Elizabeth Lane (5 page)

“I could take her to my place,” Sarah said. “At least Smitty would leave her in peace there.”

“Nein,”
Greta interjected swiftly. “With Marie in your room, how could you have the children come for their lessons? And what would their mamas say? You would have to close your little school.”

“We can handle Smitty. Don’t you worry none ‘bout that,” Faye added. “We done like you said—told the ol’ buzzard none of us would work ‘less’n he let Marie stay. He’ll come ‘round. Ain’t got much choice. He won’t get no new girls comin’ to a town like this ‘un.”

Sarah sighed wearily, one hand brushing back Marie’s dark, damp hair. “Give her as much of the tea as she’ll take. At this point, there’s not much else you can do. I’ll be around to see her again tomorrow night.”

“No need your takin’ so many chances, Miss Sarah,” Faye said. “You know what some of the ladies in this town would say if they ever saw you comin’ in here.”

Sarah nodded, knowing Faye was right. There were women in Miner’s Gulch, self-styled social leaders like Mrs. Eudora Cahill, who would brand her an instant pariah if they knew she associated with Smitty’s girls. In the days ahead their support would be more important than ever. But right now Marie needed her. And even in the face of wisdom, one did not turn one’s back on a friend.

She leaned over, clasped Marie’s fleshless hand and felt the tightening of the frail fingers. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she whispered. “Meanwhile, you get some sleep. Try to have some beautiful dreams—” The words died as emotion
choked her throat. Tears flooded her eyes as she turned away from the bed and left the room.

The night breeze blew cold on Sarah’s damp face as she made her way home through the alley. Thoughts of Marie mingled with the memory of Donovan’s threat, churning like a maelstrom in her mind. There was nothing she could do for Marie. And there was very little she could do about Donovan. Another man might be charmed or cajoled into changing his mind. But not Donovan Cole. He was too bitter, too determined, too cocksure that she would turn tail and run.

She could not let him win.

Whatever happened, Sarah resolved, she would not let Donovan see her fear. Until he played his ace against her, she would behave as if nothing had happened. She would hold her head high and go about her usual business.

Sarah’s heart lurched with the sudden realization that her usual business would include looking in on Varina. She always followed up her deliveries with visits to the new mothers. If she did not come, Varina would wonder why.

Unless Donovan had already told her.

Sarah’s pulse skipped erratically as she mounted the back stairs of Satterlee’s store. Every impulse screamed at her to run—to fling her essentials into a bag, saddle her mule and ride for her life.

But running was out of the question. Miner’s Gulch was her home. If she did not take a stand here and now, no place on earth would ever be home to her again.

The schoolroom was dark with familiar shadows; warm, still, from the embers that glowed in the potbellied stove. Locking the door behind her, Sarah paused at the threshold of her bedroom. Her eyes lingered affectionately on the squat log benches, the slates piled haphazardly in a far corner, the rows of sums and minuses chalked neatly across the blackboard. Not much of a kingdom. But it was hers. She had built it, carved it out of nothing, with pluck and patience as her only tools.

It was good, she reassured herself as she hung up her cloak, opened the bedroom door and lit the brass lamp on the dresser. She had made herself useful here. She had made a difference in people’s lives.

Could it be? Had her father had been wrong, after all?

Her hands moved to the high muslin collar of her shirtwaist, fingers unfastening the buttons with practiced skill until the prim garment fell open in front. Sarah slipped her arms out of the sleeves and hung it with her other things on the row of hooks that served in place of a wardrobe. She could not afford to be careless with her clothes. They had to last.

With a weary sigh, she raised her arms and began plucking away the pins that held her hair in its tight bun. The silky locks tumbled loose, bringing back a sudden stab of memory. Donovan—his fingers tangling in her hair, eyes probing hers, dark and hot, seething with unanswered questions…

Turning, she caught a glimpse of herself in the cracked mirror—arms lifted, cheeks flushed, lips damply parted. She froze, staring at her own image. One hand quivered upward to touch her cheek.

She had almost succeeded in forgetting that she was pretty.

Seized by a sudden wild compulsion, she curved her mouth into a smile, inclining her head, arching the fine, dark wings of her brows. The image in the glass assumed a subtle sensuality, an air of unmistakable invitation.

Lydia.

Sarah’s arms dropped to her sides as the sound of laughter echoed and faded in her mind. Was this what Donovan had wanted when he’d ripped the pins from her hair? Deep inside, without his even knowing, was it really
Lydia
he had wanted to see?

Driven by dark emotions, she raised her arms again, tightening the fabric of the worn chemise against her
breasts. Her hands lifted and spread the satin wealth of her hair. Her eyelids lowered coquettishly.

“You’re no good, Sarah Jane Parker!”
Her minister father’s voice rumbled like a tempest out of the past.
“Wasting your time
playacting! Prancing and posing like a strumpet! Vanity is the devil’s tool, Sarah! Mark my words!
Remember them when you’re burning in
hell!”

Sarah spun away from the mirror, hands quivering where they pressed her cold face. She’d gotten word from a cousin after the war that her father had died of apoplexy in New Bedford. In the eight long years since she’d run off with Reginald Buckley, he had not once spoken her name.

Sometimes at night, when the wind howled high in the Colorado pines, his voice echoed in her dreams, its thunder blending with the roar of cannon fire, the screams of horses and the groans of the wounded.

“You can’t hide
from the sight of God, Sarah Jane!
Wherever
you go, his wrath will find you, and in the end,
you will burn for your
sins! The devil will seize you and
carry you down, and burn you forever in
hell!”

Sarah blew out the lamp and finished undressing in the dark. She tugged her flannel nightgown over her head and buttoned it to her throat with trembling fingers. Moonlight made a window-square on the patchwork quilt as she crawled between the sheets and lay rigid, eyes wide open in the darkness.

Strange, how some things never seemed to change. As a little girl, she had lain awake at night, listening to the creaks and groans of the old frame house, waiting for the devil to come and snatch her from her bed. Twenty years later, she still jumped at shadows, her fear so deep that it defied every effort to reason it away.

When would it come,
the moment of reckoning when the
fire would
exact its toll?

Impatient, Sarah turned over and punched her pillow. She had problems enough in the here and now, she reminded herself. The devil might be biding his time, but
Donovan Cole was not. Donovan was not a patient man. His revenge would be swift and without mercy.

Unless she could think of a way to beat him at his own game.

Restless now, she flopped onto her side, feet jerking at the tightly tucked quilts. There had to be an answer—there was always an answer.

All she had to do was find it.

Sleep was impossible. Sarah rolled out of bed, flung on her robe and strode to the window. The tick of the schoolroom clock echoed in the silence as she gazed through the tattered curtain at the black clusters of pine and the moonlit peaks beyond.

There was always an answer. Maybe not an easy answer. Maybe not the answer one would ask for. But an answer all the same.

She shivered beneath the worn flannel robe, hands clutching her arms as she racked her brain and searched her heart. It was there, she knew, if only-The solution fell into place like a thunderclap.

Sarah’s breath caught as she examined it—an idea so simple that she could scarcely believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

Simple. And terrifying. Her hands began to tremble as she weighed the risks, the ramifications. No, she did not have the courage. There had to be a different way, something easier.

She waited, cold and alone in the darkness, but when no other answer came, Sarah knew what she must do. She had spent years running, assuming one role, then casting it off for another, losing herself in lies.

It was time to stop running once and for all.

H
ammer blows echoed down the gulch, ringing like gunshots on the chilly morning air. Sarah could hear them a good half mile before she reached the Sutton place. Her throat knotted in dread at the sound. She had hoped Donovan would be elsewhere when she came to check on Varina and the baby. Alas, that was not to be.

She reined in the mule, half-tempted to turn back. But no, that would be the cowardly way. As a midwife and friend, she had duties to perform. If Varina’s volatile brother chose to interfere, she would simply have to put him in his place.

Sarah adjusted her spectacles, plumbing the well of her own courage as the mule picked its way up the slippery trail. She had lived so long with danger that it had become a natural part of her existence. But Donovan Cole was more than dangerous. His was a rage that burned all the way to her heart. Every time he looked at her, his eyes blazed through her prim facade to the lying, faithless hellion she had struggled so hard to put behind her. To Lydia.

As long as she lived in Donovan’s eyes, in his memory and in his hatred, Lydia Taggart would never die.

As the trees thinned, she could make out Varina’s tiny log cabin. She could see Donovan just below roof level, straddling a massive crossbeam on the frame of what appeared to be an add-on room. The mine timbers he had salvaged
for the purpose were heavy and awkward. Hammer blows echoed off the canyon walls as he whaled away at a stubborn nail.

A wry smile tightened Sarah’s lips. One thing, at least, was clear: Donovan Cole was no carpenter.

Donovan was so intent on his task that he had yet to notice Sarah’s approach. Despite the crisp air, he had flung off his shirt. Muscles rippled beneath his taut, golden skin. His bare torso all but steamed as he laid into the work with a fury so black that Sarah hesitated, her amusement darkening into fear.

The mule snorted and shook its shaggy winter hide as she reined up alongside the porch. Only then did Donovan pause in his hammering to glare down at her. The contempt in his eyes froze her to the quick of her soul.

“I’ve come to see Varina and her new son,” she declared, thrusting out her chin.

“Varina’s fine,” he growled. “So’s the baby. We don’t need your kind looking in on us.”

“That’s not for you to say, Donovan.” Sarah swung out of the saddle, her medical bag clutched under her cloak. “When I hear it from your sister, that’s when I’ll leave.” She turned and strode determinedly toward the porch.

“That’s far enough.” Donovan’s sharp voice caught her like a blade between the shoulders. “Lady, if you don’t want one hell of a scene—”

“Miss Sarah!” Katy came bounding out onto the porch, her carrot-colored pigtails dancing. “I can do carries and borrows now! Uncle Donovan helped me last night! Come on in, and I’ll show you!”

“That’s wonderful, Katy.” Sarah accepted the chapped little hand and mounted the steps, avoiding Donovan’s seething gaze. How much had he told his sister? she wondered. Varina had been one of her staunchest friends here in Miner’s Gulch. But then, Varina had known nothing about her past.

Sarah stepped into the dimly lit cabin, braced for an onslaught of hostility. Varina may have gone West before the war, but its tragedy had touched her all the same. Like Donovan, she had lost a family home and a much-loved young brother. Who could blame her for hating the woman who’d had a hand in it all?

“Come on, Miss Sarah!” Katy tugged eagerly at her hand. “You can see little Charlie first! Then I’ll show you my carries and borrows!”

Little by little, Sarah’s eyes adjusted to the shadows. She could see Annie washing dishes at the counter, with Samuel clumsily drying them. In the darkest corner, Varina was sitting up in bed, nursing the baby. Sarah’s breath caught.

Varina was smiling.

“Sarah!” She reached out, beckoning with her free arm. “I was hoping you’d come today! Little Charlie and I are doing fine, as you can see. But I’m afraid I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly the other night. Come here!”

Sarah put down her medical kit and moved slowly toward the bed, tears stinging her eyes.

Donovan hadn’t told her. He hadn’t
told any of them.

“Here—” Varina seized her shoulder, drawing her close in a loving embrace that almost shattered Sarah’s heart. “We owe you our lives, the two of us. I know I can never repay you, but if you ever need—”

“It’s all right, Varina!” Sarah squeezed the words out of her aching throat. “Seeing you like this, with your family, is repayment enough. I could never ask for more.”

“All the same—” Varina drew Sarah down until their gazes met on the same level. Her eyes were the same color as her brother’s, except that where Donovan’s shot icy sparks, Varina’s eyes glowed with the purest kindness Sarah had ever known.

Her grip tightened on Sarah’s arm. “All the same, Sarah, I want you to know that Varina Sutton is your friend for life. If ever you need anything from me, just ask, and—”

“Varina, I was only doing my Christian duty! It’s all right!” Sarah felt as if she were choking. She should tell her now, she thought. Tell her this minute and get it over with.

But no, it wouldn’t do. Not in this quiet moment with the children so near. Not with little Katy tugging at her skirt and Annie looking back over her shoulder with big, serious eyes. Varina would know soon enough.

The baby whimpered, squirmed and spat out his mother’s nipple, providing a welcome distraction. A tender smile wreathed Varina’s face. “It appears the little mite’s had enough. You can hold him now, if you like. But you’d best lay this cloth on your shoulder. He tends to spit after he’s eaten.”

Putting aside her cloak, Sarah draped the cloth over her shirtwaist and gathered the tiny, squirming bundle into her arms.

“Oh!” she whispered, snuggling the baby close as the sweet, milky aura enfolded her. “Oh, he’s beautiful!”

For Sarah, holding new infants never lost its wonder. She loved their softness, the incredible lightness of their little bodies, their tiny, puckered faces and clasping fingers. What would it be like to cradle a baby of her own? Would it ever happen?

But she could not even think about such a miracle, Sarah reminded herself. She was twenty-eight years old, a woman whose past would haunt her to the end of her days. No honorable man would ask for her hand in marriage. The best she could hope for was a lifetime of cuddling other women’s babies and teaching other women’s children.

Varina’s son stirred in her arms and opened round indigo eyes to gaze up at her. Sarah brushed a finger across the velvet scalp, teasing the delicate fuzz that showed promise of growing in fiery red like Varina’s hair and Katy’s.

And Virgil’s.

With cooing whispers, she lifted the infant to curl against her shoulder. Her hand gently patted the tiny back until she was rewarded by a wet little baby belch.

Varina chuckled. “I declare, Sarah Parker, you need babies of your own! You’d make a wonderful mother!”

“I seem to have my hands full just now,” Sarah murmured, muffling her words against the baby’s satin cheek.

“Listen, Sarah.” Varina’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I should probably just be quiet and let nature take its course, but I’ve never been one to keep a thing to myself.” She leaned close to Sarah’s ear. “My brother hasn’t been the same since you were up here the other night. He’s been as restless as a tomcat under a full moon. Now, I know Donovan pretty well, and I’d say he’s taken a real shine to you!”

Sarah lowered her face, struggling to hide the hot rush of dismay that flooded her cheeks. From outside, Donovan’s furious hammer blows punctuated the pounding of her own heart. For all her stage experience, she found herself tongue-tied.

“Varina, I—”

“You what? He likes you. I can tell.”

“No.” Sarah shook her head, writhing inside. “You’re wrong, Varina. I’m not Donovan’s kind of woman at all.”

“Nonsense! You don’t know how many ladies have tried to trap that man over the years! Pretty ones! Wealthy ones! None of them seemed quite right. But you, Sarah, you’re different. You have an inner beauty that shines through your face. If you’d only show some interest in—”

Varina’s words were shattered by the crash of splintering wood and falling timbers against the outer wall. The sound galvanized both women. They stared at each other in alarm.

“Here—” Sarah thrust the baby back into Varina’s arms. “You stay put. I’ll go see what’s happened.”

Sarah gathered up her skirts and raced outside with the three children at her heels. The sight that met their eyes as
they rounded the corner of the cabin stopped her heart cold.

Donovan was lying on the ground beneath a tumble of heavy beams. Lying as still as death.

“Stay where you are!” she ordered the children. “Annie, run back inside and get my medical kit. Don’t tell your mother what’s happened. Not till we know—”

Annie was gone like a streak. Katy had begun to whimper. “Miss Sarah…is Uncle Donovan dead like my pa?”

“Dead? Don’t be a little goose, Katy!” Sarah threw her full strength against the topmost beam, straining her tight corset stays as she swung the heavy end around and rolled it to one side. She had to hurry. She had to get the weight off Donovan’s chest before it crushed the breath out of him.

“Don’t let him be dead, Miss Sarah!” Katy whined.

“Be still and hold on to Samuel!” Sarah wrestled frantically with the next timber. She could see Donovan’s face now, white and still, the eyes closed. A small gash at his hairline was oozing blood.

No—with
Virgil long since buried and Charlie Sutton not two months gone, they couldn’t lose Donovan, too. It
would
destroy Varina and her little ones. She had to get him
free, had to save
him…please…please…

Donovan’s head moved slightly. He groaned.

Sarah froze. As her heart began to beat again, she remembered the frightened children looking on. “Katy, Samuel, it’s all right!” she gasped, heaving the last timber aside. “He’s breathing! He’s alive! Tell Annie to hurry!”

She flung herself to the ground beside Donovan. He was alive, yes. But how badly was he hurt? He could have broken bones. He could have head injuries. He could-He groaned again as she placed a trembling hand on his chest. His skin was wind chilled, but his heart throbbed steadily against her palm. Sarah was dimly aware of Annie thrusting her medical bag into reach. Willing her emotions
to freeze, she snatched it up and rummaged inside for the vial of smelling salts.

The big, stubborn fool! What business
did he have try
ing to frame a cabin alone when he obviously knew
noth
ing about
it? He could have been killed. He could have-Sarah’s hands shook as she yanked out the stopper and waved the vial a finger’s breadth from his nostrils. Donovan’s face twitched. A shudder rippled his long, muscular body. His eyelids fluttered. Sarah held her breath as he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

For the space of a heartbeat his gaze held hers—warm and open, as if he saw into her soul and understood everything. But the bond was as fleeting as a moonbeam. His mind was clearing now. As he recognized her, his eyes glazed over with hatred.

“What the devil—?” He thrashed against her, struggling to sit up.

“Don’t try to move!” Sarah ordered in a frigid voice. “You could be hurt.”

“Blast it, I’m not—” His words ended in a grunt of pain as he collapsed back onto the ground.

“What is it? Your ribs? Keep still a minute.” Her fingertips slid over his sun-burnished flesh as she fought to detach her feelings, to make believe this was just another injured man she was touching, and not Donovan Cole.

But try as she might, Sarah could not close her mind to the manliness of his body—the finely sculpted curve of arm and shoulder, the splendor of his broadly muscled torso, the shadow of coarsely curling chestnut hair that trickled along the midline of his flat, tan belly to disappear in-
Stop it!
Sarah tore her eyes away from the distinctly male bulge that rose below his belt line. There was no part of a man she hadn’t seen before, she reminded herself bitterly. Donovan would be no different from Reginald Buckley, or from anyone else, for that matter.

He flinched visibly, biting back a yelp of pain as Sarah’s fingers probed along his left side.

“Hurts there, does it?” She paused, studiously avoiding Donovan’s eyes.

His sharp exhalation answered her question.

“Nothing feels broken, but you may have a cracked rib or two. How about your legs? Your arms?” Sarah tried to sound disinterested, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. She was conscious of the three children, huddled in a worried little cluster, watching and waiting.

“My legs and arms are fine!” he groused. “Annie, Katy, you take Samuel and go back in the house! This isn’t a blasted sideshow!”

“They’re just concerned about you,” Sarah murmured as the youngsters scattered for the porch. “And you can hardly blame them, after what happened to their father.”

“Oh, damnation, don’t I know it?” Donovan sat up gingerly, blood dripping down his temple to mingle with the rough, reddish whiskers on his unshaven jaw. “I’d give anything if they’d just pull up stakes and go back to Kansas with me. But Varina’s as stubborn as that mule of yours. This was Charlie’s land, and now it’s hers. She won’t budge an inch.”

“Varina’s the finest woman I know. But you’re right, she can be stubborn. Hold still, now, while I clean up that gash on your head. Then we’ll see to your ribs.” Sarah fished a pint of cheap whiskey and a clean wad of cotton wool out of her bag. “This’ll sting some.”

He held himself rigid, wincing as she dabbed away the blood. “This doesn’t change anything, you know,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t expect it to.”

“You’ve still got till Monday night to be gone from Miner’s Gulch. Otherwise, I spill your treachery to the whole town.”

“Save your bluster, Donovan.” Sarah balled another wad of cotton wool and saturated it with the whiskey, hoping he wouldn’t notice her quivering hands. “I told you I wasn’t leaving. I meant it.”