by Lisa Plumley
But despite everything, Julia loved Graham too much to be the cause of his unhappiness. Not so long as she could cure it. It came down to that, no matter what else. And so she dipped her pen all over again, and bowed her head to do the deed.
Graham murmured in his sleep and turned. The bed-clothes rustled, reminding her of all the shameless pleasures they’d shared. Julia held her breath, waiting, half praying, for his drowsy invitation to rejoin him in their bed.
It never came. Instead, Graham’s breathing lengthened and deepened, and Julia dared to continue writing. When she’d finished, she raised herself on shaking limbs and held her note to the moonlight to read it.
She frowned, feeling heartsick. This was cowardly of her, she knew. But Julia feared that, faced with Graham in the morning, she would be unable to release him from their bargain. Again. This had to be the best way.
Imagining Graham’s certain relief when he opened her missive gave Julia the courage to fold and deliver it. He would be glad to be free, she reminded herself. Happy to have no obligations, no roles to play, no lies to tell.
No fiancée to court, and pretend to love.
Drawing in a deep breath, Julia stood beside the bed. Graham sprawled in a square of moonlight, his hair dark against the pillow, one arm outflung as though he dreamed he cradled her against him still. Even in repose his features were strong and blatantly masculine, softened only a little by sleep. She yearned to touch him, to press a kiss to his brow or hug him close, one last time.
She couldn’t risk it. Instead, Julia carefully placed her note on the empty pillow she’d left, and stepped back. Tears blurred her vision and clogged her throat. Fighting against them, she indulged in the only solace she dared.
“I love you,” she whispered.
And then she left, too blinded by tears to look back.
Graham awakened to the sound of wagons rumbling past his boardinghouse window, and a feeling of unease. Still stretched out in bed, he felt his muscles tighten instinctively with readiness. Stealthily, he snaked a hand beneath his pillow, and located the handle of the knife he kept there. He wished his Colt was within reach, too. This wary feeling had saved his life more than once in his bounty hunter’s days, warning him of an ambush before it could strike. He would not ignore it now.
He waited, slowly taking in his surroundings without moving. The bedclothes were warm and twisted ’round his legs, the room bright with the rising sun. Its brilliance washed over his closed eyelids. The scents of coffee and sizzling sausage wafted beneath his door, and probably permeated the whole boardinghouse. Muffled thumps and indistinct voices could be heard downstairs, in Bea Harrington’s kitchen. Everything seemed as it should be.
Then why this feeling of unease?
Julia, he thought suddenly, and remembrance of the night they’d shared came rushing back to him. ’Twas Julia’s presence that made this morning feel different, and not a nearby danger at all. Going limp with relief, Graham withdrew his fist from the handle of the knife. Now that he thought of it, Julia’s fresh orange scent still lingered amidst the sheets surrounding him, although her weight was so scarce compared to his that it obviously barely registered in his mind.
Smiling, he contemplated how best to awaken her. With a kiss? A gentle stroking, moving from her knees upward, ’till she quivered again, and cried out in his arms? A husky “good morning,” with a wink to promise more? ’Twas more than possible that Julia, more wanton than he’d known, would want to kiss him awake herself, after all.
Truly, he was a lucky man, Graham decided. He’d found a woman to love, to laugh with, to confide in. He’d confessed his dreams of a lending library to her, and she’d safeguarded them—then helped make them real. He’d revealed his orphan’s past, and she’d wanted him all the same. For Julia’s sake, Graham had dared to risk the dangers of life in a settled town, choked with families and convention and a lamentable lack of desperadoes to be tracked…and he’d survived. Not only that, he’d actually enjoyed it, if the truth were told.
Yes, Julia was the answer to a question he hadn’t even known how to pose. And for that she deserved a knees-upward awakening that was slow, seductive and thoroughly heartfelt.
His mind made up, Graham smiled still wider. He could get used to this sort of awakening, he decided as he rolled over to begin. He could grow to love this life, he thought further as he shifted the rumpled bedclothes aside to reveal Julia.
An empty indentation in the mattress met his gaze.
Confused, Graham wrinkled his brow and swiftly examined the room. ’Twas vacant, save the furnishings and the clothes he’d tossed away so eagerly last night. His clothes, only. With a growing sense of foreboding, he lay his palm in the indentation beside him. He spread his fingers, and touched the place where Julia had last lay. His grin faded. His gaze lifted to the pillow where he’d last seen her smile.
And that was when Graham discovered the note.
Julia reached the church at the edge of town, and sat on the steps with a bone-deep weariness. After leaving Mr. Corley’s boardinghouse room, she’d gone home to get some rest, but sleep had eluded her. Restless and sad, she’d eventually arisen, washed, and dressed, and had set out on foot to try to sort through her tangled feelings.
Now, with thousands of steps behind her, Julia was no closer to the peace she’d hoped for than when she’d first set foot onto Main Street before sunrise. Wearily, she propped her elbows on her upraised knees and rested her chin on her palms. Just beyond her resting place, business owners opened their shops and farmers’ wagons trundled slowly past. Birds twittered with a cheeriness Julia thought she’d never feel again.
What was Graham doing now? she wondered. With every horse and rider that passed, her heartbeat quickened as she imagined it was him. Surely now that he was free, he would waste no time in leaving Avalanche behind. But despite her expectations, none of the men who rode by raised their hats to reveal her bounty hunter’s rugged face, charming smile and warm dark eyes.
“Miss Julia, is that you?” asked a small voice nearby. “Are you lost?”
She looked to the side to find Libbie O’Halloran standing close by, her ginger-colored hair twirled up in braids. In her hands, she held a length of what looked like clothesline, attached at one end to…Herbert?
The bantam rooster bobbed his head, his red comb flopping. Beside him a similarly leashed hen pecked at the ground near Libbie’s feet.
Are you lost?
Yes, Julia wanted to cry. Lost, and lonesome. I just never knew how very alone I could be, until now.
“Yes, Libbie, it’s me. And no, I’m not lost.” For the girl’s sake, Julia tried out a wan smile. “Good morning. Taking Herbert and his friend for a walk, are you?”
“That’s Matilda, his ladylove. They don’t like to be separated.”
“I see.” Libbie’s serious tone warned her not to make fun, and Julia did not. “Well, even chickens can fall in love, I suppose. Are they both yours?”
“No. Only Herbert.” Fondly, Libbie picked him up and cradled him in her arms. The rooster calmed at her touch, and miraculously submitted to the treatment. “Matilda belongs to one of my friends. We discovered they’re fond of each other, and so she lets me walk them together sometimes.”
“Naturally,” Julia said, as though taking two chickens for a walk were the most ordinary occurrence in the world. “It’s kind of you to accompany them.”
Libbie shrugged. “Everyone needs a helping hand, sometimes. Even a lady like you. Why, Patrick told me that if he hadn’t—”
She broke off, a guilty flush pinkening her cheeks. Rapidly, Libbie sat Herbert down beside Matilda and gathered the clothesline slack in her girlish fist.
“Hadn’t what, Libbie?”
“I shouldn’t say. He prob’ly meant it to be a secret.”
Julia studied the girl. Then she patted the church step beside her spread skirts. “If it’s about me, you should probably tell me.”
“Well…Patr
ick says he’s the one who brung you and the bounty hunter together. He says if he hadn’t done all that spying for you—”
This time, it was Julia’s turn to have pink cheeks.
“—Mr. Corley woulda left town right quick, afore you could catch him.”
“He’s right, Libbie.”
“What?” The girl’s mouth was an O of surprise.
“And further—” She might as well just come out with it, Julia decided. The whole town would know soon enough, anyway. “It turns out Mr. Corley will be leaving town, after all.”
“But what about your wedding tomorrow? My ma hemmed me a dress to wear, and everything!”
“I’m sorry,” Julia said, and meant it. Oh, how she meant it. “As it happens, Mr. Corley is a special kind of man. A drifting kind of man, who likes to be free. That’s why he—”
“He likes to be with you,” Libbie disagreed stubbornly. She shook her head, her pigtails flying over her skinny shoulders. “Just like Herbert likes to be with Matilda. I know it!”
“I wish that were true.” With a sigh, Julia gazed out over the still-busier street that ran into the distance before them. “I truly wish that were true. But I’m afraid Herbert and Matilda have something…extraordinary together. Real love doesn’t happen easily, or every day.”
For a moment, Libbie looked thoughtfully at her. Then she settled her small hand atop Julia’s, and squeezed.
“It will be all right,” the girl said solemnly. “I never want to admit when I’m lost, either.”
Lost. Libbie’s repetition of her earlier notion caught Julia off-guard. Before she could correct the child’s mistake, though, Libbie went on talking:
“All you have to do is stay right where you are,” she said, nodding for emphasis as she dispensed her advice. “If you go wandering around, nobody can find you. That’s what my ma always says. But if you stay put, somebody you love will track you down. And everything will be okay.”
How I wish it could be, Julia thought. But she only hugged Libbie close in reply, and whispered her thanks.
“Do you want me to send somebody for you?” Libbie asked. When Julia shook her head, the girl’s brow wrinkled. “Patrick could prob’ly find Mr. Corley for you again. ’Specially if you have more of those chromo cards he likes collectin’.”
“No, Libbie. Thank you, though. You go on and finish your walk,” Julia said. She took her arm from the girl’s shoulders, and gave her an encouraging nudge. “I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll just stay here, like you said.”
“You ought to.”
Clucking to her chickens, Libbie waved and walked away. Julia watched until she’d rounded the corner out of sight. Then she rose.
She couldn’t stay here. If she knew what was good for her, Julia would stay lost, at least for today…at least until Graham was gone for certain.
Graham’s eyes burned as he finished dressing and pulled on his hat. ’Twas like a handful of grit had been tossed in his face, and his eyes were protesting mightily. Doing his best to ignore the feeling, he buckled on his gun belt and strode across the room to collect his saddlebags.
His gaze fell on the scrap of paper lying on the empty bed. Julia’s damned note. Swearing, Graham deliberately looked away and moved past it.
His heart twisted, though. His fingers moved clumsily on the cracked leather of his riding gear. His throat clogged, feeling tight. With a frown, he hefted his things, putting more muscle into the work than was needed.
Obviously, he’d spent too much time in this town. He’d gone soft, Graham figured. Dangerously and unfamiliarly so. The best remedy to that was striking the trail, and soon. After all…he had nothing to remain in Avalanche for.
Not now.
He slung everything onto his shoulder and headed for the door. Partway there, a scraping sound caught his attention. His saddlebags had dragged across his bed, sending the cursed note wafting into the air like a particularly unwelcome goodbye salute.
Graham snatched it back. He scowled, tempted to crush the thing in his fist and hurl it away. On the verge of doing so, something inside him made him unfold it again. Like a drunk staring into the bottle of Old Orchard that would be his undoing, Graham read Julia’s note again.
Dear Mr. Corley, she’d written. He grimaced all over again at her high-handed formality. Leave it to the etiquette instructress to pretend they hadn’t moaned in each other’s arms all last night.
I’m sorry to deliver this news in such a cowardly and ignoble fashion. This may be the most difficult letter I have ever written, and although that is no excuse for what I have done, please know I deeply regret ever hurting you.
Graham tightened his fingers on the letter. It shook, subtly, as he continued reading.
I never meant you any harm. It wasn’t until I knew you that I understood the magnitude of my mistake.
Here the letters grew blurry, as though she’d somehow smudged the ink. Given that she must have written her note in semidarkness while he slept unaware nearby, it was no wonder it was less than pristine. Graham scanned a few lines that wobbled in his vision, then came to the most damning part of all:
In the end, it comes down to this. Knowing you as I do now, I cannot bring myself to marry you. Not even for so brief a time as we had planned in our bargain. I’m sorry.
His eyes burned more fiercely, as though the grit had been tossed yet again. Graham looked away, blinking. Why the hell had he wanted to learn to read such things, anyway? If this was his reward, he regretted the whole damned notion. Perversely, and because he couldn’t help it, he looked again, to the end of the note Julia had written:
I release you from our bargain. You are free.
He crushed the paper, obliterating Julia’s flowing signature—and the words, With deepest admiration and fondness, penned directly above it. Graham felt his mouth lift in a cynical curve, and cared not a bit. If he was to strike the trail as he’d planned, he’d need whatever toughness he could muster. He grasped it with both hands, needing that mean edge to his soul.
’Twas preferable, he thought roughly, to the hurt that had pierced him before it.
Adjusting the burden he shouldered, Graham headed again toward the door. At the last moment, he stuffed Julia’s note into his duster coat pocket, then squared his jaw and stepped into the hallway. Before leaving Avalanche, he had things to do. Calls to pay.
And a message of his own to deliver…to the woman who’d left like a thief in the night, carrying his heart along with her.
Chapter Twenty
Afternoon shadows were lengthening over the dusty streets of Avalanche by the time Julia finally gave in to the inevitable. No matter how much she walked, she couldn’t escape the truth, and she couldn’t avoid explaining that truth to her papa any longer, either. Tomorrow was supposed to be her wedding day. As the father of the bride, Asa Bennett would need an explanation for why the wedding he’d agreed to would not take place.
With a heavy heart, she trod down Fir Tree Lane toward home. A fair number of people passed by her as they paid calls and ran errands. For them, it was a sunny spring day, with clear skies overhead and a soft southern breeze. For Julia, it was the first day of her new future, tied to a town where she wasn’t really wanted, and compelled to devise something new to fill her days. Given that reality, the weather mattered little to her.
Nearly home, she turned up the brick walk to the front door. As she did so, a distant movement captured her attention. Holding her breath, Julia turned. Several houses away, a tall, hat-wearing figure strode down the street in the opposite direction, his battered duster coat streaming behind him with his rapid movement.
Graham?
Automatically, Julia started to follow. She squinted. Could it really be him? Hesitantly, she grasped the gate-post.
“Julia? Is that you?”
She started at the sound of Geneva’s voice. Looking over her shoulder, Julia spotted her aunt standing in the opened doorway, a concerned expression on her face.
“Yes, Aunt Geneva. It’s me.” She traversed the steps and hugged her aunt’s purple-begowned figure, gratefully inhaling the familiar scent of roses that clung to her. “There’s something I must tell you, and Papa, too. Is he nearby?”
At the livery stable, Graham finished saddling his horse and checked his supplies one last time. He’d already settled his boardinghouse bill with Bea Harrington, paid a few calls, and visited the express office, where he’d sent wires to both Frankie and his bank in Baltimore. Now, with most everything that needed doing accomplished, Graham faced the assembled men surrounding him.
The stable owner, Tom, cleared his throat. “Sorry to see you go, Corley.”
Graham clapped a hand atop his shoulder. “I know better. You’ll be sorry only to see my stabling fees vanish.”
The surrounding men laughed. One of them, a nearby farmer, stepped forward.
“We’ll be sure and take care of the lending library, like you asked us,” he said. “If we take it in shifts, the way you planned, it should work out right fine. And Richards here won’t have a stranglehold on our books anymore, neither.”
Laughter and jests filled the room. At their center, Wilson Richards angled his head, good-naturedly accepting those quips which came his way. Although Graham’s lending library had deprived the man of his monopoly on The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and other reading supplies for the men in town, Richards had recovered well. In the end, he’d even donated a dictionary and several books on Arizona Territory law to the collection.
“Best of luck to you, Corley,” he said now.