A Cry at Midnight

by Chancellor, Victoria

  His face flushed with anger and he shook off her arm. "You go too far."

  "Why, because I pointed out the obvious? Or because I had the nerve to touch you?"

  Quicker than she could think, his hands closed around her upper arms and pulled her close. "I never denied you the right to touch me. In fact, I distinctly remember encouraging you to use whatever skills you possess to--"

  She twisted out of his grasp, then slapped him as hard as she could across his cheek. Immediately horrified at what she'd done, she took a step back, then spun on her heel, picked up her skirts, and ran toward the back of the house.

  Flinging open the back door, she cut across the covered walkway, then ran as fast as she could toward the alleyway of flowering trees. White petals rained down on her as she pounded across the damp earth, her skirts pulled high, her lungs burning. She'd just reached the end of the corridor when she heard pounding of another kind.

  She looked back in time to see a flash of red. Then a strong arm closed around her, lifting her against the heaving side of a horse that seemed on the verge of being out of control.

  "Let me down!"

  "Be still or I will. I doubt you'd survive being trampled, even though the ground is soft."

  Randi immediately stilled. She'd seen the horror of broken bones in 1849; she had no desire to be a patient of that quack, Dr. Shelton.

  "Relax. I'm pulling you up onto this horse because I'm certain you'll try to run again if I let you go."

  "No, I--"

  "Relax!"

  With a command like that, how could she resist? Trying her best not to stiffen up, or pull against him, she let Jackson haul her onto the saddle of the nervous animal.

  "I don't think your horse likes me here."

  "If I can tolerate you, so can he."

  Again, she felt his insult deep inside her soul. Biting her lip so she wouldn't say anything else, she sat silent across the saddle as they galloped away from the house.

  How unlike the ride to Franklin's plantation that evening last week. This ride felt angry and stiff. She had no urge to melt into Jackson's warm body, nor did she sense any desire in him to hold her close. On the way to Eastland, he'd asked her to hold him around his neck, encouraged her to snuggle close. Now, he seemed to want to be as far distant from her as possible without shoving her off the saddle.

  If he didn't want to be around her, why not just let her go? Why not let her run away, foolishly without any food or money? Why not stop the horse, deposit her near the road, and tell her good riddance?

  Jackson's actions didn't make any sense to her . . . not that she was in any emotional condition to rationally consider his reasons. The only thought that popped into her head was that he was carrying her off because he didn't want to murder his daughter's governess inside the house. She'd probably been watching too much television, though.

  They rode in silence for what seemed like a long time, but Randi knew couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes. The air was heavy with the smell of muddy water as Jackson urged the chestnut up the steep levee by the Mississippi. Randi's heart seemed to skip a beat at the horse faltered, then got his footing and surged to the top.

  She gripped Jackson's coat lapel as he pulled the animal to a stop. The horse's sides heaved with exertion, and Randi felt the same when the reality of where they were hit her. Stretched before them was Ol' Man River, out of his banks and raging strong over willows and up the trunks of huge cottonwoods. Snags of driftwood spun and dived beneath the current, then reappeared farther downstream.

  So similar to the time she and Russell had taken their driftwood raft out onto the river, only this was worse. Much worse.

  "How long has it been this way?" she whispered.

  "Not long. The packet was able to leave early yesterday, but I had word the current was running faster." He looked out over the wide expanse of river, then added. "I'm surprised."

  She was too, not to mention alarmed. "Doesn't this make people nervous? Surely they'll take extra precautions against the flood."

  "I hope so."

  When the horse shifted beneath them, Jackson startled, as though he'd forgotten that they were still sitting together on the mount.

  "Sit still," he told her before dismounting.

  Within a few seconds, Randi was standing on the solid, damp ground. Through the soles of her feet, she could almost feel the power of the water as it rushed past, much too close for comfort.

  "How sturdy is this levee?" she asked nervously, stepping back.

  "Reinforced and packed solid," he said, walking the horse a few yards farther down the earthworks. "The best I can build."

  I suppose I should be reassured by that comment, she told herself as she followed a respectful distance behind the chestnut.

  Jackson didn't walk far. Apparently he'd found a dryer spot, because he loosened the girth, removed the saddle, and spread the blanket on the ground. Since there were no branches around, he tied the horse's reins to a ring on the saddle.

  She hoped the animal didn't get spooked and leave them here. She wasn't ready to spend any more time than necessary beside the raging flood, especially when she kept seeing driftwood and dead animals floating and dipping past like log rides at Opryland.

  "Sit," he said, motioning to the blanket.

  There was barely room for two, but somehow they both managed to settle fairly comfortably on the ground. Jackson sat with his elbows propped on his spread knees, his black boots resting flat on the clay soil. Randi tucked her long skirts around her ankles and tried to keep her knees together by looping her arms beneath her legs.

  "I apologize for the seating arrangements. I wasn't expecting this when I left the house."

  "Then why not just go back? Why have you brought me out here, except to torture me with the sight of the river?"

  "I didn't realize you'd consider it torture."

  "Really? Maybe I wasn't clear about how terrified I am of the water."

  "The water isn't that close to us here. This levee is plenty high to handle any flood that they've had in recorded history.

  Randi remembered a few years back, when they'd called the Midwest's rising water a "five hundred year flood." She supposed Jackson wouldn't believe her if she reminded him that "recorded history" wasn't very long. "So why am I here?"

  "I'm not sure," he said, looking down at the dirt. "I shouldn't have insulted you in the entryway."

  "Are you apologizing?"

  "Yes, dammit!"

  "Well, I'm sorry I slapped you. That was . . . unexpected. I don't think I've ever slapped another person in my life."

  "I'm glad to hear that. I don't surround myself by violent people, especially those in contact with my daughter."

  "No, you don't want that. You don't have to worry, because I've never struck a child."

  He nodded, then remained silent for long seconds as he watched the water rush by. "Why won't you talk about yourself, Randi?"

  "I already told you that you wouldn't believe me."

  "And what if I don't?"

  She drew in a deep breath. "You might send me away."

  "You're leaving anyway. You've said so many times. What difference does it make if you leave in a few weeks or tomorrow?"

  "I . . . I know I have to leave. I know what's going to happen."

  "From your dreams?"

  "Look, I can't tell you how, okay. Please don't keep asking."

  He sighed. "All right, how about another question? You arrived her saying you'd come to care for Rose. Why did you say that?"

  "Because I think that's true. She was a child without a mother and she needed me."

  "Then she'll still need you after the flood passes."

  Randi looked down at her lap, blinking back tears. All she could do was shake her head.

  "Is there something special about my daughter? How did you know that she needed you?"

  "I heard her crying . . . in my mind. I knew I had to find out why she was so sad."
>
  "Certainly you've known other babies. You take care of her as though you've done this many times before."

  "My nieces and nephew," she added quickly.

  "If they mean so much to you, why aren't you home with them?"

  "Because Rose needs me!" she said, the words rushing past her frozen throat. "She was lying there crying all alone, and I couldn't stand it! No baby should be like that, all alone, not knowing that someone loves them. Not feeling the warmth of hands holding them, not knowing a mother's love. No baby . . . no baby . . ."

  She buried her head in her hands, her chest heaving as she cried for the baby she'd never held, for the life that a senseless accident had snuffed out so prematurely.

  She barely felt his arms come around her, but then she was crying against his shirt, her hands clutching his lapels. He murmured words she couldn't understand, his hands stroking her back. When she shivered, he took off his coat and snuggled it around her shoulders.

  "I'm sorry," she said, gulping in air. "I'm trying not to cry."

  "Maybe it's best that you just go ahead. Let go of whatever is bothering you. Sometimes the secrets we hold so dearly haunt us."

  She knew his words held a more meaningful message than she could decipher right now. Her mind refused to think beyond the pain of losing her own child. Her secret . . . the one she didn't even talk about to her parents, because she didn't think they'd understand the emptiness she lived with every day.

  "What baby haunts you, Randi?" Jackson asked softly.

  "My baby," she answered, dabbing her eyes with her sleeves. "I lost my baby before she was old enough to live on her own."

  "You had a miscarriage?"

  "I had an accident. I slipped down the stairs on the ice last winter. One minute I was carrying in my groceries, the next I was lying at the bottom of the steps, bleeding. It happened so fast . . ."

  She paused, sniffing back tears. Jackson held her, the rubs on her back comforting as she relived the pain and shock.

  "The doctors tried to help me, but I was bleeding inside. The said the placenta detached. She didn't have a chance of surviving at five months. They can work wonders with premature babies, but not that young."

  "Of course not. Babies sometimes die."

  "Not so much in my . . . home."

  Thankfully, he didn't say anything about her near slip. "Losing the baby wasn't your fault. It was an accident."

  "I know, but I keep thinking that I could have been more careful. I didn't know there was any ice on the steps. There hadn't been any snow or sleet . . ."

  "It was an accident," he said again gently.

  "That's what my family kept telling me, over and over, until I believed them."

  "And the father?"

  "He didn't want to be a father. The pregnancy was an accident. I thought we'd been careful, but I still got pregnant."

  "He didn't offer to marry you?"

  "No, and I wouldn't have married him if he had. I didn't realize until too late that Cleve would have been a miserable husband and an even worse father. He was too tied up in himself, always scheming, always making big plans, telling me all these wonderful things." She shook her head, still not sure why she'd fallen for such a good-looking, insecure, untrustworthy man.

  "I learned from him not to depend on anyone else for my happiness. I'd wanted out relationship to work out so much that I overlooked the fact his stories never quite seemed true. I didn't ask him tough questions because I wanted to believe he was the kind of person he said he was.

  "No, he would have made a terrible father. If my baby had lived, I would have let her see her dad, but when she was old enough to understand, I would have told her that she just couldn't believe at least half of anything he said."

  Jackson eased his arm from around her shoulders. "Truth is important to you."

  "Yes."

  He sighed. "Sometimes people don't lie, but they don't tell the whole truth."

  "If they know that the whole truth would make a difference, then they're lying."

  "You're quick in your opinion. Are you so sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Then if I haven't told you the whole story of my life, does that mean I'm lying?"

  "Only if there's something in your past that you're keeping from me on purpose, something you know would be important."

  He squinted into the mid-morning haze, not answering her.

  "What are you keeping from me, Jackson Durant?"

  He still didn't answer, but turned to her, cradling her jaw in one hand. "I'm sorry about your baby." He kissed her sweetly on the forehead, then leaned back just a little and looked into her eyes. "And I was wrong to condemn you for thinking yourself in love."

  This time he kissed her on the on the lips, gently at first, then stronger, more sure. She parted her mouth, kissing him back with a growing awareness that they'd shared some truth today. Maybe not the whole truth, but they'd come to a new level of understanding on this earthen levee. She hadn't expected to tell him about her baby. She hadn't expected him to comfort her, admit his mistake, and understand that society condemns far too easily.

  He twisted over her, pushing her back onto the saddle blanket. When he broke their kiss to caress her neck, she breathed deeply. The smell of the muddy river was tempered by the slightly sweet smell of horse and the alluring scent of Jackson.

  His fingers molded her breast through the cotton of her bodice and thin chemise. Her nipple pebbled hard and aching as she arched toward him. "I want you to touch me," she whispered into his ear. "I want to touch you."

  Her words seemed to inflame him. He kissed her again, hard and urgent, and moved one leg over hers as he slipped his hand beneath her back.

  "Damn all these hooks," he said, breaking the kiss as his hand skimmed down her spine.

  She chuckled despite the situation--heavy arousal and urgent need. "I've said the same thing myself. I don't know how women stand these dresses."

  "What? Never mind," he said, nuzzling her neck. "I'm insane to make love to you on a levee in broad daylight. On a saddle cloth, in the dirt."

  "Then I'm insane too, because I would have let you," she said, hugging him close. "I still would, except maybe I'd ask if we could go somewhere more private."

  "Are you sure?" he asked, pulling back to look into her eyes.

  "Yes, I'm sure. I may be wrong again, but I don't think so. I've wanted you for a long time, too. I knew we shouldn't. I knew you didn't trust me, maybe even that you didn't like me."

  "I didn't understand you."

  She smiled lovingly at him. "You still don't."

  He smiled back, his expression, along with his tousled hair and rumpled shirt, made him appear young and carefree. "I'm willing to listen."

  "Then maybe I will tell you . . . sometime. I can't promise," she warned as she ran her hand through his raven-black hair.

  He kissed her again, deeply but less urgent. Gently, but thoroughly. She knew he was still aroused; she felt the hardness against her thigh.

  "What going to happen now?" she whispered when the kiss ended.

  "Arrange our clothes. Saddle the horse. Go back to the house."

  "Will you teach me how to ride?"

  "A horse?" he asked, grinning down at her.

  She pushed against his shoulder. "Yes, a horse. I think I can manage the other."

  "Really?" he answered, rolling off her and kneeling on the blanket. "I may test your skills . . . later."

  "I hope you do," she said, pushing herself up on her elbows. "I've always been good at taking tests."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jackson knew he couldn't run upstairs to his bedroom with his daughter's governess in the middle of the day, but he had big plans for later that night. He was certain his intentions showed clearly because Lebeau greeted him with a raised eyebrow as he eased Randi off the horse onto the front porch.

  "Suzette was looking for Miss Randi," Lebeau told them.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, brushing dir
t off her skirts.

  "Little Miss Rose is running a fever. She wanted your advice."

  "I'll go up to her right away."

  "I'll go with you," Jackson said, dismounting quickly and handing the reins to Lebeau. "Would you have him taken around to the stable?"

  Lebeau nodded. "I don't think it's anything serious with Miss Rose."

  "I'm sure it's not," Randi said over her shoulder as she hurried to the house. "Probably just a normal temperature with her teething."

  Jackson followed, watching the sway of her skirts as she walked quickly up the stairs. He resisted the urge to reach out and grab her hips through the muslin of her dress. Her body--what's he'd felt of it before he realized they were about to make love in broad daylight on the top of a levee--had been firm, yet nicely rounded.

  He thought back to the first time he'd seen her dressed. The odd shirt with stripes across the bodice had emphasized the swell of her breasts, and the soft, plush fabric had felt very inviting. The blue trousers molded to her legs, clearly showing the round curves of her bottom and the tempting vee where her legs joined.

  He wondered if she still possessed the strange clothing . . . and perhaps if she would wear the items for him in private.

  "Suzette?" Randi asked when she reached the top of the stairs.

  They walked into the nursery to the sound of Rose's fretting. Jackson hadn't realized how uncommon the intermittent crying had been lately until he heard his daughter fussing again.

  "Miz Randi, she's a little warm and flushed. I don't think she's serious-ill, but I thought you should look at her."

  "Come here, Precious," Randi said, taking the baby from Suzette. She bent her blond head close to his daughter's nearly identically colored hair. If anyone saw them together, they'd think Randi was Rose's mother.

  The thought intrigued him . . .

  "Let's look at your gums," she said, walking with Rose toward the window. "Suzette, would you bring me a clean, wet cloth please?"

  Randi carefully washed her hand, then inserted a finger in Rose's mouth despite her protests. "Jackson, come here and help, please. You're tall."

  His surprise was short-lived as he walked to where they stood. She handed him the baby. "Try to hold her still so I can see her teeth. I think one of the upper ones is coming through, which is probably why she's fussy and a little feverish."