Now and Forever (94 page)

A smile tugged at the right corner of his mouth and her damnably vulnerable heart ached in response.

"You believe the good people of Franklin Ridge will take you to their bosoms and reveal their secrets?" he asked.

"It's either that or I'll be forced to look in their medicine cabinets."

"Madam?"

She sighed.
We couldn't have made it over the long haul even if we wanted to, Devane. You'll never get my jokes and I'll never be able to heal your broken heart.

"You say nobody in town likes you, and from what I've heard, you're probably right. If you start popping up on their doorsteps for a cup of tea, they'll have you arrested." She paused to let him consider the vastness of his unpopularity. "If you take me along with you, they might give you another chance."

"I am not that good an actor, Dakota."

"But
I
am. I'll make them believe we're the most wonderful couple since George and Martha."

He had cut himself off from the daily fabric of life in Franklin Ridge. Susannah's treachery had plunged him into solitude and it was that very solitude that had made it possible for him to move between the worlds of home and war. But now he needed the information he could glean from the townspeople, and to obtain that information he needed the woman next to him. Needed her in ways he dared not contemplate.

"They will watch us closely to see if we are indeed the happily wed couple we claim to be."

"And they won't be disappointed."

"You will do this for me?"

Her smile was quicksilver. It was gone before he could capture it in his soul. "No, but I will do it for me."

#

Dakota was silent as she followed him back through the dark passageway to the house. This was the stuff of a Victoria Holt novel and all she could think about was how many spiders were lurking overhead, ready to pounce. She hadn't given a thought to spiders when she was angry and her adrenaline was pumping, but now she was convinced there was a platoon of black widows waiting for her.

"Mmmph," she said as she walked headlong into his shoulder. "Why did you stop? I want to get out of here."

"The door is locked."

"That's ridiculous." She ducked under his arm and pushed hard. "The door is locked."

"Precisely, madam. Did you do so?"

"Of course I didn't. In fact, I meant to ask you how you managed to reassemble the armoire from inside the passageway. That was a pretty neat trick."

"It requires patience," he said, "and a degree of strength. Nothing more."

"So who closed it after me?"

"It would appear that someone knows of the secret passageway and is revealing that knowledge to me."

"Not very subtle, if you ask me. Why didn't they just leave a note? Everyone around here seems to be into writing letters. Maybe—"

"Madam, would you refrain from that constant chatter while I contemplate the situation."

She couldn't believe her ears. They were locked out of the house, stranded in a secret passageway that had probably bred spiders the way picnics bred ants. "Ponder? I can't believe I'm standing here in the dark with a man who'd use a word like
ponder.
How about a nice active verb like
escape
or—"

He clapped a hand over her mouth and silenced her.

"You will remain here," he said. "The hidden room exits beneath the stables. I will walk up to the main house and unlock the wardrobe to release you."

She removed his hand. "How do I know you won't forget about me?"

"It is a matter of trust between us."

"That's what I was afraid of," she said. "That's why we're going to do it my way . . . . "

#

Dakota and Patrick entered through the front door just as Cook finished stirring the breakfast porridge. Standing in the hallway, they brushed snow from each other's hair and shoulders, laughing just loudly enough to draw Cook from the kitchen. The idea was to make the household believe the two lovers had gone out for an early-morning stroll in the snow.

"She's watching us from the hallway," Dakota murmured as Patrick pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. "I think she is about to faint."

"'Twill reach Morristown by the noon hour," Patrick said dryly as Dakota straightened the collar of his jacket. "News of the happy couple will be served with the midday meal."

It was frighteningly easy to play the happy couple. All Dakota had to do was think about how she had felt in his arms and she was awash with violent,spectacular emotions.

"G'morning, sir." A young soldier called out a greeting as he lugged a barrel of flour through the hallway. "And g'morning to you too, ma'am."

Dakota favored him with a warm, wifely smile. "It's a wonderful morning, isn't it?" she asked, meaning every syllable. "The best morning ever!"

The soldier eyed her curiously, then shrugged his bony shoulders. "If you say so, ma'am, I s'pose it is."

"Do not overplay your hand," Patrick warned her as they strolled toward the kitchen for their morning meal. "Such exuberance might foster doubt."

"Too bad," she retorted with a snap of her fingers. "We're newlyweds. Newlyweds are supposed to be exuberant."

Patrick grunted a response, while Dakota beamed another megawatt smile in Cook's direction. "It's most definitely a fine day, Cook." She turned toward Abigail who was seated across the table. "Morning, Abby."

"I waited and waited," Abigail said, looking from Dakota to Patrick then back again, "but Cook said I could eat my johnnycakes before you came down."

"Cook did exactly the right thing," Dakota said, leaning across the table to pat the child's tiny hand. "You're a growing girl. You need your food."

Cook served Dakota and Patrick each a plate of johnnycakes.

"And porridge afterward," said Cook, "if you have the appetite for it."

"These are wonderful, Cook," Dakota said with a smile. "Just what we needed to warm our bones."

Turning away from Patrick, Cook winked broadly at Dakota in a way that made Dakota want to giggle like a guilty teenager.

"Oh, I'm certain your bones are plenty warm, missus."

Patrick looked up from his steaming cup of chocolate. "Have you nothing better to do with your time, woman, save stand there simpering like a fool?"

"Begging your pardon, sir." Cook winked again at Dakota and turned back to stir the porridge again.

Patrick muttered something dark about an unpardonable lack of privacy, but Dakota laughed and patted him on the hand in what she hoped seemed like a natural, wifely gesture. In truth, it was anything but. The simple touch of his hand beneath her fingertips sent ripples of sensation up her arm and straight to her heart. If this was what a wife felt every time she touched her husband, it was a miracle anyone made it to their first anniversary.

Abigail fidgeted with the bowl of porridge that followed the johnnycakes. Her eyes were heavily shadowed and she had none of her usual six-year-old sparkle.

"Abby?" Dakota asked. "You didn't sleep very well last night, did you?"

Abigail shook her head. Even her braids had lost their bounce. "My throat hurts," she said, placing her hand over her windpipe. "Like someone squeezed it real hard."

Dakota rose from her chair and rounded the table to the child's side. She placed the flat of her hand against Abigail's forehead. "You feel cool enough. Are you sneezing?"

"No."

Something niggled at the back of Dakota's memory, like a forgotten phrase from an old song, but she couldn't quite grasp hold of it. "Maybe you should stay in today. It's just awful outside."

The room shook as another tree toppled in the woods behind the house. The soldiers were making short work of the thick woods as they raced to complete their huts before the next storm.

"Bloody fools," Patrick swore. "There will be naught but open fields remaining when they have done with it."

"You begrudge them their huts?" Dakota asked.

"I do, madam, and I begrudge the fact that my trees are used to construct a new kitchen for McDowell's chef."

Abby moved her spoon around in her bowl of porridge, then pushed the whole thing away from her.

"Why don't you go upstairs and get Lucy?" Dakota suggested. "I found a lovely scrap of wool that would make a splendid dress for her."

Abigail turned to her father. "May I, Papa?"

He nodded and the child ran from the room.

"What are they going to do about the foot soldiers?" Dakota asked, pouring herself some more hot chocolate. She was aware that Cook was hanging on every word. "Those poor men are sleeping in the snow."

"First the general's needs," Devane said, meeting her eyes across the table, "then the needs of his men. Neither of which are my concern nor should they be yours."

Behind her Cook sniffed, obviously distressed by Patrick's cavalier attitude toward the plight of the soldiers. Dakota had trouble suppressing the urge to defend him to all and sundry, but knew that would not help advance his cause. The suspicion under which he was held was his greatest asset.

He pushed back his chair and rose to his full height of over six feet. "We will ride out this afternoon to call on the Bradleys, the Vliets, and the Atwaters. Be ready by two o'clock."

We're supposed to be newlyweds,
her look admonished him.
If this is going to work, you'll have to play along.

His glance held hers for a moment. A slow, lazy grin spread across his handsome face like daylight breaking after a stormy night. She could almost hear Cook swooning as she chopped vegetables for the soup pot.

"I will wait for you in the front hall."

He turned to leave, then apparently thought better of it. Dakota watched, mesmerized, as he closed the distance between them, then bent over her and kissed her.

Thoroughly.

If she'd been standing when he kissed her, she would have toppled over in a heap as bells, whistles, and the Vienna Boys Choir, past and present, exploded into full, exultant life inside her head the moment his mouth claimed hers.

"Two o'clock," he said, touching her chin with the tip of his forefinger.

"Two o'clock," she whispered.

Chapter Eighteen

After she recovered from Devane's unexpected kiss at the breakfast table, Dakota managed to compose herself long enough to ask Cook a few discreet questions. Within two minutes her worst fears had been confirmed. Probably the only thing between Patrick and the hangman's noose was the fact that he was not only the most disliked man in Franklin Ridge, he was also the wealthiest.

War had taken its toll on the small community, and without Devane's financial support they would be in even more trouble than they already were. Human nature being what it was, that made the good citizens hate him all the more. It wasn't going to be easy to get them to open their doors to Devane, but they would give it the old college try.

After the morning meal Abigail ran off to watch the soldiers build their huts while Dakota went upstairs to tackle her main problem: What did a woman wear to visit neighbors who hated her husband's guts? She debated between the pale blue moiré she'd laid across the bed and the dark rose muslin with the flowered skirt that was draped over the back of the chaise longue. The blue moiré had a particularly low-cut neckline, which was terrific if you were built like one of the girls on
Baywatch
, and not so terrific if you were actually human.

What about that nice yellow dress with the crocheted lace at the cuffs?

Ginny's voice was as clear and distinct as if she were standing in the room with her daughter. Dakota spun around and looked to make sure she wasn't.

"Ma!" she said out loud. "Is that you?"

Don't even think about that blue dress, not unless those falsies you made from the T-shirt will stay in place.

"Where are you?"

I'm sitting at the kitchen table. Janis is coming over for a tarot reading in a little while and I thought I'd drop in and see how you were doing before things got too hectic.