Always in My Dreams (32 page)

It was while Skye was packing that she missed her small notepad. It wasn't so important, she thought, because it had only information about the house. She'd never really had time to explore the way she wanted to, or complete her drawings. Once Walker had become her shadow, she hadn't even given much thought to proving or disproving her theory about the house's peculiar design. But it bothered her that she couldn't find the pad. She couldn't recall keeping it anywhere but in the pockets of her aprons, and she had only two of those.

After checking both, Skye made a thorough search of all her gowns. She ran her hand along the bottom of her valise and her trunk, thinking it might have fallen in a rip in the liner. The last time she remembered having it she had still been staying in the other bedroom. If it was anywhere, it was still in there.

In spite of that, Skye looked under the bed, in the dresser, beneath the hearth rug, and in Walker's armoire. That was how she found Parnell's gun. The Colt was lying at the back of the wardrobe and Skye's fingers froze when she touched the cool blue-gray steel. She pulled it out cautiously and checked to see if it was loaded. It wasn't.

Releasing a breath she hadn't known she was holding, Skye began to put it back. She stopped halfway, drew her hand out again, and placed the gun at the bottom of her valise. She had no particular use for the Colt. Her own preference was a five-shot Remington .22, but removing the Colt from the Granville mansion seemed a better idea than leaving it behind.

Skye's sketch of the engine was in the pocket where she remembered leaving it. She stopped worrying about the notepad, thankful she hadn 't lost what was truly important, and unfolded the paper with her picture. It still didn't look like much of anything, but her father had men working for him who might understand what she had drawn. Her sister Rennie would probably be able to figure it out.

Skye refolded the paper and noticed now that it closed neatly along creased lines. Staring at it, she frowned. She thought back, trying to recall the circumstances of drawing it. Skye rose from her kneeling position in front of the wardrobe and sat at Walker's desk. She took out another piece of paper and went through the motions of sketching on it. Her head jerked up as she remembered Walker's approach, his hand on the door, and the sound of the key in the lock. She grabbed the paper and thrust it hastily into her pocket.

Skye looked down at her hands. The paper wasn't folded like the one she had found. She had been in too much of a hurry to crease it neatly. She looked at her drawing again. It was her sketch, her writing. That, at least, wasn't different.

The only conclusion Skye could reach was that someone else had seen it. Someone else had folded it and put it back in her pocket.

Walker Caide was that person. He had to be.

Skye wondered how concerned she should be that Walker had seen her work. He hadn't thought it was important enough to take away from her; on the other hand, she didn't know who else he might have shown it to, or if he had copied it himself. If Parnell had entertained any doubts about sending Skye away, the sketch would have tipped the scales against her.

Skye placed the sketch in the bottom of her trunk beside the gun. She replaced her folded clothing in the trunk and closed the lid. Skye was finishing with her valise when Walker came in. The mantel clock had just struck nine.

"We should be going," he told her.

Skye nodded, glancing around the room for anything she might have missed. Her hairbrush was still on Walker's dresser. She picked it up by the ebony handle and dropped it into her valise. The top of his dresser looked strangely bare without her pots of cream and scents and powders.

"That's it, then," he said after a moment.

"That's it." She felt awkward. She smoothed the folds of her dove-gray day dress.

Walker's weight shifted from one foot to the other. "You take the valise," he told her. "Hank's outside with the carriage. Send him up to help me with this trunk."

"All right." She picked up the valise. He handed her her coat, hat, and muff. Skye found she couldn't meet Walker's eyes as she hurried out of the room. She was fighting the urge to cry.

Skye had composed herself by the time Walker joined her in the carriage. It swayed as he climbed in and took the seat opposite her. A moment later she heard Hank command the horses, and then they were under way.

Skye stared out the carriage window. The glare of cold winter sunlight made her squint. It helped her keep tears in check.

"Where are you going to go?" Walker asked.

She had been dreading this moment. It was a double-edged sword. His question proved that he cared something for her, perhaps that he would even want to find her someday, and she had no choice but to lie to him. "It won't take me long to find another position," she said. "I have a little money. I'll probably stay at the St. Mark's."

"A hotel?" he asked. "Not with your sisters?"

"No, not with my sisters."

"Won't they take you in?"

"They would, but I won't ask them. There are some things I need to do on my own."

Walker felt her closing the subject on her family and he still hadn't learned enough to suit him. They rode in silence for more than a mile. "Don't you have anything you want to ask me?"

A dozen questions and not one that she would give a voice to. She shook her head.

He frowned. "Is it so hard for you to ask something of someone else?"

"Not so hard," she said. "But I promised myself I wouldn't and I won't." It was all part of being an adventuress. She had to be able to walk away.

Walker knew that he was going to see her again, and he knew how soon, but she didn't know that. Her stubborn streak was infuriating. "What if there's a child, Skye? Had you thought about that?"

She stopped staring out the window and turned to look at him. "I'm a bastard," she said. "Of course I thought of it."

"And?"

"And what?" she asked. "I don't know what you want me to say. I knew the possible consequences of lying with you." Of lying
to
you, she could have added. "I chose to do it anyway."

"So did I. If there's a child, I want to know about it."

"So you can do what? Give me money? Marry me? Set me up in a little apartment? Or maybe you just want to keep track of your bastards."

He flinched a little at her cold analysis. "I don't have any children," he told her. "And I don't intend to have any bastards."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not having your child, because I wouldn't have your name."

Walker managed to hold onto the threads of his temper. "This is ridiculous," he said under his breath. "It will be weeks before you know one way or the other." He looked at her sharply. "Won't it?"

She shrugged. "I'll know when I know. It doesn't have to be your concern."

"Where do you get these ideas?" he asked. "Why would you think I wouldn't want to know?"

"The point is, I don't know what you think. I don't know much about you, and you haven't done anything to encourage me to find out." She paused, waiting to see if he would tell her something now. "In fact, you've done quite the opposite."

Knowing that she was right didn't make it any easier to take. "I told you before I was more used to keeping secrets than sharing them."

"And I accepted that," she said calmly, quietly. "Now it's for you to accept that I may want to keep some secrets of my own."

He didn't like it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Baileyboro came into view as the carriage rounded the last curve in the rutted road. The train station was at the far end of the village and out of Walker's line of sight. He suspected there would only be one or two people waiting on the platform. Most of the traffic for the line came from the north at Albany and south from the city. Baileyboro was an insignificant stop on the route but vital to the villagers.

Walker handed Skye her ticket. Parnell had told him to give Skye his compliments, but Walker hadn't relayed the message. He tried to put himself in Skye's place and wondered if uncertainty would have driven him to press an argument the way she had done. Did it make parting easier for her?

Hank Ryder opened the carriage door and put out his hand to Skye. "Sorry it's come to this," he told her as he helped her down. "Didn't think you were given a fair shake."

"Thank you, Hank." She smiled. "I'd like one now, though."

At first he didn't understand what she meant, then he felt her squeezing his hand. He chuckled, showing this wide, gap-toothed grin and pumped her hand enthusiastically.

"When you're finished..." Walker said drily, not bothering to complete his sentence.

Hank flushed and removed his hand. Skye pressed her own into the muff she carried and hurried toward the platform. The wind was strong enough to make whitecaps on the river. Chunks of ice dotted the surface and were trapped by outcroppings of rock. As they traveled along the river's edge, the view from the train would be bleak. It would fit Skye's mood perfectly.

Walker joined her on the platform with her baggage while Hank returned to wait at the carriage. In the distance Skye heard the approach of the train. She continued to stare at the river, but Walker turned to look down the tracks. His eyes lingered on Skye's stoic profile instead.

"I didn't want to argue with you," he said.

"I know."

Sunlight glinted in her red hair. The wind ruffled the fringe of fur on her hat and the fringe of hair on her forehead. She wouldn't look at him. He wondered if she couldn't.

They both stepped back as the train pulled up to the platform. Smoke and cinders clouded the air. A few minutes later Skye's bag and trunk were taken by a porter. It was only then that she turned to Walker. Not knowing what else to do, she held out her hand.

Walker stared at it, then slowly shook his head. His eyes signaled his intent and he gave her time to pull away. She merely raised her face and offered up her mouth. He kissed her long and hard and deep, and when he released her, they were both shaken by the strength of it.

"Goodbye, Mary Schyler," he said softly.

She didn't speak, turning instead toward the porter who was waiting at the door to her car.

Walker watched her board and saw her take her seat next to a window on the far side of the car. She wouldn't look in his direction, and then someone took a seat on the bench nearest him and blocked Skye from his view.

He hesitated a moment longer, then headed for the carriage to get his things. Riding in the mail car didn't promise to be a very comfortable trip. Knowing he would see Skye at the other end, even if she wouldn't see him, was the only thing that made the prospect bearable.

Chapter 10

She wasn't there.

Walker had disembarked as soon the train had arrived in Central Station. The platforms were crowded, as they always were, but Walker situated himself on a bench where he could see all the activity. Anonymous faces didn't escape his attention now. He noticed the young mothers with their children in tow, the harried businessmen adjusting their identical derbies with identical gestures. He watched a woman being pulled along the platform's edge by a pair of small dogs. A flower vendor tried to entice all of them to buy her wares. No one got off Northeast Rail's No. 49 engine or its cars that he did not see.

And Skye was not there.

Walker couldn't believe it. Had he given his intention away in some manner so that she could deliberately thwart him, or had he made some greenhorn mistake that allowed her to go by unnoticed?

He was traveling light and was thankful he'd had the foresight to do that much right. He tossed his valise to a porter and asked for it to be checked at the ticket counter. He'd worry about getting it back later.

Boarding the first car, Walker worked his way through the train, checking the aisles and under the seats. The train was virtually empty. There were only a few stops south of the city before the train would return to the station and go north again. Each of the four passenger cars had less than a half-dozen people in it. None of the faces belonged to Skye Dennehy.

The conductor caught up with Walker as he finished surveying the last car. "Here now, what do you think you're doing?" he asked. He had gray hair, and thick, wiry sideburns filled out his sunken cheeks. His black cap was perched on his head and he had drawn himself up to his full height of five foot seven to confront Walker. "If you're riding with this line, you'll have to purchase a ticket."