Debra Holland (4 page)

The trail leveled, joining with a dirt road. Ahead Ant could make out the shadowy outline of buildings, several showing amber light shining through the windows.

He leaned down to speak in her ear. “Where do you live, Miss? “

“I board with the Cobbs, who own the mercantile. Keep going a ways on this street and you’ll get there.”

They passed quiet houses and buildings. The lantern light didn’t reach far enough for him to make out any details. Seemed like an ordinary enough town.

A burst of laughter and tinny piano music belted from a saloon; the sound followed them up the street. An ordinary town, all right.

“There.” Harriet angled her chin to the left. “That’s the mercantile. The front will be locked, so we’ll need to go around the near side to the kitchen.”

Guiding Shadow to a hitching post near a watering trough, Ant paused, reluctant to dismount. He knew he needed to get Harriet to shelter, but that would mean letting go of her. He hadn’t held a woman since Isabella. His meaningless encounters with prostitutes were meant to satisfy a sexual itch, not lead to a physical connection. He’d forgotten the feeling of holding a woman in his arms—the powerful protective instinct a female could evoke in a man.

Or maybe it was because this one was so slight. Maybe it was a fatherly instinct. Yes, that was it. As soon as Ant grabbed for the idea, the thought whisked away. There was nothing fatherly about the control he’d been trying to exercise on certain parts of his anatomy for the last hour.

Best get her indoors and be done with her.
“I have to dismount. I’ll try not to hurt you.”

She sat up, which did not help matters.

Ant eased one leg over Shadow and jumped down. “Now, relax and lean over.” He reached one arm around her back and the other under her knees. “Heave ho, matey.”

She giggled, and then gasped with pain.

He continued teasing, trying to keep her mind off her injuries. “At least I made you laugh before I hurt you.”

Even though her face was drawn with pain, she managed that quarter smile.

To avoid the tick of response in his heart, he quickened his pace toward the door. “You’ll have to do the knocking. My hands are full.”

The light from a lace-curtained window illuminated the entry. Harriet untangled one arm from the blankets, reaching out to knock.

Just before her hand connected, Ant had a sudden thought and, half in jest, half in concern, swung her away. “Mr. Cobb won’t be greeting me with a gun will he? As you can see, I’m in no position to defend myself.”

CHAPTER THREE

David March stared out the single cracked window of the shack he and his father had called home for the last three months, watching the rain track wiggly trails through the grime. Behind him, his father sprawled on a filthy pallet; his drunken snores shook the tottery one-room building.

The storm trapped him inside with Pa. Usually, during the warmer nights of summer, David could escape and sleep in the lean-to with the mule. Safer there. Pa often woke up with a fierce temper and a heavy hand. If David made a morning appearance before Pa started drinking again, there’d be hell to pay. Or maybe, he thought bitterly, more hell than usual to pay.

Even with his father asleep, shivers of fear burned under David’s skin. He wanted to escape. Run fast and far, back to....

Gray hazed with black speckles slid between then and now. His drifty place. David let his vision move out of focus, until all he saw was the slick surface in front of him. As if half-asleep, he tapped on the glass along with the rhythm of his father’s snores.

Snort.
Tap.
Whistle.
Scratch with a fingernail.
Pause
. Hold the pad of his finger over a bead of water.
Snuffle.
Draw his knuckle in a half circle.

In his drifty place, his body numbed, and his mind stayed gray. But at least he didn’t feel the cramp of hunger in his belly, nor the tightness and tatters of two-year-old clothes. Best of all, he couldn’t feel any pain, for he didn’t feel anything, anything at all.

* * *

The side door yanked open so fast Ant thought the nails might fly from their hinges. A man’s anxious face peered out, bulbous red nose twitching. Behind the man, Ant could hear a woman shrill, “Is that Miss Stanton?” The woman ducked under her husband’s arm, holding up a glass lamp. “Miss Stanton! The Lord be thanked. What happened? Are you injured?”

“I’m all right, Mrs. Cobb. Just bruised. But I twisted my ankle.”

“Come in. Come in. Don’t just stand there. Isaiah, move over.” She nudged her husband out of the way with one wide hip.

Ant turned sideways, careful to keep Harriet’s feet from hitting the frame, and squeezed through the door into the kitchen. His first impression was welcomed warmth and the bitter fragrance of willow bark tea brewing. The Cobbs must have expected some trouble. But the tea should help ease Harriet’s pain.

A quick scan of the room showed a rectangular table surrounded by six wooden chairs and covered with a red-and-white checked cloth. A large cast iron stove provided the warmth. He strode over to the nearest chair. Hooking the leg with his foot, he pulled the chair over to the stove and deposited Harriet on it.

Mrs. Cobb stared up at Ant. Her close-set brown eyes bulged in apparent shock—a not uncommon reaction to his great height. Her mouth opened and closed like a fresh-caught catfish, showing pointed eyeteeth.

Her husband stretched himself to his full length, another common reaction to Ant’s size. Isaiah Cobb had an ordinary tall frame, which meant he reached to Ant’s chin. The red nose led Ant to think the man might have been drinking, only there was no aroma of alcohol on his breath. A fringe of gray-and-brown hair circled his bald head.

Mrs. Cobb emerged from her trance. “Well, and who might you be?” she said acidly.

Harriet untied the remains of her bonnet, revealing chestnut brown hair, fine gray eyes, a pert nose, and pink lips.
Kissable lips.
She waved a hand to him. “My rescuer, Mr. Anthony Gordon.”

“But, my dear Miss Stanton, whatever happened to you?”

“I went for a walk. The day was so beautiful that I wandered farther up the mountain than I thought. I tripped and hit my head against a tree. I was knocked unconscious. When I awoke, I found I had sprained my ankle and couldn’t move. The storm began. I called for help, and Mr. Gordon appeared.” Her fingers explored the lump on her head.

Mr. Cobb leaned closer to examine Harriet’s bump. “Nasty bruise you have there. Better go for Doc Cameron.”

 
Harriet’s hand dropped to her lap. “No. Don’t disturb him.”

“Disturb him.” Mrs. Cobb’s voice rose. “Why, we are all disturbed. Hunted all over town for you. It’s not like you, Miss Stanton, to take off like that without telling anyone. Very inconsiderate. Dr. Cameron is half-expecting a summons.”

Harriet brushed a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused.” Her voice shook.

As Ant listened to the conversation, his ire rose. Instead of sympathy and prompt treatment, these people were blaming Harriet. “If you’ll tell me where the doctor is, I’ll go fetch him.” In spite of his annoyance, Ant kept his voice even. “In the meantime, perhaps Miss Stanton can take a hot bath. She’s chilled and muddy.”

Mrs. Cobb bristled. “I don’t believe we need a stranger to tell us how to take care of our Miss Stanton.”

Apparently you do.

Miss Stanton fluttered a trembling hand. “Mrs. Cobb, Mr. Gordon’s been very kind. I believe he saved my life.” She fisted her fingers, dropping her hand to her lap, obviously trying to mask her weakness.

Mr. Cobb rubbed his nose with one thick-fingered hand. “Now, Hortense, we have to be grateful to Mr. Gordon. The Lord sent him as an answer to our prayers for Miss Stanton’s safe deliverance.” He patted his wife’s shoulder. “You go heat up some water, while I give Mr. Gordon, here, the directions to Doc’s house.”

Ant wasn’t fooled by Cobb’s hearty tone. He could see the man would far rather stay inside than ride through the night for the doctor. But he hid his scorn. He didn’t much like these people, but for Miss Stanton’s sake he’d be polite. Plus, he needed information about Lewis and David. He couldn’t alienate the Cobbs until he had what he needed.

* * *

Harriet wanted the smooth planks of the wooden floor to open up beneath her, preferably onto a fat featherbed. That way, she could disappear
and
not have to deal with getting up to her room. She hated arguments, hated seeing the Cobbs act almost rude to a man who’d been so kind.

The conversation shriveled her up inside, but she couldn’t allow Ant to ride for Doctor Cameron. She wasn’t injured enough to warrant disturbing the physician, nor did she need the burden of paying for medical expenses. “Mr. Gordon, you’ve done enough for me,” she said, putting all the schoolmarm firmness she could manage into her tone. “I refuse to have you summon Doctor Cameron. I think a bath and some sleep should take care of me. You need to get yourself settled and dry.”

“My slicker’s kept me fairly dry. It’s you I’m concerned about.” Ant’s eyes peered into hers, seeming to assess the truth of her words. Finally, he nodded. Turning to Mr. Cobb, he asked, “Is there a hotel in town?”

“No. Banker Livingston has plans to build one. Widow Murphy takes boarders, though. You can put your horse up at the livery stable.”

“If you’ll direct me, I’ll take my gear to Widow Murphy’s, stable Shadow, then return here. I think Miss Stanton will need to be carried to her bed.”

“Mr. Gordon!” Mrs. Cobb dramatically clapped one hand over her ample bosom.

Harriet refrained from rolling her eyes. You’d think Ant had offered to ravish her.

He raised one eyebrow, giving the woman a quelling look. “Do you plan to carry her yourself, or do you expect her to crawl?” His gravelly voice took on an ominous tone. “I’ve been carrying her around already for the last hour. You can follow right behind us, so Miss Stanton will be well chaperoned.”

Mrs. Cobb huffed, but wisdom prevailed, and she chose not to say anything. She turned toward the sink, grabbed a teakettle and filled it under the pump. She motioned toward a large copper pot sitting on the edge of a shelf of pots and pans. “Isaiah, fill that for me. We need to boil hot water. Then bring the tub in.”

Exhaustion hit, almost knocking Harriet off her chair. A headache hammered at her forehead. In spite of her tiredness, she forced herself to act politely. “I thank you for all your help, Mr. Gordon.”

He nodded. “My pleasure, my lady.” The teasing lilt returned to his voice.

She made an effort to respond in kind. “My lord, the livery stable is across the street and to the right. Then there’s the blacksmith shop, then the bathhouse. Mrs. Murphy’s boarding house is across the street.”

“I’ll take my time, give you a chance to soak in a warm bath. Stop those shivers.”

She unwrapped the blankets, her movements heavy, as though her body contained only sand.

He reached out to help, taking the burden from her. Balling up the bedroll, he nodded. “I’ll return soon.” He turned and strode out, taking the warmth of concern with him.

Mr. Cobb wrestled the tub in from the pantry tacked on to the kitchen, setting it next to Harriet’s chair. He grabbed a bucket from next to the door and proceeded to pump some water into the pail to carry to the tub. After several trips, he lifted the big copper pot off the stove, pouring the steaming water into the basin, and then filling the pot again to heat up.

In uncharacteristic silence, Mrs. Cobb added the boiling water from the teakettle, and then refilled it. She waved her hands, shooing her husband from the room. “Go wait in the parlor until we’re done.”

Harriet balanced on one foot, clutching the back of the chair, and allowed Mrs. Cobb to undress her. The subdued air the woman wore from being chastised by Ant soon wore off. She began to cluck at the condition of Harriet’s sodden clothes and chatter about the day’s gossip. “Did you hear the news? Mrs. Sanders is expecting a baby come Christmas.”

Harriet closed her eyes, wishing she could also shut her ears. Her stomach cramped. For the first time since Ant had miraculously appeared in the darkness, Harriet remembered Nick Sanders.
How could I have forgotten?
Fleeing to the mountains had been foolish. All she’d done was bring herself more pain and trouble. She couldn’t run away from reality. She was doomed to live with Nick and Elizabeth’s happiness.

* * *

The next day, Harriet perched on the brown velvet sofa in the parlor, her foot wrapped in a tight bandage and propped on a footstool in front of her. The Cobbs’ sitting room was crammed with too much ornate furniture and all the little luxuries Mrs. Cobb thought necessary to display both the Cobbs’ merchandise and their monetary success. Vases, pictures, porcelain statues, and several music boxes vied for space on the marble-topped tables. Tufted and fringed pillows overflowed the settee and chairs. The décor was the epitome of bad taste.

Just being in the room twisted Harriet’s stomach and set her on edge. At least the Cobbs weren’t present, and she had some quiet time. She tried to work on her poetry, but with the ever-present throb of her ankle distracting her, everything that came to her mind sounded like drivel. She’d given up in disgust.