~ ~ ~
Elizabeth strode along with purpose toward the Clarke place, while a dark cloud of dread hovered over her. Although the day shone bright with sunshine, memories of the past and the perilous trip in the wagon overwhelmed her. Her steps slowed as image after image flashed through her mind. She recalled glancing over her shoulder and witnessing black smoke rising above the trees. The smell of the crackling flames seemed to follow the wagon and would always linger in her mind. Managing to push those reflections away, she straightened her spine. Her mother’s secret stash was more important to her than any ghosts of the past.
At long last, the moment had arrived. It was time to recover her mother’s box. A thrill of excitement ran through her as she headed down the lane to the old Clarke home place.
Around the next bend, she could see part of the chimney with an orange trumpet vine clinging to the side beckoning to her. She hurried forward. Finally able to view the spot her home once occupied, she stopped in her tracks. An agonizing knot formed in her chest while she gazed at the weeds and brush pushing up, grasping what remained of the burned-out structure. A clump of bitterweed at the back of the house edged toward the woods. The chimney stood as a sentinel to what had been. Viewing the remains of her lost home, she found it hurt to breathe for several long minutes.
The desire to possess her mother’s box hardened, firm, unchangeable. She would find her treasured tin box. She must. Everything else belonged to JP now, everything except that box.
She clenched her jaw and started forward to where the chimney cast a shadow over the hearth. A coyote trotted to the edge of the burned-out house, yipped once, and then sniffed the air before slinking away. Startled by the animal, Elizabeth swallowed past the lump in her throat. Turning back to her chore, doubts about her intentions struck her, and she clenched her fists. What if it isn’t here? What if I can’t recover it?
Now more determined than ever to retrieve the box, she pulled a small spade from her skirt pocket and stepped over a burned-out timber into the house proper. She crouched down beside the hearth, plied the spade and began to cry with deep, wrenching sobs. Wiping her eyes with her hand, she glared at the spade through her tears. She’d needed the tool all those years ago. Too late!
At five years of age, she’d held her baby sister until agony ran up her arms and settled in her shoulders. Clinging to the baby, she wouldn’t lay her sister down.
While memories swamped her, tears poured down her cheeks. Her sister would never have a marker on her grave, never be visited by a loved one, and never have her gravesite tended with love. Elizabeth couldn’t even remember the location of the tree. Crying until no more tears would come she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and raised her head.
I don’t care who might object, my mother’s treasure belongs to me now. I claim it. Bittersweep owes me that much.
The thunder of hooves drew her attention. Rising to her feet, she slipped the spade back into her pocket and reached for her pistol. Drat! She had carelessly left her weapon in her room. With her pulse hammering in her ears, she caught a glimpse of the rider and allowed her shoulders to relax. Wouldn’t you know it! JP Honeycutt in person. He could be extremely aggravating without even trying.
He rode with grace and speed, at one with the animal. Reining his horse to an abrupt halt, he swung to the ground in one swift motion. With rapid strides, he closed the distance between them. Casting her a wary look, he demanded, “What are you doing here?”
She swallowed and tried for a disarming smile. “I caught sight of the chimney through the trees on my way from school one day.” She shrugged. “My curiosity got the bet of me.”
His laugh held a disbelieving ring. “You can’t see the chimney this far from the road.”
“Yes, you can if you’re walking.” A pulse hammered in her throat. “I only caught a glimpse, but I thought I’d take a peek.”
He searched her expression with narrowed lids. After a protracted silence, his words hung in the air, flat but with a command close to a threat. “Come along out of there. You’ll make a mess of your gown with all that soot.”
He extended his hand, the gesture an order. She stepped toward him, and he helped her over a charred timber. “Why are you crying?”
She wanted to weep again, but she managed to swallow back her tears and steady her voice. “I’m not crying. Not now, but it’s sad and lonely. It appears no one cared enough to tear this down or rebuild.”
The muscles in his jaw clenched. “I suppose you could put it that way. Years ago, a plague of yellow fever ran through this part of Texas. Families moved.”
“Mrs. Ledbetter told me. Did you know the family?” Elizabeth watched him through her lashes.
“I was a big chuckleheaded kid back then. I didn’t know much of anything.” He glanced away. “This house was burned to stop the spread of the fever.”
“Did it help?” She couldn’t control the bitterness that crept into her tone. As she suspected, he’d been too young to know anything helpful.
Slow to answer, he finally spoke through gritted teeth, “Not so you’d notice. But it did eventually end.”
“Yellow fever is long gone now, so why do you object to my poking around? The owners seemed to have deserted the place.”
“The land belongs to me now.” He held motionless, waiting, his gaze locked with hers.
Hearing the actual words nearly took her breath away. She couldn’t acknowledge his ownership. Not out loud. She suppressed a sigh, longing for him to go away and allow her to continue her search.
Tension-filled silence stretched between them for a long moment. A note of censure entered his voice as he said, “It’s dangerous. There could be snakes under all of this. Besides, someone took a shot at me a while back in this very spot. The fence has been cut and cattle ran through the gap. A rustler, I expect.”
Startled by the possibility of danger, she surveyed her surroundings. Until now, she hadn’t noticed the trampled bitterweeds leading to the cut fence. She glanced back at him, strong, capable standing between her and peril, his chambray shirt tight against his powerful chest. A breath hissed between her lips.
“Lady, keep looking at me like . . .” He drew a deep breath, shook his head, and continued in a soft voice, “I shouldn’t like it if anything happened to you.”
She bit back a gulp and heat climbed her cheeks. “I pose no threat to anyone.”
“I beg to differ. If you caught a glimpse of the rustler, he might want to shut you up. And such a low-down, ornery fellow might want a taste of your sweet lips. That’s a real threat. I’d have to kill him if he harmed one hair on your head.”
Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath, caught in the snare of his gaze. She didn’t think she could look away and didn’t have the will to try. Finally, she blinked.
He lowered his head slowly until his breath touched her lips. Her heart leaped in her breast, but when she failed to step back, he embraced her, kissing gently, tasting, not taking.
Seduced by his gentleness, overwhelmed by the soft pressure of his mouth, she returned his kiss for a moment. Before he could deepen the kiss, she braced her hands against his chest in resistance. The beat of his heart against her palms traveled though her arms and down her body all the way to her toes. She wasn’t as immune to him as she could wish. “Taking advantage of a woman when she is alone and defenseless is hardly the act of a gentleman.”
He shrugged. “I’m not a gentleman. I get my hands dirty doing a man’s job and I don’t stand meekly on ceremony when I see something I want. And you didn’t say no, Elizabeth, did you?” An amused challenge appeared in his eyes. “You couldn’t and neither could I. There’s a bond between us, a connection, so don’t try to deny it.”
“I . . .” She didn’t know where to look or what to say. The tug of attraction had been there since t
he moment he knocked into her at the train station. Still, trust didn’t come easy to her. Not anymore. One rejection by a man she’d thought she’d loved should be enough for anyone.
After another long scrutiny, he emitted a low laugh. “Come, ride with me. I’ll see you back to Mrs. Ledbetter’s.”
“But I’m perfectly safe here.”
“You’re not perfectly safe.” He cupped the back of her neck with one hand and pulled her toward him. “I wish you no harm, but others might not be of the same mind. If I decided to kiss you again, there’s little you could do to prevent it.”
She stepped back and his hold on her fell away. Although her heart continued to race at an alarming rate, she was able to breathe again.
He held up his hands with a gesture of dismissal. “No need for the wide-eyed stare. I’m not going to hurt you—or kiss you.” Crossing his arms across his broad chest, he frowned at her. “Because I hold a college degree doesn’t mean I’m a prissy milksop with lily-white hands. I’m still a man and I’m not leaving you here. So forget it. The rustler may return.” He strode to his horse and mounted. “Put your left foot in the stirrup and I’ll help you in front of me.”
When she just stood there, he asked, “Would you rather I scoop you up?” Suiting actions to words, he rode forward, snatching her from the ground and across his lap.
Startled by his actions, her stomach roiled in fright. She yelled, “Are you crazy?”
“I’m as sane as any man confronted with a mule-stubborn female. Since you didn’t move, I thought you wanted me to help you.” He used his heels to urge the horse forward at a gallop.
She clung to the saddle until he eased her back against his solid chest and draped one arm around her middle. His breath on the back of her neck sent waves of sensations down her spine, but she didn’t feel threatened, merely protected. “Show-off. Admit it. You wanted to impress me.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Guilty as charged. Were you impressed?”
“Yes,” she whispered. The saddle horn poked into her hip and she squirmed a little.
“Don’t wiggle,” he ordered, moving back in the saddle and slowed the pace to a walk.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. Warmth crawled up her cheeks.
“It’s best to keep still and mind what you’re about. Let’s get you back to the boardinghouse.”
Being held in JP’s arms set off alarm bells in her head and she stiffened. His body cast a shadow over her, but his shadow couldn’t hurt her. Taking a single kiss as a declaration of commitment would certainly lead her astray. She must guard her heart and take all that happened with a grain of salt. She was riding for a fall if she imagined the attraction between them would last. She couldn’t take another rejection. She must remember to keep it simple. He was a flirt. He didn’t mean anything by his actions. It was merely a spur of the moment reaction. She grimaced.
~ ~ ~
JP didn’t want to frighten her or cause her distress, but holding her in his arms seemed exactly right somehow. Whoa boy! Hold your horses.
He’d better guard against allowing her beauty to lead him astray. Besides being secretive about her past, she didn’t seem the trusting type. Knowing her true identity could complicate matters even more. Working the situation to a conclusion he could accept would take a heap of thinking and digging for answers.
He tried to ignore the warmth of her body against his. The fragrance of her hair teased his nostrils, sweet, feminine and altogether alluring. He fought the urge to claim another kiss. Drawing a deep breath, he tried to relax.
Yes, he was in a bad spot, but if he kept his head, he’d make it. When Ham wanted to know why he hadn’t shown up at the river, well, he could kiss a duck.
Chapter 13
A few days later, Elizabeth stepped out of the mercantile into the bright sunshine with her loaded basket on her arm. Her shadow splashed against the wall and crept before her into the shaded dimness of the alleyway.
She glanced into the narrow passage. A big rat scurried away, disappearing into a crack in the wall. Thankfully, the varmint hadn’t headed her way. Drawing a deep breath, she hurried down the walkway. At that moment, an unsavory-looking stranger emerged from between two buildings. Her steps faltered. He reminded her of the buckskin-clad man she’d noticed at the train station when she first arrived in Bittersweep.
The stranger stood still, intent and searching. He stared at her with a menacing look in his coal-black eyes. A second later, he strode toward her with a purposeful stride accompanied by the jingle of spurs and the strike of heavy boots on wooden planks. The man stopped halfway down the street, opened a door, holding it ajar, and turned to stare at her again.
Her pulse pounded in her ears so hard she could barely hear the train whistle in the distance. Something about the man, maybe his long, lank hair, straight and black as a raven’s wing, or his buckskins, or the scowl he directed at her made her more than uneasy, actually afraid. Some instinct, perhaps of survival, sent a shiver down her spine. She paused outside a shop trying to appear interested in something in the window, her breathing somewhat shallow. At that moment, Franklin came out of the bank.
Relief washed over her. “Franklin, wait.”
He stopped, allowing her to catch up.
She hurried to his side. “Are you through for the day? I had no idea the bank closed so early on Saturday.”
“Bank isn’t closed. It doesn’t shut down until two o’clock. I forgot my lunch this morning. I’m heading to the boardinghouse to get it.”
“Do you mind a little company? I’m finished with my shopping.”
“I’d be honored to walk you home.” He drew his pocket watch out. “I must hurry though. I usually eat at my desk, especially on Saturday.”
“Surely Rupert, I mean Mr. Ludlow, isn’t that strict.”
“Rupert. I see how it is. A lowly bank clerk not good enough to walk with you, is it?”
She blinked at him. “That’s not true and certainly not what I meant by the statement. It was merely idle curiosity.”
Franklin glanced beyond her. A look of surprise, or shock, followed by a deep frown washed over his features. He stared for several seconds. Was Franklin looking at the stranger? The urge to glance around raced through her. Evidently the man was still there staring after her, lacing her with unease. Did Franklin recognize him?
Franklin cleared his throat then grasped her elbow and quickly turned to walk beside her. “Please excuse me. I’m a bit out of sorts today and in a hurry.”
“This isn’t like you, Franklin.” She searched his features. “Is something wrong?”
He avoided her inspection by gazing at the ground. “I need to eat something. Nothing like a meal to bring me ’round. I’ll be fit as a fiddle directly.”
His offhand excuse did little to soothe her. Had she imagined his reaction to the stranger? No, she didn’t think so. A moment ago, his fingers bit into her arm, but when he loosened his grip, his hand trembled. Something was definitely not right.
He reached for her basket. “Here, let me carry that for you.”
“Thank you.” She noticed the blue ledger tucked under his arm. His book must contain something really important because he seemed to always have that particular item close at hand. Shaking the thought away, she sped up her pace. No sense in conjuring reasons for his action. She had enough to worry about on her own.
She couldn’t put the stranger out of her mind, or the harsh glare he shot at her. Shivering in the bright sunshine, she moved closer to Franklin. Not that she thought he could do a thing if the stranger offered trouble. She followed Franklin off the walkway, down the side street, and through the shortcut to the boardinghouse. A strong whiff off the duck pond beyond the stable reached her, ordinary, familiar, bringing her to the present and sanity. No
reason for fear. She’d seen a goblin where none existed.
She couldn’t wait to get to the boardinghouse, and gain her room, to touch her belongings, normal, regular everyday things. As they rounded the corner, nothing had looked better to her than the three-story, clapboard house with it sprawling porch reaching out to welcome her back. She didn’t intend to poke her nose out of the place for the rest of the day.
When she entered her room, she breathed a sigh of relief. The fragrance of the gardenia bushes beneath her window floated into the room with the flutter of the curtains. Yes, normal. Placing her purchases away, she sank onto the bed, smoothing the pattern of the quilt, noting the tiny stitches of each block beneath her fingers. Now, why had she been in such a tear to get here? The feeling of calm and safety was the reason, but why the goosebumps?
Maybe the rat scampering down the alley had frightened her more than she imagined. The hairy creature had certainly given her the creeps, with its long tail twitching. Ugh! Had she transferred her aversion to the rodent to the dark stranger? No, Franklin reacted to the man’s presence as well. What could that be about? She gave up and shoved her questions to the back of her mind. The remainder of the day passed in small chores.
That evening, Elizabeth settled at the table, tidy with four places set. The glow from the sinking sun crawled through the opened curtains across the crockery on the way up the opposite wall. The appetizing aroma of freshly baked bread and a hearty stew floated through the room stirring her appetite. She glanced up when Franklin entered, his expression clouded, his glance darting around the room. He jerked out a chair and sank into the seat.
Dressed in his usual gray suit, his hair without a single lock out of place, and his blank expression were in strong contrast to the restless fisting of his hands. He aimed a piecing glance at the landlady. “Mrs. Ledbetter, you haven’t changed the day you clean my room, have you?”
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