A Heart Divided (7 page)

“Except that the Caldwells and Wainwrights aren’t good neighbors, and probably never will be.” The bone-weary slump to Sarah’s shoulders straightened, and a proud light flared in her eyes. “No, it’ll be as I said. I
will
pay you back, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Suit yourself.” He paused. “You and your family really needed that money, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we did.” Sarah eyed him cautiously, not certain where he was going with this potentially inflammatory topic. “Danny’s been sick so much these past years. Every time we managed to scrape up some money, it had to go for his medicines and doctor bills. It got to the point we were buying even necessities on credit, and finally the shops began refusing us any more. I tried everything, doing laundry, ironing, mending other people’s clothes, and Papa and my older brothers started taking odd jobs in between their mining, just to bring in extra money. But instead of getting better, things only seemed to get worse.”

Her hand touched his. “But it was still wrong, no matter how desperate we were when we robbed you. I knew better. Sometimes, though, it’s easier to give in than keep on fighting to do what you know is right. And I’m ashamed to admit this was one time that I—”

Suddenly realizing she was about to heap the blame on her father, Sarah clamped her mouth shut. Though it seemed she was always waging one battle or another with her sire over what was right and wrong, that was family business and not to be shared with others. As was her admission of finally caving in to her father’s demands that she assist them with the robbery.

“What, Sarah?” Cord supplied when she hesitated. “That this was one time when your father finally browbeat you into helping him with yet another of his plots to avenge himself on us? Is that what you were going to say?”

Anger swelled at his harsh if accurate appraisal, and she almost snapped back some cutting reply. Then the memory of all Cord had done today for Danny returned.

“It doesn’t matter why I helped,” she softly replied. “What matters is I’m sorry for it, and I give you my word it’ll never happen again.”

A dark brow arched. “So, what are you getting at here? That I just forget a crime was ever committed if you return the money?”

She felt like a fool. Her face flushed as hot blood filled her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

He held up his hand to silence her. “Get a message to your father. Tell him I won’t press charges if he returns the money
and
agrees to stop his vendetta against us. My father won’t like it, but it
is
my money.”

Relief flooded her. A hesitant smile touched her lips. “Yes. Yes, I can send a note with Doc Saunders. He’ll see that Papa gets it.” She gave Cord’s hand a quick squeeze then, realizing how forward such an action was, quickly pulled away. “Thank you,” she said, embarrassed all over again. “You won’t regret it.”

“Regret it?” He chuckled and rubbed his side. “Why, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Her cheeks pinked once again to a most becoming shade, and then she hung her head. “Now you’re teasing me.”

Teasing you?
Cord thought.
Yes, in one sense I guess I am, but in another
 . . .

An impulse to stroke the pale, silken head shot through him. An urge to stand up, walk around the table, and gather her into his arms grew until he thought the very desire would physically move him to action. Curious feelings—a fierce protectiveness and something more—ignited a fire in his blood, drawing him toward the slim, delicate girl who sat across the table.

Sarah wasn’t to blame for any of this. That surprising revelation had been gradual in the coming, but seeing her in the past hours with her little brother had finally driven the point home. Or rather, finally driven it through his thick, stubborn skull, he added with a grimace.

She was an innocent pawn in the twisted, hopeless lives of two men who’d take their mutual hatred to the grave, dragging down all who were close to them in the process. Anger boiled through Cord. He at least had a chance, had left while there was still hope of rebuilding his life. Sarah, however, might not ever have that opportunity. An intense if misguided loyalty to her family would eventually destroy the beautiful woman-child, grinding down her fierce pride and boundless determination into an anguished despair.

Cord recognized the fate that awaited her, and it sickened him. She—and her little brother—deserved better. Somehow, some way, he would see that they got it. Money in itself had never meant all that much to him. It was just a means to an end. In time, when he returned to New York, he would send her some. That he could and would give her but, he cautioned himself, nothing more.

He wasn’t fool enough to deny the growing attraction he felt for Sarah Caldwell, even as he forced himself to slam shut the portals of his heart. Yes, he’d help her when the opportunity arose, but no good could ever come of anything else.

The words of comfort he’d intended to offer her, however, died on his lips. The moment wasn’t right. There was little between them but a wary truce born from Danny’s need. In time, though, maybe some kind of friendship would grow and she’d learn to trust him. Then he’d offer his help . . .

“There’s one more matter we need to discuss.” Emotion deepened Cord’s voice until it rumbled as he turned his increasingly disturbing thoughts to a topic even more upsetting.

Sarah lifted her head, her green eyes once more wary. “Yes?”

“Danny’s presence here complicates things. I guess now he’s also my prisoner. Unfortunately, until I hear from your father, the only secure place to keep the both of you is still the cellar.” At the expression of horror that swept over Sarah’s face, he paused. “I don’t want Danny in the cellar any more than you do. For that matter, I’d rather not have to put you back in there, either. But for that to happen, you’ll have to meet me halfway.”

She studied him carefully, and Cord could tell exactly when comprehension struck. “What do you want from me?” she asked.

“Your word that you won’t try to escape.” He cut her off before she could put voice to the look of protest that flared in her eyes. “Be sensible, Sarah. Think about it. I know you wouldn’t leave without Danny, and he’ll be too weak to go anywhere for at least a few days. By then we’ll have either heard from your father or Gabe will be back. Can’t you give me your word until then?”

“You’d take the word of a Caldwell?”

His gaze locked with hers. “Yes, if that Caldwell is you.”

He was right, Sarah thought as she sat there staring at Cord Wainwright. The only thing that mattered was Danny, and she didn’t dare take him anywhere for a good many days. Besides, her brother would get excellent care here, not to mention food far more nourishing than they could ever hope to provide at home.

No, with Danny now in the middle of this increasingly sticky mess, her choice was made. She’d agree to almost anything for her little brother. Sarah sucked in a deep, fortifying breath and nodded.

“You have my word.”

“Good.” A relieved grin lightened the tense lines of Cord’s ruggedly handsome face. He shoved her piece of pie toward her. “Now, eat. You need your strength. It could be a long night.”

The door swung open just then, and Emma walked in. Her glance met Sarah’s.

“Danny’s doing a lot better. He’s breathing easy now, and Doc says he thinks the crisis is over. He said you could stay down here longer if you’d like—”

Before the housekeeper could finish, Sarah sprung from her chair and dashed across the kitchen. Behind her, she heard Cord chuckle.

“Leave her pie, Emma. As soon as she reassures herself that Danny’s all right, I’ll go up and fetch her to finish it—even if I have to carry her back here slung over my shoulder.”

Sarah glanced up from the dough she was kneading, her gaze scanning the bright, sunlit kitchen. Beside her at the big work table, Manuela was carefully pressing a large circle of piecrust into a tin. Over on the cookstove a large pot of potatoes boiled. Next to it simmered snap beans seasoned with bacon.

The aroma of roast chicken wafted from the oven, setting Sarah’s mouth to watering. She raised a flour-dusted arm to brush back a damp tendril of hair. The kitchen was hot with the cookstove going full blast, and only a freshened breeze blowing through the open window made the morning’s work bearable.

Through it she watched Danny playing with a litter of kittens while their mother, the resident barn cat, lolled nearby in the sun. A soft, tender smile curved Sarah’s lips. It was hard to believe that just the day before yesterday he’d been so violently ill. The good food and loving attention were already working their healing magic. If she looked closely, Sarah could almost imagine a faint glow to her brother’s cheeks.

He already fit in as if he were part of the household. But then, who wouldn’t like Danny? Merry, irrepressible, yet so dear and loving, the boy could wind his way around the hardest of hearts. She marveled at how close Cord and he had become in the past two days. Danny, after only a brief hesitation in which he’d quickly discerned Cord wasn’t really mistreating his sister or that she truly needed “rescuing,” had given his full trust and affection to the tall, grim man. And Cord seemed equally as taken with her little brother.

Danny glanced up just then and caught her eye. A grimy little hand waved in greeting, and his freckled face widened into a broad grin. Sarah waved back, then, shooing away a maddeningly persistent fly, returned to her kneading.

It was already midmorning and there was still so much to do. There would be guests today, and, according to Emma, dinner would be a more elaborate affair than usual. The housekeeper had requested her help when she’d brought up their breakfast this morning. Sarah, heartily sick of being cooped up in the bedroom for two days with her brother, was delighted to offer her assistance.

“Mama, Mama!” Pedro burst into the kitchen, startling both women from their tasks. “Come quick! The lady. The one with the cold eyes. She’s already here to see Mr. Cord!”

Manuela sighed loudly and put down the can of cherries she’d been scooping into the crust-lined pie tin. “
Madre de Dios!
” she grumbled as she hurried after her son. “Am
I
the only one in this house? Must
I
drop everything to wait on the likes of her?”

Smiling as the exasperated mutterings faded, Sarah returned to her kneading. The day, up to now, had been far from unpleasant. The small, close-knit group of house staff treated her kindly, buffering the rare but jarring interactions with their master.

For that, above all, Sarah was grateful. Cord Wainwright was far too disturbing, too attractive, too . . . too intimidating with his dark good looks and pantherlike grace. And, adding insult to injury, there were times when she found she very much liked him.

Yes
, Sarah thought with a small shiver,
Cord Wainwright is a very compelling man.
Even her fledgling woman’s instincts warned her to stay clear of him. They hadn’t anything in common. She was so far beneath him in everything that would matter to a man like him. Nothing good could come of getting to know him better. Nothing good at all . . .