The Rebel Wife (20 page)

Thumping her skull
? The knot in Louisa’s belly pulled tighter. “Did he hurt you, Sally?”

Jack’s head snapped in her direction, and his mouth flattened into a thin line. “You shouldn’t be out here, Kitty. Go back inside.”

“I came to help.” She gave the housekeeper a closer look. Sally’s skin was pale, like a batch of weak tea. “I heard you say he thumped you. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine, Miss Carleton. Little lump on the head ain’t gonna stop me.” Sally’s gaze travelled over her and narrowed. “What about you? That’s an awful lot of blood on your robe.”

“It’s not mine. It’s Calhoun’s.”

“Calhoun?”

“The Yankee polecat.” The vile feel of his body still clung to her. Like stink on dung. Her arms crawled with gooseflesh. “Saint Francis fell on him.”

“Saint Francis did what?”

She didn’t want to go through it all again, but Sally deserved the details. She drew in a breath and explained as quickly as possible.

“Hmmph,” Sally said when she was done. “Got what he deserved then. His worthless carcass still layin’ out there?”

Jack ground the shovel tip into the dirt. “I’m going to bury him right now.”

Clouds overran the sun and turned daylight into twilight. The wind kicked up, sending leaves and debris skating across the ground.

Sally glanced skyward. “You best get to it. Looks like we’re in for a bad-un.”

A chill raced down her spine, and Louisa folded her arms over her chest.
Bad-un had already hit
.
Calhoun was his name.

Lightning flashed, followed a few seconds later by the rumble of thunder. “You two had best get inside,” Jack urged. “I’ll see to Calhoun.”

“You want me to send for the authorities, Master Jack?”

“We can’t risk them finding out who Miss Carleton really is. I’ll take care of this mess.”

Mess.
Her mess. If she hadn’t taunted Calhoun, he wouldn’t have come after her, wouldn’t have hurt Sally, wouldn’t be dying in a pool of blood. Just another black mark to add to her growing list.

“Jackson,” Granddaddy Porter’s demand echoed into the garden. “Are you out here?”

Jack frowned and glanced in the direction of the house. “Damn. I’d hoped to have this cleaned up before he returned. Go inside and stall him, Sally. I’ll be in shortly.”

“Certainly, Master Jack. You comin’, Miss Carleton?”

“I’m staying out here with Jack.”

Jack hefted the shovel to his shoulder. “You should go inside, Kitty. That’s a nasty thump you took to the head.”

She pointed to her blood-stained robe. “If your granddaddy sees me like this, he’ll know something bad happened. He’ll be on us like a duck on a June bug. And I’m just not up to an interrogation right now.”

“Fine. But let me know if you feel faint-headed.” He planted a hand at the small of her back and guided her along the path.

He likely meant the gesture to be helpful, but it did just the opposite. Her head resumed whirling, every bit as muddling as the wallop to her skull. She had to concentrate on each step to keep from stumbling.

“Puzzling. Damned puzzling,” Jack murmured.

“What?”

“Calhoun. If all he had were suspicions, why would he attack you and risk making trouble for himself? It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Reckon he had more than suspicions. He was very insistent about knowing who I am.” Her step faltered as a thought took hold. “My locket. He slipped it into his pocket, before he lunged for me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get it for you.”

Fat raindrops began falling from the boiling clouds. She turned her face skyward, welcoming the soothing wetness. Nothing like a good shower to wash away dirt and filth. And blood.

She eyed the shovel. “You gonna bury him here on the property?”

“Don’t see any other solution at the moment.”

Neither did she. In order to keep her and Jack safe, Calhoun’s secrets would have to be buried with him. Did he have family in Texas? A wife? Children? There’d be no body for a proper burial. No grave to grieve over and heal. They’d never even know what became of him. That he died trying to save her.

She swallowed her guilt with a hard gulp. “Will you try to move him later? Send his body home to his family?”

“Don’t know. Maybe one day. We just can’t risk it right now.”

Seemed everyone connected to her risked one thing or another. Most of it bad. “I’m sorry I put you in this position, Jack.”

“You didn’t put me anywhere. I made my choice weeks ago when I agreed to help you.”

“Bet you’re regretting that decision about now.”

He slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. “Not one minute of it. Calhoun is an unfortunate tragedy, but he brought it on himself by attacking you.”

Despite his reassuring words, unease slithered back into her belly. What was it that compelled men to assault her? Was she indeed a hussy as Henry Lawrence had claimed? Even Jack couldn’t seem to resist touching her when he’d vowed not to.

They neared the curve in the path where Saint Francis had stood—before she and Calhoun had crashed into it—before the statue had toppled over and struck the Texan with a fatal blow. Nausea swept over her. She reeled to a stop, legs braced against the spinning in her head.

Jack tightened his grip on her waist. “Are you going to be ill?”

“I-I just need a minute.” She pushed away from his too intimate hold. “You go on ahead.”

“Are you sure? I can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“No. I’ll be fine. Go on. Get started before the rain gets worse.”

He handed her the shovel. “Here. Lean on this. I need to drag the body further out into the gardens before I dig. Bring it with you when you’re back to rights.”

She gripped the handle in a tight-fisted grip as Jack disappeared behind the hedgerow. A gale coursed through her at the memory of Calhoun’s bloodied body. He’d come to—to what? Find out who she was? Arrest her? Had he really intended to rape her? Or had thoughts of Bart put the suggestion into her head? Whatever his purpose in coming here, he was dead.

The Yankees had suspected her of killing a man. Now she really had.

“Sonofa—”

At Jack’s curse, she dropped the shovel and rushed around the bend. He stood beside the path, hands fisted at his sides, looking as threatening as the clouds gathered overhead. Across a rusty stain lay the broken statue. From where she stood, it looked like Saint Francis had bled out.

There was no sign of Calhoun.

“You’re sure he was alone?” Jack didn’t look up.

“I didn’t see anyone but him.” Which didn’t mean he’d come by himself, or that he hadn’t shared his suspicions with a companion. The possibility hadn’t occurred to her until now, and it sent a flock of goosebumps fluttering up her spine.

Chapter Thirteen

Though stifling air clogged the hall, ice flowed in her veins. She stopped in the open doorway and pressed a hand to her churning belly. She’d rather face a Yankee firing squad than walk through that door. But she couldn’t delay any longer. A cold cloth and a few hours rest had chased her dizziness to the fringes. Only a dull ache remained tapping at her temple. Pesky. But not enough to stop her from doing what needed to be done.

She took a hesitant step inside. Seated at the massive desk, Jack had his head bent over a journal. One lock of hair dangled devilishly over his brow. In contrast, the barest edge of a pink tongue poked from the corner of his mouth.

How sweet and boyish. Her heart lurched. She didn’t want to cause him pain. But she knew deep inside, if she stayed with him, he’d get hurt much worse. A sob rose in her throat, and in spite of her efforts to swallow it, she must have made a noise.

He looked up, and a smile lit his handsome face. “Kitty.”

Her courage retreated at his tender tone. “I see you’re busy. I can come back later.”

“I’m just jotting down a few notes. Nothing that can’t wait.” He closed his journal and stood. “Please, come in.”

Well, there was nothing for it. Better to get this over and done with. She pasted on a smile and continued into the study. “I won’t take up much of your time.”

He slipped around the desk to meet her. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

If only that were possible.
She feared she needed him far longer than a mere trip to Elmira. A lifetime longer. He was like that little ragged blanket she’d hauled around as a youngster. As long as she had her
blankie
, she was safe and content.

“I see you bathed and changed,” he said. “How are you feeling? Is your head still hurting?”

“My head’s fine.” Her heart was another matter. “How’d your granddaddy take the news about Calhoun?”

“Not very well. But he’ll get over it.”

Drat. Just as she thought. The ruckus with Calhoun hadn’t set well with the elder Porter. That made carrying out her task all the more important.

He motioned to the pair of chairs facing the hearth. “Would you care to sit? There might be a breeze coming through the open windows.”

“No, thank you. This won’t take long.” She hoped.

The mantel clock gonged the hour, reminding her time was running out. She twisted her hands together in a fretful ball. If she delayed any longer, she might never gather the nerve again.

“Jack...” She swallowed hard. “I have something I need to tell you.”

He tilted his head to one side, training his good eye on her. Though he appeared to cope well with his deformity, it still ate at him. He lashed out when anyone tried to discuss it. How would he react when she told him of her decision?

“What is it, Kitty? You know you can tell me anything.”

Anything but this, it seemed.
Dread thickened in her throat. Would he go cold and silent? Or answer with angry fists? Neither seemed likely from the gentle man she’d come to know and—and what? Love? The notion was as jumbled in her head as letters on a page. And she didn’t have the time or the courage to sort it out.

She licked dry lips. “Promise you’ll listen to what I have to say...all of it...before you answer.”

His smile faded. “You’re starting to worry me. What’s this about?”

“Promise.”

“Very well, I promise. Go on.”

She buried her trembling hands in the folds of her skirt. If he thought she had any doubts, he’d use every weapon in his verbal arsenal to change her mind. She couldn’t let that happen.

“I wish there was some way I could repay you for all you’ve done for me, Jack. You’ve been a Godsend.”
And more.
He’d been her rock. Her port in a storm. To continue without him...well, she’d just have to weather that loss later. Right now, she had a more urgent tempest to sail through.

“It was my pleasure.” He shrugged and gave a wry grin. “Well, maybe not at first, but you sorta grew on me. Besides, we shook hands on our bargain.”

Sorta.
Not a word she expected to cross his lips. She was definitely a bad influence, in more ways than one. “That’s what I wanted to talk about.” She stamped his face into her memory to savor once he was gone. The rakish eye-patch. His smooth, strong jaw. His firm mouth. Brandy. His kiss had been like that expensive spirit everyone was forever plying on her. Smooth and bracing, leaving a trail of fire wherever it touched.

Heat flamed in his gaze as if he’d read her mind. Too bad he couldn’t read what she was about to say and save her the trouble. On the down side, that passionate heat would most likely turn into icy coldness.

She squared herself, preparing for his reaction. Difficult or not, she had to do this. “I’ve decided I no longer need your help getting to Elmira.”

His lips thinned, but he remained mute. Man kept his word, just as he always said. Was it any wonder she admired him?

“I can make it there on my own,” she added.

More silence. The tick of the mantel clock sounded like boot heels pacing off an early morning duel. The marble busts of Washington and Jefferson perched on a nearby shelf watched in quiet disapproval.

Jack cleared his throat. “Are you finished?”

With hurting him? Yes. Caring for him...not even close. “I mean what I say, Jack. I can make it without your help. I’ll leave tomorrow. Find a place to stay until the trains are running again.”

“What about your...” His gaze slid to her lips, devouring her inch by painful inch. “...Mouth. It has a tendency to spill over.”

Longing flared deep inside her, an ache fueled by the sweet memory of his lips on hers. “I’ll just have to make sure my mouth behaves.”
As well as the rest of me
. “I can do it. I know I can.”

“I know you can, too. But you don’t
have
to do it alone.”

“Yes, I do. I release you from our agreement.”

“What if I don’t want to be released?” He moved closer, bringing all that heat and maleness to muddle her wits. “I’m not going to Elmira just for your benefit. I have a stake in this as well. My editor is expecting a front page article. And I intend to give him one.”

“Then go. But not with me.” She retreated to the middle of the room, putting a small round table between her and temptation. No telling what her traitorous body might do if she stayed near him.

“What brought on this sudden change of heart?” He countered her retreat and joined her beside the table. “Is it Calhoun? I know you’re worried about his blood trail playing out at the edge of the property. But it’s been six hours since he disappeared, and no one has come to question or arrest you.”

“That could change at any moment. I can’t allow you or your granddaddy to be pulled into this mess—my mess—any further. You could be arrested for concealing me.”
And if found guilty—hanged.
She’d never forgive herself if that happened.

“We’re aware of the consequences.”

“But, what if—”

“Shhh.” He reached out, his hand skimming her arm from shoulder downward until he cupped her elbow in a gentle grip. “Calhoun is most likely lying dead in a ditch somewhere. No one can lose that much blood and live.”