Colorado Dawn (26 page)

“You’re going to Denver?”

She almost stepped back, sorry she had mentioned it. “Yes, for the statehood convention.”

“The Blue River area is on the way. If you take the left route over Hoosier Pass, you’ll be right on it. Maybe you’ll see something to jog your memory.”

“I’m not sure which route we’ll take.” She glanced over to the front desk and caught Lucinda’s eye. “But if you will leave me your direction, I will send word if I remember anything.”

“Ma’am—”

“Good evening,” Lucinda cut in, gliding up. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She gave Zucker an apologetic smile before saying to Maddie, “Your husband is looking for you. He headed upstairs a few minutes ago with the dogs.” Maddie thought she might have put extra emphasis on “husband” and “dogs.” Clever lady, Lucinda.

“Please leave your direction with Miss Hathaway here,” Maddie told Zucker. “If I remember anything, I will send word.” Then ignoring his attempt to delay her further, she bid them both good
night and went up the stairs, thankful that the room was registered under the name of Ashby rather than Wallace.

There was something odd about Mr. Zucker…

When Maddie opened the door to the suite, she saw Ash seated in one of the chairs beside the sitting room window. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his splayed knees as he studied dozens of photographs spread on the floor between his feet. The box in which they had been stored lay open by his chair.

“What are you doing?” she asked, slipping off her coat.

He picked up a photograph and studied it. “I watched you take this today.”

She stepped closer to see which one he held. It was the ground-level view of the rutted road stretching away to the mountains. It had turned out rather nicely, she thought. “Do you like it?” she asked, going back to hang her coat on a hook beside the door.

“When I saw you lying on the ground behind your camera, I thought ‘what is that daft woman up to now?’ I dinna know what you were doing. Or what you saw. Now I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“ ’Tis magic you create, so it is. This picture pulls me in. It makes me want to be on that road. To follow it all the way to the mountains. The mystery. The freedom. The endless sky. You’ve captured it all right here. On this small square of paper.”

His words brought tears to her eyes. How gratifying that a hardened, disciplined man like Ash, who had pattered his life around violent practicalities and unyielding realities, would appreciate the nuances of her work. “Thank you, Ash.”

He looked up, his expression as serious as she had ever seen it. He looked quite…defeated. “You have a gift, lass. I dinna realize how great it was until now. I dinna understand.”

She came forward and knelt on the other side of the photographs, facing him. Sitting back on her heels, she tipped her head to study him. “Understand what, Ash?” she asked again.

With a deep sigh, he slumped back, his eyes drifting closed. “I canna do it.” He said it so softly, she knew the remark was directed
at himself, rather than her. But before she could question him on it, he abruptly changed the subject. “How was your meeting?”

“What? Oh…” Troubled by his weary tone, she tried to inject energy into her voice as if to compensate for the lack of it in his. “It was Mr. Zucker. The man who sent the letter through Declan.”

As she spoke, she sifted through the pictures, hoping to recognize the one Mr. Zucker had shown her. She always kept copies of her photographs. A vanity, perhaps. But she liked to look through them from time to time, to see if she had improved, or if one might have been better if taken from another perspective, or with a different angle of light.

“He showed me a photograph I had taken of his brother.” Sliding one from beneath the pile, she studied it. “This one, in fact. He wanted to know if I remembered taking it. He was most insistent about it.”

Ash’s eyes opened. “How insistent?”

“Nothing untoward. Just deeply disappointed that I didn’t recognize where I had taken it. But…”

“But, what?”

“There was something odd about him.”

He sat up. Seeing the sudden concern on his face, she gave a dismissive wave. “I’m just being silly. Having Mr. Satterwhite gone has made me feel a bit…exposed, as it were. Rather at loose ends.” She flashed a bright smile. “I keep forgetting I have you to watch over me now.”

He didn’t smile back. “Lass.”

That’s all. Just “lass.” But the way he said it sent a shiver of unease all through her body. There was a note of finality in it that made her thoughts scatter in panic.

“What’s wrong, Ash?”

“We must talk.”

It was difficult to keep her voice from betraying her growing alarm. His tone sounded too much like his father’s had the morning he’d come into the garden to tell her that her parents were dead.
Fearing what was to come, her whole body tightened, clenched inward as if to ward off a blow. “Talk about what?”

It was a long time before he answered. “I’m not a patient man. I thought I could change your mind. But it would be wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” But she knew. She could feel it coming. And a voice screamed in her head.
No! Don’t do this.

Clasping her hands tightly at her knees, she tried to remain calm and refrain from shouting at him. Was he going to demand she go back to Scotland? Now that he had broken through all her barriers and exposed her weakness where he was concerned, would he use that to try to control her?

He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. For a moment he stared down at the tintypes at his feet, then spread his big hands in a gesture of defeat. With a sigh, he lifted his head. “I canna do it, lass. I canna take you from this. It’s wrong.”

Did that mean he wasn’t taking her back to Scotland? Or that he was returning without her?

She stared at him, her mind reeling. And even though he didn’t move, she could feel him drawing away, and it sent a jolt of terror through her. “What are you saying? You’re giving up? You’re leaving?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at her, and the resignation in his eyes cut her heart to shreds. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. “Oh my God…you’re leaving me…again…” And fearing what else she might say, she clapped both hands over her mouth.

“Lass.” He reached toward her, but she jerked back. “I canna stay, love. And I won’t ask you to give up your work. It would be wrong.”

You arrogant, noble, bloody, misbegotten bounder.
She took her hands away, saw that they were shaking but couldn’t make them stop even when she clenched them into fists. If she thought her legs would hold her, she would have fled the room.

Dimly, through the buzzing in her head, she heard his voice, a low rumble that vibrated in the air around her. “I’ve watched you,
lass. I’ve seen joy light up your face when you speak of your photography. And I’ve seen the results. You’re an artist, so you are. And I’ll not be taking that away from you.”

“What are you saying?”
You bloody bastard.
“Good-bye?”

“It’s for the best.”

“Whose best?” She lurched to her feet.
Good-bye?
The word thundered through her head, drove the air from her lungs. She had thought he had simply been angling for a way to get her to go back to Scotland with him—not that he would leave without her. For a moment, she couldn’t draw in a breath. “You—you’re leaving?”

“I must.”

“When?”

“I dinna ken. Soon.”

“B-but…”

“I canna stay, Maddie. And you canna leave.”

She stood before him, her legs trembling, her heart pressing against her lungs. Why now? It made no sense. Not after their night together. Not after finding each other again after all this time.

“B-but what about Denver?”

“Brodie will watch out for you.”

“But I need you.”

“No, lass, you dinna. You never have.”

Wearily, he pushed himself out of the chair. He stood for a moment, his face in shadow, his big form blocking the frail light from the lamp behind him. “There’s a saying in Scotland…dinna take a wife until you ken what to do with her.” He gave a soft, joyless laugh. “I’ve never known what to do with you, lass. You were not what I expected, and more than I hoped for. You were a light burning just out of reach, and I was half afraid if I caught you, you would burn right through me. And for these last few days, you have.”

She twisted her hands together. “Ash, don’t do this. I don’t want you to go.”

Reaching out, he gently stroked his hand over her hair. “You’ve
built a fine life for yourself here, Madeline. Found a new family…a better one than what you left behind.” His hand fell away. “I wish you joy in it.”

“But you can’t just leave. What will you do?”

He shrugged. “I’ll go back to Scotland and learn how to be an earl.”

“You’ll hate it.”
And you’ll turn into your father—choking on disappointment and taking it out on everyone around you.

“ ’Tis my duty.”

Fury ignited, burned through her in a hot, bright rush. “And you would never forsake your duty, would you, Lord Ashby?” She wanted to strike him. Pound her fists against his chest. Scream at him that he was wrong, wrong, wrong!

“Lass…”

But she had some small measure of pride left. So she lifted her chin and somehow managed to keep her voice from breaking. “Go then.” With a wave of her hand, she turned away. “Go tend your tasks, milord, and leave me to mine.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Maddie stumbled into her room and fell across her bed.

The upstairs maid had straightened it. The dented pillows and tangled sheets had been smoothed and tucked and covered with the counterpane as if last night had never happened. Even the scent of him was gone. She pounded the bed with her fists, too angry even to cry.

Tricks and Agnes, roused from naps in the sitting room, came in to see what she was doing. But she had no reassurances for them. She was almost senseless with fury. Pain writhed inside her, hot and bitter and sharp as glass.

Damn you.

Then suddenly, as if he was right beside her, Mr. Satterwhite whispered in her mind.

You’re hiding…You need your husband…he’s a good man.

No!
She clapped her hands over her ears to shut him out, but still the words circled and echoed.

A life that’ll amount to more than a collection of tintypes in some dusty book on a stranger’s shelf.

But what about her work? She needed that, too.

Yet if she had to choose…

She flipped over on her back and stared up at the ceiling, ideas churning through her mind. There had to be a way to work this out. There had to be something she could do.

Ash hardly slept, plagued by regrets and an almost overwhelming need to go into Maddie’s room, take her into his arms, and tell her it was all a mistake—he wouldn’t leave—they would work something out.

But what?

When dawn was just a dim pink glow behind the peaks, he rose, dressed, and calling Tricks, quietly left the suite.

His breath frosted in the air as he walked to the livery. Driscoll had just doled out the morning feed, and rather than interrupt Lurch, Ash went into Maddie’s wagon to wait for him to finish.

He sat on her wee bed, and the scents he would always associate with his wife settled around him like a perfumed mist. Flowers, soap, photography chemicals, Agnes. In the dim light, he studied the small space that held so much of her essence, picturing her before her tiny mirror, combing her hair, or warming her hands beside her wee stove. A life of status and luxury awaited her as a future countess, yet she was happier here in this crude wagon, surrounded by her photography plates and the tintypes pinned to the low ceiling above her bed.

He lay back and studied them, awed again by the artistry of her work. He could easily pick hers from the others, and not only because of her name across the bottom. There was a gentleness to it. A touch of magic in the lighting and the way she framed the images.
Satterwhite had been right: she did see the beauty in everything around her, and somehow was able to capture that feeling in photographic images.

A picture of him with Lurch and Tricks caught his eye. Then another of him sitting by the fire with Satterwhite, and one of Satterwhite leading the mules to water. But none of his wife, and that saddened him. He would have liked having an image of her to take out and look at in the long, lonely years ahead.

The sound of horses moving from the barn into the paddocks told him breakfast was over. Rising, he left the wagon and went to saddle Lurch. A good long run would clear his head. Then perhaps he could find another solution to this coil he was tangled in.

“Luce, I know it makes no sense, and it’s exactly what I don’t need…but I love him.” Maddie’s voice cracked on the last words, and tears welled up again. She had already cried so much her eyes felt like puffy slits and her nose was raw from blowing it. But she couldn’t seem to stem the tears, no matter how hard she tried or how often she splashed her face with water.

Lucinda rose and crossed to where Maddie sat on the edge of the bed. When Miriam, the parlor maid, had come to freshen the suite she shared with Ash, Maddie had fled to the lovely rooms Lucinda had built for herself on the ground floor behind Yancey’s office. It was done up in pale creams and beiges and greens, a perfect setting for Lucinda’s blond, green-eyed beauty.

Sitting down beside her, Lucinda gave Maddie a one-armed hug. “I wish I could help.”

“You can. Tell me how much you hate him. Or how rude he was to ignore me—no matter the reason. Or that I’m better off without him and it’s good riddance to have him out of my life.”

“But I don’t hate him. Nor do I think you’re better off without him.”

Maddie pulled back to stare at her. “You don’t?”

“I rather like him.” At a knock on the door, Lucinda rose and
went into the sitting room. Maddie heard Billy’s voice, the clatter of crockery, then the sound of the door closing.

A moment later, Lucinda appeared in the bedroom doorway. “And judging by the way he looks at you,” she said, picking up the conversation where it had left off, “I doubt he was ever indifferent, even if he didn’t write or come for visits. Now come into the sitting room. I have lunch set up on the table by the window.”