Rachel Donnelly (37 page)

Nat was nowhere in sight.

Apparently delivering Cecil’s body safely to the sheriff took precedence over saying goodbye. The driver could have provided an accurate account, but no, Nat had insisted on doing it himself to avoid any misunderstanding.

How long did it take to explain a big hole in an outlaw’s head?

Certainly not two hours. Perhaps she’d imagined Nat’s insistent tone — his hesitation, then lingering gaze before he’d strode away. He knew what time the train left. If he’d wanted to say goodbye he would have come.

The engine puffed out clouds of steam like smoke signals.

“All aboard!”

Christie rose on the tip of her boots for one last look, craning her neck in every direction. Perhaps she could wait for the next train? Would it be so bad if Meagan married Robby? A doctor’s salary wasn’t substantial, but it was enough. She’d considered marrying him herself before she’d discovered what a fickle devil he was.

Christie heaved an anguished moan.

What was she thinking?

She couldn’t put her own happiness above Meagan’s.

Ten paces to the train seemed like ten miles. Her legs grew heavier with every step — her heart so full, it felt as though it would burst. But she forced herself forward, tears pricking her eyes.

He wasn’t coming.

It was time to go — time to leave the west behind.

Christie swept the blue coverlet aside to throw her legs over the side of the bed. What heaven, to have slept so late. The train journey had been an exhausting ordeal with no company, other than strangers and her own regrets. But back home in familiar surroundings she breathed less painfully, felt more herself again.

At least, she would soon — once this ghastly business with Meagan was resolved.

But then what?

Oh, certainly life would go on as it always had — minding the household, her father working himself into an early grave, Meagan and Evie squabbling from sunup ‘til sundown. The sadness would fade, but Nat would forever be a part of her — always at the back of her consciousness — his touch, his smell, the blue fire in his eyes.

If only he’d come to say goodbye. Perhaps she could put it all behind her. Perhaps she could forget.

A tremendous sigh eased past her lips.

It was time to stop thinking about herself and focus on Meagan.

The sooner she got this over with, the better.

Now, where were her slippers? She could have sworn she’d left them right beside the bed. Christie cast a glance toward the walnut wardrobe, then back down to the floor. There they were, exactly where she’d left them.

Gad!

She was losing her mind.

She slid her feet into the white satin slippers.

A giggle floated up from under the bed.

Christie bent down to peer between her legs under the four-post bed. “Evie! What are you doing under there? Come out, dearest. The floor is cold.”

“Bess said not to wake you.”

“Well I’m awake now, you goose.”

“Good. I’m starving.” Evie’s strawberry ringlets hopped along the floor ahead of her as she wriggled her way out. She jumped like a frog to land on two feet. Even standing upright she appeared like a cat poised to spring. “We can’t eat breakfast until you come down.”

“What nonsense.” Christie reached out to straighten the lace bow on the front of Evie’s white muslin frock. “Breakfast is always at seven.” Their father left for work at eight and abhorred any breech in punctuality. “You shouldn’t have waited for me.”

Evie set her dimpled hands on her hips. “Today is Saturday.”

“Oh yes, of course. Where has the time flown?”

Evie blinked her earnest green eyes. “Father doesn’t go to the bank on Saturday,” she continued, as though speaking to a patient suffering from a head injury. “He works in his study. Breakfast is always at eight on Saturday.”

“Yes, yes!” Christie’s gaze darted to the small brass clock on her bedside table. “Mercy! It’s a quarter to. I need to get dressed. Run along! Tell them I’ll be right down.”

A light knock sounded against the door.

“Come in,” Christie bid.

Meagan hustled into the bedchamber looking as fresh as a peach in her organdie gown, her smooth mahogany locks coiled tight atop her head. “Good, you’re awake. It’s a quarter to eight. Father is pacing in the dining room like a caged lion. I’m not going in there without reinforcements.”

“I was just about to get dressed.” Christie kept her tone as patient as she could. It seemed her mother hen duties would never end. “I’ll be right down.”

Evie threw her arms around Christie’s waist, hugging her tight. “I’m so glad you’re home. No more boring lessons with Miss Grouch Bottom.”

“Evie!” Christie tried to contain a smile as she and Meagan exchanged looks over the top of Evie’s head.

“Well, it’s true. Even Father says so. He’s given her the boot. You came home just time, or I should have to suffer through Meagan teaching me my lessons. She doesn’t understand geometry. If Father lets her teach me, I’ll be stupid.”

Meagan’s cheeks flushed pink, lighting the dusting of freckles on her nose. “I understand it perfectly. I simply don’t like doing it.” Meagan had never enjoyed her lessons. By the age of seventeen, with many of her friends betrothed or already married, she resented them all the more. Hence her sudden compulsion to rush to the altar and the predicament she now found herself in.

“Geometry isn’t for everyone. God gives us all different gifts,” Christie said with brisk diplomacy. “Meagan can name every country in the atlas. Perhaps she’ll take a grand tour one day and take you with her.” Christie smoothed Evie’s curls with one hand, then dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “But before any of us does anything, we shall need to have breakfast. Now scoot, and let me get dressed.”

Evie flounced out the door with a happy skip, no doubt relishing the idea of no lessons today, and the details of Christie’s adventures, which she had avoided relating thus far. Recounting her stay in Nevada would only dredge up painful memories of Nat — something Christie had no wish to do.

Meagan remained, hovering just inside the door.

Christie could guess why. With her train arriving so late, there hadn’t been a moment of privacy for Meagan to plead her case. Clearly she was bursting at the seams to get it out before their father swayed Christie beyond repair.

“Perhaps you should close the door.” Christie crossed to the dressing table, then sat down to brush her hair.

“There’s no need to pretend.” Meagan came forward wringing her hands as soon as she’d closed the door. “I know you must hate me.”

“Hate you?” Christie spun round on the chair, brush poised in midair. “Whatever for?”

“Father told me that you were in love with Robby.” Meagan cast her eyes downward. “That you hoped to marry him.”

“Well he was wrong,” she stated flatly. “I have never been in love with Doctor Turner. In fact, there was nothing between us at all. I admit, I did toy with the idea to avoid Father’s ultimatum, but going to Nevada changed all that.”

Meagan came forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Because of the kidnapping?”

“No. Because I met someone else.” Seeing Meagan’s eyes widen with curiosity Christie rushed on. “And that is why I feel very strongly that you should wait.”

“Wait!” Meagan came to her feet. “Why should I wait? I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you think. I know you and Father think I’m too young — that I don’t know my own mind. But I do. Robby and I are in love and nothing you can say will change that.”

“Calm down. Sit for a moment and listen to what I have to say.” After Meagan perched on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, Christie continued. “I don’t question your feelings for Doctor Turner. I only question your haste. If he truly loves you, surely he can wait.”

Meagan rose to her feet to begin pacing the room. “It doesn’t matter how long we wait. Father will never agree.”

“I’m not thinking about Father. I’m thinking of you. You’ve been so looking so forward to your coming out. For the past two years you’ve talked of nothing else. Why should you be cheated out of your debut? Think of all the hours we’ve spent designing your gown. I just don’t want you to look back years from now with any regrets.”

Meagan stopped in mid-stride, her voice turning wistful. “I never thought of that.”

“And what of Aunt Madeline, all of her plans to take you on a grand tour? Do you want to give all of that up?”

Meagan threw her hands in the air. “I know, I know, but what am I to do? I must make a choice.”

“I’m not suggesting you call off the engagement, just delay it a few months.”

“Yes. Perhaps we could,” Meagan said hopefully. “We could announce our engagement after my coming out; that is, if Robby agrees. Aunt Madeline and I would only be gone a few months. We could marry when I return home.”

“Yes, and Father will have had plenty of time to consider the match.” It would also allow more time for Robby to show his true colors.

At mention of their father, Meagan’s mouth tightened. “I’m not making any promises. I shall have to speak with Robby first.”

“Of course not, promises can be hard to keep.” Except if you were a man like Nat. His face swam before her. Her eyes misted over. The image washed from her sight. Had she waited at the train station, would he have offered her a promise?

If he had, he would have kept it forever.

• • •

“You’re a sight this morning,”

Nat’s gaze swept past Aunt Carolyn to consider his father through red-veined eyes. He hadn’t changed one bit. Though his face had thinned and his hair turned grey. His shoulders were still stocky — his body just as tall and lean. He didn’t just sit in his chair at the end of the table. He occupied it, like a kingdom.

What a pleasure it was going to be to set him straight, almost as much pleasure as witnessing his shock last night. When Nat had agreed with a mild shrug to meet his business associate’s daughter, his father had nearly toppled over backward in his chair. No doubt he’d been storing up arguments for months — bristling for a loud debate.

Fortunately, there was no need.

Right now, Nat’s scalp threatened to lift from his head.

The aroma of ham and sausage, mingling with the sweet scent of pink roses in the center of the table, caused his stomach to rebel. “I’d appreciate it if you could speak a little softer,” he requested.

“You should know better.” From the look of his father’s half smile, Nat guessed he was enjoying the spectacle.

“You got me there.” ‘No sympathy for self-inflicted illness’, his father used to say. At least this morning he’d spared him that.

“There’s nothing wrong with sowing a few wild oats now and again, Maxwell.” Aunt Carolyn turned in her chair to flash a wink of support with one dove-colored eye. “Nathan ran into some old friends last night. I expect they had a lot of catching up to do.”

Good old Aunt Carolyn, Nat could always count on her to take his part. She’d run to his defense many times when he was a child, saving him from more than a few thrashings. But he was well beyond the age of needing her protection.

He’d always wondered why she’d never married. Though not quite as pretty as his mother, she had the same pale blonde hair and gentle nature — the same husky laugh — attributes she possessed to this day. When she first came to Virginia after his mother’s death, Nat hoped she and his father would marry. It would have been a comfort after the loss of his mother. But they never did. They both seemed content, just as they were.

“Well, eat up,” his father said, not attempting to lower his voice in the least. “It’ll soak up the booze in your belly.”

Nat’s stomach heaved at the thought of gulping down runny eggs. “Coffee will do just fine.” He reached for his cup. “So when is this event you want me to get shined up for?”

Aunt Carolyn turned in her chair. “Colonel Hawthorn is holding a ball for his niece’s coming out next week. It isn’t her official debut of course, that was held in Boston. But I’m sure it will be just as grand.”

“It’s a damn good thing it isn’t tonight,” his father said. “The ladies would take one look and run for the hills.”

“Just like you hoped Heather would do, the night you went to see her?”

Aunt Carolyn’s spoon clattered against her saucer. “Your father regrets all that. Don’t you, Maxwell?”

“I can speak for myself, Carolyn.”

Nat leaned back in his chair, feeling the old bitterness rise up in his chest, remembering how his father had accused him of abandoning his family responsibilities. “Blood is thicker than water, son!” he’d said. “You’re letting me down.” It had been an agonizing time — torn between wanting to please his father and honoring his promise to Drew.

“Go ahead,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m busting at the seams to hear it. Just what did you think to accomplish by offering Heather that money? That she’d disappear?”

His father’s brow furrowed. “I was trying to help you. You stubborn ass!”

“Help me?” Nat’s voice rose in disbelief. “By paying Heather off? Even if she had managed to keep the bank from taking Larch Hollow, she couldn’t live there on her own. She had no relatives to take her in. Your money wasn’t about to change that.” Nat came to his feet, almost upsetting his chair. He wandered to the French doors, hoping the familiar sight of the sweeping lawns and Aunt Carolyn’s roses would cool his ire — make the past disappear.

“It was such a long time ago,” Aunt Carolyn pleaded. “Surely you can both put it behind you now.”

Nat turned from the window. “I understand why you did it. But how you went about it was just plain wrong.” His voice went quiet. “There were no back taxes owing on Larch Hollow. You drafted that letter yourself, hoping Heather would have no choice but to accept your offer. But you didn’t count on me arriving home when I did.”

“Maxwell?” Aunt Carolyn breathed, clearly aghast at her brother-in-law’s ruthless behavior. “Is this true?”

His father sighed. “Yes, it’s true.”

“You didn’t think I knew, did you? You thought I’d never find out. But there are certain advantages to being a spy. It’s surprising what you can find out with the right connections.” Nat laughed harshly. “I can thank you for that. Strange how things turn out, isn’t it?”