Nan Ryan (19 page)

The carriage pulled away with Em still waving and carrying on about the Baldwin County Fair.

When at last the black brougham turned into the tree-bordered lane, Helen turned to Kurt.

“What is it?” she asked. “Why are you back so early? Something’s wrong.” It was a statement, not a question.

Kurt frowned. “I’m afraid so. Old Duke just died.”

Tears immediately sprang to Helen’s eyes. “No!”

“I’m sorry.”

Helen sadly shook her head. “It’s my fault. I worked him to death. He was too old and—”

“Horses are like people, ma’am,” Kurt gently interrupted. “They don’t like being thought of as old and useless. They’d much prefer to stay active to the end. To go the way your old pony Duke went.”

Skeptically, Helen looked at him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “You really think so?”

“Yes. Now you go on back up to the house and I’ll take care of Duke.”

She sighed, then nodded. “Duke’s momma is buried up there in that far corner where the timberlands begin.” She pointed to the northeast. “There’s an old wooden marker, but it’s all covered with Johnson grass and—”

“I’ll find it,” said Kurt.

“Jolly’s here,” Helen said. “You want him to help?”

“No. I’ll borrow Jolly’s gray gelding to take Duke away. I’ll bury him by his momma. Let Jolly keep Charlie occupied. I’d rather Charlie see no more of death right now, even that of an aged horse.”

“I understand,” she said, for once in complete agreement with him.

Chapter Twenty-one

I
t didn’t last long.

Within hours the two were in complete disagreement.

The sun was setting across the bay and the night’s meal had just been finished. Jolly and Charlie had already gone around the house to sit in the old cane-bottomed rockers on the front gallery and watch the sporadic traffic on the water.

Helen, clearing away the supper dishes, looked at Kurt and said, “Captain, while you’re plowing in the morning, I think maybe I’ll … that I …” She stopped talking. He was looking at her strangely, shaking his head. “What? What is it?”

Kurt leaned up to the table. He braced himself on an elbow and propped his chin in his hand. “Has it already slipped your mind? Old Duke is now in his grave.”

“No, of course it hasn’t slipped my mind.”

“How am I supposed to plow without a horse?”

“Well, since Duke’s gone, you’ll just have to harness up Raider,” she said in innocent earnestness.

Kurt’s face came out of his hand. He shoved his chair back and shot to his feet with a swiftness that so startled Helen she dropped the gathered dishes back to the table with a loud clatter. Openmouthed, she stared at him. Dangerous sparks shot from the depths of his forest-green eyes and the tendons in his neck were taut and standing out in bold relief.

His voice was curiously soft, but not pleasant, when he said, “Raider is a thoroughbred.”

“I know that.”

“Thoroughbreds do not pull plows, ma’am.”

“Oh, really? Well, I don’t think it will hurt Raider to do a little work,” Helen said, and turned her back on him.

Kurt grabbed her arm and whirled her around to face him. “Raider does not pull a plow.”

Helen wrenched her arm free of his encircling fingers. “Get this straight, Captain. The plowing
must
be done. Raider will do it!”

“No,” Kurt said stubbornly, “Raider will not.”

“He will if you expect to be paid come autumn!” Helen warned.

“I’ll pull the plow myself before I hook Raider up to it,” he said firmly.

“Don’t make such asinine statements,” she snapped at him.

“I am dead serious.”

He was and she knew it.

The space between them crackled with open hostility. It was the first time she’d ever seen him lose his studied control, show any real emotion. She was halfway frightened by it. And, at the same time, oddly thrilled by it.

As she looked anxiously into the stormy green eyes in his handsome, sun-darkened face, she sensed there was something wild and dangerous just beneath the surface. Was certain that at this very minute his tall, lean body was taut with leashed passion. Knew that if she said much more, all that carefully reined-in force might be let loose.

Perversely, she was tempted to see if she could make him explode. She felt the almost overwhelming desire to see all that scary, bottled-up potency liberated. She wondered what he might actually do if she pushed him too far.

She couldn’t stop herself. She knew it was irresponsible to say one more word, but she did.

Swaying a hair’s breath closer to him, she said, “Either hitch up that pampered stallion and get on with the plowing or else!”

“Or else?”

“Else you … you pack up and get off my farm!”

She braced herself for the outburst.

It never came.

She studied his angry, handsome face, watched it change before her very eyes. Suddenly she saw in it the young, vulnerable boy he had once surely been. She felt a peculiar tightness in her chest.

“Fine. Give me twenty-four hours,” he said calmly, then stepped around her and walked away.

Helen was horrified.

She was stunned. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Already she was sorry for what she had said. She had stupidly told him to get off her farm and he was calling her bluff. Why had she shot off her big mouth? Why had she issued such an insane threat? She had given him no choice! He would never in a million years have considered using his beloved racehorse for that kind of labor and she knew it.

He was actually going to leave. Leave her with the plowing half done and crops in the field.

Helen felt panicky.

She had to stop him before this went any further. She couldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t let him leave.

“Captain, wait!” she called, and hurried down the porch steps after him.

Kurt stopped as he reached the back gate, but he did not turn around. Genuinely distressed, Helen hurried to him. When she caught up, she grabbed his forearm, turned him to face her. She had every intention of telling him she was sorry, that she didn’t mean it, that she took it all back.

Her fingers tenaciously gripping his arm, she swallowed anxiously, but before she got the chance to speak, he looked at her indifferently and said, “Will you watch my son tomorrow?”

“Watch your … why?” Her brows knit. “Where will you be?”

“I’ll be gone all day,” he coolly told her. “I have important business in town.”

The minute he said “important business,” it dawned on Helen. She knew exactly what he was up to. He was going to the Baldwin County Fair. He was going to the fair to enter Raider in the race. He meant to win the $100 prize money. With the money in his pocket, he’d pick up Charlie and leave immediately for Maryland. That’s why he had asked for twenty-four hours.

Helen’s reeling brain raced. She had to think fast. Had to use her head. Had to keep him from going to the fair, from winning the race. He couldn’t possibly leave if he had no money.

“Captain.” She used her most authoritative voice in an attempt to mask her fear. “If the business you have in town is to enter Raider in tomorrow’s horse race, you can just forget it.” She drew a shallow breath, took her hand from his arm. “I will not look after Charlie while you traipse off to the fair!”

Kurt shrugged. “Then he’ll have to come with me.”

“No! You can’t do that to Charlie! You know very well that the townspeople might forbid their children to have anything to do with the son of a Yankee captain! Think how badly he would be hurt. I won’t let that happen, I won’t! You are not going to the Baldwin County Fair!” Her voice had become shrill.

“You’re wrong,” he said unemotionally. “I am going.”

Desperate, certain if he got his hands on that prize money he would leave her, Helen tried again. “I’m your employer, your boss. I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it? I’m bigger than you, ma’am,” he said, a trace of amusement in his tone, and he moved in a step closer to prove it. Helen had to tip her head back to look at him.

“You’re right, Captain. You are bigger than I. But fortunately I have an equalizer.”

“Really? Show me.”

“Gladly!”

Swiftly Helen shoved her hand down into the pocket of her work skirt, forgetting, until that moment, that she didn’t have the pistol. Too late she remembered that since a few short days after Kurt and Charlie had come to live at the farm, she had stopped carrying the weapon. It was in the top drawer of her bureau, not in her pocket.

He must have known. Of course he did. His hands had been on her the morning of their wild ride atop Raider; he’d known since then that she no longer carried the pistol. Damn him!

Helen warned impotently, “I have a gun. It’s loaded!”

“I know you do.”

“I’ll draw it and—”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will … I’ll—”

“You wouldn’t shoot me, would you?” His chilly green eyes warmed slightly. He reached up, touched a wayward strand of silky golden hair lying against her flushed cheek. Gently tucking it behind her ear, he looked directly into her eyes and warned in a low, flat voice, “Never draw on me unless you mean to kill me.”

“Don’t worry!” She slapped his hand away, angry and upset. “If I ever pull a gun on you, I
will
kill you!”

“Fair enough,” he said, then smiled an absolutely dazzling smile and softly told her, “And killing me is the only way you’ll keep me from going to the Baldwin County Fair.”

Chapter Twenty-two

K
urt went to the fair.

Charlie stayed home with Helen.

Secure in the knowledge that any disagreement between Helen and himself would not affect the way she treated Charlie in his absence, Kurt left his son behind with her.

The little boy knew nothing about the Baldwin County Fair. The grown-ups had carefully avoided mentioning it in Charlie’s presence. Had he known about it, he would have pitched a fit to go. Helen, Kurt, and Jolly were all of the same mind. It would be far too risky for Charlie to go into Spanish Fort and the fair.

Which was a shame.

Under different circumstances Charlie would have had the time of his life. Swarms of children showed up at every fair for the day-long celebration. Charlie had changed so much in the past few weeks, he would have fit right in with the other rowdy boys his age. Unless those little boys were not allowed to play with the son of a hated Yankee. It wasn’t worth taking the chance.

Kurt slipped out of bed before sunrise on that cool Saturday morning. He sat on the edge of the mattress, ran his hands through his hair, and looked back over his shoulder at Charlie. Lying on his stomach, short arms flung up over his head, face buried in the pillow, Charlie slept the deep, peaceful sleep of the truly innocent.

Kurt smiled and carefully spread the covering sheet up over Charlie’s narrow shoulders. He touched his son’s small head, gently running affectionate fingers over the silky golden hair at Charlie’s crown.

Then he quickly rose, shaved, dressed, and went to the corral. He fed Raider a bucket of oats, curried him, checked his big, sleek body for any abrasions. And, one at a time, he lifted the hooves and keenly inspected them for thorns or pebbles. He talked to the stallion throughout, explaining that their usual morning ride must wait until later in the day.

When he was satisfied Raider was fit as a fiddle, Kurt saddled the big stallion, but left the cinch loose under his belly and tied the stirrups up. He led the stallion out of the corral as the first pink and gray tinges of dawn lightened the eastern sky.

In the darkened house, Helen was awake. She had spent a long, fitful night, getting little rest, worrying, wondering what was going to happen. Yawning tiredly, she got out of bed in time to see Kurt leaving.

Wearing only her nightgown, she stood at the kitchen window as he led his horse out of the corral. Her face screwed up into a worried frown, she hurriedly moved from the kitchen window to the tall ones in the dining room as man and horse moved past the side of the house, just beyond the yard. Finally she slipped out on the south gallery, being quiet as a church mouse, taking care not to be seen.

Clutching her long white nightie up around her knees, she stood barefoot in the summer dawn. Watching Kurt Northway. Princelike, he moved with a slow, fluid grace which prompted the inane thought that he was most likely smooth and graceful on the dance floor. She would never know, of course.

Helen’s discerning woman’s eye quickly noted that Kurt’s tanned face was smoothly shaven, his jet-black hair neatly brushed. He wore a freshly laundered white shirt and a pair of snug-fitting navy trousers. Like a mother fussily checking her child’s appearance, Helen was pleased. He was as clean, well-groomed, and handsome as any man she’d ever seen, so at least her old friends couldn’t fault him on that score.

Helen clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, silently chiding herself. She was silly to care one way or the other. Immaculate or slovenly, he was still a Yankee. That fact alone was cause enough to get him shunned by the throngs of fairgoers. She herself would probably shun him if she could afford such a luxury.

Just as the tall, lean man and the big, sleek horse reached the entrance to the tree-shaded lane, both paused. Kurt stopped, slowly pivoted, and looked directly toward the house. Helen gasped in horror and jumped back when he lifted a hand and waved to her. Had he known all along that she was there?

Feeling foolish and guilty and irritated all at the same time, she rushed back inside wishing she had never gone out. Wishing he hadn’t caught her. Wishing things could be different.

Wishing that she and Charlie were going with Kurt to the fair. Wishing that the three of them could walk among the many booths and buy foolish nick-nacks and win prizes and eat spiced shrimp and laugh and have a good time like all the other men, women, and children in Baldwin County.

She wished she and Charlie could see Kurt win this afternoon’s big race. Wished the two of them could be there, leaning over the rail cheering wildly when Raider flashed across the finish line ahead of the pack.