by Carol Arens
Cooper Ballentine leaned against Trace, draping his full weight across Trace’s shoulders. Cooper was the most dramatic of his brothers, and the only one to have been born with blond hair and brown eyes. Had he not taken up the family calling, Trace was sure that Cooper would have made a life for himself onstage.
“Abner’s hitting the swill a little early, don’t you think?” Trace spoke to his brother, but kept his eye on the man watching Jess.
“Never too early for good ole Ab.” Cooper slurred his speech to perfection. “’Sides, I like Ab.”
Cooper tripped and Trace hauled him back up. As boys, they had perfected various falls and landings. If one looked closely, Clark Clarkly and Abner Welchtin reacted to gravity in an identical manner.
“Tell me what you’re doing here later, Coop.” From across the street Clark watched Jess tip his head to one side, unaware of the watcher, being absorbed as he was in the slow progress of the cat. “There’s a man watching the boy over there, the one with the cat. I need you to follow him, see where he goes.”
“Need a drink in the worst way, mister,” Cooper said in a loud voice, and all but drooled on Trace’s shirt. “Jus’ a dime.”
“Find your own dime, you swillbelly.”
Cooper detached himself from Trace, then stumbled in the direction of the stranger.
“I ain’t no swill...swill—whatever that was.” Cooper dropped to the dirt, got up and dusted off his knees, then stumbled toward the alley. “Might be for a dime, though.”
Not likely. His brother couldn’t drink, ever since he’d gotten sick from it as a kid. Cooper cursed that day as much as their mother blessed it.
“Hey, mister!” Cooper weaved his way toward the watcher. “Can you spare a dime...just one?”
The man disappeared down the alley, trying to evade Abner Welchtin, who stumbled behind him, determined in his pursuit of a coin.
As much as Trace didn’t care to hear the reprimand that Cooper had most likely come to deliver from the family, he was glad his brother had arrived. Cooper could sniff out a man as reliably as Jess’s stray cat was likely to sniff out fish.
Jess stood up. The cat dashed off. The boy stretched his arms over his head, looking young, carefree and ignorant of potential danger. With a slow pivot he went into the milliner’s.
One thing was certain. The Gordons would not be walking home alone.
Chances were, the stranger was just a man interested in watching a boy catch a cat. But what if there was more to it?
Trace had had a niggling feeling that Lilleth was frightened of something. Now, with someone watching, the odds were not good enough for Trace to keep his distance.
* * *
“I got a creepy feeling, Ma,” Jess whispered while Lilleth switched Mary from one hip to the other. “Couldn’t look up to see anything, but the itchy twitchy was there, right in the middle of my back. And the cat was skittish.”
“Cats are naturally skittish, especially around strangers.”
And Alden may have deduced that it was she who had taken his wards. Where would he look but Riverwalk, even if he did fear being stalked by the restless dead?
She intended to free Bethany if it took her last breath. Alden would know that. With his fortune at stake, he might be bolder than Lilleth had expected.
“He didn’t seem like a stranger to me. Ouch!” Jess untangled his hair from his sister’s chubby fist. “It was like the cat’s known me all along. Do you think I might keep him?”
That would be unwise. Life was in such an upheaval now, how could they offer shelter to a cat?
They couldn’t possibly. No, the appropriate answer would be no.
“If you catch him, Jess, you can keep him.”
His eyes lit up in a way she hadn’t seen in some time. True happiness radiated from them. For all the world, they looked like Bethany’s used to, before her life fell apart.
“No” would have been the appropriate answer, but “yes” was the right answer. Jess still needed to catch the creature, after all. In her heart Lilleth hoped he did. It might distract him from his troubles for a little while.
“Thanks, Ma!” Looking like the happy boy he ought to be, Jess dashed from the store.
“Don’t forget to be—” she called after him. She caught herself from saying “careful.”
A child shouldn’t carry the burden of watching over his shoulder for danger. She would do that for him, although if it came to it, all Alden had to do was complain to the law that she had kidnapped his wards. They would be taken from her, all neat and legal.
She would have the devil of a time getting them away again.
“Good luck, Jess,” she said to the slamming door. “I hope you catch the kitty.”
Lilleth purchased earmuffs for Mary and followed Jess outside. The cat had vanished.
“You’ll find him. Maybe tomorrow.” She glanced about, pretending to search for the feline, scanning shadows and doorways for someone who might have been watching Jess.
To her relief, the only one watching was Clark. As luck would have it, they seemed to be headed in the same direction at the same time.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Clarkly.” Gracious, but when was the last time her smile had ever felt so warm? “It’s lovely in town this afternoon.”
His smile in return was sweet, sincere, and if she was not mistaken, just a little bit wicked.
“May I walk you home, Mrs. Gordon?”
There it was; just the slightest blush gave away his thoughts. He wanted more than the kiss they had nearly shared.
“I’d be delighted.” And didn’t she want more than that, as well?
“It looks like there’ll be snow before morning.” He glanced at the sky, then down an alley. “We’ll have to build a big roaring fire for our last night together.”
“Indeed, Mr. Clarkly. I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
She blushed. He blushed. They looked away from each other, while Jess watched for his cat to come out of hiding.
* * *
As it turned out, it did snow and they did build a fire. A huge raging one...that they shared with Cooper.
No fewer than ten times in the past hour—Trace counted every one of them—Cooper turned his head and arched an inquisitive brow at him.
Luckily, Lilleth hadn’t noticed. She seemed absorbed by her thoughts while she stared at the fire. Once again she seemed troubled, and he doubted that it was because of Cooper’s charming presence.
Trace had outright lied to her about who his brother was. He’d introduced Cooper as the cousin of a friend from far away. While it was unlikely that she would remember him, one never knew what might spark a memory.
Cooper flirted with Lilleth the same way he did all women. His behavior was more annoying than ever, since the object of his attention was Lils.
Lilleth countered his advances as expertly as a tennis player returning a volley. Her interest in Cooper’s game lasted only a few minutes before she went back to quietly staring at the flames.
A skilled flirt! There might be more to his Lils than the sweet child she had been and the abandoned woman she had become. The less Trace knew the better, really, but there was a puzzle here. Puzzles tended to eat at him until he solved them.
“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me,” she said all at once, standing up and smoothing a fold in her skirt. “All of a sudden I’m done in.”
Not with weariness, Trace guessed, but done in with something. Could be Cooper, but he doubted it. Ladies usually enjoyed his attention.
“Do I need to ask why you’re here?” Trace asked, after he heard the bedroom door close. “Hope you’ve found a place to stay. I’ve got the chair.”
“Damn Grange meeting,” Cooper grumbled. “Guess I’ve got the kitchen table.”
&nbs
p; “Tried it. Don’t envy you, little brother.”
“Younger by eleven months hardly counts.”
“Younger is always younger.” Trace shrugged, grinned, and stretched his boots toward the fire.
“The folks sent me to check on you. You know how they get when no work is sent in. It’s been a more than a week since we heard anything from you. Mother is sure you’re lying helpless in a ditch. Pop thinks you’ve taken up the fast life.”
“This case is complicated. It’s going to take some time.”
Cooper leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “So, why am I the cousin of some distant acquaintance?”
“Didn’t you recognize her?”
“No.” Cooper shrugged. “Real pretty, though.”
“That’s Lilleth Preston.”
Cooper sat up straight in his chair. “Your long-lost little girlfriend? The one you were so sweet on it nearly killed you?”
Trace nodded.
“What the blazes is she doing in your house?”
“Hiding, I think.” Trace kicked off his boots and let the flames warm his socks. He glanced out the front window. Snow drifted past in lazy, swirling flakes. Too much of it might prevent Lilleth from moving tomorrow. “Don’t worry, Coop, she doesn’t know who I am.”
“Wouldn’t expect her to. It’s been a long time.” Cooper flexed his fingers between his knees. “Besides, you’re uglier now than you were as a kid.”
Trace ignored the comment, because he didn’t feel like spending fifteen minutes exchanging barbs.
“I knew who she was the second after I knocked her over.”
“Not everyone remembers every detail of their lives.... Really? You knocked her down?”
“Had to. I was Clark.”
Cooper kicked off his boots and tossed them beside Trace’s. “You better be careful. The folks are counting on you to get things done here. Hanispree is important.”
“I haven’t forgotten. Rescuing the innocent and saving the family from financial ruin...I get all that.”
“Maybe not quite ruin, but times have been hard. This exposé means a lot to us. That’s why they gave the job to Clark Clarkly.”
“I’m not in trouble. You can relay that to the folks.”
“Why’d you have me trail that ghoul?” Cooper yawned and stretched. “Is he involved with Lilleth Preston?”
“Can’t be sure. I saw him staring at her son and it gave me a bad feeling.”
“Creepy fellow ate a bug.” Cooper shivered. “He finally tossed me a dime before he went into Mrs. O’Hara’s. I left it in the dirt. Pity the poor working girl who has to service him.”
“Thanks, Cooper. I don’t know if he is a threat to Lilleth, but at least I know where he is.”
“I’ll tell the folks you didn’t die in a ditch or become a libertine. Just send them something so I don’t have to come back and sleep on your table again.” Cooper stood up, stretched and rubbed his eyes. “I’m getting some shut-eye. Make sure you don’t snore.”
Trace stood up in turn. “I’ll get you a blanket.”
He mounted the stairs, his steps muffled by his socks, while Cooper went into the kitchen and closed the door.
A lucky thing for Trace, as his brother was the one who snored like a freight train.
He glanced up the staircase and saw a shadow drift across the hall. Not a creepy bug-eating creepy one, though.
This one had hair that tumbled halfway down her back. Masses of red curls glowed in the dim light of the hall lantern. Bare pink toes peeked out from under the flannel robe that she hugged tightly across her chest.
She didn’t see him standing on the steps because she was gazing out the window, watching the snow fall. He stood still for a full minute, taking in the sight of her. His very own miracle, or curse, depending on how one looked at it, standing in his hallway, wearing a lacy shift under her worn flannel robe.
Her breath fogged the glass and she wiped it away with her fist.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, letting her know he was there. “Is something wrong?”
She turned to look at him and shook her head. Lantern light caught the pretty line of her jaw, the arch of her brow and the slight upward curve of her lips.
“What could be, really?” She flipped a tumble of curls away from her eye, and her robe fell open. “The snow’s coming down and the children and I are safe and warm inside, thanks to you.”
Lilleth grasped her hair and began to braid it. Trace suddenly adored braids. Their creation involved both of a woman’s hands and left her robe to part completely.
“I love a snowy night,” she said, her fingers moving slowly through her hair. “The quiet, the stillness... It’s pristine. Everything is snug inside, so very peaceful.”
Not only did Trace adore braids, he now thought highly of snow. But lantern light moved to the top of the things he admired most.
When Lilleth turned sideways to gaze out the window again, flickering shadows licked at her lace gown and dappled delicate flower etchings on her skin.
For Trace, the world narrowed to a single point. He could hardly catch a breath, watching Lilleth in profile—more exactly, watching one breast in profile. Illuminated softly, it moved with her braiding. Up and down with the twisting of her hair, followed by a jiggle when she yanked the tresses tight.
Her nipple pressed against the confining lace. The lamp’s glow lathed the firm little bud, gold over pink.
“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” she asked.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” He thought his voice actually croaked. He ought to do the noble thing and point out the problem with her clothing.
Didn’t want to, but if he stood here much longer, drooling like a hungry dog, he’d do something he’d regret...a little bit, at least.
“The snow, that is.” He made a Clarklike gesture with his hands. “Your robe. It’s come open again.”
“It seems to have a mind of its own sometimes.”
Lilleth closed it up, but not before he caught a glimpse of both lush breasts.
Wind howled in the shutters outside, rattling them. Common sense abandoned him and he rushed forward.
He lifted Lilleth up, his thumbs and fingers supporting where her underarms met the tender curve of her torso. Her breasts skimmed his chest. The scents of flowers and flesh filled him. Her cheek rested against his for half an instant, smooth against the stubble of his beard. She turned her face, her mouth nearly grazing his lips.
“There’s a very good chance that I’m a widow,” she gasped.
He kissed her gently, reverently...for a respectable second. Then heat flashed through him, burning him with the ache of the empty years he had longed for her.
He nipped at her lips, then devoured them, because he was starved. Hunger that had not begun to be satisfied made him senseless to the snow, the wind, the sleeping children and his snoring brother.
Life narrowed to this one moment, where Lilleth returned his passion, heat upon heat. Where pure, white-hot lust made anything else irrelevant and convinced him that she was, in all probability, a widow. No man would ever leave this woman willingly.
He backed her against the wall and slid her slowly down the front of him. Through his worn flannel shirt, her heavy breathing pressed her to him, heart to heart. Her plush breasts with tight, swollen buds grazed a path downward.
He nuzzled her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, of the spirit of Lilleth.
She moaned and whispered Clark’s name. That alone should have been enough for him to let go of her. Damn it, she didn’t even know who he was.
But he couldn’t because his gray life had suddenly burst into color, confetti that flew about his mind in wild confusion.
He buried his face in
the softly twining curls at her ear.
“Lils,” he whispered.
She stiffened and shoved his shoulders.
Oh, damn, had he said that out loud? Clearly he had. She blinked at him in confusion.
“What was that you called me?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He stepped away from her, feeling sick at heart.
He had wanted her so badly that he had been willing to believe a lie. Her husband might well be dead...but he might not.
“Forgive me, Lilly, I hardly know what to say. My actions were not gentlemanly...but it won’t happen again.”
Not gentlemanly? They were cowardly and weak. They were the actions of a selfish idiot.
“I do beg your pardon.” He turned, taking the stairs down two at a time.
She groaned. He was certain of that.
“No need to be all that sorry,” he thought she said.
No doubt he had misunderstood.
Chapter Seven
Lilleth had moved out of Clark’s house as soon as she had forced down her last bite of breakfast pastry.
Now, four hours later, she drew aside the curtain over the window beside the front door of the cabin. She gazed out at last night’s dusting of snow. Two sets of footprints led away from the porch, one large and one small: Clark’s and Jess’s.
Clark had come by earlier to pick up Jess and help him catch his cat. His offer to accompany her nephew had been beyond welcome, since she could not have allowed the boy to go to town alone, and she didn’t want to take Mary out in the cold.
Things were as awkward between her and Clark this afternoon as they had been this morning. At breakfast, she couldn’t quite meet his eye and he couldn’t quite speak a coherent sentence.
It was almost as though the air between them pulsed red with embarrassment. To suggest that maybe she was a widow made her sound like a desperate strumpet. He must think she was ready to spring upon him at any moment.
There must have been some kind of spell lurking in the hallway. What other explanation could there be for what had happened?
She’d wanted his kiss. Only a born and bred fool would deny it. How was she to guess that it would ignite the way it had? That it would burn up her good sense.