Emily forgot about being reasonable. Even as Luke started to say, “No—”, she put herself in the trooper’s face. “Shut your mouth, you big, stupid Yankee tyrant.”
The man’s eyes widened in surprise. He brought his hand up to slap her and growled, “You foul-mouthed little Rebel slut! I’ll—”
Luke grabbed the crutch from the wagon bed beside him and drove the tip of it into the soldier’s midsection as hard as he could. He put plenty of the strength in his arms and shoulders behind the punch.
The trooper cried out in pain and stumbled back a step, tripping on a loose board in the porch. He sat down hard, gasping for breath, the blow had been so strong.
His companion acted swiftly, unsnapping the holster at his waist and pulling out a revolver. He eared back the hammer as he raised the gun and pointed it at Luke’s face.
CHAPTER 18
Luke knew in that instant how close he was to dying. He had reacted instinctively when Emily was threatened, and it looked like that reaction was going to cost him his life.
But before the little Yankee could pull the trigger, a voice asked sharply, “What’s going on here?”
The soldier’s gaze darted past the wagon toward a man who had come along the street from the other direction. The short Yankee hesitated, licking his lips. “This Reb just attacked Private Packard, Mr. Wolford.”
The newcomer strode past the wagon to confront the soldiers. “It looked to me more like he was defending this young woman. Packard was about to strike her, wasn’t he?”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but you didn’t hear what she called him.”
“Nor do I care,” Wolford replied. “A man who acts like he’s going to hit a lady deserves whatever he gets. And I’m confident Colonel Morrison would agree with me.” He used the walking stick he carried to point at the bigger soldier. “Now put that gun away, help Private Packard to his feet, and both of you move along.”
The little trooper took a deep breath, obviously reluctant to follow the civilian’s orders. But Luke could tell he was afraid not to do what Wolford said. After a couple seconds the soldier holstered his revolver and turned to extend a hand to his companion. “Come on, Packard. We got things to do.”
Packard had gotten his breath back, but his face was pale. Anger made twin spots of red glow on his cheeks. He brushed aside the other soldier’s hand and climbed to his feet on his own.
“This ain’t any of your business, Wolford—”
“Come on,” the smaller soldier urged. “Let it go.” He got hold of Packard’s sleeve and tried to drag him away.
Packard didn’t want to, that much was clear. He glared darkly at Luke, who saw a promise in the man’s eyes that the skirmish wasn’t over. But the soldier turned and stalked off along the boardwalk, his shorter compatriot hurrying to keep up with him.
Wolford turned to Luke, Emily, and Peabody and smiled ingratiatingly. “I’m sorry about that unpleasantness. Unfortunately, too many soldiers haven’t gotten it through their heads yet that the war is over.” He put out a hand to Peabody. “Vincent Wolford.”
The man’s accent marked him as being from somewhere in New England. He was about forty, with a lean face, dark hair, and thick, salt-and-pepper side-whiskers. His suit was a subdued blue, and he wore a black beaver hat.
Wolford wasn’t just a carpetbagger, Luke thought. He was a boss carpetbagger.
Peabody hesitated, clearly not wanting to shake hands with any Yankee, but Wolford had kept the little soldier from shooting Luke. After a moment, he took Wolford’s hand and clasped it briefly. “Linus Peabody.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Peabody.” Wolford smiled at Emily. “And this is your granddaughter, I expect? I can see the resemblance.”
“My name’s Emily. I ain’t much on shakin’ hands with Yankees, though.”
Wolford smiled. “That’s all right, Miss Peabody. A perfectly understandable attitude, considering all the upheavals that have taken place. Believe me, I know what you’re going through.”
Luke didn’t believe that for a second. Wolford had the smooth look of a man who had always been rich and gotten whatever he wanted.
“Or perhaps it’s not Miss Peabody,” Wolford went on as he turned to Luke. “Are you the lady’s husband, sir?”
“That’s Luke—”
“Luke Smith. I’m a friend of the family, that’s all.”
“I see.” Wolford glanced at Luke’s legs and the crutch still in his hand. “You were wounded in the war?”
“That’s right.”
“A terrible shame.”
Luke was aware that Emily and her grandfather were looking at him curiously, no doubt wondering why he had given Wolford a false name. Without much thought, it had popped out of his mouth. He’d been brooding a lot lately—about the stolen gold and the deaths of his friends—and hated to think the name Jensen would ever be linked to such a shameful failure. That probably had something to do with it.
And the fact he instinctively didn’t trust Vincent Wolford.
“Colonel Morrison, the commander of the troops in this area, is a good friend of mine,” Wolford went on. “I’ll have a word with him and ask if he could order his men to treat the citizens with a bit more respect. After all, we’re all partners now in rebuilding the South. If we’re going to work together, we should get along, shouldn’t we?”
“We don’t want trouble with anybody,” Peabody said, which didn’t really answer Wolford’s rhetorical question.
“Of course not.” The man smiled and lifted a hand to the brim of his beaver hat. “Well, good day to you folks.”
As Wolford strolled away, Peabody climbed quickly to the wagon seat and told Emily, “Get on the wagon, girl. We’re gettin’ outta here.”
The old-timer turned the vehicle around and got the mules headed back toward the farm. Peabody muttered under his breath about how they shouldn’t have come to Dobieville today in the first place.
Emily turned around to lean over the back of the seat. “You shouldn’t have got mixed up in that, Luke. That big, dumb Yankee never would’ve been able to hit me. I’m too fast for the likes of him.”
Luke shifted on the wagon bed. “Maybe so, but it’s bad enough I had to sit by while you and Linus loaded the supplies. You can’t expect me to do nothing while that soldier attacked you.”
“You almost got yourself killed, that’s what you did.”
Luke couldn’t argue with that.
“If that slick-talkin’ Yankee carpetbagger hadn’t come along, that mean little varmint would’ve blowed your head off.”
“More than likely,” Luke admitted with a sigh.
“And what was that business about callin’ yourself Smith?” Peabody asked. “Have you been lyin’ to us all along, son? Are you some sort of criminal on the run from the law?”
“No,” Luke answered without hesitation. “Absolutely not. I may not have told you quite everything, Linus, but I give you my word, nobody’s looking for me, lawman or otherwise.”
Peabody nodded. “Reckon I can accept that. Just like I can accept it’s your business what you call yourself.”
“Well, it may take me some gettin’ used to, after callin’ you Jensen all this time.” Emily paused. “Just don’t get yourself killed on account of me, Luke Smith or Jensen or whatever the hell name you want to use.”
Luke laughed. “I’ll certainly try not to.”
When they got back to the farm, Emily and her grandfather helped Luke down from the wagon before they unloaded the supplies. He stood at the back of the vehicle on his crutches and said, “If you want to drape that flour sack over my shoulder, Linus, I might be able to carry it in.”
“There ain’t no need of that,” Peabody said. “You don’t have to prove anything to us, Luke.”
“That’s right.” Emily turned away from the tailgate with the crate in her hands. “You already do plenty to help out around—
Oh!” she cried out as the heavy c
rate slipped from her grasp and fell on Luke’s right foot.
Luke took a sharp breath.
“Hell and damnation!” Emily exclaimed. “Oh, Luke, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to drop that on you. It must’ve—”
He smiled as she stopped short in what she was saying. “Must have hurt? Only a little. That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about.”
Looking flustered, Emily picked up the crate. “Well, when we get inside, I want to take a look at your foot anyway. You could be hurt and not even know it.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Luke said.
A few minutes later, he was sitting in the rocking chair. Emily knelt in front of him and took off his boot and sock. There was a red mark on the top of his foot where the crate had landed, but no blood. Emily poked around on the spot.
Luke blinked.
“Doesn’t feel like any bones are broken.” Without looking up, she pulled his sock back onto the foot. “You were lucky.”
“That’s me. Lucky Luke Smith.”
Emily snorted.
After they ate a hasty midday meal, Emily and Peabody went out to work in the fields, leaving Luke sitting in the rocker. When he was sure they were gone, he put his hands on his thighs and squeezed as hard as he could, working the muscles. He had succeeded in covering up his reaction so Emily and her grandfather hadn’t noticed it, but it had hurt like blazes when that crate fell on his foot, the most sensation he had felt in one of his feet for a long time. And it had been repeated when Emily poked at the site of the injury.
It excited him as no pain ever had.
He stared at his legs, willing them with every fiber of his being to move, but all he could summon up were a few twitches.
He slumped back in the rocking chair, suddenly breathless and exhausted. That might be the most my legs will ever move, he told himself. But his heart soared inside him, anyway. For the first time in months he had real hope again.
Hope that someday he might be able to have the things he most wanted . . .
Emily.
And vengeance.
CHAPTER 19
Over the next few days, Luke struggled against the impatience he felt as he looked for another sign that his legs might be improving. Any time he was alone at the cabin, he moved them as much as he could, sometimes unconsciously straining his other muscles until he was breathing hard and sweat popped out on his face. He rubbed his legs and then pounded on them in frustration when they failed to respond as much as he wanted them to.
One day he lifted himself out of the chair with his crutches, then let them fall to the sides in the hope he could force himself to stand.
He fell on his face.
And struggled hard to push himself up with the crutches to get back in the chair.
He didn’t give up. He worked at it every day and would continue as long as it took.
He didn’t say a word about his efforts to Emily or her grandfather. If he failed—again—he didn’t want them to know about it. There would be time enough later to fill them in if he was successful in learning to walk again.
Emily continued to exercise the muscles in his legs, massaging and working them back and forth.
Several days after his fall she noticed a change. “It may be my imagination, Luke, but it seems to me like your legs are getting stronger rather than weaker.”
“Really? Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, real good. I knew it was just a matter of time before you started healin’ up.”
He thought she was just trying to be encouraging, but maybe she was more right than she knew. Whenever Emily and her grandfather weren’t around and Luke was on his crutches, he let more of the weight of his body rest on his legs.
At first they had buckled, but as the days went on he was able to stiffen them and partially support himself more than he could before. He still didn’t say anything to Emily or her grandfather. Hope and resolve filled him, but he was wary.
One evening while Emily was inside cleaning up after supper, Luke sat in the rocker on the porch and the old man sat on the steps. Peabody filled his pipe and lit it, then said quietly enough that Emily wouldn’t overhear, “I spotted some fellas on horseback watchin’ the place today.”
Luke tensed, hearing the worry in the old-timer’s voice. “Soldiers?”
“Nope. Civilians. I didn’t get a very good look at ’em, but I could tell that much.”
“What do you reckon they wanted?”
Peabody shook his head. “Don’t know, but Bud Harkness come by today and talked to me. Bud’s got the next farm over. He says there’s some problem with the taxes and he might lose his place.”
“Didn’t he pay them?”
“He did . . . but the judge the Yankees put in charge of such things says that Bud didn’t pay enough. It’s a blamed lie ... but he’s a judge.”
“What’s this fellow Harkness going to do?” Luke asked.
“What can he do? He can stay and fight, or he can leave.” Peabody puffed on the pipe for a second or two in silence, then went on. “Bud’s got five kids and another on the way. He can’t afford to get himself killed.”
“So he’s going to pack up and leave?”
“I expect so. That’s the smart thing to do.”
“If they’re after his place . . .”
“This one’s next in line,” Peabody said, his voice heavy. “That’s who I think was watchin’ us today. Somebody who works for the varmint who’s got his eye on this place.”
“You happen to know who that is?”
Peabody turned his head to look at Luke in the fading light.
“Wolford.”
The answer didn’t surprise Luke. Vincent Wolford had stepped in to help them that day in Dobieville when they’d had the trouble with the soldiers, but he had seen through the man’s slick façade to the predator underneath. Weighing his words carefully, Luke said, “Maybe Harkness has the right idea. There’s Emily to think of—”
“You mean you think we should run, too?” Peabody snapped. “That ain’t the way you sounded the last time we talked about this, son.”
“I know. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to Emily.”
“You think I do? But you got to remember this . . . gettin’ her to leave wouldn’t be easy. This land . . . well, look at it this way. When her pa and her brothers went off to fight, they figured they were doin’ it to protect our home. This land. Emily still sees it the same way. She’ll feel like she has to defend it, too, just like they did.”
Luke understood that. He felt the same way about the Jensen farm in Missouri. So would his pa and Kirby.
There was no good answer. None at all.
Emily appeared in the doorway behind them, drying her hands on a cloth. “What are the two of you talkin’ about so serious-like?”
“Who says we’re talkin’ serious?” her grandfather said. “I was just tellin’ Luke a joke.”
“I didn’t hear anybody laughin’.”
“That’s because I ain’t got to the funny part yet.” Peabody turned to Luke. “So then the farmer says, ‘You’re all mixed up, mister. That there’s my prize hog.’” He slapped a hand on his thigh and hooted with laughter.
Luke threw back his head and laughed, too, even though on the inside he had seldom felt grimmer.
Using the crutches, Luke lifted himself from the chair and stood beside the table. He took a deep breath and let go of the crutches, allowing them to fall to the sides like he had done before. As they thumped on the floor, he stood with his hands spread, trying to balance himself.
He didn’t fall immediately. He felt the weight on his legs, felt the muscles struggling to support him. But they began to give out, and he had to slap his palms down on the table to hold himself up. Even that was progress, he thought as his pulse pounded in his head. He hadn’t collapsed. Yes, he was leaning on the table, but he was still standing.
A footstep sounded on the porch.
Luke tur
ned his head toward the door, and as he did so, his legs folded up underneath him. He tried to catch himself on the table, but wound up lying on the floor between the chair and the table.
Emily came in and saw him there. “Damn it all to—” She stopped herself. She had been trying to stop cursing so much lately.
He thought maybe she had decided it wasn’t ladylike. . . as if acting more like a lady might have become more important to her.
She rushed over to him and bent to take hold of him. “Lord have mercy, Luke, what happened? How did you manage to fall?”
“Don’t worry about that,” he snapped, furious at himself for letting her distract him. “Just help me up.”
He saw the quick flash of hurt in her eyes and wished he could call back the sharp words, but they were already out there. He couldn’t do a thing about them except add in a softer tone, “Please, Emily.”
As she lifted him, he reached up and grabbed hold of the table. With it to support him, she was able to get him back into the chair.
“I’ll pick up your crutches.”
He held out a hand to stop her. “I can get them. Thank you.”
She looked at him with a slight frown. “Were you trying to walk, Luke? I’ve told you, I don’t care about that, not for me. I want it for you, but it’s not going to make any difference how I feel—”
“Of course it makes a difference. It’s bound to.” Luke frowned at her.
“No,” she said as she leaned closer to him. “I swear to you, it doesn’t. I’ll prove it to you.”
Before he could stop her, she lowered herself onto his lap, her arms clasped around his neck, and her mouth pressed hungrily to his.
Luke bit back a groan of mingled despair and desire. His arms went around her. She was such a little bit of a thing, yet the curves of her body were those of a woman. Her lips worked urgently against his, their taste sweet and hot.
As he held her and kissed her, he felt something, no doubt about that.
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