by Carol Arens
She took off her hat. Whorls and curls reflecting the fire’s glow broke free of a bun that would never be able to confine them.
“You are our very own angel, Clark, sent straight down from heaven.”
That comment evidently pleased young Jess. He suddenly grinned so widely that the freckles on his cheeks appeared to dance.
Trace was no angel. Not by a yard. An angel wouldn’t be glad that her worthless husband had run away.
A heavenly being wouldn’t fidget in his chair all through this long, blustery night, wondering if the virtueless rogue was dead so that he could kiss his wife. A woman he had no business kissing even if she were free.
Chapter Three
“Say your prayers, Jess.” Lilleth listened to the wind whistle around the dormers of the tidy upstairs bedroom. Mary and Jess lay side by side in a cozy-looking feather bed that Mr. Clarkly had put fresh linens on before retiring downstairs to sleep, presumably, in a chair. “And don’t forget to mention Mr. Clarkly.”
“Do you think my pa might have sent him to us?”
“Who’s to know? I can’t say that he didn’t.” To see the children safe and snug did seem a miracle. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Clarkly’s generosity—well, that outcome didn’t bear thinking of.
She hadn’t had a reason to be truly grateful to a man since she could remember. Not since she was a little girl and believed that princes, knights and cowboys rode to the aid of ladies in need.
In those days she’d had a hero. He was her champion and she’d seen her future in his smile. They’d been as close as berries on a vine the summer that she was twelve years old.
She had loved him with all her young heart, and he must have loved her as well, for he had defended her against a pair of bullies and become seriously injured. Then, to her everlasting horror, before his wounds had begun to mend, her mother had shattered her world.
In the dead of night, she had woken Lilleth and Bethany, packed them up and moved three states away to be with the latest in a constant string of inappropriate beaux.
It wasn’t that her mother was a whore in the normal sense, as her reputation suggested. It was more that she was needy. She let men take care of her in exchange for her affections. Unfortunately for Lilleth and Bethany, their mother’s affections latched on to the wrong sorts of men.
As little girls they had become skilled, yes, even creative, at keeping one step ahead of groping male hands. Because of Bethany, what might have been a harrowing lot became a game. Lilleth’s older sister never let her feel less of herself because of the behavior of men. Together, they practiced ducking, dodging, stomping and pinching. At night they would whisper in bed, recounting tales of near escape and retaliation. Some girls might have withered under such an upbringing, but she and Bethany dodged and ducked through it all.
But life was what it was. Lilleth had been formed by it and so had her sister. Bethany escaped into marriage, while Lilleth took her voice on the road with a traveling show.
Since Bethany loved her husband and Lilleth loved to sing, it had all turned out well enough.
Until six months ago, that is, when Bethany’s husband had died suddenly of a fever.
Lilleth kissed Jess good-night and stroked the curly hair at Mary’s temple. Her nephew would be a good man. Bethany would raise him to be like his father.
“Uncle Alden can’t get to us here. Mr. Clarkly is downstairs.” Jess yawned and turned on his side, facing the blaze that Clark had laid in the small upstairs fireplace. “We’ll get Mama out of that place, just see if we don’t.”
“We will, I promise we will,” Lilleth said. Firelight cast shadows on Jess’s face, making him look like a miniature of his father, Hamilton.
How Alden and Hamilton could be twins was a mind-twisting mystery. Hamilton, older by a few moments, had been a good man, as honorable as he was handsome. Alden was a nervous little fellow who, unless surrounded by a group of fawning minions, was frightened of his shadow. And of ghosts...especially ghosts.
It was understandable that the wealthy Hanisprees, upon their deaths, had willed Alden a monthly allowance and Hamilton their entire fortune.
For a man as greedy as Alden, an allowance was not nearly enough. He coveted his brother’s inheritance, which now belonged to Bethany.
Lilleth was certain that, had he not been petrified that she would haunt him, Alden would have killed Bethany to take control of the fortune. But now, having incarcerated Bethany, all he need do was control her children.
That he would never do. Lilleth vowed it on her life. Why, she would tear him to shreds with her bare hands if he got within arm’s reach of them.
All at once the wind stopped and snow swept past the dormer window, silent and beautiful. She took a cleansing breath to banish Alden from her mind.
She walked to the window, unbuttoning the bodice of her gown and watching snowflakes sailing past. Sometimes when she was stressed she would try to bring her childhood hero’s face to mind. But time had blurred his image; she couldn’t see him anymore.
It didn’t matter, really. He would have changed a great deal. Even if she ran into him on the street he’d be altered beyond recognition, and so would she.
Yes, life was what it was. All those years ago she had cried for weeks, before tucking Trace Ballentine into a precious corner of her heart.
Aside from her brother-in-law, Trace had been the only bone-deep good man—boy, really—that she had ever met.
Until Clark Clarkly, that is. So far he seemed to be quite decent.
The poor man didn’t know he was sheltering a criminal. For his own good, she would have to be out of his house as soon as she could get her bearings. Hopefully, tomorrow morning.
Lilleth Preston didn’t like being on the wrong side of the law. She was a singer, a sister and an auntie. Three things that she adored and had built her life around.
Curse Alden Hanispree for forcing her to kidnap her sister’s children.
* * *
It was late. On any other night Trace would have been asleep hours before. Early to bed and early to rise and all that. But Lilleth was upstairs, abandoned and unprotected.
He lurched out of his chair for the tenth time in under an hour to pace before the dying fire. The fact that she was, for all accounts, unmarried was a torment and a temptation, but he would deal with that.
Unprotected! Now that was a problem more difficult to cope with.
Yes, she had grown to be a capable and resilient woman.
And no, he was no more able to leave her to the whims of fate now than he had been when she was a child.
“Well hell, Lils,” he muttered. “What am I supposed to do?”
He stomped to the front door and snatched it open. Icy air bit his nose and chilled his ears. It did not, however, do much in the way of clearing his head.
He couldn’t give her safe harbor without compromising the secrecy of his mission. He couldn’t send her and the children out into the elements.
He could try to get some sleep. Occasionally, the answers to perplexing problems came to him while he slumbered. More than a few puzzles had knit together in his dreams.
He closed the front door, shook off a shiver and tried once again to fold his body in a too-small chair.
Knees up, shoulders hunched, neck twisted, with eyes closed and sheep counted...this time he would make it work.
“Stars shine bright, sleep tight tonight,” he whispered. His eyes popped wide-open.
From what dusty part of his brain had he remembered that? Years ago it had been Lilleth’s nightly farewell when, far past the time when most girls were allowed out, she would peck his cheek and dash through the trees toward home.
“Stars shine bright, sleep tight tonight,” he repeated, dusting off the phrase and polishing it. A
mazingly, he began to get sleepy.
Behind his eyelids he saw young Lilleth in the woods.
Summer heat shimmered off the ground even though it was hours after sundown. Leaves on the trees drooped, looking wilted under the light of a full moon.
She ran toward Red Leaf Pond holding the hem of her white nightgown in her fists.
She didn’t appear to see him sitting on the rotting tree trunk at the edge of the pond. She must have been trying to escape the heat, just as he was.
His own ma and pa didn’t mind their boys running loose after dark. His sister complained to high heaven, but she was a girl, and therefore confined to the safety of home.
But Lilleth didn’t live by those rules. Her mother wouldn’t care that she was out, even if she knew.
Just now, Lils ran barefoot and free. Her red hair streamed out behind her, winking at the moon.
At the water’s edge she waded in past her ankles, then began to lift her shift, clearly intending to draw the thin, worn fabric over her head.
“Hey, Lils!” He stood up quickly and strode into the moonlight. “Mind if I come in, too?”
She dropped the hem of her nightgown and grinned at him. “I’ll race you to the middle,” she called.
She waited for him to strip to his underdrawers before she dived in. She didn’t need a head start, for she swam like a tadpole.
They met in the center, circling around each other and laughing. Moonlight dappled the surface of the pond where they kicked and splashed.
“Oh.” Lilleth ducked under the water, then surfaced again. “The day’s been blistering. This feels so good.”
“Yeah, but Lils, you shouldn’t be out by yourself at night. It’s not safe.”
“Safer than home, I guess.” She brushed her hand across her face, sluicing water from her eyes and nose. “Mama has a new man and Beth and I haven’t got him figured out yet. Besides, I’m not alone, you’re here.”
“I might not have been.” He ducked under the water and came up blowing out a mouthful, pretending to be the spout of a fancy fountain. “What if Horn and Pard Higgins are slinking about?”
“Well, they aren’t. And you are here.”
With that she flipped beneath the water and grabbed hold of his feet. She yanked him under. He caught her around the middle, feeling ribs under cotton, and then hoisted her up. He surfaced in time to see her flying through the air, laughing and sputtering.
They played like that for a long time before Lils began to shiver and they swam for shore.
He put his clothes on while she wrung out her hair.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said.
“I’m going to run.” She flashed him a grin with pond water still speckling her lashes. “You won’t be able to catch up.”
“My legs are longer.”
“Mine are quicker.” She bounced up on her toes and pecked his cheek. “Stars shine bright, sleep tight tonight.”
Then she was off, a streak in the moonlight. He laughed out loud. His longer legs never were a match for her quicker ones, but at least he’d get there in time to see her close her front door safely behind her.
Trace twitched in his sleep. He groaned and woke up.
That night, he never did see Lils open her door. He heard her scream.
Bursting out of the woods, he saw the Higgins boys push Lilleth to the ground. Horn knelt over her, pinning her wrists to the parched earth. Pard laughed and called her obscene names.
Lils spat back oaths that would have sent ordinary mischief-makers running, but Pard and Horn weren’t ordinary. The twins fed off each other, one disrespectful and the other mean. Even adults kept out of their way.
Running full speed, Trace plowed into Horn, but didn’t see the jagged stick that Lils had gripped in her fist, ready to jab her assailant with.
He knocked Horn over. The bully slammed into his brother. Blood spurted, some from Horn’s ear and some from Pard’s nose.
It looked as if the boys didn’t care for having their own blood spilled, because they ran away crying and cursing. And a good thing, too, because Trace couldn’t have moved a muscle to protect Lilleth.
The stick that she had intended to jab Horn with now stuck out of his own chest. Blood pulsed from a long gash across his ribs. Lils looked like a blur leaning over him, pressing his wound and yelling at him. After a moment even her screams sounded like whispers.
Trace sat up in his chair and let his feet hit the cold floor. He’d been sick—close to death, he’d been told. Mostly, all he remembered was a visit from Lils.
She had come to his house weeping, and blowing a kiss at his scar. He told her he didn’t mind it, that the scar was bound to heal into an L, for Lils. She’d laughed and dried her tears.
That’s when she gave him a quick, sweet kiss on the lips, pressed his hand to her heart and vowed to marry him and only him.
Then, suddenly, she was gone, and no one knew where or even exactly when her mother had packed them off.
He’d been right about the scar. From that day until now, all he’d had of Lilleth was her initial across his heart.
* * *
Lilleth stepped cautiously onto the boardwalk. Ice crunched under her feet. Early morning sunshine peeked under her hat and gave the illusion of warmth even though her breath fogged in front of her face.
The storm had blown away with the dawn, and so had some of her worries. She couldn’t help it; she had to sing, if only under her breath.
Horton File, Realtor, had been the most agreeable of men. But then, who wouldn’t have been, receiving such an excessive amount of money to rent the only vacant house in Riverwalk?
Lilleth felt agreeable as well, even though she had been all but fleeced. She and the children had a place to live. A place that Mr. File had assured her was a lovely, furnished cabin tucked into the woods only steps from town.
The privacy of a cabin hidden among the trees was more than she had hoped for. The rent wouldn’t be a problem for the brief time they would live in Riverwalk. With luck, it would be only a month, maybe less, just until she figured out a way to free Bethany.
With sunshine smiling upon the town, Riverwalk appeared to be a charming place. Like many communities in South Dakota it was growing fast, filling with families and their commerce. Between the Realtor’s office and Clark’s lending library she had passed a dress shop, a barber and a baker.
It was only a couple of hours past sunrise and already the sign on the bakery door read Open for Business.
Clean morning air nipped her cheeks and filled her lungs. Lilly Gordon thoroughly enjoyed the quiet hours just after sunrise.
Lilleth Preston had performed her songs late into the night. Mornings typically found her with her head buried beneath her pillow.
She would miss seeing the sunrise once she returned to her life with Dunbar’s Touring Troupe.
Even more, she suspected she would miss the first fresh pastries of the day. She opened the door to Martha’s Baked Goods and was greeted by the aromas of cinnamon, vanilla and yeast.
She purchased four cinnamon buns drizzled with honey. The children would be thrilled with the treat.
Bethany would have provided her children with a healthy breakfast of eggs and milk.
But Lilleth wasn’t a mother, just an indulgent auntie who had never learned to cook. Life on the road, living from hotel to hotel with a group of traveling performers had never presented her the opportunity to learn.
Well, then, that would be one of her goals this month. By the time they rescued Bethany, the children would be eating meals that she had prepared with her own hands.
Lilleth warmed her fingers about the bag of baked goods and hurried the three doors down to Clark’s place, slipping, sliding and wobbling.
Clark had st
arted a fire while she had been out. Warmth wrapped around her as soon as she stepped inside. Upstairs, she heard Jess’s footsteps and Mary’s good-morning coos.
Clark sat at his desk, head down on folded arms and fast asleep with a pair of glasses clutched in his fist. The poor man must be exhausted. He couldn’t have done more than doze in a chair all night.
“Clark,” she whispered. The familiarity of using his first name felt a little awkward, and a lot nice. “I’ve brought breakfast.”
He didn’t wake up, but his mouth lifted, revealing the barest hint of a dimple at one corner. My goodness, the man was appealing.
There was something about him that didn’t quite make sense. He was a complete bumbler, as likely to trip over his own feet as walk a steady line. Once in a while, though, he wasn’t.
Lilleth bent over to peer more closely at his face. She shouldn’t; he was nearly a stranger. She leaned another inch toward him. Something about him called to her. Why didn’t he seem like a stranger?
She had spent the night in his bed. That must be the reason.
He appeared to be dreaming. She watched his eyes move behind his lids. His lips compressed, then relaxed. Thick dark lashes twitched...they blinked.
Sleep-misted eyes opened wide and blue, then blinked again.
“Good morning, Lilly.”
By heavens, there was a dimple. And could she be any more of a ninny, staring and blinking back?
She straightened and backed up, holding the bag of cinnamon rolls between them. “I’ve brought breakfast.”
“Martha’s?” He rolled one shoulder, then the other, stretched...grinned and sat up. “I’m starved.”
An apology would have been called for, could she have found one appropriate to the situation. But just then Jess came downstairs with Mary in his arms.
“Morning, Ma, Mr. Clarkly. Is that sweets?” His eyes grew wide in anticipation. There were some things that Bethany would have to set straight later on. Her children’s diet being the first. “I’m starved.”