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

by Caroline Fyffe

  Hunter pulled back. What was this about? “What are you talking about?”

  “I,” he began, then looked at the floor. “I spread some lies about you. When you first come to town and I was fit to be tied. I told a few loose lips around town that you were a gunman, a killer. I’d sent a telegram to Soda Springs, to my friend, but he said you had a reputation of being hard, but fair. That men were scared of you because you were fast, but he didn’t know of any wrongdoing.”

  And now everything makes sense. The looks. The apprehension.

  “Say something, will ya?”

  “Nothin’ to say, Kendall,” he responded slowly. He set his hand on Kendall’s shoulder, and smiled into the bartender’s remorse-etched face. “People will have to judge me for themselves. Decide what to believe. Don’t lose too much sleep over it. What’s done is done.”

  It took less than a minute to reach Storybook Lodge. The shades were pulled and the signs were turned or brought in an hour ago. He thought back to the morning when he’d first come by, helping Miss Hoity-Toity out with the heavy sign. Her smile had done funny things to his insides even then. His comments had turned her face a pretty pink. He should have turned tail and run for the hills. Things sure would be a lot easier.

  Tabitha looked up from the kitchen when he stepped inside. She was stirring something on the stove.

  “Beef stew,” she said, a nervous smile on her lips.

  It annoyed Hunter that he could read her expressions so well.

  “Hungry?”

  “I am,” he replied, unstrapping his gun belt and laying the weapon on the small table by the front door. He stared at the Colt for several long moments, understanding Roberta’s narrow-eyed gaze in the bookstore. She would have made sure her niece had heard the juicy news about him, Hunter had no doubt. He started for the stairs still holding his coat.

  Tabitha hurried over and extracted the garment from his grasp. “I’ll take that for you.”

  “No need. I can do—”

  “You go sit by the window and I’ll serve up your supper just as soon as I get back. I’m sure your feet must be tired, standing all day in the saloon.” When he hesitated, she gave his arm a nudge. “Go on, Hunter. I’ll be right down.”

  Feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle, he glanced up.

  Halfway down the staircase, Marigold eyed him warily. Seeing her expression, he felt the same. He looked back at Tabitha.

  “It’s only for a few days. You don’t mind, do you?”

  What did Tabitha do with my belongings in the extra bedroom?

  He felt his ire raise its ugly head, but Tabitha’s beseeching gaze kept him quiet.

  “Mr. Wade. Home from a long day of salooning?”

  Again, his gaze snared his wife’s.

  “Mother, please keep your comments to yourself, unless they’re nice.”

  “What’s not nice about what I said?”

  Without another word, Hunter went to the one and only comfortable chair in the room, but as he was about to sit, he realized he should save it for Tabitha’s mother. He turned and went to Tabitha’s desk, pulled out her straight-backed chair, and sat. Marigold followed him and took the flowered chair with a satisfied grin.

  “Ah, this is enjoyable,” she said. “I’ll have a chance to get to know my son-in-law. I didn’t think that was going to happen. How are you, Hunter? May I call you that?”

  He nodded. “You can call me anything you like. Is Marigold fine with you? Or do you prefer Mother?”

  “Anything at all. I’m just pleased to be here.”

  That’s a switch.

  She smiled.

  He accepted a large bowl of stew from Tabitha, and held it on his lap until she’d served her mother. When she went back for her own, he realized there wasn’t a chair for her. Standing, he went to the stool Nate had used and slid it through his legs.

  “No, Hunter, you needn’t—”

  “This is fine. You sit at your desk. Tomorrow I’ll see what I might be able to rig up for a small table.”

  They ate in silence, after which he followed Tabitha into the kitchen to help with the dishes. “What did you do with my belongings?” he asked quietly as her mother dozed in the chair.

  “After the decision was made that she would stay, I sent her to the mercantile for a few things for supper. Thank goodness I own an extra set of sheets. I’ve never changed a bed so quickly in my life. Don’t be angry with me, Hunter. Please.”

  “I just don’t understand why she’s here. I thought she couldn’t stand me. I’d think this was the last place she’d want to stay.”

  “She and my aunt can’t get along for more than a few days at a time.”

  “What about your uncle? Wouldn’t she be more comfortable there?”

  “She won’t stay with Uncle Frank, because he’s having some problems with mice. She all but broke down when I suggested the hotel. I can promise you I tried to avoid this. For your sake . . .” For our sake. “Hunter?”

  “When you put it like that, I guess a few days won’t hurt. What about tonight?”

  A stain rose up in her cheeks. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get—”

  “We’re pretty well there, Miss Hoity-Toity. You better start thinking. That note we wrote to the preacher won’t be worth squat after one week. This whole charade has gotten involved.”

  The warm stew had mellowed him considerably. His crankiness was replaced with a feeling of home. The evening sounds of the night. How pretty Tabitha looked with her hands in a dishpan of water and wisps of her hair stuck to her moist forehead. Even with Marigold out in the chair snoring away like she were sawing a wood pile, reminding him of Clyde, there was something special about tonight.

  Finished wiping down the boards, Tabitha folded the dish towel she’d used to dry her hands and set it in its place. What were they going to do to pass the time until it was time to turn in?

  “How about if you help me with a little of my reading?”

  Her eyes widened, and a smile blossomed on her lips. “Wonderful. Do you know where your book is?”

  “Somewhere with my belongings.”

  “Then it’s in my room now. Wait here and I’ll get it.”

  Hunter quietly brought the stool over to the desk thinking how awkward it was going to be on the stool while trying to sound out words, but they didn’t have much choice. The only other chair was occupied by her mother, or they could go upstairs and sit together on the bed. He wasn’t going to chance that with all these warm family feelings rumbling around in his chest. No sir, not at the moment.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Tom pre-presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an open window in a p-pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom, breakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined,” Hunter read softly, his back aching from sitting on the high stool next to Tabitha, as he bent forward.

  His wife sat at his side, looking at her own book, while he read quietly aloud, so as not to wake her mother. When he’d balked at reading aloud, she’d said it was good practice to hear his own voice as well as let his mouth form the unfamiliar words. He wondered how she knew so much about reading, but he was getting better, so he dare not argue. From her wide selection of books, she came up with a heck of a lot of facts he’d never heard. Best not to question her unless he wanted to be proven wrong.

  He smiled inwardly. There were a few things he could teach her, if she were so inclined. He lifted his palm to his cheek as if the sting of her slap had just happened. Unfortunately, he knew exactly where his wife stood on such matters.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have chosen this book,” she whispered, leaning in close, her light scent distracting his concentration. “I forgot about all the slang and hyphenated words. I can choose another if you’d like. Something that will flow more easily.”

  “What? And give this up now?” Hunter lifted his head, pretending horror, all the while taking in her soft beauty, alight with the conviction
to help. “After I’ve struggled through three whole chapters? Nothin’ doing. Besides, I want to know what happens. The story has caught my interest.”

  “All right. Other than the chopped-up dialect, you’re doing a fine job. I must say, I’ve enjoyed listening to you.” She glanced to the darkened town just past her rolled-down shades. “Logan Meadows sure is quiet tonight.”

  “Yeah, no gunshots from the saloon.”

  “Which makes me very happy.”

  He cocked a brow. “I know it does, Miss Hoity-Toity. I could go over and shoot off my Colt since Albert is away. That would liven things up a bit.”

  She laughed. “You’re teasing, I know.”

  “Guess I am.”

  She didn’t flinch when he reached over and fingered a wisp of her hair that had fallen into her face. It hurt that she thought him a killer. He didn’t care about anyone else—let them think what they would. It was her opinion that mattered. “I learned something tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Kendall confessed to me that he’d slandered my name. He’s sorry now, and I’ve forgiven him, just didn’t want you to—”

  Her eyes widened. She knew exactly what he was referring to. “Kendall! I felt in my heart those rumors were false.” She swallowed and glanced away for a moment, then slowly turned back to his gaze. “I’ll admit at first, I didn’t know what to think exactly, but as time went on I knew they couldn’t be true. I should have told you right away.”

  Her sincerity healed a part of the wound. “Yes, you should have.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Nothin’ to be sorry for. I’m just glad the truth came out.” The warm stew had made him drowsy. Her mother slept on in the chair by the window. He looked at the clock. Seven twenty-five. With the little sleep he’d gotten the night before, the soft bed was sounding better than ever. Too bad he didn’t have a soft bed to his name anymore.

  Hunter yawned, stretched back, and rubbed a hand across his face. What on earth was Tabitha going to do with him tonight? It wasn’t right to ask him to sleep on the floor. Not after all he’d sacrificed for her.

  “Oh, my,” a wobbly voice said.

  Mother. Tabitha glanced over. Her mother’s eyes were open and she was watching them with a curious expression.

  “I must have fallen asleep,” she admitted.

  “You did,” Tabitha said. “Over an hour ago. It’s almost seven thirty.”

  “Then I shall turn in.” She grimaced as she tried to raise her head off the back of the cushion. “Ow . . . I’m as stiff as an old scarecrow. This knee is getting worse with each passing year.”

  Without being asked, Hunter stood and went over to the chair. He held out both his hands. Her mother hesitated for a couple of heartbeats, and then placed her own inside of his. Tabitha watched in stunned silence. Waiting patiently until her mother was stable on her feet, Hunter helped her climb the stairs to her bedroom.

  “Good night, Tabitha,” she called. “Sweet dreams.”

  Sadness at hearing the old sentiment made Tabitha drop her gaze back to her book. “Good night, Mother,” she called back. “You sleep well, too.”

  Her mother’s familiar chuckle floated down the staircase. Hunter must have said something. In a moment he was back.

  “That was kind of you.”

  “What?”

  He honestly didn’t seem to know. “You helping my mother after the trouble she’s caused.”

  He shrugged. “Holding a grudge only hurts the grudge holder.”

  “Thorp?”

  He nodded. “I’m mighty tired myself. Have you decided where I’m going to sleep? I could take a blanket to Win’s hayloft. I don’t mind.”

  “I can’t ask that of you! It’s October. Besides, someone might see you. That would be pretty difficult to explain away.”

  “Well? What else do you have in mind?”

  “I’ve read lots of stories where unmarried couples roll up a blanket and put it between them to separate the—”

  “Roll up a blanket? That’s ridiculous. That wouldn’t stop an amorous prairie dog. It certainly wouldn’t stop me.”

  The way his gaze lingered on her lips had her thinking of the kiss. The second kiss. The one last night at the shivaree. The kiss that had brought a barrage of wayward thoughts, and even tingles in places she didn’t know she had. “No? Well, then, I’ll take my chair in the corner of my bedroom. It’s very comfortable. Then you can have the bed.”

  “I didn’t say I was going to take advantage of you. I said a rolled-up blanket wouldn’t stop me if I wanted to—” He clamped his mouth closed. “Go get yourself ready for bed, and put up the blockade if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll undress after you’re safely tucked away under the covers. You can trust me. You have nothing to worry about.”

  He made it sound like taking advantage of her was the very last thing he’d ever want. Hurt, she headed to the back door. Taking a lantern, she used the privy, then proceeded up the stairs. How had everything gotten so mixed up? She went quietly past her mother’s room and then to the armoire on the far wall, still chilled from being outside. Pulling out both her extra blankets, she dropped them on her bed. She was twenty-nine years old and more than a little curious about the marriage act. If Hunter was still interested in her, he would have said something when they’d gotten married. Wouldn’t he? Surely, he wasn’t that insecure about being turned down again, not at his age. Nothing had been the same since the slap. It was almost as if he’d been expecting it.

  Confused, and riddled with wanton desires, she stripped out of her dress and donned her nightgown. As quickly as she could in the chilly room, she rolled up the extra blankets, placed them down the center of the bed, and crawled under the quilts, the cold sheet chilling her further.

  Tired from a long day on her feet, Daisy removed her apron, her muscles aching from leaning over the sink at the Silky Hen. She stretched and then arched her back.

  “I didn’t think we’d ever finish up,” Susanna said, watching her over her shoulder as she spread out the coals of the stove. “Thank you for doing the majority of the pots and pans. I promise I’ll do them all tomorrow.”

  Daisy smiled. “That’s no problem. I’m taking my dirty apron, and the others in the hamper, over to the Lings. Does yours need washing?”

  Susanna stood and inspected her apron. “No, ma’am. It’s good for another day. You sure you want to go over now? It’s dark. And besides, the front door will be locked.”

  “It’s not that I want to, but there aren’t any clean aprons left. Hannah dropped off five last week. They should be ready. The Lings don’t mind if I use the back door.”

  “Daisy . . .”

  “It’s just across the street.” She unfolded her normally white apron, which was spotted with gravy. “I can’t wear this another day. It’s disgraceful. We need clean and fresh for the morning. I’m waitressing.”

  Susanna’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I see what you mean.”

  “Won’t take more than four minutes. From there I’ll go home. Is Win coming to walk you home since Albert’s away?”

  Susanna nodded. “You come back and he’ll walk you as well.”

  “That’s silly. I’m just behind the hotel, you’re much farther away down the street and across the bridge. Stop worrying.”

  The two women went to the front door, Daisy’s hands filled with soiled aprons and a few tablecloths. Susanna watched her cross the street. A warm glow shone from inside the laundry house. When Daisy got to the alley, she turned and waved her friend back inside. From where she was, she heard the click of the restaurant’s front lock.

  She pushed ahead in the darkened alley. Light from Main Street illumined the passage halfway through. Fifteen feet past the end was the Lings’ shanty, a light burning inside. Bao would be home putting Lan to bed, but Tap would still be hard at work, and maybe Jake’s mother as well. Daisy hadn’t met the woman, but as each day passed, and as her lonesomeness
at missing Jake mounted, she’d wondered if she should arrange a chance.

  With a breath of relief, she rounded the corner of the brick building and pulled open the back door. A mouse, or something else, skittered away from under Daisy’s foot, causing Daisy to yelp in fright.

  Mr. Ling jerked up from his ironing board. The woman who must be Jake’s mother scrambled to her feet from the wash tub where she’d been working.

  Tap Ling started her way. “Miss Daisy! You hurt?”

  Embarrassed, Daisy came forward. “No, I’m sorry. A mouse startled me.” She glanced at Jake’s mother. “I have the dirty laundry and wondered if I could pick up the clean. We don’t have anything for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I will show—”

  “I know where they are, Mr. Ling,” the woman said. “I put them away this morning. Please follow me, miss.”

  Mr. Ling nodded and went back to his ironing.

  At a table of folded linen, Jake’s mother took the dirty linen from Daisy and replaced them with a stack of tablecloths topped with several aprons. They were all nicely pressed.

  “This should be all of it,” she said. Strands of hair had come loose from her bun and wafted in front of her face.

  Compassion moved through Daisy. “I’m Daisy,” she said, not knowing if Jake had said anything to her about them.

  “I know. I’ve seen you come and go in the restaurant across the street. You’re Jake’s girl.”

  They stood silently in the dim interior for several awkward moments.

  “That’s right.” No one had spoken outright about the horrible way she’d treated Jake, but Daisy had put the pieces together. “I love Jake. I’ll take good care of him.”

  She nodded, and in the shadowy room, Daisy thought she saw the woman’s lips pull down in sorrow. The heart was capable of so much love and so much pain, and yet Daisy didn’t have the words to bridge the expanse between the two. Instead, she turned with the linens, eager to be home. “Thank you.”

  The back door in the dark room squeaked closed. Daisy darted her gaze to see Mr. Ling still at his work, then over to Jake’s mother. “Did you see somebody go out the door?”