The Lady Who Drew Me In

by Thomasine Rappold

  But he would leave her. He would pull himself from the insanity of his growing feelings for her, and he would go to St. Louis. When all of this strife was miles behind him, he would come to forget.

  But Daisy had given him a night to remember. He knew with all certainty that no night shared with any woman in any fancy hotel could match the passion he’d experienced with his wife on a blanket in the sand.

  They reached shore, and Jackson secured the boat to the dock. He assisted Daisy from the boat but didn’t release her. Blinking in wonder, she gazed up at him as his grip on her elbow held her firmly in place.

  “Thank you for today,” he said. “And for tonight.” He smiled. “I’ve a newfound understanding of your fondness for nature.”

  She smiled too. “It was my pleasure,” she said in a husky voice that made him want her again.

  He kissed her. Softly. The night was still young, and they would soon be in bed. He reached for the picnic basket at his feet. The sound of a gunshot exploded in the silence.

  Grasping for Daisy, he shielded her body as they slammed to the dock. But it was too late. She clutched his arm, gaping in horror at the patch of blood seeping through her robe.

  Terror trapped in his chest. He cradled her tightly, his heart pounding as he tried to stay calm. Her trembling grip on him weakened. Panic surged in his throat. Her gaze flew to his in helpless surrender before her eyes fluttered closed, and she collapsed in his arms.

  Chapter 16

  Daisy opened her eyes to a roomful of worried faces. She lay in her bed, beneath a heavy quilt, her arm swaddled in a sling across her chest. Blinking hard, she groaned against the throbbing pain in her shoulder and a roiling wave of dizziness. She tried to sit up, which made both ailments worse.

  “Easy.” Jackson helped her to a sitting position, arranging the pillows behind her. “Welcome back.” A smile of relief softened his handsome face.

  “I told you she’d be right as rain,” Doctor Gregory mumbled between puffs as he lit his pipe. His gruff reminder suggested Jackson had given him a difficult time of it.

  “How do you feel?” Jackson asked.

  Daisy’s stomach turned at the overpowering smell of tobacco smoke wafting toward her. She swallowed hard to combat her nausea, then summoned her voice. “It hurts.”

  Dr. Gregory stepped forward, emerging from a halo of smoke. “You’re a lucky little lady,” he said. “That bullet went through cleaner than a preacher’s sermon.” He fished his watch from his vest pocket, checked the time, and then snapped it shut. “Looks like I’ll make it home in time for breakfast after all.” He smiled and gave Daisy a pat on the hand. “I’ll be by tomorrow to change that dressing.” He collected his coat and bag from a chair by the door, then turned to Jackson. “Continue with the laudanum,” he said before he left the room.

  “Bullet?” Daisy asked.

  Jackson sat on the edge of the bed. The sagging motion of the mattress beneath his weight caused a new wave of dizziness. She closed her eyes tightly until it subsided.

  “Are you all right?” Jackson’s weary eyes were full of concern.

  “A bit dizzy is all.”

  With tentative fingers, he brushed back the errant curls from her face. “You were shot.” His words were barely audible. Or perhaps the buzz in her ears made it seem that way. She felt disoriented and confused.

  Behind Jackson, she saw Tessa and Dannion huddled together by the window. From the sunlight pouring through the lace curtains and Doctor Gregory’s mention of breakfast, Daisy deduced it was morning.

  The last thing her foggy brain recalled was standing on the dock with Jackson. She’d no idea what had transpired while she’d slept, but she could see in the distressed faces around her that it had been a taxing ordeal for them all.

  Vague recollections of sporadic moments of consciousness flickered inside her head. Little snippets like memories from a wild dream. Doctor Gregory tending to her shoulder, the excruciating pain, Jackson’s soothing voice whispering in her ear.

  On and off throughout the night, she’d awakened to find Jackson pressing a cool compress gently to her face. He’d spoon fed her liquid heaven that had eased the pain and numbed her fear.

  “Who shot me?”

  “I don’t know.” Jackson’s face tensed in his failure to hold his emotions in check. He fixed his gaze on his brother. “But I will damn well find out.”

  Dannion stepped forward. His version of a whisper came out in a loud hiss that could be heard clear across the room. “Be sensible, Jax. The sheriff is on his way. Let him do his job.”

  “The hell with the sheriff.” Jackson stood, his voice rising with his temper. “I’ll take care of this myself.”

  “How?” Dannion challenged. “What are you planning to do?”

  “I’m going to kill the son-of-a-bitch who shot my wife, that’s what I’m going to do.” He ground out the words between clenched teeth. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

  Daisy wasn’t surprised when Dannion did not deny it. “Let’s just think on things calmly for a while. Is there anyone who would want to hurt Daisy?” he asked, as though she weren’t in the room and merely three feet away.

  “You know as well as I do that whoever fired that shot was aiming for me.” Dannion did not deny this, either. “One man is responsible for this,” Jackson said. “He killed Ray Wendell, and he almost killed Daisy.”

  Sheriff Coons waddled through the open door behind him. “You don’t know that,” the man bellowed in a tone as obtrusive as his sudden presence. “Hell, there are dozens of men with axes to grind against you.” The snarl of disgust on his pudgy face made evident his opinion of Jackson even before he voiced it. Tension filled the already crowded room “This incident has nothing to do with the Wendell murder.”

  “The shooter could be someone angry at Jackson for pursuing that case,” Dannion said.

  “The whole damn town is angry as a wet hen about that,” the sheriff replied. “You gonna accuse ’em all of shooting her? Of killing Wendell?” He fixed his scolding eyes on Jackson. “And starting that fire on the mountain?”

  Daisy blinked hard several times, dizzied from the drugs and vivid memories of blazing flames. Getting shot.

  “Daisy should rest,” Tessa said. “Perhaps you gentlemen could continue this conversation downstairs?”

  The sheriff blinked in surprise at the jarring interruption. His irritated expression dissolved as he glanced to Daisy, lying helpless in bed. “I’m happy you’re recovering, Mrs. Gallway,” he said as Tessa shooed him from the room. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Jackson turned to Daisy. “I’ll be back soon,” he assured her. Something about him seemed different. True, he was angry, but there was a commanding tone in his voice, a decisive focus in his weary eyes. As if overnight he’d aged with a strength of purpose she’d never seen in him before.

  Tessa closed the door softly behind the men. Daisy welcomed the silence as Tessa walked toward her, then took Jackson’s spot on the edge of the bed.

  “You’re going to be fine.” Tessa smiled down at Daisy, tears glistening on her lashes. Her eyes were puffy and red. Daisy’s heart ached for the worry she’d caused her friend.

  Nodding, Daisy reached for Tessa’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “What about Jackson?”

  “I thought he’d go mad with worry,” she said. “I’d never seen him in such a state. But he’s much better now that you’re awake.” She grinned. “He wore Doctor Gregory’s patience to a thread.”

  Daisy smiled in the knowledge of Jackson’s concern for her. There was such goodness in him. Such tenderness. His possession of these noble attributes was lost on people who hadn’t the inclination or the privilege to know him as Daisy had come to know him.

  Tears rolled down Tessa’s cheek as she rested her head on Daisy’s chest. Daisy stiffened against the pain in her shoulder but voiced no complaint. Instead, she moved to console Tessa
, planting a kiss on the top of her head. How grateful Daisy was for the friendship of this wonderful woman. Her one true friend in this world.

  “Go home to your children,” Daisy said, blinking back her own tears. The laudanum was making her weepy as well as drowsy, and she needed to sleep.

  Tessa sat up, wiping her cheeks. “Yes, enough of my theatrics. I shall let you get some rest.” Tessa blew Daisy a kiss, then started for the door.

  “Tessa?”

  “Yes?”

  “Keep an eye on Jackson for me.” Her voice cracked with emotion and fear he might do something foolish.

  Tessa nodded. “Dannion and I will watch him like a hawk.”

  Daisy relaxed at the reassurance and the effects of the laudanum. For the first time in her life, she felt the comfort of being part of a family. With a contented sigh, she smiled, nestling into her pillows. Tiredness overcame her. “Like a hawk,” she said as she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.

  * * * *

  Jackson paced the carpet in the parlor, his mind racing. His relief that Daisy would recover rushed like a drug through his veins, sedating the anger twitching under his skin.

  “What were you and your wife doing down at the dock so late?”

  Jackson turned to face the sheriff, who’d made himself at home on the sofa. “We’d been boating.”

  The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “In the dark?”

  “The moon was full,” Jackson said. “But none of that’s relevant right now. I have a sketch of the man the Wendell boy saw kill his father.”

  The sheriff sighed, exasperated by Jackson’s reference to the Morgan case. “A sketch composed by your wife? That’s more convenient than persuasive, if you ask me,” he said. “She could have swayed the boy’s description to suit your agenda. Especially since the boy never said nothing about anything until you and your wife got to him.”

  “I have another witness who saw this man in town around the same time as the killing. And another came forward just yesterday to say he’d seen a suspicious man by the Rhodes’s house the day before the fire.”

  The sheriff considered this. “The same man in the sketch?”

  Jackson averted his eyes. “I’m not certain. That information is forthcoming. But you could question them yourself—”

  “I’ll take a look outside,” the sheriff said. With a grunt of exertion, he heaved his hefty body from the sofa. He wobbled for a moment, Humpty-Dumpty in a badge, before regaining his footing. “Then I’ll question the neighbors.” He pinned his gaze on Jackson. “Unless you got to ’em first?”

  “I’ve spoken to no one since Daisy was shot,” Jackson snapped. “Do your damn job, or I’ll do it for you.”

  The sheriff’s face blazed like a furnace. “I have a whole county to tend to. In the meantime, you may want to concentrate on tending to your wife. Whatever trouble you’re in got the poor woman shot. Don’t stir any more.”

  “I am trying to find out the truth,” Jackson ground out.

  “The truth is a woman was shot, and I take that seriously. Randal Morgan was guilty. The man is dead, and your case is too. And while folks aren’t taking kindly to your crusade for the man who murdered one of their own, they are decent, hardworking people. So it’s more likely this trouble followed you from the city.”

  Jackson absorbed the sheriff’s version of the truth, his anger fizzling in his hopelessness. His lack of credibility would cause him to fail Randal Morgan. Worse, fail Daisy.

  Satisfied he’d hit his mark, the sheriff pushed on his hat. Jackson watched in silence as the sheriff trudged outside to inspect the property by the lakeshore, leaving Jackson alone with his brother.

  “I take it you and the sheriff are acquainted,” Dannion said.

  “He’s as stubborn as an ass,” Jackson said as he continued to pace the carpet.

  The sheriff blamed Jackson for what had happened to Daisy, and he was right. Jackson had brought this trouble to her, no matter how he looked at it. Each breath Jackson took inflated the guilt that was swelling inside him.

  “Have a drink with me, Jax.” Dannion fixed them both a whiskey, then handed one to Jackson. Jackson drank it down in one swallow, then motioned for another.

  “I’ve never seen you like this,” Dannion said as he poured.

  Jackson frowned. “My wife was shot. I believe I’m entitled to more than one drink. Besides, I’m seldom without a drink in your presence; surely you’ve noticed.”

  As usual, Jackson’s sarcasm did not deter Dannion from speaking his mind. He handed Jackson the refilled glass. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Jackson struggled for patience. “Spit it out,” he demanded.

  “I’ve never seen you this invested,” Dannion said. “This riled…afraid.”

  Jackson stiffened. The observation was dead-on, and it irritated the hell out of him. “My wife was shot. I—”

  “You love her.”

  Jackson blinked. He stared at his brother, who regarded him with the same arrogance he always displayed when he knew he was right—which was far more often than Jackson cared to admit. “I do not—”

  “You do, Jax. Face it. You’ve fallen in love with your wife.” Dannion lifted his glass. “Trust me, Brother, it happens.”

  Jackson said nothing.

  Dannion’s grin widened. “Denying it won’t change it. And admitting it won’t end your life. Accept it and be happy.”

  “Like our parents were happy?”

  Dannion’s grin perished in a frown. His eyes darkened dangerously at the subject of comparison. Dannion’s reaction to any mention of their parents was always the same. But Jackson hadn’t the energy for it today. Despite his regret for goading Dannion with the question about their parents, he readied his defenses as best he could.

  “Our mother could never be happy,” Dannion said. “No matter what she had.”

  “Do not speak of her—”

  “She spent her life pining for something else. Something better. And she filled your head with her rancid disappointments. She was incapable of happiness. With any man. She punished our father for her misery and—”

  “I’m warning you, Dannion.”

  “She punished me, as well!” Dannion’s face was wrought with fury. Pain. He pursed his lips, as though he’d disclosed some secret he hadn’t intended to share. He turned away.

  The thunder of Jackson’s heart eased to a rumble as he stared at Dannion’s back. “What are you talking about? Why would she punish you?”

  Dannion’s shoulders slumped. He turned to face Jackson, looking incredulous. “Have you never wondered why she hated me so much?”

  Jackson lowered his gaze to his drink. All his life he’d struggled with the guilt of being his mother’s favorite. To the point he could barely stand to look his brother in the eye to face the sadness that lingered there. The envy and contempt. The unfairness of it all.

  Dannion had worked hard for everything he had, including his family, and suffered much strife along the way. In business and family, his success was hard earned. Jackson, on the other hand, had always had it easy. He’d simply coasted down a path that, somehow, always led to trouble, leaving one mess after another in his wake for Dannion to clean up.

  “Our mother hated me because I knew what she was,” Dannion said. “What she was doing beneath our father’s nose. In our father’s bed.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Grow up, Jackson, goddamn it!” Dannion tapped at his ear. “I am deaf in this ear because I caught her. Because her lover was infuriated by the interruption of her ten-year-old son!”

  Jackson’s empty stomach lurched. He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. But he could see in Dannion’s distraught face that the story was true. Thinking back, Jackson could see it in his memories as well. No one had ever spoken of his brother’s injury. As a boy, Jackson had once asked why Dannion’s ear didn’t work. His mother had flown into
a rage, a rare response from the woman who’d never so much as raised her voice to her youngest son. An hour later she’d showered him with treats.

  A heavy blackness invaded Jackson’s chest and settled there like a weary traveler. Had Jackson been so self-involved growing up he’d not noticed his mother’s deceptions? Or had her lies simply been too sweet to resist?

  She’d fooled Jackson by spoiling him so completely he’d never turn against her. She’d openly favored one child above the other, and for no other reason than to punish Dannion for serving as a living, breathing reminder of her sins.

  “I didn’t know,” Jackson uttered lamely.

  “You had the luxury of ignorance,” Dannion replied. “I grew up a thorn in her flesh, while you were the light of her life. But she jaded us both, don’t you see? She taught me that no woman could be trusted. She taught you that no woman could be enough.”

  Jackson guzzled his drink. The truth in the words was as bitter as the whiskey burning in his throat. All his life he’d known their mother was different. Troubled, even. But an adulterer? Somehow, thinking back on it now, it all made sense.

  For as long as he could remember, she’d warned him against imprisoning himself in marriage. His mother and he were kindred spirits, she’d told him, special people who were meant to be free. She’d recruited Jackson into believing that no one else mattered. His mother’s justifications for such selfishness were all lies, and she’d fed them to him like crumbs to a damn goose.

  Jackson had felt privileged by the favoritism his mother had displayed, and he’d taken full advantage of it. In her eyes, he could do no wrong, so he’d done whatever he’d pleased. She’d indulged and coddled him. And he’d grown up accountable to no one.

  “I’m sorry, Dannion.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Jax. Stop blaming yourself for being her favorite.” His mouth twitched with a smile. “As I have.”