Shelter from the Storm

by Patricia Rice

  But a sense of failure crept up on Cash that he couldn’t quite shake. Even Sallie’s name and farm couldn’t bring him the respect he had hoped. He had a wife who would make other men’s heads turn, but it had never occurred to him that she would refuse his company once they were married. She had complainingly performed her wifely duty, but she had offered none of the solace he had hoped to find in his marriage bed. Once she had declared herself pregnant, they had silently but mutually agreed there was no point in continuing that part of their marriage. He had everything and nothing.

  He was as restless and unfulfilled now as he had been when he took that steamer up the Ohio a little less than a year ago. Now, besides a ranch in California, he had a horse farm in Kentucky and a beautiful wife, but still he wasn’t satisfied. He usually buried his discomfort in hard work, but every so often it nagged him, as it did now, observing Laura’s airy draperies blowing through the open nursery windows.

  Blowing through open windows. Cursing, Cash hurried toward the house. What in the name of Jehosaphat were they doing in there that no one had closed the windows? Even a blind man could see that a storm was in the making. He’d wring Laura’s neck if she were down in that blasted schoolroom of hers and ignoring what was happening outside.

  A streak of black lightning nearly toppled Cash as it whipped between his legs before he entered the kitchen. A dog barked furiously. A heavy pot slammed to the floor, accompanied by more screams that identified the departing creature as a cat. And if Cash did not miss his guess, Franz the Second had just chased it out of the parlor.

  Closing his eyes to the chaos in the kitchen, Cash strode toward his normally peaceful parlor. At the sound of his boots, two young maids hastily righted overturned tables and swept at shattered glass. They stared at him in terror as he surveyed the damage, but it wasn’t the broken lamps or beheaded figures that he was noticing. It was the absence of something important.

  “Where’s Miss Laura?” Cash demanded.

  The one maid looked as if she might faint. The other stared soundlessly, clutching her broom as if for protection. Cursing, Cash spun at the patter of light feet behind him. Jettie Mae’s mischievous grin did nothing to relieve his ire. “Damn your impudent hide, woman, where is she?”

  Jettie shrugged. “Gone to town, I done suspect. Ain’t she allowed a little time to herself after the goin’s-on ’round here?”

  If this were an example of what happened when Laura turned her back, Cash didn’t want to answer that question. Remembering his reason for entering the house, he ordered the windows closed and strode back into the approaching gloom of the storm. Damn Laura’s willfulness to hell. He had told her not to go out alone. Now here it was, ready to storm, and she was probably halfway between here and town and about to get drenched. He just hoped to hell she hadn’t reached town yet. There was something he’d been meaning to tell her but hadn’t found the courage or the words to say.

  As he remembered another time when Laura had been riding alone before a storm, Cash’s sense of urgency increased. He’d be damned if he’d have her sharing another barn with a stranger.

  By the time he reached town without a single sign of Laura, Cash’s temper had reached explosive proportions. He had only signed on to run a damned farm, not a full-blown circus. If he had to spend his time rounding up strays, he might as well be back in Texas.

  The first fat drops of rain fell as he rode past the drygoods store. Following instinct, Cash turned his mount down the alley to the doctor’s house. He still thought of that renovated carriage house as home, and very likely Laura would do the same.

  Instinct served him well. Laura’s horse was tied to the barn door. Riding around to the front, Cash caught the flash of green that was Laura’s favorite shopping gown. Closer, he could see her standing on the wide front porch Jonathan had installed for his wife, and for a moment he thought she was standing alone, debating the wisdom of riding out into the rain.

  But heaven forbid that any Kincaid would do something so simple and innocent. As Cash halted his horse in front of the house, the lithe figure of the young doctor stepped from the shadows of the door to greet him. Cash had the sudden urge to punch first and ask questions later, but he had learned some control with the years. Swinging down from his horse, he stepped onto the porch steps, and ignoring Burke’s outstretched hand, glared at Laura.

  “What in hell do you think you’re doing out here by yourself? Haven’t I told you—”

  “Say one more word, Cash Wickliffe, and I’ll shove you off this porch. I’m tired of being cursed at and ordered around and treated like a half-wit. Why aren’t you back at the farm stabling the horses and battening down the doors before this storm?”

  Burke stared at the petite woman with hands on hips glaring at the tall man who dwarfed her even when he stood a step down. He had always thought Laura a timid woman, as so often abused women seemed to be. She had a haunting smile and lovely eyes, and more than once he had wondered if she might truly be eligible, but never had he imagined her unleashing this kind of temper, even if done in a perfectly ladylike voice.

  “What do you think I have the damned farmhands for?” Cash countered. “And if you hadn’t gone traipsing off to who-knows-where, that’s where I’d be now. Haven’t you got the sense God gave a goose, woman? There’s a storm out there, and a featherbrain like you could blow away in it.”

  The young doctor considered interfering at this insult to a lady, but a second glance at Cash’s dark face caused second thoughts. He didn’t know the man well, but that wasn’t a look of anger etched into the weathered lines of Cash’s eyes and mouth. And he didn’t yell as many another man would have. Concern laced his tone. The fists clenched at his sides began to relax even as Laura spoke, so it wasn’t Laura they were meant for. Burke stepped back a foot or two, out of the scene of battle.

  “If I had a stick, I’d hit you,” Laura said. “Did you think I rode out just because I thought it would annoy you? All I wanted was a little time to myself. Just a few minutes to . . .” Laura’s anger was rapidly turning to tears. Frustrated, she broke off before she could reveal what she had no intention of revealing. She was twenty-two years old today, and what did she have to show for it?

  Cash’s anger didn’t abate. Carried away by the danger she had unwittingly placed herself in, he caught her shoulder. “When will you learn to put a little trust in me?” he shouted as she backed away warily. “Marshall is back. Did you ever stop to consider he might return? He’s deputy sheriff now. What would you have done if you’d run into him again?”

  Horrified, Laura could only stare, watching Cash wipe the grim look from his face with the same stroke that he used to brush the wet hair from his face. Weariness replaced the anger as he finally acknowledged the other man witnessing this confrontation. Stiffly holding out his hand, Cash said, “I apologize, Burke. It looks as if we’re in for a bit of a blow. Do you mind if I stable our horses until it goes over?”

  The summer storm blew over as quickly as promised, but another kind lingered in its wake. Later, watching Cash Wickliffe lift his wife’s pretty cousin into the saddle, hearing the laughter that sprang to her lips as he made some insulting sally, Burke couldn’t help but wonder at the fallacies of the human heart.

  Did they really think that hurling anger and insults would hide the deeper emotions just beneath the veneer?

  Chapter 24

  Already shaken by the emotions she had endured this day, Laura broke down into real tears when confronted by the small birthday party awaiting her back at the farm.

  Dismayed at this turn of events, Cash turned to the other women in the room for help, but Jettie May only laughed, jiggled Taylor on her hip, and gave him a taunting look. Jemima grinned and hugged Laura, which seemed to lessen the tears. The other maids and servants who had helped prepare the surprise shifted from foot to foot, grinning, and no help at all.

  When Laura opened her gifts, Cash brought out a jug of last year’s grape wine. La
ura started with the smaller presents first, knowing that the large, awkwardly wrapped package was from Cash. She exclaimed over hand-carved beads and embroidered handkerchiefs, and cried out in delight at the hand-beaten metal tussie-mussie holder one enterprising lad had created. One of the kitchen maids provided the flowers to fill the ornament, and Laura proudly pinned it to her bodice before reaching for the final gift.

  Cash went back to the sideboard and the wine while she opened his present, and turned around only as she exclaimed in happiness. Eyes brimming with tears, she unfolded the exquisite rose-pink figured silk and sifted it through her fingers, luxuriating in the sensuous feel of the expensive material, smoothing it against her cheeks to better appreciate the quality. Her eyes lifted to meet Cash’s, and she had to turn away or feel the hot burn of tears down her cheeks again.

  He had not smiled or said a word, but the intensity of his dark eyes gave him away. She couldn’t say any of those things that ought to be said. For whatever reason, Cash liked giving her this gift, and he wanted her to have it. She ought to protest, but she couldn’t. With a soft “thank you,” she carefully refolded the material and returned it to its paper.

  Realization that they were entitled to no private moments or exchanges of feelings struck oddly hollow as Laura considered it later. Cash was her friend, had always been her friend. There had never been a need for reticence between them before. Why did they feel the need now? But it was there, a strain of distance that kept them from venting any emotion other than anger.

  Vowing to right whatever had gone wrong between them, Laura sought Cash out later that evening. Coming down from the nursery after settling their son in for the night, she found him sipping at a glass of bourbon in his study while poring over his ledgers. He looked up at her entrance, and the frown marring his forehead instantly disappeared behind a mask of indifference.

  Nervously brushing down the brown taffeta she had worn to dinner, wishing she had one of Sallie’s flattering crinolines so she didn’t feel so separated from him by the circumference of her hoops, Laura launched into her crusade for better understanding.

  “I know I didn’t thank you enough for the silk, Cash. I. . . I don’t have a gift with words. You’re my friend. I ought to be able to let you know how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but it’s so hard to know how you will take it, that I—”

  Standing, Cash interrupted. “How would you thank Ward if he had given the gift?”

  That brought Laura’s head up with a snap. She examined Cash’s expression, but couldn’t interpret it. Aside from the matter that it would never have occurred to Ward that Sallie’s mousy cousin would covet beauty, she knew how she would have reacted. Could Cash possibly guess? Or did she dare explain?

  “Ward was like a brother to me.” Laura tried to express herself so he would understand, but Cash stood there so impassively, she couldn’t tell if he was even listening. When he said nothing, she stumbled on. “I. . . I suppose I would have kissed him on the cheek. He would have expected it. I don’t know.”

  Cash finally relented at the helpless wave of her hand. “I suppose it is something to know that you don’t look on me as your brother. And we’d better not try that kiss-on-the-cheek business. I’d have to lift you up so you could reach, and things would get a little awkward. So I think I’ll settle for your thanks, especially since I imagine I embarrassed the hell out of you.”

  Green eyes flashed with laughter at this acknowledgment. “You’d better learn to mind your language if you expect to be invited into the finer homes. Do you have any idea how much you have sworn at me this day?”

  “Oh, I suspect I have an idea or two. You want a chance to get even? I’ve got another surprise up in the sewing room. You can use all the foul language you know when you see it.”

  Laura’s eyes widened at the suddenly mischievous laughter behind Cash’s words. With Cash, it wouldn’t do to speculate what it meant. Without a word, she gathered up her skirts and hurried toward the door.

  She heard him strolling along behind her, his long legs easily keeping up with her hurried footsteps as she ran up the stairs and toward the back room where she kept all her bits and pieces of cloth and thread. On rainy days she had spent hours in here bending over the drapery sewing with the other women, but usually she was too occupied in other parts of the house to sew as much as she liked.

  Besides, sewing draperies was dull. She wanted to create exquisite confections like Sallie had worn home from New York. Her hands itched to try out her ideas on the rose silk even now. Panic struck her as she imagined Cash filling the room with his idea of appropriate materials and threads. It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.

  She burst into the room and sighed in relief as nothing untoward jumped at her. In the dim light she saw nothing out of place. Behind her, Cash approached bearing a candle. The single flame flickered as he solemnly handed it to her. He remained in the doorway as she circled the room, finally discovering an unexpected table blocking her path.

  Lowering the candle to examine the obstacle, Laura gave a cry of mixed surprise and dismay. Worshipfully, she smoothed the polished surface of the tiny table, sat in the chair next to it, and stared at the gleaming metal machine waiting for her touch. Gilt letters gleamed in the candlelight, and she traced them with her fingertip. Singer.

  She knew that name. It had haunted her dreams ever since she had seen one in the hands of a traveling salesman on the steamboat back from Cairo. She touched the silver wheel, moved the candle to discover the pedal ramp near the floor, and cried silent tears. This couldn’t possibly be for her. They must cost a fortune. But she wanted it so badly, her hands ached to try it out.

  “Oh, hell, Laura, are you crying again?” Cash crossed the room and whipped the candle from her hand, setting it blasphemously on the narrow table. When she squawked and tried to remove it before wax could mar the gleaming surface, Cash caught her hand, then sat down on the larger table behind him. “It’s a damned machine, Laura. A little wax won’t hurt it. What are you getting so excited about?”

  He knew. He knew and he sat there pretending innocence. She wanted to pound that muscular thigh swinging so precariously near to her. How could he act so casual when he was waving the moon under her nose, tempting her to who knows what wickedness? Tears streamed down Laura’s cheeks as she lovingly brushed her fingers over the marvelous machine. At this moment she would do anything he asked just for the opportunity to see it work.

  “The draperies are almost done,” she whispered.

  That was a far distance from the subject at hand, but Cash followed the crooked path of her thoughts. “Yeah, well, I should have thought of it sooner, I admit, but I’m not much at knowing what kind of gadgets a woman needs. But the salesman showed me how it sewed all that lace on just as quick as a wink, and I thought maybe you’d like to play with something like that. You can charge whatever fripperies you need down at the milliner’s to fix up that silk into something fancy. I didn’t think you’d let me buy you the gown, but surely you can’t complain about the makings.”

  Propped against the big table, Cash watched her closely, but Laura prayed he couldn’t really see her. Her every thought had to be written across her face. He had bought it for her, not to ease the task of renovating his house. For her.

  Sighing, she caressed the machine again. “I doubt that you could have found a better way to keep me here, Cash. When Sallie returns, she’ll take over running the house, and I can just stay up here and sew whatever you require. I’ll not ever need to come out again.”

  Cash snorted. “I’d suggest a trip to the privy upon occasion. Don’t be such a sap, Laura. You’ve worked yourself half to death to make this place a home. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You deserve some token of appreciation. If I’d known you’d go all sentimental over a piece of machinery, I would have bought you a new stove for the kitchen. Now, come on, it’s late. You can play with your new toy in the morning.”

  He stood up, held
out his hand, and Laura reluctantly took it. Her glance returned to the machine, but the warm masculine hand gripping hers was a decided distraction. His fingers had never fully lost their calluses and none of their strength, but there was more of a gentleman’s smoothness to them now that he spent more time supervising than laboring. For a brief moment she wondered how they would feel against her skin, but she hastily dropped his hand and swept toward the door.

  “You are right; it is late. Mark will be up early. If the weather holds, could I have a carriage in the morning? I’ll need to pick up some new threads and maybe just a bit of lace and ribbon. Did the salesman leave instructions? I’ve never seen one used.”

  Her brisk words had the desired effect. He had been contemplating asking for that kiss on the cheek. She had firmly set him in his place. Following her out, Cash wondered why he felt so elated and so disappointed at the same time.

  ***

  Some weeks after her birthday, Laura eagerly followed Cash into the study when he returned from town with the mail. She still hadn’t received a reply from Jonathan, and she had sent off for a pattern from the lady’s magazine she had borrowed from Millie. While she waited for the pattern, she was practicing using the machine on new muslins for the maids. She had never seen anything quite as amazing, and she was dying for a more challenging task.

  Laura sifted through the odd bills and advertisements, scarcely noticing Cash’s expression as he read a letter addressed to him. There was nothing in the lot from Sallie, hadn’t been for weeks. Laura didn’t find that at all surprising, and she didn’t think it bothered Cash.

  He had passed her Sallie’s few ventures into literary expression without comment when they came. There had been nothing personal in them. Obviously they had been written on rainy days in boredom to relive the glory of summer parties and evening musicales, not for the benefit of asking how things fared at home. Upon occasion she complained of her growing girth and the need for more gowns and shawls to disguise her size, but whatever Cash sent her in return apparently kept her satisfied.