Daniel kept to his word and let Addie do all the talking. It amazed her as much as it appeared to amaze him that not only could she actually say so many words in his presence, but that she could spin them into a coherent tale.
“This . . . friend,” Aunt Louisa hedged when Addie finished, “you say he looked into a mirror at a wake?”
Addie didn’t bother correcting Aunt Louisa’s error in the friend’s gender—the less chance she might associate with Linsey, the better. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, dear, then he is surely doomed.”
“Bah, superstitions,” Granny scoffed with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Bunch of horse patooey if you ask me.”
“You don’t believe there is any danger in looking in a mirror, Granny?”
“The only danger is the simple act of looking into one.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel asked.
“When a body looks into a mirra, most times they see who they want to be and not who they truly are.”
Daniel leaned forward and tapped his fingertips together. “One of the things I’ve discovered, though, is if someone believes very strongly in something, they can actually will it to happen.”
“Well. Then that person needs to find something worth living for,” Granny grumbled.
Louisa’s face became animated. “You know, Granny, you may be on to something there. What if . . .” Her shoulders slumped. “No, it would never work. The power of mirrors is simply too strong.”
Daniel and Addie both straightened.
“What is it Aunt Louisa?” Addie asked. “Even a slim chance of saving our friend is better than no chance at all.”
“Well, if a woman is made to feel beautiful, she becomes beautiful to herself. If a weak man is made to feel strong, he will begin to see his own strength. Perhaps fate can be conquered in the same manner: combat the power of one belief by pitting it against a stronger, more powerful belief.”
“How?” Daniel asked.
“That, dear boy, is something you will have to discover for yourself.”
For the first time in many years, Daniel had a craving for a healthy dose of Cooter Hobart’s special brew, but he wound up settling for the next best thing—whatever Rusty had on the shelf. Louisa and her cryptic goddamn messages: pit the power of one belief against another. What kind of horse shit was that?
He shook his head as he strode into the saloon that evening. The whole thing was just too damned much to take in. Linsey’s manipulation, her confession, his own turbulent emotions. . . .
Catching sight of Jarvis at the far end of the bar, Daniel shouldered his way through a fog of cigar smoke, whiskey fumes, and bodies that smelled of stale sweat and painted women. The Rusty Bucket was full to the brim, unusual for a Friday night, until he overheard a few crusty cowpokes regaling others with tales of their recent trail drive. Not too many of those going on anymore; this part of the country was heading for the winter lull.
“Howdy, Doc,” Jarvis greeted when Daniel bellied up to the bar next to him. “What the hell did you do to rile Potter?”
“Didn’t know I did anything.”
Jarvis jerked his thumb over his shoulder, then downed a shot. “He’s been sittin’ over there all afternoon planning your funeral.”
Daniel spotted Oren, alone at a table in the middle of the room. “Guess I better find out why.” He swiped the glass of whiskey the barkeep had poured him, then ambled to where Oren sat. He looked like hell, slump-shouldered and stinking to high heaven. “This seat taken?”
He lifted his head. Bleary blue eyes went sharp as nails. “Go away, Doc Jr. I ain’t normally a violent man, but right now I’m itchin’ to shove your ass through a brick wall.”
“Any particular reason?”
“You stole the only woman I ever loved!”
Daniel reared back in surprise. He couldn’t mean Linsey.
“How’d you do it? Did you smile at her? Women are always falling all over themselves for your smile.”
“I think there’s been a mistake, Potter.”
“Your intentions—are they honorable?”
“I don’t have any intentions, honorable or otherwise.”
“You son of a—you’re toying with her?”
Daniel took a step back. Only a fool wouldn’t put some distance between himself and a charging bull. Daniel didn’t consider himself a small man by any means, but compared to Oren, he was downright puny. He’d seen what Oren in a temper could do to a room. “Whoa there, pal . . .”
An iron finger jabbed Daniel in the solar plexus. “Don’t tell me ‘whoa’; I ain’t a dad-blamed horse. And don’t call me pal, either. A friend wouldn’t fool with a friend’s lady.”
“I didn’t know you had your cap set for anyone.”
“Well, I did. But she loves you. And a woman’s feelings are fragile, so you better treat her with honor and respect or I’ll rip you in half.”
Before Daniel could defend himself, Oren stalked out of the saloon, slamming the batwing doors so hard that one hit the wall and fell off its hinges. What in the Sam Hill was that all about?
Slowly Daniel became aware that every eye in the place had turned onto him. He lifted his hands away from his sides and barked, “What?”
A few eyes blinked. Someone snickered.
“I’m not compromising anyone, hear?”
With a snort of disgust, he seized his glass and tossed the whiskey down his throat. Maybe Linsey was right to think she was going to die.
Right now, Daniel wanted nothing more than to strangle her.
Chapter 17
A horse with a single white stocking is considered lucky, while a horse with four white feet is considered unlucky.
With a frustrated sigh, Linsey stabbed the quill into its stand and raked her fingers through her hair. Her Last Will and Testament lay spread out to dry in front of her. Her inheritance would be split equally between Addie and Aunt Louisa, after a large portion was divided between the church, the school, and Jenny’s orphanage. Addie could have whatever personal belongings she wanted, with the rest being donated to whomever she deemed appropriate. Linsey just couldn’t find the energy to care anymore.
Beckoned by a chattering outside the library window, she lowered her hands and watched a pair of mockingbirds dive to the ground, then swoop back into the branches of a silver-leaf maple with their prize. She listened to them bicker and imagined them standing beak to beak, feathers ruffled, each claiming the branch for their own.
Much the same way she and Daniel did.
She should be furious at him for the way he had ridiculed her yesterday—she was furious at him. And she wished now that she hadn’t told him her secret. If it hadn’t been for her vow of honesty, she wouldn’t have told him. But she’d been skirting the edges of that promise over the last month, and when he’d all but cornered Addie with his demands of the truth, she’d been left with no choice but to tell him the dreadful news.
And what had he done? Laughed at her.
She might have reveled in the rare sound of it, might have been overjoyed that she’d found something to crack that frigid facade of his. Not when it was at the expense of the most tragic event of her life, though.
Yes, she should be utterly seething toward the insensitive lout.
Except Daniel had a way about him that made even the unforgivable forgivable. Maybe because she knew that under his brittle exterior beat the heart of a tender, compassionate, lonely man whose smile had the power of a pocketful of charms.
And to her continued shame, he made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt before. She only had to remember the forbidden kiss on Caroline’s porch, when his touch had awakened a desire within her that she had never even known existed. Or recall the smoldering way he had looked at her just yesterday in the backyard, as if he were fire and she the tinder he planned to devour.
Linsey shook away the thoughts jostling against each other in her mind and pushed away from the secretary. Lordy, if
she didn’t find something to keep her occupied, she’d go daft. It seemed that the harder she tried to elude thoughts of Daniel, the more doggedly they pursued her. She couldn’t sleep anymore without seeing him in her dreams, couldn’t walk down the street without searching for a glimpse of his broad-shouldered form, couldn’t even update her will without his sensuous gaze appearing in her mind.
As if coveting her sister’s beau wasn’t bad enough, Linsey found herself shouldering the ever-growing strain of eluding St. Peter’s call. If there wasn’t still so much to do, she thought she’d simply collapse on her bed and let eternal sleep claim her.
But she hadn’t completed half the items on her list yet, and knew she’d not rest easy until every last task was accomplished.
Drawing the list from her pocket, she ran her finger down each item.
Marry Addie off to Daniel.
Working on it, though she’d plumb run out of ideas.
Make amends to Daniel.
Working on it, despite his fighting her at every turn.
Go on an adventure.
That she’d done, and from heights she hadn’t expected.
Bring a life into the world.
Also done.
Contribute something to the community.
There—that she could do. And it might even help to distract her traitorous mind from thoughts of Dr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.
Returning the folded list to her pocket, Linsey paid a visit to the pantry and brought out several sacks of salt. What better thing to contribute to her neighbors than a bit of good fortune?
Twenty minutes later, Linsey had the salt loaded into an old pull-wagon from the garden shed. She opened a painted parasol above her head, gathered her camel’s-hair skirt in one hand, and started for town.
The wagon bumped and rolled behind her. She reached the smithy and waved at Mr. Potter, who looked unusually careworn as he sat on a half-barrel, greasing the hub of a wagon wheel. “Good afternoon, Mr. Potter.”
He returned her greeting with torpid effort. Wiping his hand on a rag, he met her at the door. “What’cha got there, Miss Linsey?”
“Salt—the emblem of wisdom, friendship, prosperity, and protection.” She lifted a sack and presented it to him. “May it keep you safe from ill-will.”
“I don’t reckon it could make things worse,” he said, taking the offering.
“Are you troubled today?”
He managed a smile, but his eyes remained dull. “Nothing to concern yourself with, but thank you kindly for asking.”
Knowing there was little she could do to ease whatever burdens the man bore, she continued on her way, stopping at each store to deliver a pillar of good fortune. To her surprise, the smiles she received in return actually began to lift her downtrodden spirits—until she walked out of the Rusty Bucket.
Her heart dropped to her toes at the sight of Daniel and Addie standing side by side at the livery corral. Though they did nothing improper—they weren’t even touching—their heads were bent toward each other, and they seemed engaged in private conversation.
Intimate conversation.
Realization struck with the force of a whiplash. It was happening. Daniel and Addie were talking.
Linsey had wanted this. She’d wished for it. Planned it.
She’d just never expected it to hurt. Never counted on the stab of jealousy sliding into her heart at seeing the two of them standing so close to each other.
What was wrong with her? She had no right being jealous of either one of them, no right feeling as if she were dying inside.
But the feeling was there despite her wishes—a bruising of the soul, a battering of the heart. Making her eyes sting and her throat tighten. She wanted to grab Daniel to her, clutch him close and never let him go. At the same time she wanted to keep as far away from him as possible, for he had the power to make her wish for the impossible.
Impossible because he belonged to Addie, and because she had one foot in the grave.
Linsey squared her shoulders, swallowed the lump in her throat, and pasted a smile on her face.
And as she strolled toward the couple, she prayed no one could see that her heart was breaking.
The time had come to put their plan into motion.
Several lengthy conversations about Linsey’s superstitions had finally resulted in a strategy.
Armed with Linsey’s list of last wishes, Daniel eyed the horse penned in the livery corral, then checked his timepiece. “I thought you said she was on her way,” he remarked to Addie.
“She should be, any minute. She’s making her way around the horseshoe, delivering salt to all the neighbors.” Addie, too, checked her timepiece. “Where is Bryce? I asked him to meet us at half past one . . . oh, there he is now.”
The towheaded boy raced up to them, a tight grip on the scraggly black cat clawing its way up his chest in a bid for freedom. “I found Patches, Doc Jr . . .”
“Good job, Bryce.”
Addie knelt in front of the boy. “Now remember, hold on to her until I give you the cue, then set the cat loose. She’ll run for her babies. Got it?”
“Got it.” The boy smiled, his excitement of being included as bright as a sunbeam.
“If you do your job,” Addie went on, “I’ve got a brand-new volume of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea with your name on it. Deal?”
He grinned, proudly displaying two missing front teeth. “Deal.”
Bryce scampered off to hide on the other side of the corral while Daniel and Addie resumed their wait for Linsey.
“I should probably feel guilty for involving a child in this scheme,” Addie confessed with a sideways glance.
“If this convinces Linsey that she won’t die, then everyone will benefit . . . you, me”—Daniel jabbed a finger in Bryce’s direction—“and even that boy there.”
They finally spotted Linsey strolling down the boardwalk, pulling the cart behind her. Once again Daniel found his lungs swelling, his heart expanding, his damnable desire for her escalating, the closer she got.
“Linsey.”
“Daniel.”
As always, her voice reminded him of warm sunshine and balmy winds.
“We have a surprise for you, sister,” Addie exclaimed, pulling Linsey close to the corral fence. “See?”
“A horse?”
“Yes! Daniel has decided to help us complete your wish list. You said you’ve always wanted to learn how to ride, so he agreed to loan us his horse and give you a lesson. Isn’t that grand?”
She looked at him, suspicion darkening her eyes. “You are going to help me complete my wish list?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Consider it a peace offering.” Not giving her a chance to question him further, he cupped her elbow and guided her to the black. Addie strolled along behind them, her hands folded demurely at her waist. “First, you have to look into its eyes and introduce yourself,” he instructed Linsey.
She gave him a skeptical look. “Introduce myself?”
“You wouldn’t want a stranger sitting on you, would you?”
Her brows pulled together. “I see your point.” She took in a breath, and cheerily said, “Hello, horse. I’m Linsey.” To Daniel, she said, “I feel silly.”
He decided not to tell her that she looked silly, too. “You get used to each other this way.”
She nodded, then turned back to the black. “You sure are a pretty girl.”
“I think he’d take offense to that. He’s a gelding, not a mare.”
“Oh!” She dropped a curtsey. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
The horse gave a soft whinny and tossed his head.
Daniel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling. “Hold out your hand. Let him get used to your scent.”
She followed his instructions, grimacing when the horse snuffled against her palm and left it moist.
“That’s great, you’re doing great. Rub his neck now.”
With her confidence building,
she ran her palms down the twitching muscles of the gelding’s neck, along his heaving sides, all the while whispering sweet nothings to him.
Lucky beast, Daniel thought. A swift image of having those same sweet hands stroking him, caressing him, sent a spear of fire shooting straight to his groin.
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice gruffer than he’d intended—but a man could only take so much. “Time to get in the saddle.”
“Are you sure he won’t throw me?”
“He won’t throw you. He’s gentle as a babe.” Daniel bent at the waist and laced his fingers together. “Put your left foot in my hands, and on the count of three, I’ll give you a boost. Swing your right leg over his back, hear?”
“I hear.”
Just as she placed her hand on his shoulder and her foot in his hands, a sudden flash darted across the corral. The horse backstepped; the hooves of his white-stockinged hind legs sank into a patch of mud.
“Oh, Lordy, what was that?” Linsey cried in alarm.
“What was what?” Addie asked with mock innocence.
“That thing that ran in front of me—it looked like a cat.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Daniel brushed aside her concern. “Are you ready? One, two—”
“No, it’s a bad sign when a cat dashes across your path.” She withdrew her foot and backed up a pace. “Thank you for the offer of a lesson, but another time.”
“I thought you wanted to complete your list.”
She eyed the horse. “I do, but—”
“Linsey, you may not get another chance,” Addie urged her. “Would it make you feel better if Daniel went up with you?”
Daniel shot a startled look at Addie. “Hold on there—”
“You’ll take her up on the horse, won’t you, Daniel?”
Daniel’s gaze flicked from Addie to Linsey, to the horse, then back to Linsey. This wasn’t part of the plan. He knew damn well what would happen if he put Linsey in the saddle in front of him. She’d drive him crazy, teasing him with the scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her body.
Loving Linsey Page 22