Ashes and Memories (12 page)

Closing his eyes, he reined in his temper. Hadn’t he decided just that morning to use a more subtle approach with Miss Parker? Barging into her office and kissing her until that icy reserve of hers melted was not exactly subtle. He’d suffered a setback, a temporary setback. That was to be expected in a campaign such as this. He just didn’t like the idea of being thwarted.

The jealousy he’d felt at her announcement that she was having dinner with Thaddeus had taken him by surprise, just as it had last night. No, not jealousy. Why would he feel jealousy over Emma Parker? He had no claim on her, hell, he didn’t even like her. And she wasn’t his type at all. He liked his women soft and tractable, strong in the ways a woman should be strong, but smart enough not to challenge him in public.

Like Sarah. The thought sprung into his mind before he could crush it, leaving behind the sickly residue of grief. Sarah, his beautiful Sarah, a white gardenia, sweet, beautiful fragile.

Dead.

“How did she die?” he heard himself asking.

No, he would not remember.

With a shuddering breath, he regained control, focusing on the here and now. He forced himself to remember his goal, the goal that had been driving him since that cold December day so long ago when he’d decided to live again.

Emma Parker posed a danger to that goal. Not her newspaper. He could deal with that anytime he chose. Miss Parker’s threat went much deeper than that. She was the first woman since Sarah who had been able to make him feel anything beyond physical desire, and before he was finished with her, he would prove to himself he could conquer the weakness she’d awakened in him.

He should have seen this coming, after the way the doctor had looked at her last night. If his strategy of seduction were to be successful, he couldn’t allow her attention to be divided between two men. The doctor just might win her heart with that damned bedside manner of his, and where would that leave him?

Fury swelled inside him at the implications of the word
bedside
. He was not jealous, he told himself as he stalked toward his horse and took up the reins, he just didn’t like losing, not that he had lost yet. Hell, he was twice the man the doctor was with his meek, self-effacing manner and bookish bent. It was actually funny that he had even entertained the idea of being jealous of that insipid....
 

Reece swung up into the saddle, turning to gaze one last time at the newspaper office. Let her have her dinner with the doctor. There would be other opportunities, he would make sure of that.

#####

“Big plans tonight, doc?" Reece asked as he filled the doctor’s empty whiskey glass.

“Oh, no more for me,” Thaddeus Stevens said, holding up a hand in protest.

“On the house,” Reece told him, recorking the bottle and placing it on the bar. He straightened, sniffing dramatically. “You smell like a rose garden.”

Thaddeus smiled shyly, awakening the irritation that slept just beneath Reece’s surface calm. Thaddeus Stevens just might be the most annoying man Reece had ever met. How could a man with such a meek, unassuming demeanor exhibit the kind of courage and determination that could win Reece’s respect and even admiration?

They had nothing in common, but the strongest of bonds tied them together forever. They had saved one another’s lives.

“Just going to the hotel for dinner. “The doctor sipped the whiskey in his glass, eyeing himself in the mirror behind the bar and flattening a stubborn cowlick.

He’d come into the saloon a few minutes ago in dire need of a drink to calm his nerves, and Reece had personally filled his glass three times. Maybe he’d get so drunk he couldn’t find the damned hotel.

“Are you sweet on Miss Howell?" Reece asked.

The doctor choked on his drink. “Certainly not,” he said when he could speak again. “I mean, Miss Howell is nice enough, but --" He paused, realization illuminating his serious face. “I see. You’re making sport of me.”

“Just making conversation,” Reece said with a shrug.

Thaddeus raised himself to his full, unimpressive height. “If you must know, I’m meeting Miss Parker for dinner,” he said with a proud smile. “Unless you plan to arrest her or shoot her.”

“Why would I do that?" Reece asked, feigning hurt.

Stevens wagged a finger at him. “Miss Parker got her paper out, and I’m sure you tried to prevent that. You haven’t been able to control her quite as easily as you control the rest of the town.”

“Well,” Reece said with a shrug, “I haven’t exerted myself either." He leaned back against the far wall, admiring his handiwork. It took so very little to get the doctor tipsy, and he was so amusing when he was under the influence. Another drink or two and he’d fall asleep in his soup tonight.

“I’m sure you must be concerned that her newspaper might erode your influence here in Providence. You might have to let the people actually make a few decisions on their own.”

Reece laughed shortly. “You should know me better than that, doc, after all this time. When have I ever allowed anything to come between me and something I wanted?”

“She’s a very fine lady,” the doctor asserted, his eyes wide with concern.

“Yes she is,” Reece agreed, filling the doctor’s glass again.

Reece’s agreement seemed to take some of the wind out of the doctor’s sails.

“She shouldn’t be frequenting saloons.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. Maybe you should point that out to her." Reece couldn’t help smiling at the picture of Thaddeus Stevens attempting to instruct Miss Parker on propriety. It would be a show well worth seeing.

Just then the front door slammed open and Nate Dixon came charging into the saloon, his eyes wild and terrified. He rushed directly to the doctor and grabbed him by the lapels, turning him around to face him.

“Doc Stevens, you gotta come now. Mary’s having the baby.”

“Now?" Stevens asked. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, doc! Come on!”

“Yes,” the doctor said, grabbing his hat and gazing briefly at Reece before turning his attention back to the man who still maintained his hold on him. “I just have to take care of --”

“There ain’t time, doc! She’s in a bad way!”

“I’ll see that Miss Parker gets word that you’ve been called away unexpectedly,” Reece offered magnanimously.

Doctor Stevens hesitated, the anguish clearly etched on his face. He gazed from Reece to Dixon and back to Reece. “Tell her --”

“Don’t worry,” Reece told him. “I’ll take care of it. Now go.”

Reece watched as Dixon practically dragged the doctor from the room, musing that sometimes, every now and again providence could be kind.

#####

Emma peered in the mirror one last time, smoothing her hands down the front of her bodice to straighten the wrinkles that persisted. She should have hung the dress out all day, but she hadn’t decided to wear it until just a few minutes ago.

Would Reece MacBride be eating in the hotel tonight? She turned her mind away as soon as the thought formed. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care -- if only she didn’t care.

How could she be so drawn to the man and so repelled by him at the same time? The things he did, everything he stood for, filled her with loathing. But she could not get over the image she’d created in her own mind of a fallen angel who bore the scars of some terrible ordeal that had caused him to become the hard, unyielding man he was today.

The sadness in his eyes spoke of a terrible loss. She sensed that the well of anger inside him and his fierce need for control were his way of coping with the pain she glimpsed from time to time, a pain so like her father’s

War had changed her father profoundly, and she wondered if the same were true of Reece. He must have been very young when the war started. Was it war that had darkened his soul?

“You’re being ridiculous, Emma,” she said aloud. She was having dinner with one man and obsessed with thoughts of another. But it wasn’t as if she and the doctor -- Thaddeus -- were courting. This wasn’t a romantic tryst. It was just dinner.

The clock struck seven, the sound startling her out of her disturbing thoughts. She was supposed to be meeting Doctor... Thaddeus at the hotel right now.

She lifted the lid of the chest that occupied a corner of the room and rummaged through the contents in search of her shawl. Her hand closed on something soft, and she drew it out.

Black button eyes peered back at her from a face that was nearly as familiar as her own. Her heart caught in her throat, and she braced herself against the memories that flew at her from the darkness of her soul.

“Esmeralda." The word came out a choked whisper. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the present, tried not to see her father’s round, smiling face.

The rag doll was more than a toy. She’d been a companion to a lonely little girl who had never known what it meant to have a mother and who had cried herself to sleep because she was afraid she’d never see her father again.

Daddy had given her the doll for her eighth birthday. He’d been so proud of himself, and she’d been so delighted to get the present. Esmeralda meant more to her than any other gift he’d ever given her.

Tears welled behind her eyes, and she fought to keep them at bay. She’d vowed long ago that she’d never again cry like that for anyone, and she’d kept her promise, even when she’d stood over her father’s grave.

But now the tears slid down her cheeks, and there was nothing she could do to stop the sorrow from overwhelming her. He’d been everything to her, the only parent she’d ever had. Her mother had died when she was four, and she only remembered vague impressions of her.

He’d been her world until the day he put on his gray uniform and rode away from her, glancing back once to wave and smile.

“I’ll be back by Christmas,” he’d told her. It was the first time he’d ever lied to her.

Her arms held the beloved toy tightly to her as if they had a will of their own. Memories clamored inside her mind -- the blood that had spread on the ground around his head, the blood that had covered the hand that was still locked around the pistol when she’d found him, the blood that had stained his shirt--

“No!" She clasped Esmeralda desperately, beating down the numbing horror, grimly struggling to resist the pull of memory, but it would not be conquered.

She’d sat in the dark for hours that terrible night, alternating between anger and helplessness, disbelief and madness. She hadn’t cried, hadn’t been able to cry. As soon as the sky had begun to lighten, she’d started digging his grave, and the pain and fatigue had kept her mind occupied.

Now there was nothing but emptiness and reality. Daddy was gone. He’d killed himself, and she hadn’t been able to stop him.

His death had left a hole in her soul, in her heart. Weak though he might have been, broken and defeated by whatever the war had done to him, she still needed him. She needed his advice, his arms around her, his calm voice telling her he loved her.

She struggled without success to stem the flow of her tears, but the pain and grief in her breast would not be denied any longer. She sank into a chair in the corner, rocking Esmeralda and surrendering to the sorrow that had been building inside her for thirteen long years.

“Are you all right, Miss Parker?”

CHAPTER SIX

Miss Parker came to her feet and whirled around with a gasp. The sight of her tear-streaked face sent a shaft of pain through Reece’s heart and he froze. She tried to wipe away the wetness, tried to appear calm and controlled, but she only succeeded in appearing even more vulnerable.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, though her voice quivered with the effort not to cry.

Quiet enveloped him, her soft sobs that were more like hiccups the only sound in the room. They tore through his nerves like a lash on bare skin.

Reece swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. His first impulse was to comfort her as he would have comforted Sarah, as he had comforted her when he’d told her he was leaving for the war. It was the first and only time he’d ever seen Sarah cry.

He didn’t want to get that close to Emma Parker, didn’t want to witness her grief, didn’t want to care.

He wished to God he hadn’t come here. Right now, he would rather be just about anywhere than where he was, standing here feeling foolish and awkward and remembering things from another lifetime. Sarah was dead. And the man he had been, the man she had known, was dead, too.

The image of three wooden crosses flashed in his mind -- silently mocking, brutally final.

Reece forced his mind back to the present, but the dark desolation followed him, clinging to his soul as he struggled to cling to sanity.

“I knocked,” he explained, his voice coarse like wagon wheels on gravel. He took a tentative step toward her, his hat clutched tightly in his hands. “You didn’t answer.”

“I’m sorry." She attempted a laugh and failed. “Just give me a minute --”

Her voice quivering, she broke off as her eyes filled with tears once again and she turned away.

Her sorrow filled him, dredging up memories of his own. She was every bit as alone as he had been the day he’d returned to find Longwood gone, everything gone. At least she could cry. He’d stood before the rubble of his life dry eyed, numb and broken, unable to feel or move or accept what he saw with his own eyes.

She needed comfort, but God, he couldn’t give it to her. He felt like a coward, but he needed desperately to get away. The urge to reach out to her pounded inside him. He could not do that. It would be too risky, too costly. She touched something deep inside him, something he’d struggled for thirteen years to subdue. He would not have his damned weakness resurrected now.

“Perhaps I should wait downstairs or come back --”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, weeping into her cupped hands, her shoulders shaking with silent tears.

Unable to resist the impulse any longer, Reece crossed the room and touched her tentatively on the shoulder. He half expected her to draw away, but she turned naturally into his arms, as if she had done so a hundred times before.

His breath caught at the feel of her trembling against him. He wanted to pull away, to leave, to deny the tenderness surging inside him, but his arms went around her, and the wave of affection turned into a torrent that threatened to break through the carefully constructed dam around his soul.