After the frost f

by Chance, Megan

  "I want to tell her the truth about me."

  He stared at her dumbly for a moment, unsure what she was talking about, and then it dawned on him. The truth. About Belle. Sweet Jesus.

  The realization stunned him. "Jesus, Belle, you can't be serious."

  "Why not? I'm back now, there's no need to keep lyin'. How am I s'posed to be a mother when everyone thinks Sarah's my niece?"

  "Be a mother?" His voice was a whisper. God, he couldn't make it more than a whisper. "Oh, Jesus—"

  She inhaled sharply. "Hell, Rand, you act like it was some kind of crime. All I want to do is tell her the truth. I would've thought you'd want that too. Or—wait—I s'pose you've come to like livin' a lie."

  Her sarcasm banished his shock. Rand found his voice again, and with it his anger. He stepped forward, curling his fingers around the banister, blocking her from coming down the stairs. "You don't know anything about the truth. And if you think I'm going to let you walk out there and tell that little girl anything, you're crazy. Do you understand me?"

  "No, dammit, I don't—"

  "Well, let me make it clear," he spoke carefully, watching anger tighten her face and not caring. "You don't give a damn about her or anyone else. You can't just walk in here after six years and announce you're ready to be a mother. It doesn't work like that."

  "No? How does it work?" She stepped down until she was only inches away from him. Her brown gaze practically burned his skin. "Since when do you decide how the world works, Rand? Since when do you decide what's right and what's wrong?"

  "Since it involves my daughter, goddammit!"

  "Your daughter?"

  She yelled the words. They fell into silence. Sudden, expectant silence where there was no sound but harsh breathing, nothing but the echo of words. The two of them stood there, glaring at each other. He felt the warmth of her breath on his face, saw the rapid rise and fall of her chest. And then from the kitchen came the sound of a chair leg scraping on the wood floor, a harsh creak that seemed abnormally loud in the stillness, and the quick, hushed chatter of voices.

  Rand winced. He'd forgotten Lillian and the Alspaughs were in the kitchen. They'd no doubt heard the yelling, if not the words, and he knew Lillian would have his head for it later. But right now he didn't give a damn.

  He stepped back, gripping the banister with white- knuckled tightness, struggling to gain control of himself. "Belle," he said carefully, quietly. "Listen to me for a minute, will you?"

  She let out a breath and backed away, crossing her arms again over her chest. Like armor, he thought without amusement. He recognized the look. She wouldn't back down. Unfortunately this time he had no choice but to make her. The thought of her telling Sarah the truth filled him with cold terror. Belle would never know, couldn't guess how hard it had been to live that lie the last two years. But he had done it, and not just for Lillian's sake but for Sarah's. God, she was just a child. She would never understand.

  He swallowed and kept his voice low, too low for the people in the kitchen to hear. "There's a reason for the lie."

  She lifted a brow. "There is?"

  He nodded, took a deep breath. "There was a lot of gossip when you left. Not just about you, but because of Cort too—God, it was a mess. There were already rumors about us—"

  "There were rumors before I left."

  "Yeah, well, they got worse." Rand looked away, trying to keep the memory of that time away from his thoughts, trying just to tell her the truth as plainly as he could. "Your mama decided—" He saw the sudden fire in her eyes, and he rushed on —"your mama thought it would be better for everyone. There was so much talk, and we wanted to protect Sarah. There was—enough to bear without adding the scandal to it."

  "And you were ashamed."

  There was a note in her voice that Rand didn't understand. A note that made him vaguely uneasy. Guilt swept over him again, leaving his skin hot, his throat dry, and he looked down at the floor. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I was ashamed."

  "I see." She stepped back farther away from him. "Well, I guess you'd better get used to it, then, because I've changed my mind about things. I'm not leavin' and I'm not takin' Sarah away. I'm stayin' here, with her."

  "Staying?" he asked bitterly. "What does that mean? When have you ever stayed anywhere?"

  "You don't know me anymore, Rand," she said quietly. That was all, just those simple words, and though her face was expressionless, he felt her condemnation with every part of him. He deserved it, he knew. Deserved her condemnation and more. Much more.

  But she was not without blame herself, and he told himself that, hardened his voice to tell her he didn't give a damn what she wanted, that he didn't believe a word she said. He opened his mouth to say the words.

  And stopped.

  Because there was suddenly something in her expression he hadn't seen before. Something besides condemnation, something besides hurt. He saw it in her eyes, saw a vulnerability shining from them, a heaviness of spirit he didn't understand. It disheartened him somehow, and then Rand remembered how she'd looked when he first walked in, how he would have sworn she'd been crying.

  Belle crying.

  The image left him cold, left a hole in his heart, and Rand found he couldn't say the words. She was right, he didn't know her anymore. Especially today. In only a few hours something about her had changed. Unexpectedly. Quickly. Something—he didn't know what.

  But he did know he was afraid of it, so afraid, he wanted to turn and walk out the door, away from her, to leave before that heaviness wrapped him up, before her vulnerability made him weak. But she was waiting, and he knew he had to make sure she wouldn't tell Sarah the

  truth. He had to protect his daughter from that until she was old enough to understand. Until he could explain himself. Because if Belle told Sarah now and then left when the impulsive notion of raising a child lost its appeal, if she ran away the way she had before, she would only hurt Sarah.

  And in spite of what Belle said, he didn't trust her to stay.

  But, Jesus, he wished he understood what it was he saw in her eyes.

  Rand licked his lips. "I'm asking you not to tell her. I'm asking," he said. "Please don't tell her, Belle. Please. Not now. Not yet. I don't want to hurt her."

  He looked up at her and was relieved to see there was no anger in her eyes, no shield. She was just watching him thoughtfully, and somewhere in that thoughtful look was a Belle he recognized. One he remembered.

  She frowned, and he saw she was trying to think, to understand. "You think it would hurt her? Tellin' her the truth?"

  He nodded slowly.

  She took a deep breath. "All right," she said softly. "I won't tell her." She looked straight at him, and he saw the resignation in her eyes, the uncertainty. "But I won't wait forever, Rand."

  "I'm not asking you to," he said, though he was. He was. "Thank you."

  Chapter 11

  The kitchen was so quiet, every little noise seemed too loud: the clanging of the skillet, the hiss of frying ham, the swish of Lillian's skirt. Rand took a sip of coffee, hoping it would help ease his headache— or at the very least his tension. The liquid burned its way over his tongue, down his throat. He drew in his breath sharply.

  Lillian glanced over her shoulder. "Are you all right?" He nodded, and she turned away, silent again. It didn't surprise him. She had hardly spoken since he'd come into the kitchen, and he knew she was angry. He didn't blame her. He still found it hard to believe he'd lost control enough to shout at Belle while their neighbors were eating dinner only a room away. It embarrassed him to think of it, not because he cared what they'd heard but because he knew how much it humiliated Lillian. All too well he could imagine how she'd reacted, could see her sitting frozen at the table, working to keep a smile on her face.

  He should have taken Belle someplace else. Upstairs, or even into the dark parlor, where they would disturb no one.

  But he hadn't, and he knew why. Belle had disconcerted him with her word
s, with her eyes. He'd been too surprised to think, too busy trying to figure out what was going on. The Alspaughs, Lillian, dinner—they ceased to exist in those few moments. There had been nothing but Belle.

  Rand winced at the memory of it. He wished he could take back the last hours, wished they hadn't happened, and it was because of more than just Lillian's embarrassment. Something had happened, something was different, and he needed time to sort it out in his mind. But, God, his head was pounding, and it was hard to think about anything at all.

  "The wagon still has to be packed tonight," Lillian said without turning around.

  The sound of her voice jarred Rand from his thoughts, and he stared at her in confusion before he finally realized she was talking about the fair. "Oh— yeah, I know. Is everything ready?"

  "It's all in there." She pointed to a crate by the door.

  He took another sip of coffee. "Is Belle coming?" he asked carefully, though he told himself he didn't want to know, didn't care.

  For a moment Rand wasn't sure Lillian heard, but then he noticed how still she went, how stiffly she stood, and he cursed himself inwardly. Damn, he should never have brought up Belle's name. It gave Lillian the perfect opportunity to berate him for this afternoon, and he wasn't in the mood to hear it, would rather bear her uncomfortable silence than her tirade. But it was too late to take back the words, and any hope he had that she would let it pass disappeared when she turned from the stove. Her face was a polite mask, but her eyes glittered with anger.

  "I don't know if Belle's coming or not," she said. Her voice was clipped and sharp. "You're the one who talked to her today. Though I heard you yelling, I regret to say I didn't hear what she had to say about the fair."

  Her words hit him like shards of ice. Rand took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

  "Sorry? I should hope so. The whole neighborhood heard you fighting. Dorothy and Kenny certainly did. Couldn't you have had the decency at least to remember we had company?"

  Rand clenched the cup in his hand. "Dorothy and Kenny are hardly company."

  "It is still not"—she struggled for the word—"appropriate to fight so—so openly—in front of them."

  She glared at him until Rand looked away uncomfortably. "What did they hear?" he asked.

  "I doubt they heard anything but loud voices. I know that's all I heard. Thankfully I couldn't make out the words." Lillian wiped her hands on her apron as if just the thought was distasteful. "But I was just so—so stunned. Really, Rand—" She shook her head. "I don't understand. I don't understand why you didn't go into another room. The stairs, Rand—good heavens, anyone could have heard."

  "I wasn't thinking," he said wryly.

  "That is not an excuse."

  No, it wasn't, but it was the truth anyway, and Rand couldn't think of what else to say, how to explain it to her. What could he say? "I'm sorry, Lil, but she was crying, and I lost my head"? "I didn't mean to, but I saw something in her face I still don't understand"? Lillian would understand that even less than he did.

  Rand looked down into his coffee and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to tell you," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

  She was quiet. The only sound was the spattering ham, the soft percolation of coffee. The silence seemed to last forever.

  Rand looked up. Lillian was staring at him measuringly, and he saw resignation in her gaze, along with concern. It surprised him, made him feel her disappointment even more keenly, and he pushed back his chair, wanting suddenly to be away from her. The legs screeched on the floor, screaming in his head, and he saw her wince.

  "Please call Sarah for supper," she said, turning back to the stove.

  Supper. Sitting here at this table, pretending everything was fine, was the last thing he wanted to do. He wished he could go out to the barn and sit in the rocking chair until he heard the soft chirping of the katydids at sunset. He wanted quiet. Peace. But he wouldn't get that tonight, he knew, hadn't had it since Belle returned.

  The only respite he was likely to get was if Belle didn't come to the fair, and that wasn't likely. He couldn't imagine that she would sit meekly at home while the rest of them went off together. Especially because Sarah was coming, too, and he didn't believe Belle would give up the chance to perhaps take Sarah and run—despite her words.

  He swallowed the last dregs of his coffee and rose stiffly, nearly turning into Belle as she came through the doorway.

  "Hey," she said. She glanced at him and then she shrank by him without touching. She went to the stove and reached past Lillian for the coffeepot. "So when do we go tomorrow?"

  Rand's chest constricted; what was left of his brief, ridiculous hope crumbled away. "Go?" he asked, wondering if it was at all possible to dissuade her. "Go where?"

  "To the fair." She didn't look at him, but spooned sugar and cream into her coffee as though she hadn't a care in the world, as if they hadn't been screaming at each other in the stairway only a few hours ago. "It starts tomorrow, doesn't it?"

  He ignored the glance Lillian threw him. "I didn't know you were planning to come along."

  "Oh?" Belle looked at him then. Her eyes widened slightly, innocently, and she raised a brow. "Why wouldn't I?"

  "There will be so many people there, Isabelle," Lillian interjected.

  "I hope so. It's a fair, after all."

  "They'll be talking—"

  "They've talked before." Belle shrugged. "I'm not afraid of a little scandal. Besides, I've never been to a fair."

  "But Isabelle—"

  "But Mama." Belle's voice was hard with sarcasm. "I know you're worried about what's best for me, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, but I'm goin', and that's that." She glanced at Rand. "What time do we leave?"

  "In the morning." His voice sounded hoarse; it was all he could do to get it out at all. "Early."

  "Good." She pulled out a chair and sat down, but her eyes never left his, and Rand saw the challenge in them, the stop me if you can defiance. "The sooner the better. I'm lookin' forward to it, aren't you?"

  He nodded reluctantly. "I wouldn't miss it."

  She smiled. "Neither would I."

  The morning was cold. Rand huddled in his bulky wool coat and wished he'd worn thicker gloves to handle the reins. There had been a thin layer of frost on the windows when he'd awakened, and the cold cut into his bones while he washed Bertha in preparation for the fair. Now, even after two cups of coffee and a huge breakfast, he couldn't get warm.

  Though that may have been due to Lillian as much as anything. He stole a glance at her. She sat beside him on the wagon seat. Her spine was stiffly erect, her arms like bars around Sarah, who was sound asleep in her lap. Lillian was still angry with him for yesterday, he knew. She'd barely spared him a good morning.

  He sighed, his breath clouded on the cold air. His stepmother had made it clear she expected him to order Belle to stay home. The fact that he hadn't no doubt added to her anger. But he didn't care. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize Belle. He was already too worried she'd go back on her promise. He could not take the risk that she would tell Sarah the truth.

  He felt Belle now behind him, sitting in the wagon bed. He knew she was nestled in the corner, practically drowning in that too-big, too-worn old coat. Like Lillian, Belle had been quiet this morning, but she didn't have to say anything to make him aware of her. He knew where she was every moment; he was aware of her everywhere, heard her muffled breathing, felt the way her body shifted with the movement of the wagon.

  Jesus, he wished he could get her out of his mind.

  Not that he'd ever been able to, he thought dryly, but he would give just about anything if she would fade into the background so he could easily ignore her. The thought nearly made him laugh. Ignore Belle? He didn't know if he could. His whole life had been full of her. He'd loved her, wanted her, hated her, but he'd never been able to ignore her.

  Though he was willing to try. He wanted to enjoy the fair the way he always had, w
anted to think about nothing but livestock and farming equipment, to laugh and gossip and eat.

  He knew it was odd for a man who hated farming as much as he did to love the fair. He should care about which seed was better or what kind of hog gave up the most lard, but he didn't give a damn about any of it, and it wasn't why he went. It was the excitement of the fair that tugged at him. The salesmen, the hawkers, the auctions ... All those things reminded him that there were other places in the world, places he would never see. The fair was the only way to experience them, and so he drank it up and wished for more, was sorry when the three days were over and he went back to being Randall Sault, farmer.

  He clenched his jaw. Now even that respite was lost to him. He'd be spending these three days guarding Sarah. The fair was the perfect place for Belle to steal his daughter and run; it would be easy for her to get lost in the crowds. And even if she didn't do that, there was still the other threat hovering in the air between them, the knowledge that only her whim kept her from telling Sarah the truth. The thought of her doing so left him weak. She'd said she wanted to be a real mother to Sarah, but he didn't believe her. Belle was, had always been, impulsive. She lost interest in anything that took too long. It would be the same with this, he knew. She would get tired of waiting and move on, and as much as he hoped that would happen, he feared for Sarah if it did. She was already growing attached to Belle. If Sarah knew Belle was her mother . . .

  The image of his daughter's hurt confusion wavered before him, made him stiff with tension, and he knew that his only choice was to hope Belle would stick to her promise. She had said she would wait, but not forever, and he had no idea what that meant to her, whether she would wait two hours or two years.

  The turnoff for Lundy's Lane was ahead of him, and Rand buried his thoughts and concentrated on the horses. There was a line of wagons behind and in front of him, all loaded with pens holding livestock and crates of baked goods, all on their way to John Reber's field. Gradually the murmur of hellos and quiet jokes blended with the shouts from the fairgrounds ahead. By the time they reached the field, excitement filled the air. Even Lillian seemed to relax. Rand turned the wagon off the road and onto the grounds, stopping beneath one of the huge shade trees at the perimeter.