Allie wrenched her arm from his hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You don’t know what I did—how bad I am! Olivia needs me, and what I took from her I can never make up.” Her face crumpled, mirroring a soul that was perhaps even more tortured than his own.
Dropping the sack, instinctively Jeff pulled her into his arms, to somehow shelter her from whatever devils beset her. “Allie, honey,” he murmured against her ear, “don’t be so hard on yourself. What could you have done that’s so terrible?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t touch me that way,” she demanded.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m afraid.”
“Afraid?” He released her. “Of me?”
She took a deep breath. “No! Of myself. Of how you make me feel and how often I think about you.” She yielded for a moment then, leaning against him as if she had no strength left to stand on her own. He closed his arms around her again. “You don’t know how bad I am,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “I can’t begin to tell you.”
She was soft and lithe in his embrace, and faintly fragrant of lavender. The swell of her breasts against him brought blood pounding to his groin. The effect almost startled him—hell, except for his dealings with Allie, it had been longer than he realized since he’d been close to a woman. The wind blew over the grass in waves, flattening the blades to reveal their silvery undersides. It tugged at the loose curls around her face and the afternoon sun caught glints of ruby fire in the strands. Her lips—he’d kissed them and he knew they were as soft and as inviting as they looked now. Jeff felt a balm on his own injured spirit just to touch her. A man might have half a chance to turn his life around with Allie Ford standing beside him.
“I don’t think you’re bad,” he murmured against her hair. “Maybe you’re just tired. You’ve hauled a lot of responsibility for a long time, I think.” The last few years had been lousy for him, but of his own making. Despite Allie’s protests, though, he suspected that her troubles were a legacy she’d inherited. He took her face between his hands and looked into her eyes. “If I had my way, if I could change everything that happened in the years that came before now, I’d do it, and take the burden off your shoulders.”
She gazed up at him, and her bossy, self-reliant mask slipped. “You would?” He saw a wistful innocence that made his heart ache for her.
Somewhere in the trees a song sparrow called sweet-sweet-sweet.
“Yes.” Before reason or the hard hand of fate had the chance to stop him, he lowered his head and took her mouth with his own. It was a real kiss this time—he plied her with his lips and tongue—not just a tentative brush. And for a moment, all of their troubles did fall away. It was a young summer day—nothing existed but the wind and a man with a woman in his arms. Her ripe mouth was warm and slick and yielding, and her breath fanned his cheek. With his hands he searched the length of her rib cage, seeking her full, soft breast. Her nipple pushed against the thin fabric of her summer dress and hardened beneath his fingertips. When a whimper sounded in her throat, the fire that licked through Jeff’s body burned higher and he tightened his arms around her, pulling her off her feet and up against the length of his torso. She fit perfectly in his arms, and he would bet good money that they’d be a perfect fit in every way. With his pulse pounding in his head, he drew back for a moment and muttered hoarsely, “God, Allie, if I could, I’d lay you down in this tall grass right now and make you forget all the bad things that ever happened to you, whatever they were.”
At his words, she straightened away from him. He reached for her, but she put out an unsteady hand, as if to hold him back, and he cursed himself for scaring her. Her face was flushed and she sucked in a deep breath.
“No one can change the bad things, Jeff. I-I’m sorry that Olivia blamed you for the trick she played on me. It was very wrong of her, very wrong. But I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Frustrated to find his arms empty and Olivia Ford the topic of conversation again, Jeff snapped, “Who did she mean to hurt, then? You?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could have bitten off his tongue for asking the sarcastic question.
Allie gave him a look that made his heart thump against his ribs. “I guess she did.”
For only the second time in his life, Jeff felt compelled to right a wrong. The first time he’d been powerless to undo the damage—he could not have called back the bullet to his revolver, or healed the wound it made in Wesley Cooper’s chest. This was different, though. He would save Allie Ford, if he could, if he knew how . . .
“Are you going to face your sister? Tell her what you know now?”
She shook her head. “It might upset her. I don’t want to risk that.”
Oh, no, we wouldn’t want to upset the fragile flower. Never mind that the woman had framed him and terrorized Allie. This time Jeff did bite back the smart remark that popped into his head. Allie didn’t need anymore trouble than she already had. Instead he suggested mildly, “Honey, maybe if you tell me about your mother, it won’t seem so terrible anymore.”
She gave him a fearful, doubting look.
“Come on—it can’t be as bad as what I told you about Wes and my wife and all.”
Her look turned hard and ice-blue. “It’s worse. You acted out of self-defense when you shot Wesley Matthews.”
“For God’s sake, Allie, you didn’t kill you mother.”
“Yes, I did.” She turned on her heel and retraced her steps back to the house.
Jeff stared at her narrow back as she went. Then he headed off to the barn to get a shovel to dig out the dandelion.
~~*~*~*~~
Allie walked back to the house to discover that Seth Wickwire had left her grocery order in a crate on the back porch. Between learning about Olivia’s deception and partaking of Jeff’s heated kiss, by the time Allie reached the bright kitchen, she was almost wringing her hands. Hoping that to occupy those hands would also occupy her mind, she washed the dirt off them, and put the provisions away. Then she greased her hands with lard and went to work shaping the bread dough into loaves.
The warm, yeasty smell in the kitchen was nice, but the distractions didn’t help. Her thoughts raced around in her brain like a bee trapped in a glass jar.
This kitchen, this house seemed so confining to her. More often lately, Allie had caught herself daydreaming about putting on her shawl and walking away. Away from the farm, from her responsibilities, just leaving without a backward glance.
She hadn’t wanted to hear whatever Jeff was suggesting about her sister.
She hadn’t wanted to believe that Olivia, her own flesh and blood, had so cruelly and deliberately hurt her. But that she was responsible for the horrible prank with the dummy was glaringly clear, and Allie couldn’t deny the facts presented to her. Jeff wouldn’t have known where to find her mother’s clothes, or in fact, that the gray gingham dress had belonged to Lucinda Ford.
Did her sister truly see Jeff Hicks as such a threat that she would stop at nothing to be rid of him? Did she really believe that anything could make Allie forget her duty?
The question in her mind faded before the memory of Jeff’s hands on her, urgent and seeking, lifting her off her feet. The kiss and the hot sensation of his intimate touch had made her forget everything else—just for a minute. No one had ever touched her like that. Every fiber in her body had come alive, and it surprised her to feel so intensely. She knew it was probably wrong, but nothing in her life had ever seemed so right. She’d felt transported, and pulling herself away from him was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done.
Glancing down at her hand, she realized that she’d squeezed a lump of dough until it ran out between her fingers. With an impatient “tsk” she shook off the dough and reshaped it. Allie had done everything she could to protect Olivia, defer to her, dote on her. And now, just because a hired hand was working around here . . .
Except Allie couldn’t think of Jeff Hicks tha
t way anymore. Maybe she never really had. Something about him had challenged her from the beginning. Not the way that Cooper Matthews had challenged her—that man was simply rude and overbearing. Jeff had roused her curiosity.
But regardless of what she’d told Jeff about reassuring her sister, she realized that Olivia’s deed was simply too much to bear in silence.
Allie would have to speak to her. Even children had to be corrected from time to time. Their father had certainly corrected Althea.
Then there was Jeff . . . innocent of the ghastly deed he’d been accused of. It was horrible, distressing. But oddly enough, the moment she’d permitted herself to be enfolded in his arms had been both calming and stunning. Allie stared at the greased loaf pans on the kitchen table, not really seeing them. She had pulled away, not because she feared him, but because she was afraid of the flood of sensations and crystalized emotion that rushed through her veins when he touched her. Afraid that if she didn’t pull away, she would never want to again—
“Althea, where are you?”
Her sister’s voice cut into her reverie like a piece of broken glass. “Here Olivia. In the kitchen.”
Olivia swept in, her pink dimity skirts rustling. She looked very upset. “Althea, that horrible man is digging up our mother’s grave! I saw him from the upstairs window.”
Allie immediately dropped her gaze, hoping that Olivia had seen nothing else from that window. She knew Jeff must have gotten a shovel to dig out the dandelion after she left him. “No, he isn’t. He’s just getting a weed.”
“But aren’t you going to at least go see?”
“I don’t need to, Olivia. I know what he’s doing, and so does he.”
Her sister huffed out an impatient sigh. “After that awful trick he played, how can you trust him to do anything?”
Allie looked up again and gave her an even gaze. “I trust him.”
Olivia laced her fingers together. “You seem out of sorts, Althea. Maybe you need a cup of tea. I know—scurry over and put the kettle on, and we can both have one. And make us some toast with butter and jam, too, for a treat. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Force of habit strong within her, Allie began to wipe her hands on her apron to carry out Olivia’s request. Then she stopped. Jeff was right. Her sister should be made to answer for what she had done, regardless of her motive. Allie stared at the woman who was as overdressed as a fashion plate from Godey’s Lady’s Book, a lifetime of sisterly devotion in her heart at odds with inescapable fact. She drew a bracing breath. “Olivia, Jeff showed me something this afternoon from that day in the b-barn.”
Olivia’s expression turned sour. “I thought we’d agree that you wouldn’t have anything to do with him.” Allie quailed. Had Olivia seen her in Jeff’s arms, seen them kissing?
Recovering, she reminded her, “I still have to talk to him, you know. Olivia, he showed me the dress that dummy had on. It was Mother’s dress.”
Olivia leaned against the edge of the kitchen table. “Dear God, Althea, hasn’t that man put us through enough? Why in the world would he drag out that thing again?”
Allie stressed the obvious. “If he’s guilty, how would he have gotten the dress?”
She waited for an answer, her pulse drumming in her throat, her fingers sunk into the bread dough. Hope struggled in her chest, hope that Olivia would give her some reason other than the one Jeff had. A reason that wouldn’t be a lie, but one that would exonerate her. Even that pixies or leprechauns had gone to the trunk in the attic, she thought desperately. Please, God, please let Jeff be wrong about this, she prayed. But one look at her sister’s face told Allie that Jeff was right. Olivia had hung that hideous effigy in the barn.
“W-well, he probably found it in a shed someplace, or maybe in the lean-to,” Olivia said. “He’s had lots of time to look through all the old junk stored out there.” Her evasion of the truth hurt Allie even more.
“All of Mother’s things are in a trunk in the attic. I put them up there myself, and I’ve never moved them. You know that—we even spent an afternoon going through them. And Jeff told me about the bird’s nest he showed you.” Her voice dropped to a choked cry. “Why did you do it, Olivia? Why?”
Hot color suffused her face. “You—you believe him over me? Your own family?”
Allie held out her greased hands like a supplicant. “Oh, dear Lord, I don’t want to, but I can’t ignore the truth when it’s shown to me!”
“I guess I know where your loyalty lies. And after you promised Daddy!”
At the mention of Amos Ford, an icy sensation gripped Allie’s insides but she remained adamant. “Loyalty—Olivia, you used me. I’ve stayed by your side all these years, but you’re so anxious to be rid of Jeff that you used me to play that dirty trick. You didn’t care how much it hurt me!”
Olivia’s face blanched and her voice grew distant and cool. She clutched the edge of the kitchen table with one hand and rubbed her temple with the other. “Please, Althea, I would really like to have that tea now. I guess I’m not as strong as I thought.”
Allie made no move to comply, and after a lifetime of waiting on her sister it was difficult to resist. She closed her hands into fists. But perhaps Jeff was right, maybe it was time that Olivia started to take care of herself. “You know how to boil water, Olivia. You can put the kettle on.”
“The room is beginning to sp-spin.”
“It won’t hurt you to make your own tea.”
Olivia’s eyes rolled upward, and acting out of sheer instinct, Allie whipped around to the other side of the table and pushed a chair under her sister just as her knees buckled. “It’s all right, now. Just take a few deep breaths—”
Allie put an arm around Olivia’s shoulders to keep her upright. At her touch, Olivia began rocking back and forth, howling like a banshee, her body as rigid as a plank. The howls gave way to deep, rough sobs that tore from her throat.
Her flying hands fell to the bowl of flour on the table, and she grabbed handfuls, flinging it everywhere. A choking white cloud enveloped them both. With her free arm, Allie tried to keep Olivia’s grasping fingers from reaching the pans and other utensils on the table. But before she could push them away, Olivia gripped a heavy cast-iron pan and flung it across the kitchen as though it weighed no more than an empty matchbox. The next one Allie made a grab for, but it struck her cheekbone before sailing toward the kitchen window.
White-hot pain flashed through her head and she tasted the salty tang of blood where she bit the inside of her cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes and she saw bright flashes of stars. Olivia’s spells had never made her fear for more than her sister’s safety.
Now she feared for her own.
~~*~*~*~~
Jeff was taking the shovel back to the barn when the sound of shattering glass brought him up short. God, what the hell was that? he wondered. Fear for Allie’s safety propelled him across the yard and he flew up the back porch steps in one leap. Through the screen door he saw Olivia pounding the table with a big cooking spoon, and he heard her ululating like an old Cree chief he’d once seen in a medicine show.
Allie was trying to restrain her sister but it looked like she was losing the battle. The top half of her apron had been torn from around her neck and an angry-looking bruise was forming on her cheek. Allie’s strength was no match for Olivia’s—when she looked up and he caught her gaze, he saw genuine fear in her eyes.
Fury, complete and consuming, radiated from the pit of his stomach. But no matter how much he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t run in there and slap Olivia to snap her out of this temper tantrum. There was no good excuse for hitting a woman. And he didn’t want to risk another bite if he could avoid it.
Short of hogtying her what could he do? Scanning the porch around him and hoping for an idea, Jeff spotted the three-gallon water bucket that always sat next to the top step. Inspired, he picked it up, flung open the screen door, and charged into the kitchen where Olivia’s howling was even loude
r.
“Jeff, no—” Allie protested when she saw him. Ignoring her objection, he upended the bucket over Olivia’s head, feeling as desperate as a man putting out a fire in a dynamite factory. Water sluiced over both her and Allie and flooded the floor. Olivia’s sobbing stopped abruptly on a shocked, high-pitched gasp, and she sprang from her chair, spitting like a cat.
“How dare you?” she demanded, quivering with indignation and, Jeff noted, in sudden and complete possession of her faculties. Water soaked her elaborately curled hair and fancy dress, but her eyes were as focused as they had been the day she bit him. She looked down at her pink dimity, positively stunned. “You have ruined my dress, you—you vagrant!”
If Jeff had been in a better mood, he might have been amused by Olivia’s waterlogged appearance. But the purpling bruise on Allie’s cheek and Olivia’s unmasked deceitfulness with which she had controlled her sister for so many years gave him nothing to laugh about.
Marshaling all the authority he’d used to break up saloon fights, Jeff put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into the chair. “Lady, you’d better sit down, shut up and behave like an adult, or I’ll tie you to that chair! You’ve done a lot of damage of your own.”
Apparently not defiant enough to challenge Jeff, Olivia sat down, as sullen as a twelve-year-old. But she raked him with a look that might have withered a weaker man. A monster of selfishness and hatred lurked under her sweet face and artful curls. She hadn’t fooled Jeff, but her sister had been taken in.
Allie, her skirts and shoes also drenched, gaped first at Olivia, then Jeff, then Olivia again. She could barely grasp what she’d just witnessed. Oh, God. Realization knifed through her mind like a blinding pain. Squeezing her eyes closed, she clamped her hands over her face. It couldn’t be true. It simply couldn’t. She refused to believe it. Olivia hadn’t faked her illness all these years. To even entertain such a notion for a moment would be despicable.
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