Shades of Gray: A Novel of the Civil War in Virginia (50 page)

 Hunter put his head back and laughed, knowing
she baited him. “You think Justus is faster than Dixie? Or Dash? Funny, but
usually I find a woman’s vivid imagination a bit tedious.”

Andrea looked
curiously at him, as if surprised at the sound of the warm gentle voice.
“Imagination? Tedious? And in my case?”

“I find it enchanting,” he said with a relaxed,
boyish grin. “And someday, Miss Evans, I’d be honored to take you up on the
challenge of finding out whose horse is faster.

“I look forward to that day.” Andrea grabbed his
arm for support when she stepped off the bottom rail of the fence. “What shall
be the stakes?” She had a laughing challenge in her eyes as she kept her arm
linked in his. Hunter felt the warmth of her touch, yet her weight as she
leaned on him was hardly discernible.

“Leave that to me,” he said in an emotional
voice. “I’ll think of something.”

“Oh no. I believe it is
I
who should come
up with the purse for the victor. You would oblige me?” She glanced up at him
with a daring, and he thought, seductive look, as she allowed her hand to slide
down his arm and into the grasp of his fingers.

Hunter’s heart missed a beat as he continued
walking in a delicious trance. The simple, casual contact of holding her hand
had every nerve and muscle in his body quivering in a way that had never
occurred even with the most passionate touch of a woman prior.

“If such is your pleasure.” He smiled down at
her with unmasked emotion. “I only hope you will make the stakes high enough.”

“Colonel, you doubt me?” She pulled him to a
sudden stop, a wide grin upon her face and an audacious sparkle in her eyes.

This was the sort of thing that shook him.
Hunter laughed, not so much at her words, but at the beautiful way her smile
made him feel. She looked perfectly enchanting with his battle hat upon her
head, a flower peeking from beneath its brim—a characteristic contradiction of
refinement and roughness, grit and grace.

“The pleasure will be all mine—win or lose.” He
gazed down at her and quickly looked away. Her captivating green eyes were
never devoid of power, yet today they overwhelmed him.

“I fear you don’t take me seriously.” Andrea
slid her hand up to cling to his arm again. “When I win, I wish it to be
fairly.”

“I did not mean to infer I will allow you to
win, Miss Evans.” Hunter stopped again and tried to calm his pulsing heart. “I
only meant that, should I lose, it could not be to a more deserving victor.”

They were almost to the porch now, and Hunter
had the sudden urge to go back—back to the fence, start over, move in slow
motion.
Don’t let this moment, this morning, this feeling end
. He
remained silent, but his mind raced.
Tell her. Tell her
. Then,
do not
hold the reins too tightly. Relax, or she will pull and run away.
He tried
again to think of the right words to explain his emotions—and to find the nerve
to say them out loud.

Pausing on the middle step, he looked back over
his shoulder at a disturbance some horses created in the field. Andrea
continued to the top step, but turned around questioningly when he did not
follow.

With their eyes almost even since he now stood
two steps below her, she turned all the way around and placed her hands on his
shoulders playfully. “I like this. For once, I do not have to look
up
to
you, Colonel.”

“I believe I prefer it when you do.”

Andrea tilted her head back and laughed. Gazing
straight into her enchanting eyes, he knew he would remember the expression she
wore on this day, no matter what else ever came to happen in the world.

“I’m sure
you do, Colonel.” Andrea pushed gently on his shoulders, forcing him to take
another step backward and down, his spurs clanking when they hit the slate
behind him. “There,” she said, her eyes shining from under the brim of his hat.
“This is even better. Now
you
are looking up to
me
.”

The look—and the words—made him reckless. The
smile faded from his face. “My dear,” he said, his strong voice low and husky,
“trust, I always do that.”

Andrea’s brows drew together as she tried to
read the look in his eyes, but he did not give her time. Bounding up the
remaining stairs, he took her hand once again and turned her toward the
pastures with boyish enthusiasm. “Have you ever seen anything more splendid?”
In the field before them a dozen horses raced their shadows along the paddock
fence.

“I believe I’ve told you before, Colonel, you
reside in a place no less perfect than paradise.”

Hunter felt a surge of warmth from the small bit
of pressure she placed on his hand as she spoke. “And so Virginia is heaven in
your eyes, after all?”

Andrea turned to him, her eyes swimming with
mirth. “Oh, Colonel, you do have a way of putting words in my mouth. I’ll give
you that Hawthorne is heaven—but I must still reserve my opinion on all of
Virginia.”

Hunter laughed at her stubbornness, and she
laughed at his laughter. They stood like two children in the sunshine, thoughts
of war and enemies and fighting as far from either mind as the thought of any
friendship between them had once been.

Tell her,
Hunter thought again.
Tell
her now.

Why his lips remained silent he could not
fathom. The sparkle of acceptance in her eyes seemed to be a signal, but
secretly he feared her heart would not go so far as to accept the affections of
a Rebel.

“You are smiling as if you have a secret you
wish to share,” Andrea said, interrupting his thoughts with imploring eyes.

Hunter could not speak. He was trying to catch
the breath she took away. Biting his cheek, as he had so often seen her doing,
he thought about confessing what he felt. He took a deep breath as if to try,
then exhaled slowly when he could not make his tongue give utterance to the
words. Of all the women he had been with in his lifetime—and there had been
many—not one had the power to interrupt sensible thoughts like this one. He
swallowed all the things he wanted to say and said something else.

“You’ve been content here the last few weeks?”
He lifted the hat a little to reveal her eyes.

“
Content
?” Andrea drew her brows together
and cocked her head.

“I beg your pardon.” Hunter leaned one shoulder
against a pillar, his face turning rigid. “I realize you do not know the
meaning of the word.”

He tried to appear calm, but inside his heart
plummeted. He knew with certainty now that her impatience to leave had only been
subdued, not extinguished. She still thought of Hawthorne as a prison, one she
would break away from when circumstances allowed. The time would come for her
to go. And that time, he feared, was not far remote.

“Oh, I understand the word, Colonel. But how
could I be content when the one with whom I have enjoyed so many battles of wit
is forever absent?”

Hunter sucked his breath in and strained to let
it out slowly. Her words and her tone indicated an attempt to make light of the
situation in a polite and courteous fashion. Yet he felt sure her eyes
indicated something much more complex.

“My absence is not of my own desire,” he said in
a low, serious tone. “There are many times I wish for nothing more than to be
home. Here.”

“Then it would appear your wishes have been very
much in accord with mine.” Andrea looked straight up into his eyes, and then
out over his shoulder as if she too had trouble putting words to her thoughts.
“I once believed it an unkind fate that placed me here … but it’s a kind one
that occasionally permits me the privilege of your company.”

Had a hidden battery suddenly opened fire at
close range, Hunter could not have been more stunned. He reached instantly for
her hand and drew it instinctively to his heart.

Miss Evans … Andrea. It is time that I tell you
that I … that I—”

The door opened and Victoria burst out, driving
his speech back into the depths of his soul.

“Alex, I didn’t know you were home!” She dove
into him with her usual rapture, knocking Andrea out of the way. Hunter watched
Andrea’s eyes flicker with a hint of disappointment before they became consumed
with resentment and fury.

Within the blink of an eye the door into her
soul—the one that had taken so fearfully long to open—slammed shut. And he had
no way of knowing how long it would take to crack open again.

“Victoria. I believe you owe Miss Evans an
apology.”

It was too late. Andrea turned around and
retreated into the house without a backward glance. One moment she was there,
and the next she was gone, vanishing as swiftly and silently as a shadow when a
cloud covers the sun. Her quick movement knocked the flower from her hair and
it was soon trampled beneath Victoria’s foot.

“Miss Evans!’ His response was a resounding
slamming of a door. Whatever intimacy had flowed between them was gone. Her
emotions were mail-clad. She was, yet again, unreachable.

Chapter
49

“Love that well which thou must leave ere long.”

– Sonnet 73, Shakespeare

Hunter sought Andrea in every room in the house
once he had detached himself from Victoria. She was nowhere to be found.

Buttoning his coat against a cool, westerly wind
that had risen, he headed toward the barn.

“You seen Andrea?” he asked Zach when he met him
leading a horse in from the paddock.

The servant stopped. “Well, yessuh, Massa. She
up and took the team.”

“Took them where?” Hunter looked over Zach’s
shoulder, thinking she may have led the two horses down to the next field for
fresh grass.

“I’s not sure.” The servant scratched his head.
“She didn’t ’zactly say.”

“Where’s the wagon?” Hunter looked around the
barnyard, his anxiety increasing.

“Well, suh, ya see, it were hooked to the team.”

Hunter growled, more a sound of pain than anger,
and headed at a brisk pace into the barn. She would not be running way. She
could not be.
Not now, Andrea. Please not now!

He glanced at the darkening sky and tried to
think objectively. She would not try to leave until she was completely healed.
Surely she would not take a risk that would cause her to extend or prolong her
stay.

Within mere minutes, Hunter had mounted and was
spurring Dixie down the lane. Meanwhile the storm continued to descend,
bringing with it a heavy cloak of black. A low, rolling rumble to the west gave
further indication of its severity.

Hunter followed the fresh tracks easily to the
place they had watched  the sun setting on the hill. When he reined his horse
in beside the wagon, he saw her standing near a large boulder, the wind
whipping at her skirt. She stared absently at the sky as angry clouds advanced
toward the sun like a hungry animal preparing to engulf its prey. Hunter tied
his horse to the wagon and stepped carefully among the rocks in his path. If
she knew he was there, she did not let on.

“We’d better go,” Hunter said gruffly, taking
her hand. “This is going to be a bad storm.”

Not waiting for her to answer, he dragged Andrea
over the rocks so fast her feet barely touched the ground. Within moments, the
elements of nature finished lining up for battle and the major engagement
commenced. By the time they boarded the wagon, lightning flashed in the sky and
the heavens thundered like great volleys of musketry. Hunter gripped the reins
as rain pelted them in horizontal sheets. Ducking his head against flying
leaves and branches, he guided the horses as best he could, then jerked them to
a stop.

“Get inside!” He pulled Andrea across the seat
and lifted her down.

“Inside?” Andrea blinked her eyes against the
rain.

Hunter
pushed her forward and moved his hand across the solid wall in front of them.
Finding the latch, he opened the door, shoved her through, and then fought
against the brutal wind to secure it behind them. Once closed, they both stood
breathing heavily, staring at each other in the dim light.

“You look like a half-drowned kitten.” Hunter
stared at the dripping hair on her shoulders.

Andrea shivered. “
Half
-drowned?”

Hunter strode over to a large stone fireplace
and, after getting a small flame started, turned back to Andrea. “Keep your eye
on that. I’m going to put the horses in the barn.”

Andrea still stood dripping and shivering when
Hunter pushed his way back into the one-room cabin. He closed and bolted the
door against the wind, then proceeded back to the fire without saying a word.

“W-w-hat is this p-p-lace?”

Hunter continued to poke at the fire and then
turned his head toward her. “It’s mine. I built it. Kind of a getaway you might
say.”

He watched Andrea look around the room, her gaze
taking in the bed to the right, then the stone fireplace and the large bearskin
rug sprawled before it, and finally the hand-hewn table and cupboards to his
left. “I n-never heard anyone s-speak of it.”

“Nobody knows about it except me. And now you.”

He turned back to the fire and poked at it more
forcefully than before, his resentment at the intrusion showing clearly. When
it began to blaze, he leaned toward the bed. “Here.” He grabbed the patchwork
quilt that covered it. “Take off those wet clothes.”

Andrea stood motionless, not blinking, not
speaking.

“Come on, Miss Evans. This is no time for
modesty. You need to get out of those clothes. I’ll not have you lying on your
deathbed again and blaming me for prolonging your stay.”

Andrea opened her mouth to argue when another
chill apparently ripped through her. She shivered, then turned and offered no
resistance when he unhooked the back of her gown. Hunter quickly wrapped the
blanket around her as she stepped out of the wet dress.