Touching Heaven

by Marie Higgins

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

  She peeked at Peter. A nerve in his cheek jumped, and his lips pursed. Biting her lip, she tried not to grin. He was jealous. How flattering.

  “Do you have any more purchases you need help with?”

  She pulled her attention back to the sheriff. “No, but thank you for offering.”

  When she glanced back at Peter, his attention wasn’t turned her way. Instead, it wavered to the saloon across the street. A stabbing pain clenched her chest. It seemed gambling and drinking came first. Just like Hank, the saloon would be his first love.

  Before she climbed into the wagon, she touched Peter’s shoulder. His head rounded toward her, his eyes wide.

  “Mr. Grayson? Are you coming?”

  “Umm...” He glanced back at the saloon again. “Actually...”

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “Mr. Grayson, if you have other things to do, I’d be more than happy to see Miss Ashby home.”

  Peter’s brows pulled together, anger heating his eyes. “No, Sheriff. I don’t—”

  “Peter—” She cut him off, holding up a hand. She switched her focus to the sheriff. “There is no need to see me home. Samuel and Kane are here and can drive the wagon.”

  The sheriff nodded, touching the brim of his black hat. “If that’s what you wish, Miss Ashby.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then I’ll bid you a good afternoon.” He turned sharply on the heels of his boots and ambled down the boardwalk.

  She met Peter’s glare but smiled nonetheless, even though her heart was breaking. “I receive the impression you want to visit your friends in the saloon. So if you feel you must go, then do so.”

  Peter folded his arms across his chest, his lips pulled tight in a frown. “What was that all about?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “What was what all about?”

  “You know what. That little flirtation with Sheriff Hampton.”

  She gasped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She held onto the side of the wagon and lifted her foot to climb in.

  Peter’s strong hand gripped her elbow as he assisted her. “Oh, I think you do, darlin’.”

  She threw a glare at him. “It’s really none of your business what I do, Mr. Grayson.”

  He lifted his chin. “Just like it’s none of your business what I do.”

  She ground her teeth, her hands balling in her lap.

  “So if you don’t mind, and even if you do, I’m going to mosey on over to the saloon and have me a drink.” He tipped his hat to her. “I’ll see you later tonight, Miss Ashby.”

  Tears threatened her eyes, but she blinked them away. As promised, he wandered across the street and into the saloon. Her heart dropped with each step. Well, that’s what I get for forgetting that he’s a gambler—and that he’s after my brother, she thought.

  Somehow, she’d let her emotions run away, and now she didn’t know how to control them. She couldn’t have fallen in love so quickly. How could she love a man who gambled?

  Shaking her head, she sat straight in the seat. No. She wasn’t in love with Peter. Even if her emotions headed in that direction, she wouldn’t let them continue. He was not the man for her.

  That didn’t stop her from peeking toward the saloon one last time before Samuel climbed in and sat beside her. As her servant snapped the reins and the wagon jerked to a start, her heart plummeted.

  She kept her gaze on the saloon until it blurred in her tears. Was he going there to gamble or be in the arms of another woman?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Inside Deborah’s Delights, Peter stood by the corner of the window as Cecilia’s wagon drove by. Her gaze turned toward the building, although she probably didn’t know he watched. Pain shot through his chest and twisted his stomach into knots.

  That blasted woman! Why did he feel he had to do everything in his power to make her happy? She didn’t want him to go to the saloon, obviously, but he wasn’t about to tell her the real reason for wanting to come.

  She’d voiced her thoughts on the sins of gambling and drinking, and although he didn’t fully agree, she did have some good points. He’d been gambling for quite a few years with only one purpose in mind...to get back Granddad’s plantation. Gambling wasn’t a bad habit. It was the means to achieve a goal. A goal that was almost in reach.

  He pulled away from the window and scanned the smoke filled room. The piano plinked a lively tune in the corner of the saloon while Deborah’s Delights kicked up their heels, showing the patrons most of their fishnet stocking legs. Men gathered at the bar, whistling and shouting catcalls. Most of the patrons gambling didn’t watch the entertainment by the piano but concentrated on their cards.

  In the corner of the room, sitting by himself at a table, was the very man Peter came in to find.

  He scooted around gaming tables and dodged oncoming painted ladies heading toward him. Finally, he stood in front of the table.

  “Are you Zed Slater?”

  The man’s hat hung low on his forehead, hiding his eyes. “Who wants to know?”

  “Peter Grayson.”

  A few awkward moments of silence lasted between them. Only the high-pitched laughter from Deborah’s harlots and the piano could be heard. Zed drummed his fingers on the table.

  “Your name means nothing to me.” Zed’s voice remained low, gruff.

  Peter shifted from one foot to the other. As a boy, he’d heard rumors. It was best to be leery of Zed Slater. Now he must push aside those rumors and face the real man. “Does Jonathan Grayson mean anything to you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Jonathan was my granddaddy. He died about seven years ago.”

  It took only a few seconds before the man’s head lifted, and his dark gaze penetrated through Peter. Once again, fear pricked his skin. Now older, he couldn’t let old ghost stories scare him.

  Zed nodded. “I remember your grandpa. Good man.”

  Peter motioned to the empty chair. “May I sit?”

  “Why?”

  “I have a proposition to make.”

  “What’re you proposing?”

  Peter slid in the chair and rested his arms on the table, his stare remaining on the man across from him. Zed had aged more than he’d thought. The half-breed’s long, black braided hair now had streaks of gray. His face appeared rough like leather.

  “I want you to find a man for me.”

  Zed shook his head. “Don’t do that anymore.”

  “I’ve heard differently.”

  The half-breed’s gaze swept over Peter, slow and eerie. “Then you’ve heard wrong.”

  “I can pay you.”

  Zed shook his head. “Not interested.”

  Peter bunched his hands into fists. The older man remained difficult. He didn’t have time for these games. He straightened and rolled his shoulders, hoping to release the stress. Out of the corner of his eye, a blotch of red hair pulled him from his thoughts. Wiping the empty table next to him, the same harlot from earlier glanced his way. When he met her gaze, she snapped her head and diverted her attention. The hussy had been eavesdropping!

  “Excuse me,” he said to her. Let’s see what was her name? “Uh, Rose, right?”

  She lifted her head and smiled, acting as if she hadn’t seen him before now. “Yes?” She straightened and came his way, swinging her hips.

  “Would you get me and my friend a shot of whiskey, please?”

  She nodded and sashayed toward the bar. Peter turned his attention back to Zed. “Tell me how much you want, then. I’m desperate to find this man.”

  Zed pushed back his hat further on his head. “Who’re you after?”

  “Hank Ashby.”

  It only took a moment before Zed threw back his head and laughed. When the man met Peter’s gaze once again, he shook his head. “Heard the sheriff’s looking for him, too.”

  “Sheriff Hampton isn’t fast enough.” Peter glanced at the bar to make certain Rose wo
uldn’t hear. “Hank stole my money, then stabbed me. I want my money back. I want justice!”

  Zed scratched his head. “I’m willing to bet once Hank is found, he won’t have your money. Knowing that boy, he’s spent every last dollar.”

  “Then I want to see him put in jail.”

  The older man leaned forward on the table and linked his hands. “Why else do you want Hank found?”

  Peter scowled. “What do you mean?”

  “Would it have anything to do with his plantation?”

  Peter shook his head. “I don’t follow.”

  “I remember your grandfather used to live there. I believe the old man would have left it to one of his grandsons one day. With Hank still around, there’s no way you can get it back, is there?”

  Peter seethed, heat rising to his face. The old man was smarter than he’d expected. But it didn’t matter. None of this was the half-breed’s business.

  “Will you find him for me or not?”

  Zed leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his large chest. Peter opened his mouth to continue, but Rose chose that moment to bring the drinks.

  “Do you want me to put it on your tab, Peter?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She turned and walked back to the empty table, peeking over her shoulder the whole way.

  He grumbled under his breath. How could he stop her from hearing? Of late, she acted suspicious. Even the other day she’d asked him about his money. Did she know something?

  He looked back at Zed. “So, will you find him for me?” he said in a lower voice.

  The man shrugged. “Depends.”

  “On what? The amount of money I pay you?”

  “No.”

  Peter growled. He was losing his patience with this man. “Then what?”

  “Depends on what you have planned to do with the lil’ lady.”

  Peter rubbed his forehead, trying to get rid of the dull pound in his skull. “What lil’ lady are you talking about?”

  “Miss Ashby.”

  Peter frowned. When had Zed become a Puritan? “What business is that of yours?”

  “Just asking. I’d hate to see her hurt.”

  “Listen, Mr. Slater. What plans I have are none of your concern. You just do the job I pay you to do.”

  Zed lifted the shot glass to his mouth and tossed back the liquor in one gulp. He set the empty glass on the table and pushed away. “I told you, I don’t do that anymore.”

  The half-breed stood and took one step, and Peter grabbed his arm. He glared at the Indian. “How much do you want? I’ll have the money next week.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Zed yanked his arm away and ambled toward the door.

  Zed hadn’t given him a straight answer, and by the way the older man acted, Peter doubted he would find Hank. Peter growled and hit the table. From the next table, Rose jumped, but continued to act as if she cleaned instead. Why would she be interested now? What exactly did she know?

  Sooner or later he’d confront her. Now he needed to return to the plantation and talk to Cecilia. Somehow he had to get back in her good graces. His heart couldn’t take her scowls any longer.

  AROUND THE DINNER TABLE there was no lively chatter as there had been most nights. Cecilia glanced at her servants. All had their heads bowed over their plates as they slopped up the mashed potatoes and baked chicken Anna-Mae prepared. Then she let her gaze stop on Peter. His elbow rested on the table, his head in his hand while he stirred his fork through his potatoes. His mouth pulled down into a frown.

  She’d kept herself busy the remainder of the day, so when he came back from town, she didn’t have time to talk to him. He tried many times, but she refused. No way could she let him sweet-talk her again...no matter how much she wanted to hear his honey-dripped sweet words and have his stare melt her heart.

  A sigh escaped her, which brought Peter’s eyes to hers. His hazel gaze silently pleaded with her, twisting her heart.

  Why couldn’t he be the man of her dreams? She wished he could see how foolish gambling was, and drinking himself into a stupor topped the list just under the other vice.

  Pulling herself away from his sorrowful eyes, she peered down at her meal. Her stomach didn’t want food. Her mind had been full of worries of late, which made eating very difficult. Of course, her idiotic brother didn’t help.

  Neither had Peter.

  She pushed away from the table and stood. “Anna-Mae, you’ve outdone yourself once again. Thank you for a wonderful and tasty meal.”

  The black woman glanced at Cecilia’s still full plate and frowned. “But, Miss Celia, ya haven’t eaten enough to keep a bird alive.”

  Cecilia smiled. “I’m not really hungry tonight.”

  “Are ya feelin’ all right, honey-chile?”

  “No, I’m not. My stomach is bothering me again.”

  Peter sat up straight, worry creasing his forehead. “Is there something I can do, Miss Cecilia?”

  “No. I’ll be fine with a little rest.”

  The other servants nodded and wished her goodnight, except for Peter. His intense stare burned right through to her soul, making her want to cry. She hurried out of the kitchen before embarrassing herself in front of him by letting the dam of tears free.

  She’d made it halfway up the stairs before a deep voice called her name. Stopping, she sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. Peter, please go away.

  She swallowed and asked without looking at him. “What do you need, Mr. Grayson?”

  The stairs creaked with each step he took toward her. She didn’t turn, but waited for him. When his hand covered hers on the railing, she looked at him over her shoulder.

  “Cecilia, what’s wrong? What’s really wrong?”

  A large lump formed in her throat. “Nothing is wrong.” Her voice squeaked.

  “You’re not getting sick again, are you?”

  Her mouth tugged into a smile. She couldn’t help it. The thought of him being worried over her made giddiness spring to her chest. “No, Peter. It’s not that. I’ve just been having stomach problems. That’s all, I promise.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want me to fetch the doctor?” His thumb stroked her knuckles.

  Her heart leapt. “No.”

  “Anything? Anything at all I can help you with?”

  She grinned. “No, Peter. Nothing.”

  His attention lowered to her mouth, and in reaction, she swallowed hard. Heaven help her, she wanted him to kiss her. Her throat turned cotton dry.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Do you need me to tuck you into bed?”

  Her heart flipped crazily, reminding her of what happened the last time he took her to the bedroom. She scolded her traitorous body. “No. I definitely don’t need you to help me with that.”

  He swiped his fingers up her arm. “How about another back rub?”

  Blast him for being so charming, and blast those hypnotic eyes of his, begging her to relent. “No, Peter.”

  He remained on the step below her for the longest time. An awkward silence passed between them, but she didn’t want to break the spell. His chest rose and fell just as quickly as the speed of her breaths. She fought an inward battle to keep from leaning into him and resting her face on the curve of his neck, inhaling the manly scent that drove her wild with wanting.

  Clearing his throat, he pulled away and stepped down. “If you change your mind, let me know.” He winked.

  “I will.”

  He gave her his charming grin before heading back down the stairs. When he turned the corner and out of sight, she breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she’d built her resistance against him...or maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough.

  She shook her head and rushed to her room, closing the door tightly behind her. Her heart raced, and her skin tingled, reminding her how wonderful it felt in his arms. Would she ever stop thinking about that night? She must.

  Taking her time, she changed into her
bedclothes and sat at her vanity while brushing her hair. It had grown longer since she’d taken over her role as mistress of Belle Grove. As soon as she could get the plantation in order, she’d cut it and resume her life as a doctor. Although dressing and acting as a woman pleased her, she missed her patients.

  She sighed and placed the brush on the table. One of these days, the town would accept woman doctors. She prayed that day would come soon.

  From outside, the wind howled through the trees, making the branches scrape against the window. She stood and moved to look out. Darkness covered the sky, hiding most of the stars. Clouds barely hid a half-moon, but she could still see the overseer’s cottage down the path. A light shined through the window. Was Peter there?

  She groaned and thumped her head against the window. Would she ever stop thinking about him this way? How could she convince her heart to leave him be? Talking to him and voicing her feelings was the only way. Along with that, she should voice her concerns and tell him why they could never be together. And...he had to leave. Especially for her state of mind.

  Cecilia rushed back to her dressing screen and hurried through changing clothes, slipping into a dress. If she didn’t talk to him soon, she’d convince herself this was a bad idea. As soon as she finished, she grabbed her shawl and made her way down the stairs toward the door.

  She watched the hallways closely in case Anna-Mae wandered out and asked questions. Luck remained on her side for she had gone undetected and she left out the front door.

  The moon didn’t light her path very well, but she knew her route well, and Peter’s cottage wasn’t very far away.

  Just before she walked out of the shadows from the tree canopying the way, Peter came out and closed the door behind him. He didn’t notice her, so she slipped behind a tree.

  After fitting his hat on his head, he strode toward the barn. Her heart leapt to her throat. Where could he possibly be going this time at night?

  She followed at a distance, and he didn’t give any indication he’d heard her footsteps crunching in the leaves. The wind blew dust against her face, and she stopped herself from sneezing quite a few times. Bundling the shawl around her shoulders, she pushed forward.