Loving Linsey

by Rachelle Morgan

  Addie had to smile. He always had a kind word or a gentle touch for those in his care. “It’s easy to see how much you love this place,” she observed aloud.

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely do.”

  “And Bryce, too.”

  “He’s a good boy. I wish I had a dozen more just like him.”

  “You do? I mean, that’s a coincidence, as I always wanted a dozen children, too.”

  “I lost my first wife in childbirth. My second wife, Bryce’s mother, passed on from the cholera. And Maggie, my third wife . . . well, you might as well know, she was leaving me.”

  They’d reached the doors and Addie paused, feeling a dart of rivalry at the mention of the women he’d had in his life. “I’m not sure you should be telling me your personal business.”

  He stopped, looked at her, then bowed his head. “You’re right. A lady like you wouldn’t be interested in hearing about my past.”

  “It’s not that,” she hastened to clarify. “I just thought . . . it might be too painful.”

  “Painful?” He inhaled a deep breath, then searched the smithy as if looking for words. “I wouldn’t exactly call it that. I needed a mother for Bryce, so I put an ad in the paper for a bride. Maggie answered it. Texas was nothing like she was used to: too hot, too dirty, too uncivilized. One day, she packed her bags and said she was going back to New York. I wouldn’t let her go, so she stole away in the middle of the night.” His gazed dropped as well as his voice. “Her train wrecked a few miles this side of Memphis.”

  Addie’s heart went out to him, and it was all she could do not to step closer, to hold him. “Was that the night you made such a shambles of the saloon?”

  He nodded.

  “I never knew. The only thing I’d ever heard was that she was visiting family back East.”

  “What man wants the world to know his wife was leaving him?” he remarked softly. “Miss Witt, I’d be lying if I said my marriage to Maggie was a love match. It was just a necessity—but I was fond of her. And I wonder lots of times if I’d just let her go when she asked, then maybe she’d have taken a different train and might still be alive today.”

  She knew the guilt he must feel. She often wondered if she hadn’t been cold the night her pa went out to the woodpile, if he wouldn’t still be alive today. “My aunt always says we cannot hold ourselves responsible for other people’s choices, but sometimes what we know in our heads isn’t always what we feel in our hearts.”

  “Amen to that.” He breathed with a curious force, and giving Addie a crooked grin that made her heart skip a beat, he pushed open the door. As they walked out, they encountered a massive puddle at the threshold. Mr. Potter straddled it the best he could, but even his wide-legged stance didn’t extend from one side to the other. One foot wound up buried up to the ankle in muck. Not a word of complaint left his mouth, though. Instead he reached for Addie.

  She paused for several long, wary seconds. Intuition told her that if this man touched her, nothing would be the same again.

  Then she chided herself for the foolish thought. What could be the danger? Mr. Potter was as sweet and gentle a man as they came.

  But there was nothing sweet or gentle about the jolt of awareness she felt the instant his hands fit around her waist, and hers came to rest on his powerful shoulders.

  Addie’s mind swam as he swung her clear of the puddle and set her on dry ground, her knees as weak as melted butter. She stared up at him, astonished by her reaction. She couldn’t see his features clearly in the misty darkness, but the longer they stood there, the hotter she felt his gaze grow.

  A knot of longing unraveled deep in her belly.

  She knew she should release her hold on him. Knew the sensations Oren Potter awakened in her defied every virtue she believed a woman of her position should hold. Yet as his head inched forward, paused, then inched forward again, Addie wanted nothing more than to be kissed utterly, completely insensible by this man.

  Just as she thought her wish would be granted, he drew back and said, “You best run along home, Miss Addie, before I forget I’m a gentleman and that you’re a lady.”

  Addie’s gaze snapped to his tight features. He didn’t want her. She’d thought . . . she’d hoped . . .

  With a tiny cry of mortification, she picked up her skirts and fled.

  She couldn’t recall the trip home, but when she arrived, all the windows were dark save the one in Linsey’s room.

  She removed her cloak and hung it on the coatrack. Burning with embarrassment, she hurried up the stairs and down the hall, wanting only to nurse her emotions in private.

  But as she passed Linsey’s room, the door flew open. “Where have you been?” her sister demanded.

  Addie came to a guilt-stricken stop. “I—I’ve been tutoring Bryce Potter.”

  “At this hour? You missed the entire engagement party!”

  “I know. Time simply got away from us. Then the storm hit. . . .” Addie shook away the memory of her wanton behavior. “How was the party?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Right now, we’ve got to get down to business.”

  Business? Addie wondered as Linsey seized her hand and pulled her into the bedroom. What kind of business did one conduct at this hour?

  Once on the bed, Linsey held out a worn, leather-bound book Addie had seen a hundred times in the parlor. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Aunt Louisa’s special collection of love charms and divinations.”

  “Exactly. I was talking to Aunt Louisa earlier, and she said something very interesting. She said that in order to get you and Daniel married, we must first find out if he is your destiny.”

  Addie’s hand shot to her mouth. Daniel! Oh, heavens, she’d forgotten all about him! How could have yearned for the kiss of another, when she’d always believed Daniel was the only man for her? How could she have completely neglected her self-made commitment to marry him? “Yes, yes. What do we do?”

  Linsey must have gone through the book already, for several places were marked by bits of ribbon. Linsey opened to one of the sections, then twisted around and reached for a strand of beads on the bedside table, where a lamp shed a mellow pool of light onto the floor.

  “It says to toss this over your shoulder. When the beads hit the floor, they should land in the shape of the first letter of your true love’s name.”

  Addie took the set of blue beads from Linsey and clutched them tightly in her hand. She closed her eyes, willed the Fates to be kind, and tossed the beads over her left shoulder. They landed on the floor with a pinging clatter.

  Addie spun around. She stared in shock. “It’s an O,” she gasped.

  “No it’s not, it’s a D!” Linsey contended. “See the straight edge along the side?”

  Addie didn’t see any such thing. All she saw was the craggy face of a man standing before her in a leather apron, trousers and gloves, his bare shoulders glistening with sweat, his dark blue eyes watching her with a predator’s intent.

  She blinked away Oren’s sudden appearance in her mind and stared hard at the beads, willing herself to see what Linsey saw. She wanted to believe, but the evidence was right there: save for a slight indentation near the upper left side, the beads had made a near perfect shape of an O.

  For Oren?

  But he couldn’t be the man she would marry! She loved Daniel. She wanted to be his wife!

  Didn’t she?

  Feeling weary and slightly faint, Addie rubbed her brow where a knotting headache was beginning to form between her eyes. “Linsey, I’m going to bed.”

  “You can’t go to sleep yet; we’ve got to burn our hair.”

  “Burn our hair?”

  “Yes, and we don’t have much time.”

  Linsey grabbed her hand and led her to the small fireplace. A candle had been set upon a blanket, along with long matches, two small squares of linen, and several leaves Addie didn’t recognize.

  “It’s pointless for me to do this, but the book
calls for two girls and I don’t want to take any chances that it won’t work for you.”

  Once they’d seated themselves on the blanket across from each other, Addie asked, “What now?”

  “We wait for the clock to strike midnight. As soon as the last chime sounds, we must in complete silence pluck twenty hairs from our head, one for each year of our age, then wrap them in the cloths with the true-love leaves. When the clock strikes one, we burn each hair separately and say, ‘I offer this, my sacrifice, to him most precious in my eyes. I charge thee now come forth to me, that this minute I may see.’ And you’ll see an image of the man you will marry walking about the room.”

  “That’s silly.”

  Linsey glanced at her in surprise. “What’s gotten into you, sister?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve never called the divinations silly before.”

  How did Addie put into words the questions she’d harbored over the years?

  “Burning hairs, reciting verses . . . how can that foretell who a girl will wed?”

  “I don’t know, it just does.”

  “But . . . haven’t you ever wondered if things happen because we want them to happen and not because they are meant to happen?”

  “Why would I wonder that?”

  Addie’s sigh of defeat made the candle flame dance. “All right, let’s see what the Fates have in store for us.”

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  If you find a horseshoe, pick it up

  and all day long you’ll have good luck.

  Linsey sat cross-legged on the blanket spread on the floor, watching Addie with mounting concern as she settled opposite her. Was it her imagination or was her sister acting strange tonight?

  No, it wasn’t her imagination, she decided. Addie seemed . . . distant somehow. Distracted.

  Oh, Lordy—Addie hadn’t somehow learned of her indiscretion, had she? Linsey didn’t know how she could have—unless Daniel had said something to one of his friends, and they in turn mentioned it to someone else until it finally got around to Addie. But why would he boast of a kiss that he regretted as much as she did?

  Maybe she should just confess to Addie, get it out in the open, and rid herself of this guilt. Once, when they were thirteen, she had borrowed Addie’s favorite silk reticule and accidently dropped it in a bucket of axle grease. Linsey had kept it secret for weeks before finally confessing, only to find out that Addie had known all along.

  She had forgiven Linsey, of course, and seemed satisfied with the new purse Linsey had bought to replace the old one.

  But borrowing a purse and stealing a kiss were not the same thing at all, nor could the hurt she’d inflict on Addie be repaired by money.

  The clock began to toll the midnight hour, giving Linsey a welcome reprieve. Later, she promised herself. She’d tell Addie later—when she had more courage. For now, the task before them needed all her concentration.

  The divination called for complete silence, and she and Addie followed the edict as they plucked twenty hairs from their head, one at a time, then wrapped them in the cloth with Aunt Louisa’s precious store of true-love leaves.

  When the clock struck one, they fed each hair separately into the candle flame and recited, “I offer this, my sacrifice . . .”

  Then, with the rank odor of singed hair filling their nostrils, they waited.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain poured down outside. The heat of the fire grazed Linsey’s cheeks like a lover’s kiss. She steeled herself against the disturbing sensation, and focused on keeping the mystical passages open so that Addie could see her destiny.

  And then, oddly enough, a hazy image began to form in the periphery of Linsey’s mind. Her brow crimped in a puzzled frown. Surely she couldn’t be seeing the face of her own husband; she wouldn’t be around long enough to find the man, much less marry him. So what in the name of Gus could it be?

  The shape moved around the room, touching the lucky tokens on her dresser, studying the picture of her parents.

  “Do you see him, Addie?”

  “Yes,” she whispered with a breathless catch in her voice.

  Who do you see? Linsey wanted to ask. She couldn’t, of course. Proper carrying out of the divination forbade Addie from saying the man’s name. But it didn’t stop Linsey from wondering.

  And it didn’t stop her from puzzling over the appearance of a man in her future, either.

  Finally the form leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed in a pose that started a curl of uneasiness in Linsey’s middle.

  Then he started coming into focus. Dark hair. Big shoulders. A chill broke out over Linsey’s arms. The features became more distinct. Dark brows. Straight nose. Full lips.

  A pair of dimples.

  Her eyes snapped open. It couldn’t possibly be . . . she couldn’t have just seen . . . Daniel?

  No, she denied with a sharp shake of her head. There must be some mistake. It just wasn’t possible that she and Daniel were meant to be together, that he was destined to be her husband. Aside from all the presaged reasons, they barely tolerated each other!

  And yet, there he had stood in all his brooding allure, looking real enough to touch.

  She glanced at Addie, whose eyes remained shut. Twin patches of pink-colored cheeks. Tangled strands of damp blond hair framed her face. Slowly, her lashes lifted, and in her eyes, Linsey glimpsed bittersweet yearning. Had she seen Daniel, too? How could they both have seen him?

  “Let’s do one more,” she told Addie.

  With a discouraged slump of her shoulders and a lackluster sigh, Addie started to rock herself off the blanket. “Linsey, I feel like I’ve been wrung out to dry. Can’t we do it another night?”

  Addie did look weary, and she did have school in the morning, yet Linsey knew she’d not rest a wink if she didn’t prove to herself that the vision had been a quirk of circumstance. “One more—it will only take a minute.” Linsey flipped through the book, searching for another divination. “Here, then let’s do this one. ‘Point your shoes toward the street, tie your garters around your feet, pin your stockings under your head, and you’ll dream of the one you’re going to wed.’” Linsey shut the book with a determined snap. Yes, one more. By morning, she would know without a shadow of a doubt that she was matching her sister up with the right man.

  Linsey dreamed of Daniel that night.

  It started out innocently enough. She was a child, perhaps eleven or so, sitting beside Addie at the brand-new ice-cream counter in Doc Sr.’s apothecary. Mrs. Sharpe stood behind the counter, her raven hair pulled back in a haphazard bun. The apron covering her ample figure bore the stains of her efforts as she mixed up yet another tub of ice cream.

  Linsey was waiting with eager anticipation for the next batch, wondering how chocolate could possibly taste better than vanilla, when Daniel walked in, home on holiday. Even at eighteen he’d been handsome enough to throw a girl’s senses off balance, as Addie proved when she swooned face-first into her bowl.

  The years rolled forward to the Christmas of ’75. Daniel returning from Louisiana for his mother’s funeral, looking so lost and empty that it hurt to see him.

  Then 1880, the day he’d held his precious letter in his hands. Linsey tossed and turned, trying to escape the contempt in his eyes.

  The color blue drifted across the picture—a pure, vivid shade of joy and freedom. She lay still, tranquillity claiming her, echoes of laughter making her feel light as a cloud. And Daniel’s smile, with that flashing dimple, made her heartbeat quicken and her breath come in shallow gasps of wonder. Even his eyes no longer held bitter emotion, but something hotter. More elemental.

  Need.

  Raw, dark, dangerous need. Growing wilder and more powerful as he held her.

  The image switched abruptly, replaced with wind-brushed fields of clover—the symbol of a long and prosperous relationship. Amidst the fragile foliage stood Daniel in a black Sunday-go-to-meeting suit, b
eside him a lady in a flowing blue gown trimmed in lace and pearls . . .

  A wedding.

  His wedding.

  Linsey’s mouth curved in a bittersweet smile. Her wish, coming true. Daniel and Addie, together at last. Happiness claimed her, balmy and poignant—

  Until he lifted his bride’s veil and the face beneath belonged not to her sister, but to herself.

  Linsey jerked awake. She snapped upright, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and pressed a trembling hand to her brow. Beneath her bed she spotted her kid slippers, set in the manner specified the night before.

  What in the name of Gus was happening? This made it twice she’d seen Daniel in one form or another, and it was beginning to alarm her. She had no right dreaming of him, no right wanting him. Daniel belonged to Addie—not to a woman with one foot in the grave.

  There had to be an explanation.

  Linsey tossed her hair out of her eyes. It was all the time she’d spent with him—that had to be why she kept conjuring him. That and the thoughts of weddings—both Noah and Jenny’s upcoming one, and the one she was trying to finagle for Daniel and Addie. But they were no closer to getting married than they’d been a month ago, and at the rate it was progressing, she’d be dead and buried before the two exchanged a word.

  The time had come for drastic action.

  Oren ran a finger along the paper collar that seemed to get tighter around his neck with each passing minute he stood on the school-house stoop.

  He felt like a durn-blamed fool. He was thirty-four years old, standin’ outside in the pourin’ down rain, goin’ a courtin’ to a woman young enough to be his daughter. Okay, maybe that was stretching it. His sister, then.

  But fourteen years. He’d been married and widowed three times in those years. He’d married the first time out of youth, the second time from loneliness, the third time out of necessity. He knew the routine. Court ’em, kiss, wed ’em, bed ’em. He was getting to be an old hand at this.