The Rebel Wife

by Donna Dalton

  She swallowed her guilt with a hard gulp. “Will you try to move him later? Send his body home to his family?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe one day. We just can’t risk it right now.”

  Seemed everyone connected to her risked one thing or another. Most of it bad. “I’m sorry I put you in this position, Jack.”

  “You didn’t put me anywhere. I made my choice weeks ago when I agreed to help you.”

  “Bet you’re regretting that decision about now.”

  He slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. “Not one minute of it. Calhoun is an unfortunate tragedy, but he brought it on himself by attacking you.”

  Despite his reassuring words, unease slithered back into her belly. What was it that compelled men to assault her? Was she indeed a hussy as Henry Lawrence had claimed? Even Jack couldn’t seem to resist touching her when he’d vowed not to.

  They neared the curve in the path where Saint Francis had stood—before she and Calhoun had crashed into it—before the statue had toppled over and struck the Texan with a fatal blow. Nausea swept over her. She reeled to a stop, legs braced against the spinning in her head.

  Jack tightened his grip on her waist. “Are you going to be ill?”

  “I-I just need a minute.” She pushed away from his too intimate hold. “You go on ahead.”

  “Are you sure? I can wait until you’re feeling better.”

  “No. I’ll be fine. Go on. Get started before the rain gets worse.”

  He handed her the shovel. “Here. Lean on this. I need to drag the body further out into the gardens before I dig. Bring it with you when you’re back to rights.”

  She gripped the handle in a tight-fisted grip as Jack disappeared behind the hedgerow. A gale coursed through her at the memory of Calhoun’s bloodied body. He’d come to—to what? Find out who she was? Arrest her? Had he really intended to rape her? Or had thoughts of Bart put the suggestion into her head? Whatever his purpose in coming here, he was dead.

  The Yankees had suspected her of killing a man. Now she really had.

  “Sonofa—”

  At Jack’s curse, she dropped the shovel and rushed around the bend. He stood beside the path, hands fisted at his sides, looking as threatening as the clouds gathered overhead. Across a rusty stain lay the broken statue. From where she stood, it looked like Saint Francis had bled out.

  There was no sign of Calhoun.

  “You’re sure he was alone?” Jack didn’t look up.

  “I didn’t see anyone but him.” Which didn’t mean he’d come by himself, or that he hadn’t shared his suspicions with a companion. The possibility hadn’t occurred to her until now, and it sent a flock of goosebumps fluttering up her spine.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Though stifling air clogged the hall, ice flowed in her veins. She stopped in the open doorway and pressed a hand to her churning belly. She’d rather face a Yankee firing squad than walk through that door. But she couldn’t delay any longer. A cold cloth and a few hours rest had chased her dizziness to the fringes. Only a dull ache remained tapping at her temple. Pesky. But not enough to stop her from doing what needed to be done.

  She took a hesitant step inside. Seated at the massive desk, Jack had his head bent over a journal. One lock of hair dangled devilishly over his brow. In contrast, the barest edge of a pink tongue poked from the corner of his mouth.

  How sweet and boyish. Her heart lurched. She didn’t want to cause him pain. But she knew deep inside, if she stayed with him, he’d get hurt much worse. A sob rose in her throat, and in spite of her efforts to swallow it, she must have made a noise.

  He looked up, and a smile lit his handsome face. “Kitty.”

  Her courage retreated at his tender tone. “I see you’re busy. I can come back later.”

  “I’m just jotting down a few notes. Nothing that can’t wait.” He closed his journal and stood. “Please, come in.”

  Well, there was nothing for it. Better to get this over and done with. She pasted on a smile and continued into the study. “I won’t take up much of your time.”

  He slipped around the desk to meet her. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

  If only that were possible. She feared she needed him far longer than a mere trip to Elmira. A lifetime longer. He was like that little ragged blanket she’d hauled around as a youngster. As long as she had her blankie, she was safe and content.

  “I see you bathed and changed,” he said. “How are you feeling? Is your head still hurting?”

  “My head’s fine.” Her heart was another matter. “How’d your granddaddy take the news about Calhoun?”

  “Not very well. But he’ll get over it.”

  Drat. Just as she thought. The ruckus with Calhoun hadn’t set well with the elder Porter. That made carrying out her task all the more important.

  He motioned to the pair of chairs facing the hearth. “Would you care to sit? There might be a breeze coming through the open windows.”

  “No, thank you. This won’t take long.” She hoped.

  The mantel clock gonged the hour, reminding her time was running out. She twisted her hands together in a fretful ball. If she delayed any longer, she might never gather the nerve again.

  “Jack...” She swallowed hard. “I have something I need to tell you.”

  He tilted his head to one side, training his good eye on her. Though he appeared to cope well with his deformity, it still ate at him. He lashed out when anyone tried to discuss it. How would he react when she told him of her decision?

  “What is it, Kitty? You know you can tell me anything.”

  Anything but this, it seemed. Dread thickened in her throat. Would he go cold and silent? Or answer with angry fists? Neither seemed likely from the gentle man she’d come to know and—and what? Love? The notion was as jumbled in her head as letters on a page. And she didn’t have the time or the courage to sort it out.

  She licked dry lips. “Promise you’ll listen to what I have to say...all of it...before you answer.”

  His smile faded. “You’re starting to worry me. What’s this about?”

  “Promise.”

  “Very well, I promise. Go on.”

  She buried her trembling hands in the folds of her skirt. If he thought she had any doubts, he’d use every weapon in his verbal arsenal to change her mind. She couldn’t let that happen.

  “I wish there was some way I could repay you for all you’ve done for me, Jack. You’ve been a Godsend.” And more. He’d been her rock. Her port in a storm. To continue without him...well, she’d just have to weather that loss later. Right now, she had a more urgent tempest to sail through.

  “It was my pleasure.” He shrugged and gave a wry grin. “Well, maybe not at first, but you sorta grew on me. Besides, we shook hands on our bargain.”

  Sorta. Not a word she expected to cross his lips. She was definitely a bad influence, in more ways than one. “That’s what I wanted to talk about.” She stamped his face into her memory to savor once he was gone. The rakish eye-patch. His smooth, strong jaw. His firm mouth. Brandy. His kiss had been like that expensive spirit everyone was forever plying on her. Smooth and bracing, leaving a trail of fire wherever it touched.

  Heat flamed in his gaze as if he’d read her mind. Too bad he couldn’t read what she was about to say and save her the trouble. On the down side, that passionate heat would most likely turn into icy coldness.

  She squared herself, preparing for his reaction. Difficult or not, she had to do this. “I’ve decided I no longer need your help getting to Elmira.”

  His lips thinned, but he remained mute. Man kept his word, just as he always said. Was it any wonder she admired him?

  “I can make it there on my own,” she added.

  More silence. The tick of the mantel clock sounded like boot heels pacing off an early morning duel. The marble busts of Washington and Jefferson perched on a nearby shelf watched in quiet disapproval.

  Jack cleare
d his throat. “Are you finished?”

  With hurting him? Yes. Caring for him...not even close. “I mean what I say, Jack. I can make it without your help. I’ll leave tomorrow. Find a place to stay until the trains are running again.”

  “What about your...” His gaze slid to her lips, devouring her inch by painful inch. “...Mouth. It has a tendency to spill over.”

  Longing flared deep inside her, an ache fueled by the sweet memory of his lips on hers. “I’ll just have to make sure my mouth behaves.” As well as the rest of me. “I can do it. I know I can.”

  “I know you can, too. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

  “Yes, I do. I release you from our agreement.”

  “What if I don’t want to be released?” He moved closer, bringing all that heat and maleness to muddle her wits. “I’m not going to Elmira just for your benefit. I have a stake in this as well. My editor is expecting a front page article. And I intend to give him one.”

  “Then go. But not with me.” She retreated to the middle of the room, putting a small round table between her and temptation. No telling what her traitorous body might do if she stayed near him.

  “What brought on this sudden change of heart?” He countered her retreat and joined her beside the table. “Is it Calhoun? I know you’re worried about his blood trail playing out at the edge of the property. But it’s been six hours since he disappeared, and no one has come to question or arrest you.”

  “That could change at any moment. I can’t allow you or your granddaddy to be pulled into this mess—my mess—any further. You could be arrested for concealing me.” And if found guilty—hanged. She’d never forgive herself if that happened.

  “We’re aware of the consequences.”

  “But, what if—”

  “Shhh.” He reached out, his hand skimming her arm from shoulder downward until he cupped her elbow in a gentle grip. “Calhoun is most likely lying dead in a ditch somewhere. No one can lose that much blood and live.”

  Her skin twitched, more from Jack’s teasing touch than her mind filling with image of Calhoun dead. “Even so, he has my locket with Lance’s picture.”

  “I doubt anyone can link it to you.”

  “I can’t take that chance.” She eased out of his grasp and crossed to the open window. Lightning bugs flashed in the growing darkness, like the sparks of guilt winking on her conscience. So many people hurt because of her. Bart. Lance. Jeb, and now Calhoun. Despite Jack’s assurances, she could no longer put him or his granddaddy in danger.

  The heady scent of sandalwood enveloped her. Lost in thought, she hadn’t heard him approach. “I won’t let you go by yourself, Kitty.”

  Anger and frustration rose inside her. Why did he have to make this so difficult? Couldn’t he see it’s what she wanted? What he needed?

  She turned, latching onto her anger like a lifeline. “Stop calling me Kitty. It’s over.”

  “It’s not over. Not by a long shot.”

  She folded her arms over her chest, closing herself off from him. If he found one crack in her blockade, she’d be done for. “Don’t do this, Jack. You have to let me go on alone.”

  “No, I don’t. I care what happens to you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because...” His expression softened. “I have feelings for you. Feelings I can’t stop. Don’t want to stop.”

  Joy trilled like a songbird inside her. She plugged her ears to the noise. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  “I know exactly who you are.”

  “No, you don’t. But you should.” She took a step back to give herself some breathing space. His nearness made thinking, much less talking, difficult. “Earlier, I was too upset to tell you. But now that things have calmed down, it’s time.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “You deserve to know the truth.” She dropped fisted hands to her sides, holding onto her dwindling courage before it slipped away. “As I said before, my father was overseer at Spivey Point. Fannie refused to be attended by a Negro, so Papa offered my services as her maid.”

  “That must’ve rankled.”

  “I wasn’t happy about it. But I did what I had to. Papa depended on me.” And she’d let him down. Let everyone down. She reached behind her and gripped the window ledge, using the solidness as a brace for what was to come.

  “The Lawrence sisters were mean and spiteful, always looking down their pointed little noses and calling me names. But not Bart. Not at first.”

  “Bart is the owner?”

  “The owner’s son. Or, he was.” She wet her dry lips and went on. “He was nice to me. Always had a kind word and even gave me small gifts from time to time. He was my only friend at the main house.” She dug her fingernails into the wood. “So I thought.”

  “What happened?”

  Lamplight flickered on the columns of books standing in formation like soldiers. How different would her life be if reading wasn’t her enemy? Would she have made smarter choices? Not hurt the ones she loved?

  “Kitty?”

  She shook off the ugly thoughts and continued. “When the fighting drew close, the Lawrences decided to tuck tail and run. Everyone was busy with the preparations, rushing here and there. It was total bedlam. Bart asked me to help him with something in the tack shed. H-he...I wasn’t expecting him to...” As the memories rushed in, shame boiled in her chest and bubbled up to burn in her face and ears.

  “You weren’t expecting him to attack you,” Jack finished for her.

  She ducked her head and averted her gaze, unable to bear his scorn.

  He slid a finger under her chin and tenderly lifted her head. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re not to blame for the actions of another.”

  No matter how many times she heard those words, they still failed to cheer her. “I should’ve known better. No woman goes alone into a shed with a man. No decent woman.”

  Jaw muscles twitched beneath his smooth skin. He was angry. At her? The thought sent an arrow zinging into her heart.

  “Where is the brute now?”

  “Jack—”

  His voice hardened. “Where is he?”

  “Dead.”

  “Your doing?”

  If only. “No. Lance heard me struggling to get free and charged inside the shed.” Guilt pounded on her, a hammer striking an anvil. Her chest ached from the force. “They scuffled, and Bart fell back onto a pitchfork. My sweet, gentle brother, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, killed a man. Because of me.”

  “Lance did what any civilized man would’ve done. Hell, I’d do the same if the swine was still alive.”

  “But if it weren’t for my stupidity, Lance wouldn’t have needed to enlist in the Army to escape the Lawrences. Wouldn’t now be in prison, facing God-knows what tortures. And Papa...” She couldn’t go there. The pain squeezing her was so fierce, she could hardly draw a breath. “So you see...I’m soiled. In more ways than one. You deserve better than me.”

  “What I deserve—”

  A sharp rap on the front door interrupted his reply.

  His expression blackened. “Gripes. Who could that be at this hour?”

  Another knock sounded, louder and more insistent.

  She nodded at the doorway. “Best see who it is before the knocking wakes Sally.”

  “Fine. But don’t you go anywhere. This conversation isn’t over yet.”

  Her heart thumped in tattered beats as she watched him cross the floor and disappear into the hallway. He now knew all about her past. Every ugly detail. Surely those feelings he claimed to have for her had withered.

  Her knees went weak, and she had to grab the table edge for support. She’d never again feel his hand, warm and comforting, on her elbow as he guided on an exciting adventure. Or hear his deep voice as he related some fascinating tidbit. Her life would be dark and hollow—like the shed she’d died in.

  The creak of hinges echoed into the study. “Private Duncan,” Jack said. “What
can I do for you?”

  A bluebelly. Would Jack protect her now that their pact was over? He had no reason to do so. Probably had a better reason not to. She crept to the doorway and stopped just inside the threshold to better hear the men’s conversation.

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Porter,” the soldier replied. “I’ve come about Lieutenant Calhoun.”

  Fear punched the breath from her. The Yankees had found Calhoun. They’d come to arrest her. She had to leave. Now. Before it was too late.

  She craned her neck around the jamb. Jack stood at the far end of the hall, his tall form blocking her view of Private Duncan. Good. That meant the soldier couldn’t see her either. She eased out of the doorway and tiptoed toward the rear staircase.

  “You sound worried,” Jack said. “Is there a problem, Private?”

  Problem? Try a disaster. And if she didn’t get out of this house, it would become a horrible tragedy.

  ****

  Tall lamps lit the street corners but did little to brighten the dark pockets dotting the walkway. She gathered her cloak tighter around her. Unfamiliar city streets teeming with riffraff were not the place she wanted to be, especially at night. If she remembered correctly from their trip to the market, the Federal Inn should be somewhere in the next few blocks. The sooner she reached it, the better.

  Footsteps thumped behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder. A figure moved from the darkness into the light. Though a slouch hat hid his features, his blue uniform was unmistakable. The breath lodged in her throat. Calhoun? Couldn’t be. He’d been near death. She quickened her step anyway.

  The click of boot heels kept pace, and panic galloped inside her. She couldn’t let him catch her. Not alone and unprotected.

  An open door beckoned. She darted through the entrance and into a well-lit mercantile filled with a maze of shelves and bins. Perfect hidey-holes. She ducked behind a tall shelf and peeked around the edge.

  Her pursuer paused in the doorway. Lamplight lit his rugged features. Not Calhoun. But that intent expression on his face suggested a threat just as great. He scanned the inside of the store, frowned, and then moved on.

  She released her pent-up breath. A near miss. But what if she wasn’t so lucky the next time? She had to find lodging and get off the streets. Soon.