Moonlight on Water (26 page)

“You should have.”

“I know. I have to admit that I was thinking only of getting her home safely. Then the fire—”

Miss Hanson sat at the table. “I think you should start from the beginning, Miss Browning.”

Rachel gave her an abridged version of what had happened after Horace had discovered the fires on
The Ohio Star
. Miss Hanson's frown lengthened her round face as she listened.

Before Rachel was finished, Miss Hanson gasped, “You ninny! You brought those two men here? If anyone else discovers
him
here, you'll be answering to the Assembly of Elders.”

“Be reasonable, Miss Hanson,” she argued quietly. She knew
him
meant Wyatt, and she also knew that Miss Hanson was right to be more concerned with what the Assembly of Elders thought about Wyatt being here than they would about Horace. “After all, Mr. Colton is hurt. I couldn't leave him untended.”

“They've got a doctor in Haven.”

“That's true, but I didn't want them having to live in the hotel there while they recovered. Don't you see that, Miss Hanson?”

The gray-haired woman came to her feet and shook her head. “What I see, Miss Browning, is that your kind heart is going to lead you into trouble. You know that the River's Haven Community doesn't welcome outsiders to live within its bounds.”

“I'm not asking them to live here,” she answered slowly. Why hadn't she considered this alternative? She and Wyatt could not be together if he was an outsider. Wyatt had denounced the Community over and over, but would he reconsider now that his boat was in need of even more repairs? She knew it was unlikely, but she must ask.

“Take care, Miss Browning.” Miss Hanson opened the door.

“You won't tell anyone, will you?”

The older woman paused. “Miss Browning, I've seen all the goodness in you, because you've taken that young rascal into your heart as if she were your own from birth. I don't want you hurt because of your kind heart.” Facing Rachel, she raised one finger. “But only this time. If you are so foolish again …” She walked out of the cottage, closing the door behind her.

That was one bit of advice that Rachel was glad to accept.

Rachel yawned and rubbed her eyes. It was just barely past dark, but this had been a long day with no chance to rest. Keeping Kitty Cat quiet so she did not disturb Wyatt and Horace had been a full-time task in itself. Finally she had sent the little girl out to play, hoping Kitty Cat would keep her promise not to spill the news that the men were here.

Lightning flashed through the room, and Rachel lit a lamp against the darkness cast by the thick clouds rising up over the river. Maybe this storm would wash the heaviness out of the air.

She went into her bedroom and opened the lowest drawer of the dresser to pull out another blanket. She would use it later when she slept wrapped up in this scratchy blanket beside Kitty Cat. That way if anyone stirred she would be certain to hear. Setting the blanket on the bench, she went to the window.

She froze as a hand caught her arm. Looking back at the bed shadowed by the storm, she said, “I'm sorry to wake you, Wyatt. I was going to close the windows before rain came in.”

“Go ahead.” Wyatt's voice was husky with sleep.

“How are you doing?”

“Well enough.” He drew her down to sit on the edge of the bed. Then, with a laugh, he pulled her toward him. She gasped as she toppled onto him. She wanted to ask him if he was mad, but she had no chance. With a swift motion, he tipped her onto her back. He captured her mouth before she could speak.

She raised her hands to push him away before she succumbed to his easy seduction. It was too late, for her fingers curled along his nape, eager to touch him.

When he raised his mouth from hers and cursed, she asked, “How could you be so foolish? You're hurt!”

“It's not foolish to want what we had last night, honey.”

“It is when you're hurt.”

He grinned wryly as she started to wiggle out from beneath him. Pinning her shoulders to the pillow, he murmured, “Not too hurt to enjoy that.”

“You're a rogue, Wyatt Colton.”

“And you're too pretty to resist.” He shifted to kiss her, then grimaced.

This time, Rachel did not let him tease her into staying in his arms. She slipped off the bed. “If you don't have the good sense to know when you must take it easy, then you're going to pay with pain.”

“I thought you'd have
some
sympathy for me.”

“I do. Do you want more salve for your arm?”

“For my leg, honey.” When he sat, she saw the scorched marks on the left leg of his denim trousers. How had she missed them before? “I could use some of that salve on them.”

“Of course.” She went to the dresser to get the jar Doc Bamburger had had Mr. Sawyer deliver to her. When she turned back to the bed, she tightened her grip on the jar and stared as Wyatt peeled off his denims.

Her heart pounded ferociously while she stood, unable to move or speak, as he kicked aside the trousers. Her feet seemed to be stuck as if the floor had become river mud. She had to force them to move … at a slow pace instead of running to his side.

She knelt as she opened the jar. Her fingers quivered as she spread the salve along the crimson burns, trying to pay no attention to the strong muscles beneath her fingertips. Her breath came fast and shallow when she tended to one long burn rising along his thigh.

A hand on her hair tilted her face back. He took the jar from her and set it on her dressing table. Then he drew her to her feet.

“Rachel,” he whispered with raw yearning.

“You're hurt,” she answered as softly. She picked up the jar and took it back to the dresser before she was unable to resist the longing in his gaze.

“I'm hurting more for you, honey.”

She faced him. When he held out his arms, she closed the door. He smiled, and she rushed to slip into his embrace once more.

“Are you sure this won't hurt you worse?” she gasped as his mouth coursed along her neck while he leaned her back beneath him once more.

“If it does, you can massage more of that salve into me.”

She laughed before she drew his mouth over hers and surrendered to the storm enveloping them, sweeping away everything but ecstasy.

Seventeen

Wyatt woke as suddenly as if someone had poked him. He slipped out of Rachel's bed, taking care not to wake her. If he did, she would ask him what was wrong. He would explain, and soon her gentle touch would steal him from this sorrow.

He wanted to kill it his own way. Her sweet touch was a delight, but he had to grieve for what had almost been lost in the fire on
The Ohio Star
. Not just his and Horace's dream of owning their own boat, but Rachel and K. C.

If he thought about who had set fire to the boat … But that was what he did not want to do. He wanted to drown every thought until it vanished from his head once and for all.

Tiptoeing into the cottage's main room, he found his way to the kitchen. He took down the bottle of wine that Rachel kept there. Seeing the glint of another bottle behind it, he picked up that one and twisted off the top. He poured a large glassful. He downed it. Whiskey! Refilling it, he took it and the bottle to a chair with a view of the river.

“Wyatt?” Astonishment was in Rachel's soft voice.

He smiled as he drank in the sight of her as avidly as he had the whiskey. Her white nightgown became luminous in the light from the crescent moon, and he wondered why she ever wore black. This color was perfect for her. Raising his glass, he asked, “Do you want a drink, honey?”

“No, thank you.” She frowned. “Are you all right?”

“I need some time alone to think.”
Or not think
, he corrected himself.

“Wyatt, I'd be glad to sit with you.”

He took her hand and pressed his mouth to her delicious skin. “I know you hate to be alone, but I need to be just now.”

“All right, but if you need anything else other than the whiskey—”

“You'll know because you'll be what I need.”

She kissed the top of his head as gently as if he were as young as K. C.

In spite of his words, he stared after her as she went back to her bedroom. He could have gone with her, but tonight he had to think about how to fix
The Ohio Star
. He hoped Horace could dig up some more money from wherever he had found the cash for their food. Looking out the window at the moon-swept river, he smiled. They would repair the boat and get back to their lives on the river. It would be everything he had dreamed of since he was young. An easy life with no ties to the shore. He glanced again at the hallway that led to Rachel's bedroom. Maybe one tie.

When the afternoon sunshine beat on his eyelids, Wyatt groaned. His mouth tasted bad, and his whole body reeked. He forced himself to his feet. No one else seemed to be around. At this hour, K. C. would be playing with the other kids, and Rachel was probably at her office in the big building. He had no idea where Horace might be. Maybe his partner was still asleep.

He lurched to Rachel's bedroom. A quick glance into K. C.'s room revealed that Horace was sprawled on the little girl's bed, snoring loudly.

Wyatt groaned again. Horace's snoring was enough to make his head ache, but today, in the wake of the whiskey he had downed last night, his head threatened to explode like an overworked boiler.

After he washed up, he ran his hand along his cheeks. No wonder Rachel had kissed him on the crown last night His face was as rough as splintered wood. He would not be able to shave until he got back to
The Ohio Star
.

His steps were a bit steadier as he went back out to the kitchen. He had just reached the table when the door opened.

Rachel was whistling a happy melody as she strolled in, her arms full of flowers. She halted immediately, but her eyes brightened. “Good afternoon, stay-abed!”

K. C. skipped in and put her finger to her lips. “You said to be quiet for Wyatt and Horace.”

“So I did.” She reached for a vase and put the flowers in it. Then she poured a cup of fragrant coffee and set it on the table in front of him. “How badly does your head hurt, Wyatt?”

He dropped to a chair, then winced as the motion ached through him. “Imagine being run over by a dray drawn by eight draft horses, and you'll have some idea.”

Softly, she said, “Go back to bed, and get some more sleep. It's not just the whiskey. Don't forget you got pretty banged up fighting the fire.”

“You take good care of me.” He tweaked K. C.'s nose, and she giggled. “Both of you.”

“Rachel says I need to say thank you for saving Shirley,” K. C. said.

“The rag doll,” Rachel murmured.

He took a deep drink of the coffee and leaned back with a sigh. “I always try to save damsels in distress.”

Rachel sent K. C. back outside to play. As she closed the door, she leaned against it and said, “Kitty Cat isn't the only one who needs to say thank you. We're both grateful for you finding the rag doll, even though it was foolhardy.”

“Both?” It took a moment for his befuddled brain to work before he could ask, “Was that your doll before it was K. C.'s?”

“My mother made it for me when I was even younger than Kitty Cat. That and only a few other things here are all I have left from home … from Ohio.”

He could not miss the wistful sorrow in her eyes. Maybe she had persuaded everyone—even herself—that she was happy here, but there still was a part of her that longed to go back to the sort of life she once had known.

Looking away, he cursed too low for her to hear. She wanted what she had once had. A life he could not give her.

At the knock, Rachel motioned for Kitty Cat to remain at the table and finish her supper along with Wyatt and Horace. Who was knocking? No one knocked at River's Haven, and she had come up with excuses to keep everyone away—even suggesting Kitty Cat was getting sick so no one would call. She opened the door only far enough to look out, not wanting anyone to see Wyatt and Horace. A lanky man she did not know stood on the other side. Then she realized she had seen him on the pier. He had helped Mr. Sawyer fish Wyatt and Horace out of the river.

“Miss Browning?” he asked, tipping his hat.

“Yes. You are …?”

“Sheriff Parker, miss. I understand Mr. Colton and Mr. Appleby are here.”

She almost asked who Mr. Appleby was, then realized that must be Horace's last name. Stepping back, she opened the door wider. “Come in.”

“Thank you, miss.” He smiled at Kitty Cat, who was regarding him with eager curiosity. “Colton, Appleby,” he said with a nod in their direction.

“Have you eaten, Sheriff?” Rachel asked.

“I don't want to intrude on your meal.”

“Nonsense.” She laughed as she ushered him in and quickly closed the door. “I took a lesson from Horace and cooked extra.”

Kitty Cat jumped up to get a chair for Sheriff Parker. When she pushed it across the floor, Wyatt winced and Horace mumbled something under his breath. Before the little girl could push it farther and aggravate the men's aching heads more, Rachel picked up the chair and set it down for the sheriff.

Wyatt pushed aside his plate and folded his arms on the table. “I trust you're here, Sheriff, because you want to know what happened on
The Ohio Star
.”

“I'd appreciate you telling me what you heard and saw.” He smiled when Rachel put a plate in front of him. Picking up a slice of bread, he took a big bite that suggested he had not had anything to eat all day.

“Heard?” He laughed shortly. “Nothing but the storm. Horace, did you hear or see something?”

“The odor of smoke woke me. When you've been cooking on the river as long as I have, Sheriff, you notice the smell of smoke straightaway. I woke up and saw flames on the upper decks, so I got the young'un here and alerted Wyatt and Miss Rachel.”