Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (35 page)

“And don’t forget that howitzer,” Noah reminded Jason. “That cannon nearly scared the stuffing out of me the other day. Let’s hope it has the same effect on the hostiles.”

Evie approached the table and slid into the empty seat on the other side of her husband. “What are you three talking about so seriously?”

Noah’s expression cleared. “Nothing.” He draped an arm casually across the top of her chair. “The restaurant looks extra fine tonight. Those pine boughs add a nice touch, I think.”

For the first time Jason noticed the decorations hanging on the walls. Bundles of multicolored greenery had been artfully arranged and tied with bright-colored gingham. Small bouquets of decorative grasses strewn with tiny white flowers sat in the center of each table. The containers appeared to be jam jars, but each had been decorated with gay bows made from strips of fabric. No wonder the café looked extra homey tonight.

“I can’t take the credit. Kathryn did it.”

Evie beamed across the room, where Kathryn circled a table with her coffeepot, refilling the mugs the men held toward her. Red must have said something funny, because she threw back her head and laughed and gave his arm a playful slap.

Seeing that casual touch, the oddest feeling erupted deep in Jason’s gut. He identified it immediately, and his stomach soured.

He was jealous.

With an abrupt gesture he pushed the plate away from him and stood. “I think I’ll go back to the hotel now.”

Evie eyed his full plate with dismay. “But you haven’t eaten a bite.”

“I’m sure it’s delicious.” He gave her an apologetic glance. “To be honest, I’m too tired to eat. I think I’ll try to get some sleep before tonight’s midnight dash through the streets.”

With an apologetic shrug for the lame attempt at humor, he made a hasty exit. He did not look toward Kathryn as he left the restaurant.

Kathryn pulled her cloak around her shoulders and crossed the short distance between the restaurant and the Faulkner House in the dark. The supper crowd had lingered far longer than usual over their pie and coffee, talking of inconsequential things like the unusually mild winter and the hopes that it portended an early spring. Beneath the surface, tensions ran high. No one mentioned the blockhouse or the looming threat of attack, but she saw it in every face.

Clouds obscured both moon and stars, and she hurried through the grass, eager for the now-familiar confines of her little room where the light of a single candle could chase away every inch of darkness. Hopefully she would enjoy an entire uninterrupted night there.

As she mounted the first step, a dark form emerged from the shadows on the far end of the porch. She drew back, a scream gathering in her throat.

“Kathryn. Do you have a moment?”

Jason’s voice reached her in the second before she screamed, and she swallowed her terror. Wilting against the post, she released a loud breath. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s all right. We’re all jumpy tonight, I think.” A quiet laugh forced its way from her lungs. “Imagine the reaction if I shouted out that I was being attacked.”

His chuckle joined hers. “I’m not sure the town can handle another night like the last two. I’ve been sitting here the past hour, enjoying the solitude. Won’t you join me?”

He gestured toward the edge of the porch, and she seated herself with her feet dangling inches above the ground. He slid into place at her side, leaving a few inches between them. His nearness drew her like a warm campfire on a frosty night, and she had to force herself not to lean sideways to feel the touch of his arm against hers.

“You did a good job in the café tonight.”

Did she imagine the quiver in his voice? Did nerves plague him the way they did everyone else in town? He always seemed so calm. “Evie is the cook, not me. And trust me, the entire town should be glad of that.”

“No, I meant on the decorations. The wall hangings and flowers on the table. They gave the place a homey feel.”

“Ah.” She waved a hand vaguely in the air. “That’s nothing but a few scraps of leftover cloth and winter blossoms.”

“No, really.” He drew a foot up on the porch and rested an arm across his knee. Though dark with shadows, his eyes bore into hers. “That’s a talent not everyone has, being able to arrange things in a way that puts people at ease.”

“Imagine that.” She turned away with a self-deprecating shrug. “I finally found my talent. I so hoped I would be an artist or a musician.”

His hand rose, and he gently turned her face back toward his with the feather-light touch of a finger beneath her chin. Warmth spread from the place where he touched her.

“Allaying people’s fears is a gift we desperately need right now, Kathryn. I…appreciate your ability to do that.”

He spoke her name in a low, husky tone that sent a ripple racing across her skin. She answered in a near whisper. “Do you really?”

Unconsciously she leaned toward him, her gaze searching the dark pools of his eyes. The world around her faded, refocused, and narrowed to the few inches that separated her mouth from his. Her heart performed a crazy dance inside her ribcage. The only thing between her and Jason’s kiss was a puff of frosty breath that seeped between her lips on a warm sigh.

He jerked upright, breaking the moment. “Uh, I wanted to talk to you about the ship due to arrive on Friday.”

Disappointment washed over her, and she sagged back. “Oh?”

“I want you to leave on it, Kathryn.”

That again? “We’ve already discussed this.”

“Yes, but I urge you to reconsider.” His head turned toward the hotel’s window behind them and he lowered his voice. “The situation is far more desperate than I realized.” He paused to wet his lips. “I’m praying for your safety. Every day.”

“You are?” If he were praying for her, surely that meant…

He nodded. “But I’d rest a lot easier if you were safely back in San Francisco when this war breaks out.”

She perked upright, the dance in her chest revived. Did she dare to hope? “Why, Jason? Why is my safety so important to you?”

In the quick pause that followed, she felt his mood shift. He hopped off the porch and took a backward step. Alarm stiffened his posture, and he answered in a loud voice.

“Because you’re a woman. I’d recommend the same for every woman. In fact, I intend to. First thing tomorrow, I will speak to Evie, and to David’s wife, and to Mrs. Coffinger.” His head jerked toward the hotel. “And Helen, and even Madame. Yes, you should all leave.”

Kathryn observed his vehement declarations with blossoming hope. Of course he might be entirely sincere in his concern for the entire female population of Seattle. He probably was, and those fears were not unfounded. But was there, perhaps, one lady whose safety he desired above the others?

“I’m going to my room now,” he announced as he dashed up the porch stairs. “I bid you goodnight.”

Without another word, he snatched at the door handle, jerked it open, and disappeared inside.

Kathryn lingered in the cold, dark night, staring at the place where he’d sat a moment before. What would cause a reserved,
solitary man like Jason Gates to babble in that manner? Could it be…love?

A giggle threatened, and she clasped her hands to her mouth to smother it. If Jason was truly praying to the Lord for her safety as he said, that meant at least once every day his thoughts were fixed on her. In the next moment the giddy sensation dimmed, and she wilted back against the porch post. Wouldn’t it be her luck to finally fall in love…just in time for a war that might very well end their lives?

Seventeen

Friday, January 25, 1856

T
he day passed with agonizing slowness. Kathryn hurried through her hotel duties and returned to the café to spend the afternoon in the company of her friends. One didn’t want to be alone at a time like this, ears straining for the warning sound of gunshots and nerves jumping at every creaking board or calling bird.

Apparently she was not alone in her need for companionship. Throughout the long afternoon the restaurant played host to a dozen ladies who showed up with knitting, mending, and other busywork. Afraid to let the children play outside, they set up a table for the little ones on one side of the room and clustered together on the other. Their talk centered on mundane matters like recipes for cooking salmon and the rising price of cotton wool. No one mentioned Indians or the blockhouse or the war that loomed over their heads like storm clouds.

In the afternoon the now-familiar call rang out, relayed over and over throughout the town until it reached their ears.

“Ship in the bay!”

Kathryn looked up from the frayed hem on a shirt she was mending, a gift for one of the Indian children. “Shall we go down to the harbor and meet the ship?”

The suggestion met with a lackluster response. No one, it seemed,
wanted to stray that far from the blockhouse. With a sigh she returned to her busywork.

When she finished mending the garment she piled it in a stack of others that had been worked on by the ladies during the afternoon and left the restaurant to deliver the gifts. In the hotel’s front room the Indian women greeted her with silent nods. On a less stressful day she would have been amused to see that they had arranged themselves almost exactly as their white neighbors, with the women sitting cross-legged together while the children played a game involving small piles of stones. Today she could not muster even a smile. The tension here was every bit as thick as next door. She delivered the stack of garments and went to her room. Perhaps she could read a bit of poetry to the children next door. The older ones might appreciate it.

Ten minutes later she headed back toward Evie’s carrying four books. Keats would probably be a bit much for them, but perhaps they would enjoy Coleridge.

She approached the open doorway to find a woman standing just inside. She could only see her from behind, but her attention was drawn to an elaborately decorated bonnet. It perched atop a mass of dark curls that fell in deliberate disarray over a bright yellow shawl. Beneath the loose-knit wool blazed a dress of silky crimson, thick layers of yellow ruffles cascading downward from a bustle to dance around the hem. Her eyebrows crept upward at the short length of the hem and the pair of shapely ankles that clearly showed below the yellow lace. No lady in Seattle would possess such a garment. In fact, no
lady
would wear a garment like that in public, especially in a respectable establishment like Evangeline’s Café. This woman must have arrived on the ship, though why she would parade through town dressed like that, Kathryn couldn’t imagine.

She stepped into a shocked silence. A dozen pairs of eyes fixed on her. Their astonishment was so apparent she took an involuntary step away from the newcomer. From where she was seated in a chair at the nearest table, Louisa’s mouth fell open, her jaw slack.

“Oh. My. Word.” Moving in slow motion, Evie pulled out a chair and sank into it.

The stranger let out a laugh. “Well I have to say, I’m used to drawing folks’ attention, but you gals take the cake.”

Wait. Kathryn knew that voice.

She turned and let her gaze sweep over the woman. The dress’s hem rose to a risqué height in the front while the neckline plunged in a scandalous
V
. A liberal amount of rouge colored two smooth cheeks, and her lips had been painted the same bright red hue as her dress. A beauty mark rode high on her left cheekbone.