Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5)

by Caroline Fyffe

  Her heart ached. Every year was the same.

  She wasn’t like other girls. She’d rather spend the day in the library, with a favorite book, where she could sail away to distant shores, go into battle, or ride an elephant through a thick jungle laden with dangers around every corner. She wasn’t, and didn’t want to be, that person her mother and father wanted. She marched to a different drum.

  Well, at least no one here in Logan Meadows knew that today was her birthday. Aunt Roberta, as mad as she’d been yesterday, hadn’t mentioned it. Thank God. Her face heated, recalling the angry exchange. Hunter’s bridled irritation. The slap.

  Rolling onto her side, she saw the volume of Tom Sawyer on her nightstand. Last night, for some strange reason, she’d brought the book up to her bedroom. She’d read bits and pieces of the story she knew so well. The fact that Hunter had left the book behind when he’d stomped out of her shop was still a prick to her heart. She’d not only slapped him, but stole away his newly awakened desire to read.

  She sighed. She couldn’t change the past. She reached for her watch.

  Six o’clock. Several hours before time to open.

  Slipping out of bed, she threaded her arms into her wrapper against the early morning chill, and pulled tight the sash. Before anything else, she’d build a fire downstairs. Feeling melancholy, she pushed aside the curtain and looked down at the cheerful creek below.

  A buckboard driven by Win rattled across the bridge. Sheriff Preston and Nate were approaching from the other direction on their way to the office. Tabitha could imagine Susanna, cozy and warm in her little yellow home, kissing her new husband and stepson goodbye before sending them off for the day.

  Life. And love. She felt left out.

  Win pulled the wagon to a stop to speak with his brother and nephew. Albert laughed at something Win said. Slapped his thigh. Nate tried to climb up onto the wagon, but his pa pulled him back.

  In her sad state of mind, the homespun scene was almost too much to watch.

  She spotted Hunter on his way back from the festival grounds or the train station.

  She dropped the curtain and stepped back. Hurt and confusion made her breath catch. Had she really said all those things to him? Their words had been heated, but then he’d gone and kissed her, and she’d slapped him.

  Unable to stop herself, she peeked out to watch his progress. He was so tall. So handsome. Her heart thwacked against her ribs as she remembered their conversation during their walk under the stars—before he’d brought up the girls. A smile curled her lips when she thought about how he’d thrown himself into danger to save Mrs. Hollyhock. Not just any man would do that. Not only that, but he’d kept her secret about being trapped in the outhouse. He’d been her friend. What if she hadn’t slapped him? Would he have continued kissing her? Courted her? She didn’t know, and now she wouldn’t ever find out.

  Hunter must have called out a greeting, because Albert turned. When he was close enough, Albert clamped his hand on Hunter’s shoulder and gave a little shake, large smiles all around. Nate skipped over to the side of the bridge and looked over at the water.

  A sob gushed from Tabitha’s throat. She let the curtain drop and backed away. She’d been happy here once, hadn’t she? She’d loved the process of building. Then slowly stocking her shelves. Life had been good. Livable.

  Then Hunter came to town.

  With his arrival, Tabitha realized she’d just been subsisting. Living in the shadows of everyone else’s happiness. Was it so wrong to want her own? With the back of her hand she stifled the jerking sounds of her sorrow, then sat on her unmade bed, tears trailing down her face unchecked.

  The sounds of the men on her boardwalk reached her ears. Nate’s silly giggles brought a shaky smile. Look at what Susanna and Albert had just gone through to find their contentment. It hadn’t been easy. A lot of give and take had been involved. Was there a chance for her and Hunter? Even if she weren’t twenty-nine years old and facing spinsterhood, she realized she’d still be attracted to Hunter. But was attraction enough? They were complete opposites. He owned a saloon, encouraged men to drink and partake in the sins of the flesh. She read about and admired Josephine Butler, Florence Nightingale, and Elizabeth Wolstenholme, women who had made a mark trying to improve the plight of the prostitute.

  What am I doing? One kiss does not a marriage proposal make. I’m putting the novel before the hours, months, and maybe years it takes to create such a project. Most likely, Hunter grabs a kiss wherever and whenever he can. Why do I think I’m anything special to him? I just slapped him silly in front of my aunt . . .

  Tabitha closed her eyes.

  She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her face. She’d allowed herself this self-pity, but now she was through. Today was her birthday. She’d wrap up her sorrow in a neat little box and stash it under her bed.

  She’d make this day special, and no one would be the wiser.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  In the happiest mood she could muster, Tabitha moved around the shop with her feather duster, admiring her books as she cleaned. Even though it was silly, this morning she’d dressed in one of her finest frocks, despite the fact nobody but her would know why. The garment was made of a silk-cotton mixed fabric and had a beautiful green-and-pink paisley print. She’d brought the gown from home, and had yet to wear it here in Logan Meadows. She felt a little silly being so gussied up on a regular Thursday, but that wasn’t going to stop her. After she was satisfied with her clothing, she’d carefully woven her hair into a French braid down her back and tied it with a matching ribbon. Her mother would be pleased.

  That had been hours ago. Now, she lifted a decorative vase from the shelf and whisked off invisible dust. This wasn’t so bad. So what if she was twenty-nine? One day older than twenty-eight didn’t feel a bit different.

  A chorus of laughter sounded outside. It must be three, and the schoolchildren were on their way home. She stepped outside, rolling her shoulders against the brisk north wind. Winter would be here soon. She was ready. She was ready for any change life brought her way.

  A buggy came across the bridge at a good clip driven by Jessie, most likely on her way to pick Sarah up from school. Excited to see her, Tabitha waved, hoping Jessie would stop and chat for a moment, as was her habit, but her friend just waved back with a bright smile and kept on going.

  Disappointment lodged in Tabitha’s tummy. Her shop had been unusually quiet—more so than ever. Not one friend had stopped by to talk. Not Win to speak about the weather, not Dwight to try and flirt, and not Uncle Frank just to say hello. And certainly not Hunter for any reason at all. It wasn’t unusual for Hannah to pop in for a quick cup of tea, or Susanna to bring her a cookie on her way home from her morning shift at the Silky Hen.

  She’d seen Nell and Charlie ride by in their ranching clothes, but those two were always so busy she didn’t expect them to take a minute out of their day to look at books. And Aunt Roberta? She’d probably never see her again.

  When Beth Fairington had walked by her window, a scarf wrapped around her head and covering her ears, she’d almost been tempted to invite her in. She struggled so long with the decision, by the time she decided to do it, Beth was gone.

  Well, so what if no one had stopped in. Recounting her disappointment had pointed out to her just how many good friends she had here in Logan Meadows. Keeping her face trained away from the saloon, she turned and went back inside, feeling the best she had all day. She put a smile on her face and gazed into the small mirror in the back of the room. Celebrating a birthday by oneself was rather fun. She had a secret. As the morning had dragged on, she’d even baked a batch of fig cookies and eaten all but five. Perhaps, later, just before closing, she’d walk down to the mercantile and see if Mother and Father had sent a post.

  Tabitha ambled over to the back shelf where the plate of cookies, or what remained of them, was covered with a clean cloth. She picked up one edge. Her tummy felt a little quea
sy from the handfuls she’d already consumed. You mean stuffed yourself with, don’t you? It’ll be days until your appetite returns.

  Her gaze tracked to the side of the dish where the volume of Tom Sawyer sat, just waiting to trip her up and make her feel sad. So silly of her to carry it around all day as if it were a kitten or puppy.

  Maybe she should take it down to the saloon. That would get the book out of her sight. She’d just knock on the batwing doors, and hand it over without saying a word. He’d know why. She didn’t want to stand in the way of his progress. Or hers of getting over his kiss. Since this morning, she hadn’t had any more glimpses of him, to her utter disappointment.

  “Hello, how’re you?” a female voice called.

  Excited, Tabitha twirled and hurried to the door, but stopped with her foot halfway out.

  The voice had been Mrs. Harrell calling to Dr. Thorn across the street. They stood beside the road having a lively conversation. Tabitha backed away.

  Hunter arrived at the Red Rooster Inn several minutes before four o’clock. This was his first time here, so he took a moment to admire the ruggedly built lodge-type building that looked considerably old. The place appeared well kept, and he wondered how someone as old as Violet accomplished such a feat. Climbing the steps, he knocked on the door.

  While he waited, he turned and looked past the dirt road, to the distant hills. Pretty. Peaceful. This is where the town must have begun. Since Violet didn’t answer, Hunter descended the stairs and walked around back where part of a shed could be seen from the front. Maybe she was doing some chores.

  He saw her just returning from a chicken yard. When she saw him, her eyes lit with pleasure.

  “There ya are. Welcome ta my humble home.”

  He laughed, and strode forward. When he got to her side, she pulled him down to kiss his cheek, making a tendril of warmth spiral through his chest.

  “It’s hardly humble, Mrs. Hollyhock. I’d say it’s quite the place. How do you keep it up so well?”

  She winked and threaded her hand through his arm for the short walk to the back porch. “By the efforts of many wonderful people in my life. I’m blessed, ta say the least. Gabe Garrison comes by once a week ta make sure I have plenty of firewood. And, even though I don’t need it, a buggy load of women come by every other Wednesday ta clean. The rest I keep up, albeit a bit more slowly than I used ta.”

  He took the back steps carefully, making sure she was steady on her feet.

  She opened the door and they went into the kitchen.

  The kitchen was orderly. A large cake was set off to the side, next to a stack of porcelain dishes. His brows drew down. Was she expecting more company than just him? Something good smelling was simmering on the stove.

  He proceeded a few steps farther, where he could see the large front room. Although it was clean, the furniture was pushed back in a strange-looking way.

  He glanced at her in question.

  “All in good time. First I wanna know what you think of the inside? I owned a store once, but this place has captured my heart. It’s a good place ta live—and die.”

  Not knowing how else to respond, he scoffed. “Who’s dying? Certainly not you.”

  The rumble of wagon wheels sounded out front.

  Hunter followed her to the door, feeling more than a little cautious. Something was in the making and he wished he knew what it was. Her tiny boots barely clomped as she hurried out.

  “Thom, there ya be. I was beginnin’ ta think you’d taken a wrong turn.”

  Thom Donovan? Deputy Sheriff?

  “Whoa there, now,” Thom called to his team. He waved, and then stomped down on the brake. “I had to take the long way around. Didn’t want Tabitha to catch a glimpse of what I’m carrying.”

  Heat shot to Hunter’s face. Tabitha!

  “And then halfway here, there was a downed tree in the road too large for me to move without tools, so I had to backtrack a little and take a route through a meadow. Had to go slow so I wouldn’t break an axle. But, I’m here now.” He was already at the back of the wagon, lowering the tailgate.

  With a multitude of questions filling his mind, Hunter descended the steps and arrived by Thom’s side. Several benches, a crate of dishes, and several wrapped presents were stacked inside. “What’s all this about?”

  Thom shot him a quizzical glance. “Hannah’s throwing Tabitha a surprise birthday party. And we better get moving. Guests should be showing up anytime, and the guest of honor at five thirty.”

  “Get that stuff in here, Thom!” Violet called, waving her arm. “We need ta move the wagon. So Tabby don’t get suspicious when she arrives. Don’t want to let the cat outta the bag afore she steps inside.”

  Dismay, and a tiny button of anger, popped up in his belly. The very last person he wanted to see tonight was Tabitha. And especially on her birthday. But he couldn’t let on. That would hurt Violet. She’d shanghaied him. And he’d been had. What happened to a nice, quiet supper with his adopted granny? A home-cooked meal and soft-cushioned chairs?

  Thom reached for the closest pinewood bench and drew it out.

  Hunter did the same with the next one. Carrying the cumbersome seat, he mounted the steps and went inside, careful not to bang any walls or break any knickknacks.

  “Where would you like this?” Now the furniture arrangement made complete sense.

  She gazed up at him through the spectacles on the end of her nose, her eyes sparkling. “Right here, Hunter boy.”

  Finished with the bench, he turned to her. “Why didn’t you say something about the party? I don’t feel like I fit in. I’m new.” That wasn’t the real reason, but what else could he say?

  “For them reasons, I feared ya wouldn’t come. I saw how the two of ya looked at each other when we was having tea in the Silky Hen. They weren’t normal friendly looks, I can assure you that. She likes ya. And you like her.”

  “Mrs. Hollyhock—”

  “Call me Violet.”

  Thom came back in with the crate of dishes. There was nothing Hunter could do now. He just hoped Miss Hoity-Toity didn’t get the wrong impression. Embarrassment for what was to come, and a bit of anger, too, warred with other feelings.

  “Fine.” He turned and went out for another load. Tonight would be full of surprises for Tabitha—and possibly him as well.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  It was ten minutes past five when Tabitha realized the time. Rising from her comfortable chair by the window, she went outside for her sign and lugged it inside. She locked the door and turned the door sign to CLOSED.

  Not one visitor. Not one customer.

  No matter how hard she tried to keep a stiff upper lip, she found her spirits flagging. She hadn’t even taken the time to put up her BACK IN TEN MINUTES sign to go to the mercantile to check the mail. When four o’clock had rolled around, she’d finally opened Tom Sawyer, and started on page one.

  She heaved a sigh, and ran her hands down the front of the dress that had brought her so much joy this morning, feeling anything but. The street looked quiet. She started when a buggy driven by Aunt Roberta crossed the bridge.

  What now? I hope she’s not here for round two. Maybe if she doesn’t see me, she’ll keep going.

  Tabitha took one healthy step back from the glass, trying not to look conspicuous. The kiss, as well as her aunt’s dressing down, popped into her mind. As much as she tried to feel a little shame over her and Hunter’s actions, she couldn’t. The kiss had felt right. The slap was another story entirely. A deep humiliation pushed in her chest. Once in his arms, she’d encouraged him, she knew she had. And then, in her finest glory, she’d stepped back and given him her best. How she wished she could do that moment over.

  Aunt Roberta pulled back on the reins and rolled to a stop in front of Storybook Lodge. When she smiled and gave a friendly little wave, heat rushed to Tabitha’s face, as well as guilt for her uncharitable feelings.

  Tabitha unlocked the door and stepp
ed outside, being careful not to look toward the Bright Nugget. She couldn’t help but wonder if Hunter was standing just outside the batwing doors, as was his habit. “Aunt Roberta, it’s nice of you to stop by.”

  Her aunt fidgeted in her seat. “I was wondering if I could ask a little favor.”

  The woman appeared nervous. Aunt Roberta was never nervous. Just the people around her.

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Violet has something she’d like to speak to me about.”

  “Violet?”

  She nodded. “Hannah and Thom are visiting Susanna and Albert, and Win is occupied shoeing a horse or something, or else I’d ask one of them. You know how I don’t like to drive by myself.”

  “Yes. Because you had a buggy accident when you were a girl.”

  A small frown formed between her aunt’s brows. “That’s exactly correct. Would you have a moment to come along? So I don’t get nervous.”

  “Right now?”

  “Well, yes. That’s what I was hoping. I promise not to keep you long.”

  Tabitha glanced back at her shop, her heart still beating quickly. She didn’t want to go anywhere in her fancy dress. She’d feel silly.

  “Just there and back.”

  “Do I have time to change out of . . .”

  “Oh, no. You look lovely. I don’t think I’ve seen that gown on you before. It’s beautiful with your green eyes.” She patted the seat next to her. “Why don’t you grab your shawl and come along.”

  “All right. I’ll run upstairs for my things and lock up. I’ll be right back.”

  The Red Rooster Inn was packed to overflowing. Soon after Hunter had arrived, buggies and wagons came trailing down the road, unloaded, and a few of the fellas drove the empty conveyances farther down the road and out of sight.

  Hunter detested tight, confined spaces and was having a hard time not bolting out the back door. Men and women alike were squished together in the back of the kitchen area so when Miss Hoity-Toity came in, they could jump out and yell surprise. It was warm, he noted when he dashed away a drop of sweat from his brow.