Sycamore Hill (44 page)

“He... he doesn’t,” I answered. I gave a self-conscious laugh. “I
don’t know what Katrina was thinking. She must have been mistaken.” I turned
away, unable to look Marba in the face.

“Oh, Abby,” she said sympathetically.

My fingers moved back and forth on the sill as I tried to block
out all thoughts of Jordan and my leaving tomorrow morning. “He’s not the
reason I’m leaving,” I said truthfully. I’m leaving because I’m going to have
his baby, I added silently to myself.

“Does he know you’re leaving?"

“Everyone knows. I’m sure he does too,” I said, unaware of how
revealing my tone was. “Anyway,” I turned around with a forced smile of
brightness, “I’m looking forward to my trip, I’ve... I’ve missed the East
Coast.”

“Maybe Ross should ride out and tell Jordan.”

“No! No! Please!” My face whitened with fright. “Don’t ask him to
do that. You don’t understand, Marba. Please, promise me.”

“All right. Please don’t get so upset.”

I rubbed my hand across my face, taking deep, calming breaths.
“I’m sorry. That was silly of me,” I muttered and gave a self-deprecating
laugh. “I’m not myself lately.”

“Diego and his mother would like to know. They owe you a lot for
the tutoring you did,” she tried again.

I shook my head. “It’s better if I just go. I’ve said enough
good-byes in the past few days to last me a lifetime. I couldn’t....” I did not
finish, nor did I need to do so. Marba seemed to understand. I sat down again,
and my fingers plucked idly at my skirt. She watched me. The silence was
uncomfortable, and I stood up again. I began to pace.

“Maybe if you stayed on, things would work out. I don’t think
Jordan Bennett is indifferent to you,” Marba suggested.

I gave a bleak laugh. “Oh, he’s not indifferent to me. He despises
me. I let him....” I stopped, realizing almost too late what I was about to
blurt out in my misery. I let out my breath.

“Abby.” Marba’s voice was full of question and concern.

“I believed all the gossip about him. I was a fool where he was
concerned. I did everything wrong; I said everything wrong.” I stopped and
looked at her. “Believe me, Marba. Jordan Bennett will rejoice when I get on
that stage tomorrow.”

Marba looked at me long and hard. Then she changed the subject.

It seemed fitting that I should leave town by the Oakland stage.
My trunk and carpetbag were heaved up and secured to the roof, and Ross helped
me into the cab. He held my hand a little longer than necessary.

Looking back out the side window, I forced a bright smile at Marba
who was standing with sad-eyed Katrina on the walkway. Others had come to say
good-bye—Matthew Hayes and his brothers, the Poole boys, Margaret Hudson,
Chester and Harold Studebaker with their father, and little Toby Carmichael.
Elvira Hudson stood with Emily Olmstead, and Elizabeth Hayes was with Dr. Kirk.
They all seemed hopeful that even at the last moment I would change my mind and
stay. I looked at the doctor, and he smiled, giving me a slow nod of
understanding. My smile wavered and then stiffened with purposeful
determination. The coach started off, and I gave one last wave and a lingering
look at the friends I was leaving. I had only been in Sycamore Hill for five
months, and they had been trying ones. But the small town had become my home,
more so than Boston had ever been.

I averted my eyes and did not look back again. A hard knot of pain
swelled in my throat. My chest ached. I refused to cry. The time of crying was
past. I had my baby to think of now, and I would not let it be born into
sadness. I had enough money to start new somewhere, perhaps even San Francisco
if I could bear being that close to Jordan. I had already decided I would tell
everyone I was widowed. My child would never know differently and would grow up
believing that he or she had been conceived in love and marriage. I would give
my baby enough love for two parents, and I would work hard to make sure that my
child would never lack for security.

But San Francisco was too close. Perhaps Sacramento. Or maybe
north to Portland, Oregon, or even Seattle, Washington. I did not want to go
back to the East again. There was nothing there for me, and I loved the West.
What did it matter where I went as long as I was far enough away from Sycamore
Hill and Jordan Bennett to protect my baby from the truth?

Would my child look like Jordan? A boy with brown hair,
sun-streaked-gold in summer. A boy with sharp blue eyes and a quick
intelligence. A boy that would grow tall and broad-shouldered. A sharp pain
knifed me in the pit of my stomach as I thought of that possibility. It would
be agony to have a son who would grow more like Jordan every day. Yet, it would
be wonderful too.

The coach bounced and jolted as it rolled over the storm-puddled
road. It climbed slowly, winding through the hills. Then the road dipped, and
we quickened our pace. If all went on schedule, I would reach Oakland by late
afternoon. I would stay on for a day in a hotel near the train station.
Tomorrow I would decide where I was going to settle.

My back ached from the constant jarring motion as we bounced
along. We stopped twice to water the horses, and I walked around, shaking the
stiffness from my limbs after seeking the privacy of the bushes away from the
road. Then on we went. Finally exhaustion overcame discomfort, and I slept.

When I awakened, the stagecoach was stopped. Turning my head, I
saw the sun dipping toward the west. We were out of the hills, but there was no
sound of a bustling city outside. The stagecoach driver was talking to someone,
and I listened with vague interest.

“Just tie your horse up back there. He’s lathered pretty bad,
isn’t he? Looks like you’ve been riding hard. We’ve only got about ten miles to
go, and I’m on schedule. So I’ll take it easy. It won’t hurt to be a little
late. It’s happened plenty of times before.” The driver laughed.

Someone answered from the back of the coach, but I could not make
out the words. Reins slapped against the back luggage carrier as the stranger
tied his mount to the stagecoach. I sighed heavily and leaned my head back
again before once more closing my eyes. When I’d left town, I had been thankful
that I was alone. I had not wanted, nor felt able, to carry on polite
conversation with anyone.

The door opened, and the vehicle dipped against the weight of the
man stepping in. The wheels creaked and started to roll forward again. We were
on our way. Ten more miles, the driver had said. Could I feign sleep that long?
I felt my silent companion watching me. After a few moments I slowly opened my
eyes. I encountered an intense blue gaze from the dust-covered, sweat-stained
man sitting opposite me.

“Jordan!” I breathed in shock and confusion, my eyes widening as I
straightened in the seat. A surge of happiness and hope bloomed inside me and
then quickly evaporated into frightened suspicion. Why was he here? He had
obviously ridden hard to catch up. He looked drawn with exhaustion. The lines
were deep around his eyes and mouth.

He let out his breath as though he had been holding it for a long
time. Then he wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “My God!” he muttered. “What
a run you’ve given me.”

I stared at him in growing dismay. Had he guessed why I had left?
Had someone told him? Dr. Kirk? No. He didn’t know Jordan was the father of my
baby. Marba? No. She had promised not to tell him anything. Why had he come
after me? I wondered in panic-stricken silence.

“I thought you were going to marry Ross.”

I gasped. “Ross? What made you think that? Just because I stayed
at the hotel?”

“Ross told me he planned to take care of you on a permanent
basis.”

“Ross said that?”

“Why else do you think I stayed away?” he demanded harshly. “When
I found out what had happened, I came to the hotel to talk with you. He greeted
me with that piece of news. I just rode out and stayed at the ranch.”

“I thought you knew I was leaving,” I murmured.

His eyes snapped. “How could I? You didn’t let me know! And I
didn’t have any idea of what your plans were other than what Ross told me. I
didn’t know until Matthew Hayes rode out this morning with news from his father
that school was closed until further notice. Matthew told me that you had left
this morning on the Oakland stage.” Jordan’s face was taut and white.

“Why are you here?”

His eyes moved away from mine. He put his booted foot up on the
seat, resting his arm on his knee as he rubbed his beard-shadowed face. He
looked at me again, but his expression was unreadable. “I wanted to apologize.”

My heart sank.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the schoolhouse. I should have
been there.” His face was lined, his frown deepening as he assessed my face.
“Are you all right now? Jim Olmstead said Hallender beat you up pretty badly.”
His face became very pale. “I should have been there! I should have stayed to
keep an eye out for you. I shouldn’t have left you alone at all. I knew something
was going on in that place. And I left you.”

“You don’t owe me any apology.” I smiled weakly. “I said some
terrible things to you.”

“About Reva? When my temper had a chance to cool down a little, I
knew you had said that because you were afraid. You knew what I wanted....”

I flushed and looked quickly down at my hands. My knuckles were
white.

“Abby,” he said softly. “Abby, I’m sorry.”

“You... you haven’t a thing to be sorry about.” I shook my head,
unable to look up at him again. I wished he had not come. This only made things
harder. It only emphasized how much I loved him for the man he was.

“Is that why you’re leaving? Because of what happened to you? Or
is there something more?”

“Why else?” I asked, glancing up with sudden trepidation.

“I thought maybe...” He stopped and looked away. “Never mind.”

“What did you think?” I asked. My heart was pounding in tension.
Did he know? Did he suspect why I was really leaving?

His mouth curved up in a smile that didn’t reach his intense blue
eyes. “I thought maybe you wanted to get as far away from me as you could.”

“I suppose that’s partly true,” I admitted with a sigh.

Jordan winced. “I deserved that. I’ve behaved like the biggest ass
alive with you,” he said in self-contempt. I started to protest, but he jerked
his head in a cutting way. “I’m going to explain a few things to you.”

“You don’t owe me any explanation about anything.”

“You’ve got to understand about Gwen.”

“No!” I averted my eyes so he wouldn’t see the look of pain his
wife’s name caused.

“I met her at a dinner party given by the university dean,” he
began, ignoring my protest.

“Please. I don’t want to hear any of it. It’s nothing to do with
me.”

He gave me a quelling look and continued with his usual ruthless
determination. “He was introducing me as ‘a young attorney with promise,’” he
said dryly. “I met Gwen’s father first, and then he introduced me to Gwen. She
was beautiful, and I was attracted to her. So I started seeing her on a regular
basis. I thought I loved her enough to marry her. She agreed to my proposal.
When I made plans to return to the West Coast, we argued. She tried every kind
of argument and pressure to keep me in Boston. I knew about that time that I
didn’t really love her and that we should break off the engagement. That’s when
she told me she was pregnant.”

My face stiffened and went very pale.

“She thought that would change all my plans about returning here,
but it didn’t. So she miscarried.”

I gasped. “You make it sound like she planned to lose your baby,”
I said, slightly defensive. Jordan just looked at me.

“We stayed in Boston for another six months, and she conceived
Linda.”

What he was saying hurt. I thought of Jordan with his wife, making
love with her, and it gnawed at my insides. I looked at Jordan. His face was
implacable and cold.

“I wanted my child born on the ranch; so we came west despite
Gwen’s tantrums. She hated everything about California. She was still hoping
she could make me go back to Boston, but when she finally realized she
couldn’t, she started to drink. It started as a means of hurting me. Then I
don’t think she could stop herself. It was like a sickness. Thank God, Reva was
there to take care of Linda,” he said, looking away and staring out the window
as the land rolled by. A muscle worked in his jaw.

“During one of her binges Gwen told me her first pregnancy and the
miscarriage had been a neat little invention to keep me in Boston.”

My mouth gaped open at him. He still stared grimly out the window.

“She told me I could have been a famous, rich attorney who would
rub elbows with the Boston elite, instead of a dime-a-dozen rancher in
California.” His mouth twisted in bitter memory. “The age-old female trick to
get a man to marry her, and I fell for it like a fool. We both suffered for my
stupidity.”

I felt very cold. I was grateful that Jordan did not know or
suspect anything about the baby I carried. He would believe I intended doing
the same thing Gwendolyn Bracklin-Reed had done—trapping him into an unwanted
marriage.