Harper's Bride (32 page)

"Dylan!" She took a step forward, and then
another. "Wh-what are you doing here?" Her voice was still sweet
and deceptively childlike.

"I used to live here," he reminded her
softly.

"When did you get back?"

"This morning. I heard about the accident,
and I caught the boat down from Dawson."

She came closer still. The familiar scent of
roses followed her. "You've been in the Yukon? At the gold
rush?"

"For over two years. Look, Elizabeth"—he
gestured at her hair and dress—"if I'm interrupting some plans of
yours, I'll just get on my horse and ride back to town." Were those
tears in her dark eyes? he wondered.

"Oh, no, please stay! I have no plans at all.
None. In fact, I—" She hurled herself into his arms. "Oh, Dylan,
I'm so glad you're back! Everything will be fine now."

*~*~*

Melissa looked at the scrap of paper in her
hand, then at the address on the house. Yes, this was the right
place. It was a nice-looking home, with a neat lawn and window
boxes, on a quiet tree-lined street.

She was so nervous about this interview. Was
she dressed correctly? What if she made a bad impression? She'd
spent an hour or so each day sitting in the hotel lobby with Jenny,
watching women pass by, studying their clothes and their manners,
hoping to learn the ways of a lady. Certainly, her mother had
taught her manners, but etiquette had been in short supply in her
old neighborhood, and she hadn't learned much in Dawson.

Taking a deep breath, she proceeded up the
walk and climbed the stairs to the front porch.

When she rang the bell, from within she heard
a clamor of children's voices and a thunder of running feet that
reverberated through the floorboards on the porch.

"I'll get it!"

"No, you always answer the door, and the
telephone, too! Let me."

"Ma, someone's at the door—"

"You girls hush now and go back to your
schoolwork, or you'll be doing all the cooking every night for a
month!"

"Aw, Ma—"

"Lordy, don't call me 'Ma' in front of
company! It sounds rude. Go on with you—"

After the sound of more giggling and
scampering feet, the front door opened, and Melissa saw a little
bird of a woman with high color in her cheeks and smiling brown
eyes. She wore her rich chestnut hair in a luxuriant knot on top of
her head that added perhaps another three or four inches to her
diminutive height. Without knowing anything more about her, Melissa
instinctively took a liking to her. Perhaps it was the kindness she
saw in the woman's eyes.

"Mrs. Keller?"

"Yes, yes," she replied eagerly. "And you're
Mrs. Logan?"

Melissa tried not to cringe, but she knew she
couldn't use Dylan's name any longer. After all, Logan was Jenny's
name, although nowhere was it recorded as such. Birth certificates
had been in short supply on the frozen banks of Lake Bennett when
Jenny was born.

"Yes, I'm Melissa Logan."

"My nephew, Tommy, telephoned about you."
Mrs. Keller reached for her hand and shook it, practically pulling
her in over the threshold. "Please do come in."

Inside, the house was as neat as a pin. The
furnishings weren't extravagant, but there was such a homey
atmosphere, Melissa began to relax a little.

The bustling little woman ushered her to what
appeared to be the nicest chair in the parlor. Then she sat down
opposite Melissa and poured coffee from a pot that stood waiting on
the side table.

"Tommy said you want to rent a house." Tommy
Keller was a polite young man who worked in the dining room at the
Portland Hotel. Melissa had struck up a conversation with him a few
times, and he'd told her about his aunt. Only to him had she
confided her legal last name.

Melissa accepted a cup of coffee and nodded.
"Well, yes, I've just come back to town from Dawson. My husband
died while we were up there, and I didn't want my baby to spend
another winter in the Yukon. Now I'm looking for a place to
live."

"Oh, dear, to be widowed so young—" She
reached over and patted Melissa's hand. "I know how you must feel.
I was young when I lost Mr. Keller. Fortunately, he left me with a
little income and some property, or I'd really be in a fix."

Melissa couldn't very well reveal that Coy's
death hadn't devastated her. Her separation from Dylan was a
thousand times more painful. But she wanted to make a good
impression, so she admitted reluctantly, "It's been hard, but I
think Jenny and I will be, fine if we can just settle
someplace."

Mrs. Keller nodded sagely. "A woman's
instinct is always to make a nest, and I can well imagine how
difficult that would be in a hotel, especially with a child. Um,
where is your baby today?"

"The hotel staff has been very kind to me.
When I told the manager about this appointment, he offered to have
one of the chambermaids watch her for me. She's such a
good-tempered child, I don't think she'll have much trouble with
her." Of course, except for Tommy Keller, the staff all believed
she was Mrs. Dylan Harper.

"I have four girls myself, and they're quite
a handful, I can tell you!" From the hallway came the sound of
muffled giggling. "Of course, they know if they don't behave," she
went on in a louder voice, "their chores will double for six
weeks."

A scuffling in the hall was followed by the
sound of feet pounding up the stairs.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Keller said. "They're
really good girls most of the time, but they tend to be a bit too
exuberant. But enough about us—let me show you the house. It's just
next door."

She followed Sarah Keller outside to a house
of identical design just to the right of her own. Leading Melissa
on a tour of the unfurnished three-bedroom dwelling, she pointed
out its recent improvements, such as wallpaper and new paint.

By the time they were back in Mrs. Keller's
parlor, sipping coffee, Melissa had fallen in love with it. It
would be hers—well, perhaps not hers in the sense of ownership, but
she would shop for some modest furniture and put her own identity
into it. She and Jenny would have peace and quiet. A baby
carriage—she could buy a baby carriage and take Jenny for strolls
to the park. They would be warm and snug on winter nights by the
stove or the fireplace, and she would teach Jenny her ABCs. The
only thing missing from the picture in her mind was Dylan. If he
were with them, it would be perfect. For a moment she felt such a
wave of grief and loneliness for him, it was almost as if he were
the one who had died. Oh, God, she knew she'd never see him
again.

"Mrs. Logan? Are you all right, dear?"

"What? Oh, oh yes, I'm sorry. I guess I was
just remembering . . ."

Mrs. Keller sat back in her chair. "I
understand. There are some losses that nothing can make up for. But
having good friends will help."

Melissa looked at her and gave her a watery
smile. "I guess you're right."

At least she hoped so.

*~*~*

"Dylan, I can't tell you how good it is to
see you again. I'm so glad you agreed to have dinner with me."
Elizabeth directed him to the dining room table and went out to the
kitchen. It felt odd to be treated like a guest in the house he
grew up in.

He plucked the linen napkin from his plate,
and memories of a thousand tense mealtimes at this very table came
crowding back. "I agreed to it because I want you to tell me what's
been going on around here, Elizabeth. Why is the place so run
down?" He gestured to her as she carried a roast chicken to the
table. "And what happened to Ada and the rest of the help? Are you
living here alone?"

"Oh, we can talk about that in a minute. I
want to hear all about the Yukon. Was there a lot of gold up there?
We heard reports, of course, but they must have been exaggerated.
They talked about millions of dollars. Isn't that silly?"

"There are millions of dollars in gold up
there. I wouldn't have stayed if I weren't making money." He was
fully aware of what she wanted to know, and he didn't mind baiting
her a bit. Especially when they were discussing a subject so dear
to her heart. "Now tell me about this place."

"Oh, my, where to begin," she sighed
prettily, toying with one of her earrings. "Well, after you left,
Scott and I married. Of course, you know that." She had the decency
to look embarrassed, and poured each of them a glass of wine. "Oh,
Dylan, it really was a dreadful mistake." She dropped her breathy
pretense and sounded earnest. "I know he was your brother, and my
husband, and now he's gone, but . . . I never
should have listened to my father. He was the one who insisted that
Scott and I marry."

His stomach knotting, Dylan put down his
fork. He didn't want to hear any of that, not now, not if he was
going to sit at the same table with her. "Elizabeth, never mind
about that. What happened is in the past, and nothing is going to
change it. I want to know about this property. In town I heard the
taxes haven't been paid."

She dropped her gaze. "No, they haven't.
There's no money to pay them."

"Why not?" he demanded. With every minute
that passed, he felt he knew less and less.

She didn't answer.

"Damn it, Elizabeth!" Losing his patience
with her coy game, he pounded his fist on the table, making her
jump and the glassware rattle. "You own only half of this place. I
own the other half, and I want to know why I'm about to lose
it!"

"You don't need to shout at me," she said
coldly.

"It seems I do—"

"I only wanted to spare you the pain."

He shook his head and gave her a sardonic
smile. "Why? You didn't before."

"Dylan, I tried to tell you about that. I
loved you. My father—"

"Not now, Elizabeth."

She lifted her wineglass and took a big,
unladylike swallow. "Scott and your father made some bad
investments. When they ran through their own money, they solicited
other investors to put up more, and lost that too. My own father
lost everything. This house and the land are all that's left."

Dylan slumped back in his chair and laughed.
He laughed until his side ached and tears came to his eyes.

She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"My God, how can you laugh? What can you possibly find in this
that's funny? It's a tragedy!"

Throwing his napkin on the table, he snorted.
"Tragedy—if I believed in divine retribution, that's what I'd call
it. Griffin Harper made his money by taking advantage of other
people, calling their notes, throwing them out of their homes. And
Scott followed right behind him. I'm not glad they were killed, but
I'm not surprised by the way this is ending."

"Well, I can tell you that unless some
miracle occurs, this place will be sold by the county for the
taxes. I've just been scraping by here. I can't ask my family for
help—they're worse off than I am. Ada comes by sometimes out of the
goodness of her heart, but I can't pay her. The rest of the help
left right after the funeral. I've had to do the housework and even
my own laundry. It's so degrading."

Laundry. Dylan thought of Melissa washing
clothes for dozens of miners while she sang to Jenny, handling
those heavy flatirons, working harder than Elizabeth had ever
dreamed of even in a nightmare. On top of that, she'd taken care of
a baby and done the housework too. And through it all, she hadn't
lost courage, she'd gained it. She had never complained when she
had every reason in the world to do so. Some inner grace, he
thought, must have sustained her through a hard childhood and her
life with Logan. A grace that Elizabeth would never have because
money couldn't buy it. It wasn't her fault—she'd led a soft,
spoiled life and now couldn't adjust to the loss of luxury. He
almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"It's getting late, and there's no moon
tonight to see by," she added, taking another drink of wine. "Will
you stay?"

Drinking his own wine, he replied, "Yeah, why
not? I'd hate to end up like Scott and the old man."

*~*~*

Dylan lay in the darkness on a feather tick,
thinking that the last thing he'd ever expected to do was sleep
under this roof again. The bedding was scented with lavender, and
the furniture was expensive. It all was a far cry from a handmade
bedstead and wolf hide blankets.

It was at times like this, late at night,
when he missed Melissa the most. It had started on the trip down
from Dawson. He could imagine her singing, sweet and clear, as she
worked or rocked Jenny, and an aching emptiness swelled in his
chest that made him feel like crying. Damn it, anyway, he thought
impatiently, he had to get over this. Grabbing the other pillow, he
wrapped his arms around it and rolled to his side, trying to shut
out her image. But it was hopeless. She was burned into his heart,
and she would remain there always, even if he lived to be a very
old man. And someday, he might find himself giving advice to
another man, just as Rafe had tried to advise him. If that man was
smarter or luckier than Dylan had been, he'd listen.

He thought he wouldn't be able to sleep, but
soon he found himself in the misty world between consciousness and
slumber, where half-formed dreams came to life. Melissa was with
him then, lying soft and warm against his bare body. He felt her
hand sliding up the inside of his thigh as she whispered his name
and rained soft, moist kisses down his back. When her hand closed
over his erection and quickened him with long, slow strokes, he
groaned and rolled slowly to his back.

"Melissa, Melissa . . . oh God, honey, I love
you." He reached for her soft, fragrant flesh, and she smelled like
roses—

Dylan was awake in an instant. "Elizabeth,
damn it, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Pushing her hand away, he fumbled with a
match and lit a bedside candle. She lay beside him propped on one
elbow, naked, her long wavy hair flowing over her like black satin.
"Don't send me away," she pleaded. "It was always good between us,
Dylan. Scott couldn't make me—I mean, he—you were the only one who
knew what I needed."