Jane Bonander (17 page)

The barkeep quickly pocketed the coin. “I’ll try.”

“Any strangers hereabouts? Women, I mean?”

The codger stroked his feedbag whiskers. “Not that I can recall. Not in town, leastwise.”

He bit back his impatience. “How about in the surrounding area? The ranches, maybe?”

“Mebbe one.”

His heart sped up, but he didn’t want to tip his hand. “Is she blond, and sort of plump?” He carved an hourglass figure in the air with his hands, purposely creating a different picture from the one he wanted.

The old man shook his head. “Nope. ’Tain’t her. This un’s got curly red hair and she ain’t built like no brick shithouse. Kinda skinny, if’n ya ask me.”

Dinah Odell had red hair. She wasn’t skinny, but a year at Trenway could have taken its toll on her. The reporter gave the man a look of mock pity. “Damned shame. Oh, well. The woman I’m looking for might be passing herself off as a countess.”

The old man snorted. “Hell, this un’s a nurse. Carin’ fer that crazy Fletcher woman.”

He almost grinned, but kept his face passive. Now, all he had to do was find out where that crazy Fletcher woman lived, and half his job was done. McCafferty could help him with that.

“By the way,” he said smoothly. “Anything to rent around here? I’m looking for a nice, secluded place. Preferably near a river. I love to fish, know what I mean?”

The old man stroked his whiskers. “The Adams shack ain’t been used fer some time. Not since oľ man Adams got ate by that bear.”

“Is it nice and private?”

The barkeep giggled. “If’n yer lookin’ fer privacy, it’s the perfect place.”

As he listened to directions, he gave the old fool a benign smile. How simple it had been to get everything ready for Odell. Now, he had to find McCafferty. It would have been wiser to get his information directly from him, but he’d always enjoyed a bit of drama.

“Oh, one more thing, my good man. Where can I buy something special for a young woman?” He leaned close and winked. “Can’t call on my lady without bringing a trinket, you know.”

The geezer cackled. “There’s a peddler man what stays down by the smithy. He can he’p ya.”

He flipped another half eagle on the bar, touched the brim of his hat, and left.

“That ball was out of bounds!” Dinah stopped running and tried to catch her breath. The dogs darted back and forth among the children.

“It wasn’t,” shouted Little Hawk, who had kicked the ball into the middle of the field. “It was on the line.”

The children had dared her to join them in a game of kick ball. She’d promptly changed into her trousers. It had been a game of the boys against the girls. All of the children, including the girls, played well. Little Hawk was surprisingly swift, despite his bad foot. He was also a bit of a cheat. No, Dinah amended, swallowing a smile, he stretched the rules.

“What’s the score?” She hadn’t caught her breath. She was doubled over, breathing hard, her palms resting on her thighs.

“Emily’s keeping score,” he shouted at her from across the field. “Emily, what’s the score?”

Emily stood and cleared her throat. “Dinah, you, Sarafina, Rose, Dawn, and Flicker Feather have three points. Little Hawk, Swift Elk, Miguel, Jose, and Henry have four.”

“We won!” Little Hawk leaped into the air, then hobbled toward Dinah.

Continuing to fight for breath, she smiled and shook her finger at him. “That last one was out of bounds, and we both know it.”

His handsome face broke into an answering grin. “Honest, it wasn’t. It was on the line.”

Dinah realized that limp or no, when he grew to manhood, women would discover he was a heartbreak waiting to happen.

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” She flopped to the ground beside Emily, who was busy putting the finishing touches on her sketch of the game.

The dogs loped to Dinah, and Amy knocked her over, licking her face. Dinah rolled on the ground, clutching Amy’s furry neck. “What a good dog you are,” she cooed.

Beside her, Emily made a scolding sound. “Do you think Tristan would want you playing ball with the children and rolling around on the grass with the dogs, Dinah? It isn’t very ladylike.”

Tristan. It had been five days since he’d gone. She refused to mope. Emily had sulked enough for both of them. Dinah hadn’t told anyone that Tristan was going to have their marriage annulled. It meant she had somehow failed, and she hated failure. She almost dreaded his return. She’d lain awake nights wondering if he was in the arms of another woman.

She rolled to a sitting position and continued scratching Amy’s neck. “I enjoy the exercise. Besides,” she added, giving Emily’s shoulder a squeeze, “you’re doing so well, I don’t have much to do anymore. I can’t sit around twiddling my thumbs.”

“I will admit the children like you. I like the stories you tell them. They laugh and it makes me happy inside, too.”

Spying Leeta coming toward them with lunch, Dinah got to her feet. “Everyone wash up. Lunch is coming!”

After making sure the children were fed, she and Emily strolled to the house.

“I found an old painting,” Emily told her. “I want you to see it.”

They entered Emily’s room. A large painting rested against the wall.

“That’s Hatter’s Horn.”

Dinah stood next to her. “I should have recognized it.”

With a smile, Emily answered, “You couldn’t have. I painted it the way I wanted it to be, not the way it is.”

“It almost looks like a fairy tale,” Dinah mused.

“In my mind, it was a fairy-tale town. I used to go there.”

Surprised, Dinah asked, “Really? Why?”

Emily ducked her head. “I wasn’t supposed to. I used to sneak away from the house and walk there. It was far. I got tired, but it felt good to be away from Mama sometimes, even though she would punish me when she found me. I’d forgotten about my trips until I saw the painting.” She gazed at it, her eyes soft. “Tristan loved it.”

Dinah nudged Emily toward the chair she’d pulled out from the desk, then sat on the floor next to her. “Tell me about it.”

Emily continued to smile. “From the time he was barely old enough to speak, he’d ask me questions about it. He used to sit in front of it for hours. He’d ask me the same questions over and over again. It became a game.”

She pointed to the tiny house where she’d painted lamplight behind the windows. “See that? He’d ask, ‘Emmy, who lives in that house?’ I’d tell him a cobbler lived there who made shoes for elves.

“And there,” she added, pointing to the grand house on top of the mountain. “He’d always have a question about who lived there. Although he knew the answer, he tried to fool me.”

Her smile was so sad, it nearly broke Dinah’s heart. “Who did you tell him lived in that house, Emily?”

“A handsome prince, I would tell him. His answer was, ‘It’ll be my house one day, Emmy, and I’ll take care of you.’ After a few years, I knew that he wanted to live in that painting, because his life here was so bad.”

Tears snagged in Dinah’s throat at the thought of a sad young Tristan.

“Why did Tristan leave this time?”

Dinah had kept her feelings well hidden. “I wish I knew. His note said he went to see his brother. Have you met his brother, Emily?”

“Yes,” she answered with a nod. “The first time his brother came to the house, I met him.”

“Did you like him?”

Emily’s smile brightened. “Oh, yes. He was nice. It was a little spooky, though, because they are so much alike. I think it even scared the two of them.” She giggled, sounding like a small child. “They even tried to trick me. One night Wolfie pretended to be Tristan, but I knew he wasn’t.” She laughed again. “He called me Marmalade instead of Emily, so I knew he wasn’t my brother. I think he did it to make me laugh, and I did.”

Dinah yearned for the warmth of a family, something to replace the cold, harsh years since her parents had died. And Charlotte…“Has Tristan gone to visit his brother before?”

Emily nodded, suddenly appearing anxious. “A couple of times.”

“Please don’t worry, Emily. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” Then Dinah’s marriage would be over.

Emily began breathing hard. “I know he will, but every time he goes away, something bad happens at home.”

Dinah rose to her knees and hugged Emily’s waist. “There, there. Lucas is here to protect us and all the children. And don’t forget Wolf and Amy. They wouldn’t let anything happen to us.”

At the mention of the dogs, Emily uttered a rickety sigh. “He always said he’d have something of his very own.”

Puzzled, Dinah asked, “What do you mean?”

“Mama scolded him for not appreciating everything they’d done for him. She told him that he should be happy with what they’d given him, because he was just a little brown savage and didn’t deserve them.”

She plucked at her gown. “He’d run to me after Mama shouted at him, and bury his head in my skirt, vowing to buy things of his own one day and not have to be grateful to anyone for anything. He wanted to live in that make- believe castle on the hill with dogs and a horse, just like the painting.”

She stood and moved closer to the painting. “If you look closely, you can see the dogs.” She pointed at the castle. “See? Dogs just like Amy and Wolf. I’d seen pictures of them in a book.”

Dinah crossed to the painting and studied it. Indeed, two wolfhounds stood guard on either side of the castle door.

“And here,” Emily explained, indicating an ebony mount, “is the black stallion. He vowed to have one of those, too. And he did.”

Although she’d been able to calm Emily, the agitation seemed to transfer to Dinah. For the rest of the day and into the night, she felt a caustic dread eating away at her stomach, and she couldn’t imagine why.

Six days. Tristan left the barn and trudged toward the house. He’d been gone six days, and for six days he’d wanted to make love to Dinah. Hell, it could have been six thousand, and the desire would be no dimmer. He was anxious to see her, but he was certain the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Watching Wolf and Julia hadn’t helped his condition. Although they hadn’t been overtly demonstrative, from the way they looked at each other and Wolf’s occasional caresses, Tristan knew without a doubt that they were deeply in love. It was as if Wolf couldn’t keep his hands off his own wife. Imagine, he thought, being so much in love with your wife that you couldn’t wait to take her to bed. Those were the looks they often exchanged in front of him, and he didn’t think either was aware of it. If Tristan hadn’t been so deep into his own misery, he might have found it amusing.

He had come to one conclusion, however. He couldn’t let Dinah go. His brother’s words haunted him. He knew deep in his soul that he wanted her to stay, but he wouldn’t blame her if she left. He’d treated her badly. She hadn’t deserved it. He wanted to make it up to her.

He searched the yard for the dogs; there wasn’t a sign of them. He did hear the children, who were obviously playing a game of some sort, because there was periodic hooting and shouting. Drawn by the sound, he took the path to the grassy field. As he entered the clearing, he found his wife. Relieved, he also felt warmth spread through him at the sight of her.

Clad in her trousers, she raced across the field, kicking the ball ahead of her. Little Hawk was close at her heels. Her short coppery curls gleamed in the sunshine, she was laughing, and when she booted the ball over the goal line, she whooped with glee, leaping high into the air.

Tenderness spread through him, a warm compassion that was so powerful, it left him weak. Tristan would never have believed how much he’d missed her.

“That’s a foul!” Little Hawk protested.

Dinah appeared to have trouble catching her breath. She bent over, her palms on her thighs, and continued to laugh. “You’re a sore loser, that’s all.”

“The girls have never beat us before,” he argued.

She threw the ball to him and he caught it. “Then I guess you boys will have to work a bit harder.”

Amy and Wolf, who had been frolicking on the field with the players, caught Tristan’s scent and bolted toward him. He bent and scratched their ears, his gaze on his wife.

“Tristan! You’re back!” Little Hawk waved and ran toward him. Tristan admired how confident the boy was in his athletic skills despite his disability.

Dinah stood, inert as a statue, at the other end of the field. His gaze locked with hers and he could tell even from a distance that she was surprised to see him. And wary. At least she was here. At least she hadn’t left him; that’s what he deserved.

As Tristan crossed the field toward his wife, he turned his attention to Little Hawk. “Did I hear that the girls beat you in kick ball?”

Little Hawk frowned, disgusted. “It’s the first time. I think it’s because Dinah is playing. We beat ’em yesterday, but she’s a good runner. And you know what? She organizes them so they all know what to do. That ain’t fair.”

The space between Tristan and his wife was narrowing. “Maybe it’s time you men do some organizing. I know how tough it is to be bested by women. We might be stronger, but they’re far more clever.”

Tristan was getting close enough now so he could see the flush on Dinah’s cheeks and the tiny beads of perspiration on her upper lip. She was breathing hard. He longed to kiss her, taste the salt on her skin.

“Maybe you can help us get organized, huh, Tristan?”

Dinah’s eyes were shiny with victory, and there was the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

Little Hawk tugged at his jacket. “Huh, Tristan? You can help us beat them, can’t you?”

Tristan’s gaze locked with his wife’s. “If you’ll take my travel bag to the house, Little Hawk, I promise that the next time you want to play, I’ll help you and the other boys get organized.”

Little Hawk shouted happily, then, limped off to do Tristan’s bidding.

Dinah’s tomboyish stance was appealing. Her hips were round and seductive, her legs long and slim beneath the trousers. Her exquisite breasts, which he’d kissed barely a week ago, were not obvious beneath her shirt, but he could tell they were not bound, either.

“So, you’re finally home.” Her face held more color than it had when he’d left. Sunshine agreed with her. He even detected a sprinkle of freckles.

“Emily was very upset that you left without telling her.”

As always, the pulse at the base of her throat drew him. He touched her there, drawing from her a breathy gasp as he felt the pulse with his fingertips.

“I’ll apologize to my sister.” He studied her moist lips and her winsome nose, the nostrils flaring slightly as she breathed. Her chin came to a soft point, giving her face a somewhat heart-shaped appearance; he hadn’t noticed that before.

“You’re quite a skilled ball player. I enjoyed watching you run.” His fingers moved to her upper lip, where he wiped the perspiration away with his thumb.

She continued to stare at him, the victory in her eyes fading to wariness. “I have no doubt what you enjoyed watching.”

“Still a verbal sparring partner, aren’t you?” He touched his thumb with the tip of his tongue, tasting her.

“It’s the only kind of partner I can be certain I am,” she countered. Her eyes were wide, and she concentrated on his mouth.

“Then, let me put your mind at rest.”

He took her elbow and they walked across the grass toward the house.

She appeared surprised by his gallant touch. “Trying to let me down easy, are you?”

He decided to put her out of her misery. “I didn’t get the annulment, Dinah. That should make you happy.”

She yanked her arm from his. “If you didn’t go through with it solely because of me, then…then you can go to the devil, Tristan Fletcher.”

He hauled her into his arms. “I’m trying to woo you, dear wife. You’re making it damned difficult.”

Her angry visage changed gradually, and she bit back a reluctant smile. “If that’s your idea of wooing, you have a lot to learn.”

“I have no doubt of it. I’m relying on you to teach me.

They stood close and Dinah brought her hand to his cheek. Her mouth beckoned, and he bent to kiss her. She tasted sweet, salty, fresh. He remembered her flavor; he’d missed it. His thumbs grazed the sides of her breasts, and she gasped into his mouth. She stood on her tiptoes and flung her arms over his shoulders. He devoured her, changing positions so he could take more of her into his mouth. He trailed his lips over her cheek to her neck, to her ear, drawing a sound of pleasure from her. He discovered he couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted to hear more of her throaty, whimpery noises. He was desperate to make love to her.

Reluctantly, he raised his head. It took her a moment to open her eyes, then she rested her forehead on his chest.

He pressed his face to the top of her head, nuzzling her curls. “I could kiss you for hours. I want to kiss you everywhere. Again.”

He felt her shuddery intake of breath. “Well,” she murmured, “I guess that’s a start.”

Tristan vowed to continue his seduction over dinner. In the meantime, he looked in on Emily and found her asleep. Just as well, he thought, for he had a lot of work to do.

He spent the major part of the afternoon with Lucas, going over the ledgers. Lucas had purchased a mare while Tristan was away and they had received word that the cattle Tristan had bought from England would arrive any day.

He also learned that Dinah and Emily spent much of each day with the children, and all of them, boys and girls alike, spoke glowingly of his wife. And why wouldn’t they? How many white women would don trousers and engage in a rousing game of kick ball with a bunch of ragged half bloods?

When he finished his duties, he returned to his room. He bathed and changed and was descending the stairs in search of his sister when he heard Dinah’s tinkling laughter followed by an amused male voice. He stopped and listened.

“But they’re so ugly,” the man was saying.

“I thought so too, at first. But now I adore them. You saw how they protected the property. Why, the day I arrived, I had to climb a tree to escape them.”

“You? Climbed a tree like a hoyden?” He laughed. “That’s not the picture of Dinah Odell I remember.”

Tristan felt a brief sense of possession. Who was this man in
his
house, talking with such familiarity to
his
wife?

“And which picture do you remember, Charles? The one where I sedately brought you a cup of tea and tripped over the rug, dumping the tea into your lap, or the time you tried to kiss me and I shoved you into the mud?”

Kiss her? Their mingled laughter made Tristan frown. His sense of possession grew.

He stepped into the great room, fighting the urge to charge in shouting,
“Aha!”
like a suspicious husband. Dinah and the young man were on the settee beside the fireplace, the one that faced the other wall, their heads together as they gossiped like old women. An odd feeling, one Tristan had never experienced before, ate at him, and with stunned surprise he realized it was jealousy.

The dogs rose from their spot at Dinah’s feet and moved toward him, their enormous tails wagging.

“Wolf? Amy? What’s—” Both Dinah and the man she was entertaining turned. Dinah blushed when she saw Tristan standing there.

“Tristan! You’re finally done with your chores.” She rose and hurried toward him, her blush spreading.

“And not a moment too soon, it would seem.” He studied the round-faced young man on the settee.

“Oh, Tristan, the strangest thing happened. While Alice and I were in Hatter’s Horn getting supplies this afternoon, we ran into Charles.” She nodded toward her guest. “Charles is an old friend of mine. From New York.”

“How convenient,” Tristan murmured under his breath. He felt a knot of apprehension at the appearance of someone from Dinah’s past.

The young man stood and offered Tristan his hand. “Charles Avery, sir.”

Sir. The word made Tristan sound like Dinah’s father instead of her husband. With reluctance, he gripped the pup’s hand, finding it soft, like a woman’s.

“What a stroke of luck to run into Dinah, way out here,” Charles Avery announced with what Tristan assumed was supposed to be an engaging smile.

Tristan scrutinized him. “Yes. What a stroke of luck. Excuse me, I must attend to my mail.”

He walked toward his study, knowing Dinah would follow. Once inside, he heard her close the door behind her. He turned, his expression bland.

She stepped from one foot to the other in front of him, wringing her hands, looking delectably fetching in one of her new gowns.

“Tristan, shame on you for not seeing Emily. She’s been worried sick about you.”

“When I found her, she was asleep. I didn’t want to wake her.”

Lifting a brow, he gave his wife a careful once-over. He thought again about how much he’d missed her. Sometimes he’d imagined her standing before him in her trousers and her loose shirt. Other times, she wore only the shirt. Occasionally, only the trousers. Often, she had worn nothing at all. He itched to see her that way. Ached for it.

“You should have. She worries so about you.”

He thumbed through the mail on his desk, glancing at her periodically. The bite of jealousy made him petulant.

He’d planned to pursue her over dinner. Now, they would no doubt have a guest. One who would need a very clever explanation to keep Tristan from wondering what he was doing here.

“Leave it to you to twist things around to make me appear the guilty one.”

She blushed further. “I didn’t go off and leave you without so much as a good-bye.”

“I apologize. It was inexcusable of me to go off like that.”

Her expression changed; she appeared puzzled by his acquiescence. “Yes, it was.”

Having an acquaintance of hers arrive so conveniently made him less than tolerant, however. He tossed her a vague glance, unwilling to show the depth of his concern. After all, she had yet to tell him the truth about herself. “You don’t find it odd that an old suitor would show up here?”

Her expression turned fierce. “Charles is not my suitor.”

His provocation continued. “How do I know you didn’t invite him out, assuming you were going to be rid of me?”

She gasped, doubled her fist and punched him.

With a cough and a strangled groan, he forced himself to stay upright.

“In six days? Sweet Mary, but you’re a boob. How would he have gotten here so quickly? Fly?”

He rubbed his stomach and drew in a deep breath. “Christ, woman, where did you learn to hit like that?”

“I’ve been working in an insane asylum, remember? I learned to do a lot of things that come in handy, you…you miserable cur.” She cradled her fist with her other palm as if it hurt. He imagined it did.

“How dare you insinuate such a thing, Tristan Fletcher. This marriage might not mean that much to you, but I take it quite seriously.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” he mumbled, continuing to rub his tender abdomen. He took her fist and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Women’s hands weren’t made for fisticuffs, Dinah.”

“Then don’t say things that will make me angry.” She pulled away. “Why is it we can’t have a single conversation without arguing?”

“I’ve often wondered that myself.”

The pulse at the base of her throat continued to vibrate, and he wanted to kiss her again, apologize for his boorish behavior.

Restraining himself, he returned to his mail. “Tell me. Who is this suitor and what’s he doing in my home?”

“I told you he’s not my suitor.”

“Explain his presence in my home, Dinah.” His impression of the youth he’d observed earlier was of a round-faced, balding young man who would one day turn to fat.

“He’s an old friend.”

“Never a suitor?” Why he kept harping on this, he couldn’t understand.

“Well, no, not really. He was a friend before—” She brought her fingers to her mouth again and just stared back at him.