Hunter's Prize (18 page)

Mr. Currie muttered a vile curse, words Aunt Priss never allowed uttered, his hurtful grip tightening on Ceddy. “Blast the luck!” He sighed. “Well, no matter. We’ll get our hands on it yet.”

“How you reckon to do that?”

“You leave that to me.” Holding the oyster shell against Ceddy’s neck, Mr. Currie jerked it in one quick motion.

Ceddy gave a muffled cry of fear and pain.

“You see that, boy? If you tell, that’s what will happen to you, only for real. I’ll come in the night and slit your throat. Bleed you like a butchering hog.”

Charlie spun on him. “Aw, Denny, don’t hurt him. And stop spewing such awful things. The boy can’t understand a word.”

“Don’t be so sure. Look at the fear in his eyes. His aunt said he was smarter than most.”

“Remember, the poor lad’s mute, so who’s he going to tell?”

“I’m making sure he don’t find a way.”

The scary man leaned close, his smelly breath hot on Ceddy’s face. “Listen real careful-like, little pollywog. I’m going to turn you loose now. You’re to stand up and stroll across the yard like you ‘aven’t a care in the world, yeah? Hands in your pockets, whistle a tune if you like. No trouble now, right?”

Staring past the grimy calloused hand over his mouth, Ceddy tried to nod but couldn’t summon the strength.

Mr. Currie shook him so hard his bones ached. “Right?”

“Leave off him, Denny! You know he can’t answer.”

“All right then. You just do like I say, or I’ll slice up your old auntie before I cut out your gizzard. The governess, too, and I’ll make you watch.” Jerking Ceddy to his feet, Mr. Currie shot him a final warning glare then slowly withdrew his hands.

Ceddy stared at the ground while the evil man roughly brushed dirt off his clothes.

“Off with you now,” he whispered, shoving him through the hedge. “And not a word.”

Longing to dash away to Aunt Priss’s skirt, Ceddy drew his shoulders to his ears and walked stiffly to the carriage, resisting with every ounce of his strength the urge to run.

P
earson drove his hired rig up the hill behind Miss Whitfield’s fancy carriage. Lilting voices drifted to his ears, those of their hostess and Reverend Stroud. As near as he could tell, Miss McRae hadn’t spoken a single word since they’d left the churchyard.

Theo nudged his side. “You sure you’re not Irish? You’re the luckiest man in Texas.”

Lifting his brows, Pearson grinned. “Why’s that?”

“In the span of a church service, the old lady went from despising you to loving you.” He splayed his hands. “And you didn’t have to do a thing.”

Pearson laughed. “I used to think of it as God’s favor. Unmerited grace. Nowadays, I’m not so sure. Whatever it is, I don’t deserve it, but I won’t turn it down.” His gaze drifted to the back of the carriage, and warmth spread through his chest. “Especially in this case.” He grinned. “Besides, I knew my charm and good looks would eventually sway her.”

“Don’t get cocky. You still haven’t won the trust of her pretty governess.”

His elated mood dampened at Theo’s words. Addie had carefully avoided him at the social, an impressive skill considering he sat right across from her while they ate. She’d picked at her food, not in the dainty way of a self-conscious woman but as if she’d lost her appetite and he was the cause.

He frowned and glanced at Theo. “Why do you suppose she finds me so disagreeable?”

Theo’s booming laughter echoed off the trunks of a passing grove, drawing looks from the party up ahead.

Pearson jabbed him in the arm. “Will you stop braying and pretend you have an ounce of decorum?”

“I’m sorry,” Theo howled then covered his mouth. “It’s just funny to hear those words coming from you. That’s usually my line.”

“Well, keep it down.”

Theo sobered and his eyes softened. “Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

It didn’t feel a bit good, in fact. Especially coming from this particular female.

“Take heart,” Theo said, grinning. “Your charms are still in working order. You’ve got the old lady’s devotion, and every unattached girl at the social is at your beck and call.”

Pearson flashed a wry smile. “I wish I’d had as much luck befriending the men. As soon as they heard we were seeking the
Mittie
, they lost all interest in taking a job. Most backed away as if we’d uttered a curse.”

“Maybe we did.” Theo raised a brow. “Maybe the
Mittie
herself is cursed.”

Pearson jerked his head to scowl at him. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it? It would explain why she’s still out there.”

The buggy up ahead rattled over the uneven ground and pulled to a stop in the circular drive. Pearson pulled in behind them, set his brake, and climbed down.

“Welcome, welcome,” Miss Whitfield called, waving them up the stone path. “Please come inside.”

The boy pulled free of Addie and bolted, taking the steps so fast he tripped. Scrambling onto the porch, he pounded the door with clenched fists. When it opened, he scurried past the maid and disappeared inside the house.

“What pulled his tail?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Oh good, Delilah, you’re home,” Miss Whitfield said. “Put the kettle on, will you? And slice up some pie. We have guests.”

“Right away, ma’am,” Delilah said, taking their burdensome coats.

Pearson had shed his hours ago as the weather grew warmer and felt relieved to be free of it.

Theo leaned close to Pearson. “Look at the size of this foyer. Pull in a table and bed, and I could live in here.”

He’d meant the comment for Pearson’s ears only, but his voice carried in the vast room.

Miss Whitfield smiled over her shoulder. “It’s far too much room for one crotchety old lady, and a shameful waste of space.” Her gaze shifted to Addie climbing the spiral stairs, likely following the child. “Having dear Addie move in and my great-nephew underfoot helps ease my conscience at the vulgar pretentiousness of such a dwelling.”

Pearson nudged Theo.

He shrugged and made a face.

“Let’s retire to the parlor, shall we? Delilah will be right in with our refreshments.”

Filing into the splendid room, Pearson rubbed his stomach. After the lavish spread on the church grounds, he wondered where he could cram another bite. By the uncomfortable look on Reverend Stroud’s face, he guessed he felt the same. The man looked due for a tonic.

The afternoon passed in pleasant conversation. Confirming Pearson’s suspicions, the reverend requested a ginger tea instead of coffee and pie. After his second cup, and several discreet belches, a livelier glow appeared on his cheeks.

Propping his arm on the back of the velvet couch, he beamed at Pearson. “So you’re after the
Mittie
. As I told Priscilla here, I’m quite envious. What I wouldn’t give to go along on the search.”

“Really?” Pearson placed his coffee on the low table between them. “You’re the only man in Marshall who feels that way.”

He waved his hand. “Oh, don’t mind them. They’re bound by fear and superstition.” He chuckled. “A fact that works in your favor, I suppose. Otherwise, she wouldn’t still be out there somewhere.”

His face aglow with interest, Theo sat forward. “What are they afraid of?”

The reverend sobered. “No one knows unless they’re from the area. Those who do aren’t saying. It’s like they’re afraid to talk.”

Theo nudged Pearson. “I told you it was cursed.”

Reverend Stroud’s attention jumped to him. “Cursed, eh? That’s what the Caddo Indians believed. They’d walk a mile out of their way to avoid the site.”

Excitement firing in his chest, Pearson scooted to the edge of his seat. “Which means they knew the exact location?”

“Yes, I suppose they did.”

“Where could I find a Caddo Indian?”

He smiled and shook his head. “If you found one, Pearson, it would do you little good. Those remaining few along the lake feel the same as their ancestors did. Bad medicine, they call it. I doubt they’d help you.” His eyes sparked with remembrance. “However, there is one person. The fellow’s not an Indian, mind you, but he may as well be.” He paused. “But I’m afraid he might be just as hard to find. They call him—”

“Catfish John,” Pearson and Theo finished for him.

Laughing, Reverend Stroud sat back and crossed his legs. “I see you’re already acquainted with Marshall’s own Daniel Boone.”

“Not yet, sir,” Pearson said, “but I hope to be.”

Settling into the cushions, the reverend turned the warmth of his smile on their hostess. “Priscilla? I believe I’ll take a slice of that rhubarb pie now, if there’s any left.”

“Of course,” she said, laying aside her plate and standing. “Boys, would you care for more?”

Theo held out his saucer. “I could go for another piece. Best pie I’ve had in years.”

Pearson stood, handing the dish to Miss Whitfield. “None for me, thanks. But I could use some fresh air.”

“Help yourself to the back porch swing. I want you all to make yourselves right at home. I simply won’t have it any other way.”

Rounding her chair, she motioned for him to join her. “Come, I’ll walk you into the hall and point the way. I adore lazy Sunday afternoons, don’t you, Mr. Foster?” Pausing, she gripped his arm. “Oh pooh. I’m going to call you Pearson, if that’s all right?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

Following her instructions, Pearson navigated the hallways until he reached the double doors at the back of the house. Pushing past the screen, he stepped onto a wide, covered veranda overlooking a whitewashed gazebo and a lush garden that sloped downhill and out of sight. From this vantage, atop the rise, the whole town of Marshall lay at his feet. His soul at ease, he drew a deep breath and braced his hands on the high back of the swing.

Too late, he noticed the small black pair of sensible shoes placed neatly beneath the contraption. It swung sharply forward then rocked dizzily back.

“Oh!” Addie cried. Struggling to sit against the motion of the seat, she clutched her book with one hand and grasped the cushion under her head with the other, dragging it to the ground.

Horrified, Pearson rushed to her aid, trying to steady the swing while he helped her up.

“Mr. Foster!” she shrilled. “What are you doing?”

“I’m so sorry,” he croaked. “I didn’t see you.”

Her eyes had the sleepy glaze of one just awakened from a nap. “How could you not see me? I’m right here. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to launch me into the daffodils.”

Leaning to pick up the cushion, he used the time to wipe the smile off his face. “I assure you I had no designs in that direction.” Unable to resist, he added, “Though you would be a charming addition to the garden.”

Addie huffed and crossed her arms. “Flattery will not earn my forgiveness.”

Pearson handed her the pillow. “Tell me what will, and I’ll get right on it.”

She shot him a sullen pout and tucked a curl behind her ear.

He motioned to the empty spot beside her. “Do you mind if I sit while you think it over?”

She gathered her book and shawl. “You may take my place. I really should—”

He lifted a staying hand. “Please don’t go.”

Her mouth set in a firm line, she turned up her fetching face and studied him.

“Unless you have to, of course.” He smiled. “Otherwise, I’d really appreciate your company.”

Settling against the cushion, she gave a curt nod. “I suppose I can stay until Ceddy wakes from his nap.”

They sat quietly, Pearson gently rocking the swing with one foot. He stared across the misty miles stretching toward town, trying to regain the sense of peace he’d felt before. The woman sitting beside him stirred him to anguish instead. He’d never desired the acceptance of a person so strongly. Never craved a woman’s interest so dearly. His stomach pitched when she shifted toward him on the seat.

“So … um … do you like Marshall so far?”

An effort at small talk. It was a start. “I do. The townsfolk seem to be goodhearted people, and the weather’s nice.”

A smile twitched her lips. “And which hour’s weather would you be referring to?”

Pearson laughed, a little too loudly. “You make a good point. I’m used to the fickle nature of the climate though. It behaves the same in Galveston.” He raised one brow. “Is Mississippi a little more predictable?”

This time she nearly grinned. “Not in the least, although we don’t boast of the fact as often as you Texans do.”

He’d already taken note of her eyes, of course. They were her best feature. Wide most of the time, as if soaking in her surroundings. Intelligent and strikingly brown. But he hadn’t noticed the dark rings circling her pupils, lending a depth to her gaze that pierced right down to his soul.

“You don’t much favor your mother, Miss McRae,” he blurted. “Except for the color of your hair. I suppose you take after your father?” Leaning, he lifted his finger toward her face. “Did you know that your eyes—”

She stiffened and drew back. “What do you mean I don’t favor her?”

He lowered his hand. “Well, nothing, really.”

“What were you implying?”

He squirmed at her angry tone, the motion jostling them. “It’s just that, with your fair complexion”—he smiled and pointed at her nose—”and that little smattering of freckles, well, you’re—”

“Not nearly as pretty?”

Pearson’s gut twisted. “That’s not what I’m suggesting at all.” His unpracticed foray into the art of flirtation wasn’t going well. “Your mother’s a beautiful woman, but—”

Addie stood, cutting him off midsentence. “You’ve said quite enough.”

Struggling against the ridiculous, pitching swing, Pearson pushed to his feet. “I’m only trying to say that I find you quite attractive.”

“Oh stop! Honestly, Mr. Foster, I won’t have you use me this way. Secondhand flattery is a low-class, despicable ploy to get to my mother. You should be ashamed.” Gathering her skirts, she marched to the door. Pausing on the threshold, she turned. Her pretty features were twisted with rage, but the glint of a tear shone from the corner of her eye. “And just when I’d started to doubt my suspicions …” Jerking the screen nearly off its hinges, she swept inside.