered him out the back door with a smile and a word of thanks and peered out through the curtains after him. To her dismay, she saw the boy glance at the upstairs windows as he left.
In a flutter of nervous panic, she arranged the groceries into the ice box and the larder and then darted upstairs.
“You have to be quiet,” she instructed, not bothering to knock as she pushed open the bedroom door.
Luther awoke with a snort. “Huh?” he said, looking around at her with his eyes half-open.
“If you wish me to conceal your presence, you cannot just squawk about, namby-pamby across the floor boards.”
“What’re ya on about, woman?” he grunted, sitting up in bed. The sheet fell to his hips, revealing his naked torso, and Victoria was suddenly struck by the intimacy of the situation. Her eyes skated over his fine form of their own accord, catching sight of the smattering of dark hair decorating his chest. She had a sudden desire to run her fingers over them. She wondered if they were as soft as they looked. She wondered too about the feel of his skin against her palm. She had hardly been able to think of anything else since she had re-bandaged his injury the day before.
“Nothing,” she murmured, backing out of the room. “I’m sorry to have woken you.”
He lay back down on the bed, muttering irritably under his breath, and was snoring again before Victoria had properly closed the door.
She carried the silver tea tray up to the guest room a few hours later to find Luther sitting up in bed, looking more alert than he had looked in days.
“Smells wonderful,” he grinned at her the moment she entered. “Won’t you join me?”
Victoria halted a few steps away from the bed, hesitating. Luther’s full beard was crinkling at the corners of his mouth. He looked hopeful, but Victoria shook her head.
“I hardly think that would be proper,” she said indignantly. She set the tray down smartly in his lap.
“On the off chance that it has escaped your notice, Vicky, I shouldn’t think that anything about our current situation would be deemed proper by any observer worth their salt.”
Victoria glowered at him, bending forward to straighten his pillows. “And upon whose head should that blame be placed? Yours or mine?”
“Please?”
She looked up. Their faces were very close together. His eyes, though ringed with tiredness, were earnest as they focused on hers, and the warmest, sunlight-sky-blue that she ever could have imagined. She swallowed roughly.
“It’s rather lonely sitting up here on my own,” he said, still smiling that awfully charming smile. “Sup with me?”
Victoria sighed. “Very well.”
She returned to the room a moment later with a steaming bowl of potato soup balanced on a blue patterned plate beside a slice of bread. Luther beamed.
“So,” he said, waiting patiently as Victoria situated herself at the dressing table. “Tell me something about yourself.”
Victoria raised her eyebrows at him. “That hardly seems fair when you refuse to divulge anything concerning your own self.”
His smile faltered at the corners, but then brightened. “What if we make a bit of a game of it?”
She tried to ignore the way his brilliant smile was causing her stomach to flip-flop.
The spoon in her hand twirled idly in the soup. “What sort of game?”
“You ask one question and then I’ll answer it. If I cannot answer it, you can ask another. Once I have answered, it will be my turn to ask something of you.”
She frowned at him suspiciously. There were any number of questions about herself that she would rather not answer, but on the other hand, she was desperately curious about him.
“Very well,” she agreed. “Shall I go first?”
He nodded, and the expression on his handsome face made her wonder if he would regret entering into this agreement once she had finally asked each of the questions that were burning inside of her. She decided to begin with something simple. Something that she hoped he would deign to answer.
“Where were you born?”
“Georgia,” he answered promptly.
“Any brothers or sisters?”
Luther waggled his finger at her, his expression playful. “Now, now, Vicky. No cheating.” She glared at him and he winked. “Let’s see,” he ran his hand through his untamed beard as he thought. “How is it that you came to be in Silverpines?”
Victoria blanched. She reached for the pitcher of water on the tabletop and poured a generous measure, so as to avoid meeting his curious gaze.
“My husband brought me here,” she responded after a moment.
Luther cocked his head to the side, chewing. He swallowed and then nodded. “Alright then. Your turn.”
“Brothers or sisters?” she shot at him.
“No. It was just my mother and myself.” His eyes seemed to cloud over for a moment, but then he smiled again. “Where are your folks?”
“I’ve really no idea.” She didn’t have to stop and think about this. She had not seen her parents since the week before she had married Jaxsom, and she was not entirely sure if she ever wanted to see them again. She blew on her soup spoon as she contemplated her next question, weighing the importance of each in her mind. Would he answer her? “Why is it so important that your convalescence in my home remains a secret?”
Luther sighed, and she knew that he had anticipated this. He toyed with his soup for so long that Victoria thought that he was not going to answer her, but then he said, “My presence will not do the town of Silverpines any favors.”
“Why?” Victoria could not help herself, but she had forgotten the rules.
Luther shrugged, and smiled. “My turn, and I hope this question does not offend.”
Her jaw tightened convulsively.
“How long ago was it that your husband passed?”
“It was just this April,” she whispered, staring at the far wall. She did not chance a glance at Luther until he spoke again.
“I am truly sorry for your loss.”
Victoria let out a maniacal sort of giggle. It was a desperate sound, and she saw Luther’s eyes widen at her reaction. He frowned, his expression puzzled. “Was he… unkind towards you?”
She inhaled sharply, regaining control of her emotions. She would not come apart here, of all places. Not before this stranger of a man. The truth of the matter was that, apart from Elena, Victoria had not spoken to anyone about her husband’s death since the day she had watched the mine collapse.
“I thought he was a good man,” she whispered. “But h
is memory has been desecrated by the atrocities he had committed in secret prior to his death.”
“Atrocities?”
Victoria could no longer meet his gaze. She stood up, dusting invisible wrinkles from her skirts. “My husband was the Mayor of Silverpines. He spent the last few months embezzling money from the town’s accounts. That makes him a thief, Mr. Garrison,” she confessed with a boldness that she did not feel. She swept across the floor and collected his empty tray. “And whether he was a good husband to me or not is simply no longer of consequence.”
She glided out of the room with her head held high, determined not to see the pity in his eyes, or the flash of guilt she saw there just before she left the room.
Alone in the kitchen, Victoria lifted her glass to her lips. Her thoughts were all a jumble, but somehow, she found she didn’t mind having told Luther Garrison about Jaxsom’s deceit. Perhaps it was the fact that she had finally voiced aloud the secret. Perhaps she needed to say it a few more times for it to sink into her bones.
“Jack was a thief,” she murmured to herself, staring out of the kitchen window. “He betrayed me. He betrayed us all. My husband was a thief.”
The glass in her hand fell to the floor and shattered. The noise echoed throughout the kitchen as the devastation struck her with the force of a battering ram. Before she knew what was happening, Victoria was crying harder than she had ever cried in her life.
She clutched at her abdomen, doubling over as the sobs wracked her body. She had never felt so utterly, so completely, hopeless.
“Hey. Hey now.”
She had no idea how Luther had managed to make it down the stairs unaided, but he was suddenly there. His strong hands gripped her shoulders.
Victoria couldn’t seem to stop the flow of tears. She was breathing in great, wracking bursts that shook her entire body, and then Luther was holding her, and she was clutching at Jaxsom’s misfitting shirt on his tall frame. Her stomach ached. Her mind was spinning, and Luther’s arms were squeezing her tight against his massive chest.
She never knew how long they stood there like that. Victoria came back to herself slowly, breathing in the warm, masculine scent of him.
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