Cassandra Austin (13 page)

* * *

“How long have you worked for the Prescotts?” Lynnette had just dumped an armload of white undergarments into the tub of hot soapy water. Martha added more wood to the little fire where more water heated.

They had set up for wash day on a rock-paved area just outside the kitchen door. Jake had helped, then hurried off. The sounds of hammering drifted from the far side of the barn. Yesterday’s wind had torn some shingles loose, creating a few leaks in the barn’s roof, and Christian had asked Arlen to help with repairs. The sound, echoing through the huge structure and off the rocky hill behind it, seemed somehow reassuring to Lynnette. She decided that was because they weren’t working where she could see them, high above the ground.

Martha took so long to answer Lynnette’s question she began to wish she hadn’t asked. She took the long wooden paddle and stirred the clothes. Finally the older woman spoke. “I came just before Christian was born, to look after his mother.”

“Felicia,” Lynnette said, almost absently. Nothing in the current batch of clothes needed real scrubbing. They could come out as soon as the rinse water was ready.

“Felicia isn’t Christian’s mother,” Martha said.

The paddle froze in midcircle. Lynnette tried to sound only vaguely interested. “I didn’t know that.”

“No,” Martha said, stirring her hand around in the rinse tub. Jake had carried water from the well until it was half-full, and Martha had been adding kettlefuls of boiling water.

Lynnette watched the older woman. Was that all the information she would get? She turned the paddle thoughtfully. At least she understood why Christian looked so different from his brother and sister. Was he the little boy with the blurred face in the picture in her room? How old was that child, five or six? Did Christian remember his mother? Had she died or had she, like Felicia, left Hugh? And her little son?

That was an uncomfortable thought. She wished Martha would volunteer more information. Her imagination was liable to be far worse than the truth.

Several minutes later, Martha carried one of the kettles from the fire to the rinse tub. As she raised it above the rim, Lynnette asked, “What happened to her?”

“Anna?” Martha glanced up before turning her attention back to the steaming water pouring from the spout. “She died when Christian was three. She was never very strong.” The kettle was empty, and Martha let it hang at her side for a moment. “I better put this on to heat for the next batch.” She headed for the pump to refill the kettle.

Three, Lynnette thought. There must have been at least a couple years between Anna’s death and Felicia’s arrival if the picture was taken shortly after Felicia and Hugh’s marriage. And who would have looked after the little boy but Martha?

Martha joined her again in a few minutes and took the wooden paddle from her. She used it to lift garments out of the water then pushed them between the rollers on the wringer while Lynnette turned the crank.

When she had dropped three garments into the rinse
tub, Lynnette’s curiosity got the better of her. “What was she like?”

Martha smiled. “She was a sweet little thing. She wanted everyone else to be happy and felt responsible if they weren’t. Christian’s like her that way.”

Lynnette was trying to phrase another question when Martha continued, “That was before this house was built.” She tipped her head in the direction of the big stone structure. “That was built for Felicia. Hugh and Anna lived in the frame house where Perry and I live now. I moved in to care for Anna and watch the baby after he was born. It was almost like he was my own.”

Lynnette looked up to see Martha smiling into the wash water.
It still is
, she thought. Martha seemed to recall herself. “I’ll get the next batch.” She headed for the kitchen.

Lynnette slid the paddle around the tub one more time, came up with a white stocking, and ran it through the wringer. Perhaps she shouldn’t ask any more questions. Yet, if she was going to be part of this family, wasn’t it acceptable for her to be curious about it? She tried to dismiss the idea that it was mainly Christian she was curious about.

In a few minutes, Martha returned with an armload of clothes. Her wash-day method called for starting with the cleanest, lightest-colored clothes and working toward the dark, dirt-caked work pants. The water lasted longer that way. A few badly-stained items had been put to soak in buckets to get a head start on the dirt.

“What was Arlen’s childhood like?” Lynnette
asked as she stirred the new batch of clothes. She could almost believe that was really the question she wanted to ask.

“Pretty normal, I guess. Whatever else I might say about her, Felicia was a loving mother.”

“Whatever else you might say?” As soon as it left her lips, Lynnette realized that she had overstepped. Family history was one thing; gossip with the help was another.

But Martha only laughed. “No, we didn’t get along, if that’s what you’re asking. I think she was jealous of Christian’s relationship with me. She found fault with nearly everything I did. Hugh wouldn’t fire me, though. He knew Christian needed me. I think she was relieved when I married Perry and we had Jake, but by then Christian was nearly grown.”

Martha moved to help Lynnette run the rinsed garments through the ringer again. “I didn’t drive her away, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Martha said softly. “I wouldn’t have hurt the boys—or Hugh—like that. She wasn’t cut out for the loneliness here or for the work. She’s happier in the city.”

“Does she ever visit?”

Martha shook her head. “Hugh’s been to see her, and of course Arlen comes and goes.”

And she tells Emily to give Christian an extra hug for her.

When the last garment had been through the ringer and dropped into a basket, Martha sent Lynnette off to the clothesline with a bag of wooden pins. As she hung the clothes on the line, she thought about the little boy who had lost his mother when he was three,
then braided his little sister’s hair after her mother was gone.

More questions burned in her mind, about Christian, but she knew she couldn’t ask.

“How is it, brother, that you can always find work to do?” Arlen sat braced against the scaffolding, hammering a shingle back in place.

Christian glanced at him from his higher perch. “And exciting work, too,” he said.

“Yeah. This roof doesn’t look so steep from the ground.”

“This isn’t steep.” Christian grinned at his brother. He had intentionally given Arlen the safest place to work, if any place on this huge roof could be considered safe. “You ought to work on the house’s gables some time.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Arlen eased over and found another loose shingle. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Lynnette is a lady, of course, so she isn’t going to…well…enjoy my touch, so to speak. But what if she actually refuses me after we’re married?”

Christian’s hammer missed the head of the nail and bent it double. He felt lucky he hadn’t smashed his thumb. He straightened the nail enough to still be usable as he tried to frame an answer.

Arlen took his silence as a need for clarification. “I mean she lets me kiss her. She doesn’t push me away. And I don’t expect her to actually be inviting or anything.”

Inviting? God, Christian thought she was inviting! He remembered sitting at her feet while she talked, longing to touch her. He thought of standing in the dark hallway and pulling her against him. She hadn’t resisted his touch, had been soft and pliable in his arms. He tried to brush the thoughts away. His thumb could get it yet.

“As you said, she’s a lady.” He tried to make his voice sound normal. “What are you asking?”

“How much force should I use?”

“None!” Christian almost dropped his hammer.

Arlen moved closer to him. “I didn’t mean that, exactly. I mean how forceful should I be? I’ll want to do it, and, of course, she won’t. I assumed she would have been taught to submit, but I’m not so sure anymore. She’s argued with me on more than one occasion.”

Christian had never in his life wanted to strike his brother—until now. If they hadn’t been perched on the barn roof, he thought he might have. He made an effort to be calm. “Arlen, the fact that she argues with you simply proves she has a brain. It has nothing to do with sex. And do you really want a woman who merely submits?” He realized he hadn’t been entirely successful at staying calm.

“Of course it’s not what I
want
, but it’s all I can expect from a lady. And a lady is what I need for my career.”

Christian turned away, trying to go back to work. “I have absolutely no experience with unwilling women,” he said tightly. Did he really hope his brother would let it drop? Somehow, for Lynnette’s
sake, he needed to straighten out Arlen’s thinking. But this was the last thing he wanted to be talking about.

“I was just worried, that’s all.” Arlen sounded hurt. Christian felt his jaw clench. “It can be very difficult for men in politics to take a mistress.”

That did it. “You aren’t even married, and you’re talking about a mistress? I thought you were in love with her.”

“I am,” Arlen said. “But love doesn’t have anything to do with sex, either.”

Arlen sounded as though he were explaining something to a simpleton. Christian had heard him use that tone on Lynnette and wondered where in the hell he had learned it. He reminded himself to stay calm. His brother was obviously misguided.

Christian took a deep breath. “When I first brought her here,” he said evenly, “she seemed embarrassed when I kissed Emily. I don’t think she’s used to any displays of affection. I suggest you make sure you’re alone.” Oh yes! I don’t want to ever see it! “Then…seduce her.”

“What!” Arlen was incredulous.

“I think your best bet is to teach her to want you.” He turned away so Arlen couldn’t see his face. He wanted to scream at him not to ever touch her. Instead he went back to work on the roof, grateful that Arlen kept any further thoughts to himself.

A
den’s behavior had changed. Lynnette noticed it on Monday afternoon. He took her for a walk past Martha’s house and garden. Once they were beyond the house’s dooryard, the walking became difficult. They picked their way around rocks and puddles until they were assured of privacy.

Arlen found a rock on which to sit, removed his coat to serve as a cushion and helped Lynnette to be seated. The rain had left the air clear and freshsmelling; the sun made it virtually sparkle. She gazed off across the grassy slopes and tried to fit the man beside her into a novel. She couldn’t have a politician for a hero; no one would believe
that.
Where did he fit in her imaginary ranch? As a banker? A lawyer? He was supposed to be the hero.

“Your skin reminds me of the petals of a wild rose,” he said softly.

Lynnette hoped her face didn’t register her surprise. Arlen had always been free with the compliments, but there was something different about his tone, something…well…seductive.
Besides, her skin was far from wild-rose pink, it was actually starting to tan.

She might argue with everything else, but she didn’t normally argue with compliments. She turned toward him and hoped her smile looked appropriately grateful.
His
cheeks had a definite rose hue about them. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from giggling.

“Such cruel treatment of tender lips,” he said, taking her chin in his hand. “You should leave them to me to take care of.” He moved slowly toward her and gave her lips the barest brush with his own.

His eyes were closed as he slowly drew away. She was struck again with how handsome he was, his face almost artist perfect. A doctor, she decided. His eyes opened slowly, and she shook herself. She had to get back to the here and now.

“Did I scare you with the kiss?” he almost whispered. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“No,” she answered truthfully. “You didn’t scare me.”

“Good.” His voice was a sultry whisper. “I don’t want you to be scared of me. I want you to like me to touch you.” He ran a finger along her jaw to her ear. “Your lips taste like honey.”

Taste? She bit her lip again. How could he have tasted anything? She might not have much experience with kissing, but she had read about it. Lovers could do considerably more tasting than that, which, she realized, was exactly his intent.

His hand slipped to the back of her neck and held her firmly. His lips made gentle contact with hers and stayed there. After a long second, his lips parted, allowing
his tongue to tease the slit between her lips. Curious, she parted hers as well.

His reaction startled her. He shifted slightly, and her upper body was pressed closer to his. How was that possible? His other hand was at the small of her back. Of course. She hadn’t noticed it there before.

And his lips! They certainly weren’t just
touching
hers anymore. They were molded to them. They were engulfing them. They were somehow commanding hers to return the pressure, for survival, she thought. His tongue made a brief foray into her mouth, then traced the inside of her lips.

She felt his body shudder and wondered if his seat on the rock was less than secure. Surely he would break the kiss and catch himself before he tumbled off. It was his problem, though, she thought. She was busy enjoying the kiss. She would be able to write about kissing much better now.

Abruptly Arlen broke away. He was breathless, but didn’t appear to be in danger of losing his balance. What did one say after a kiss? Thank you? That was very nice? She decided silence was better. She looked down at her hands, which had remained folded on her lap.

“I better take you back.”

She thought she detected a tremor in his voice. Perhaps he had had to work harder at kissing than she had. After all, all she had had to do was sit still. At any rate he seemed exhausted, and she decided returning was a good idea.

A similar incident occurred that evening, another on Tuesday morning and twice more on Tuesday afternoon.
Each time, Arlen was a little bolder with his tongue and with his hands. Occasionally his touch, close to her breast, for example, made her feel uncomfortable. She tried not to let it show, but he must have sensed it for his hand always moved away.

Being married to Arlen wasn’t going to be bad, she decided. Particularly if he refrained from talking. His outlandish compliments always made her want to giggle. One time her eyes started to water at the effort of holding it inside. She could only imagine how hurt he would be if he knew what emotion had made her misty-eyed.

At least, she reasoned, he no longer objected to anything she said or did. Of course, he hadn’t started any political discussions in her presence. Still, it was nice to have his encouragement when she went off to write—about the handsome young doctor on the frontier.

By Wednesday morning, she had to admit the story wasn’t going well. Her characters didn’t seem real, even to her. And she was starting to dream about the rancher she had buried in the bottom of her trunk. He crawled out at night and demanded to be given life.

Thinking of the rancher, of course, made her think of Christian. She had barely seen him since Sunday. He skipped most meals or ate elsewhere. He made an appearance in the evening only to braid Emily’s hair. He and Emily had ridden out to check on the cattle Monday afternoon. He had spent Tuesday showing horses to a prospective buyer, the one he had met in town on Saturday. That day Arlen had taken her and
Emily on a picnic at noon so the other three men could talk business over lunch.

She missed Christian, her rancher hero. She sat on the balcony off her bedroom with the notebook on her lap. The weather had turned from warm to hot, and she knew there would be more of a breeze on one of the balconies downstairs on the other side of the house. But she couldn’t bring herself to move. Downstairs, Arlen was bound to seek her out, and she needed a respite from his attention.

Besides, she was more likely to catch a glimpse of Christian from here. She had vowed to set aside the fantasy along with the rancher novel. She had worked hard for two days to concentrate on Arlen. “My future husband,” she said under her breath, as if forming the words would help impress them on her mind.

And it was working, she told herself. This morning was simply a minor setback, cold feet, perhaps. She slammed the notebook shut, gathered her writing supplies and moved resolutely to a downstairs balcony.

Two hours and half a page later three riders came into view below. They were all well dressed, and none rode with the easy grace she was used to seeing when she watched anyone on the ranch ride. Lynnette watched them pass the front of the house and turn up the drive beside the barn. She placed the stopper in the ink bottle and went in search of a family member.

She found Arlen in the study. At her brief description of the visitors, he came to his feet, elated. “What are they doing way out here?” He brushed past her and hurried to the back door. Lynnette considered following, but the back hall was narrow. Besides, Arlen
would probably wish to introduce her in a more formal setting.

In the living room, she took a seat in one of the leather chairs and reached for a book on a nearby table. It was one of Emily’s. She leafed through it absently. It occurred to her that she was posing, making herself ready for Arlen to display to his friends. How had she fallen into this? She was trying to do what she knew he would want. That wasn’t necessarily wrong, but it didn’t feel right either.

She hastily closed the book and returned it to the table as she rose. She was hurrying toward the balcony when she heard the back door close and voices in the hall. She took the notebook onto her lap and waited. In a moment, the voices faded behind the study door. So much for knowing what Arlen wanted.

She stared off across the valley. Was everything she did pretense now? She pretended to write about Arlen when she wanted to write about Christian. She pretended to enjoy Arlen’s kisses when she really only studied them. She pretended to be what Arlen wanted, when she knew she never could be. And she still hadn’t told him about
Passion’s Secret.
After all the time they spent alone, how could she claim she hadn’t had a chance?

She should share all of these things with Arlen—well maybe not the part about his kisses—but the rest. She should be completely honest with him. If she couldn’t do that, it was reason enough to know she couldn’t marry him.

The old panic came back in a rush. Where would
she go? What would she do? And, to her shame, she didn’t want to leave and never see Christian again.

Christian. Dear Lord, he was the center of it all. If she had never met him she might have fallen in love with Arlen—or not, but she would know it was because of Arlen, who he was rather than who he wasn’t.

But she
had
met Christian. And that changed everything. Whatever the personal cost might be, she would have to break up with Arlen and leave. If either of the men knew how she felt, it would destroy their relationship. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Lynnette! Where are you?” Arlen’s call broke into her contemplation. She rose and stepped into the living room. “There you are. I need to go to Topeka. I’m going to pack a few things and leave with my friends. Will you tell the family?”

“Of course.”

He kissed her on the cheek and hurried up the stairs. She found herself alone with three very curious young men. She motioned them toward chairs and took one herself. “What’s the emergency?” she asked.

“A meeting he has to attend,” the nearest one explained. “We couldn’t count on a telegram being delivered out in the country so we took the late train out yesterday.”

“And rented horses this morning,” offered another. “I don’t relish the thought of riding back to town.”

Lynnette tried to hide a smile. “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

They all shook their heads. “The maid brought us lemonade already,” the nearest said.

They glanced at one another, and one cleared his
throat. She had the impression they wanted to ask her something, but none had the nerve. Arlen hadn’t mentioned who she was. Of course not, he hadn’t had the time. It seemed awkward now for her to introduce herself. Arlen would no doubt explain later that she was his intended bride—though it was no longer true. She tried her best to smile at them.

Arlen returned a moment later, ready to travel. He must have told Martha to have someone saddle a horse because the four riders went past the house a few short minutes after they had left the living room.

And just that quickly, Arlen was gone. She found herself taking a deep breath as if a tight corset had just been loosened. She hadn’t even thought to ask when he would return.

Christian saddled the horse and saw his brother off. Arlen said he would be back on Friday. Three days, Christian thought, when the torture would ease up a little. He walked slowly back to the barn.

Had it been only two days since he had advised Arlen to seduce Lynnette? It seemed like an eternity. Every time the two of them walked away together, he
knew
what they were doing. Every time they reappeared, he studied her for signs of just how far it had gone.

There had been no rent seams or grass clinging to her hair. Of course, she would be very careful about things like that. Still she always seemed unruffled, in demeanor as well as clothes.

But Arlen. God! Arlen came back looking like Tyrant when he had made off with something tasty from
Martha’s kitchen. He was puffed up and flushed and entirely too pleased.

He wished he’d told Arlen something else. He had long since decided that the altitude of the barn roof had kept him from thinking clearly. Why hadn’t he used the opportunity to tell Arlen not to marry her? He knew why, and it wasn’t because he was thinking of Arlen’s happiness. If Arlen ended the engagement she would leave, and he would never see her again.

He still should have come up with something that wouldn’t be such hell to watch. Or something that would have made her so mad at him
she
would have broken it off. He even imagined her running to him for protection.

He slumped against the wall in the tack room, grateful that he was alone in the barn. He could never have done it. He loved his brother, and it wasn’t in his nature to trick people anyway. He wanted to see Arlen happy. And Lynnette happy, too.

No, he had done the right thing. If Arlen could coax her to passion it could go a long way toward future happiness for both of them. He was just grateful that for a few days, he wouldn’t have to watch.

He didn’t have time to moon around. He grabbed three halters off the nails on the wall and headed for the corral. He had told Jake to turn the three-year-olds into the corral while he saddled Arlen’s horse. It was time he got back to work.

He found Hugh waiting for him. His horse was tethered to the fence, and he stood impatiently beside it. Christian handed the halters to Jake and walked to meet his father.

“Can I have a word with you, son? Is there something wrong between you and your brother?”

His father’s blunt question took him by surprise. “Wrong? What makes you ask?”

“You’re missing far more meals than your work justifies. I don’t think it’s Emily. You and I get along well enough at breakfast so I don’t think it’s me. That leaves Arlen. Are you avoiding him?”

Damn! If he denied it would Hugh think of Lynnette next? He needed to prevent that conclusion. “It was nothing important,” he said. He was studying the toes of his boots and tried to force his gaze upward. “We patched it up just now, before he left.”

“He left? I must have missed him.”

Good. Let’s change the subject.
“Three friends from Topeka came out to get him. There’s some meeting or other they think he needs to attend. Say, how did everything look out there?”

“Fair. It was a pretty general rain but we could use some more.” He threw an arm around Christian’s shoulder and started back toward the corral. “So everything’s patched up, then? We can expect you at lunch?”

“Sure. Uh, I’m sorry about before. I just didn’t want any tension between us bothering the ladies.” God, it was hard to lie to his father.