Silver Heart (Historical Western Romance) (Longren Family series #1) (5 page)

             
I did not sleep well.

             
Coyotes called at all hours of the night.  In the East, we thought the coyotes a fiction of the wild legendary West and further, that they bayed at the full moon.  Whether the moon was full or not, I didn't know. I hadn't paid any attention but somehow doubted that it was.  The coyotes were simply alive within the night, and their lonesome cries sometimes sounded like laughter, and always at my expense.

             
At first, I fell into bed, anxious and awake and in a tumult of confusion when first Mr. Longren left me and then, the moment my head hit the pillows, I discovered I was drained.  I couldn't read any of my Bible, couldn't read any of the novel I had brought, and ignored all the way across the country as Great Aunt Agnes talked and many newly formed states rolled by.  I couldn't keep my eyes open and I blew out the lamp, laying back in the intense darkness, which gradually dissolved to starlight outside the bedroom window.

             
When I slept, I dreamed. Of Jason Seth, stalking about like a monster, coming after not Matthew Longren but his brother, looking to take the mine, the house, and any monies that returned and, maybe, to the victor go the spoils – me.

             
I dreamed of Joseph Gibbons, interchangeable with Jason Seth because I had heard their names together and knew neither man.  Both of them became the doctor, wagging a warning finger at me, letting me know that this was his territory, these men were his to treat – or to lose, if an accident at another mine kept him too long from the gunshot wound.

             
And then, at last, naturally, I dreamed my confusion and fear and feelings, seeing first Hutch and then Matthew, the two of them changing places, each of them walking with me through gardens that couldn't bloom in this arid land and kissing me, as wonderfully and fully as my husband-to-be had kissed me the night before.

             
I woke tangled in the sheets at dawn, exhausted and cross and half wishing I was back in Boston.  But the land smelled fresh and wet at that hour, and the moon was just setting, I could see the glow to the west.  The coyotes had retired for the night and half a dozen rabbits ran across the garden when I stood and moved to the window.  They seemed not in the least intimidated by the scarecrow someone had hung out there.

             
My room was in a wing built out from the house, probably directly under Mr. Longren's, as I'd heard his boots the night before.  My room looked out into the garden to the west as another window looked to the north.  If I stood to the edge of that window, I could almost see into the kitchen.  Instead, I stood looking at the garden, at the tops of corn I'd seen the day before, and the small orchard beyond that, a collection of fruit trees.  Someone had been caring for the garden and I doubted it was Mr. Longren.  That duty would fall to me, I supposed and bit my lip.  I had nine green thumbs when it came to midwifery.  Babies I birthed usually thrived unless there was a problem in the womb, before birth or with the mother.  Plants, on the other hand, suffered at my touch, withering and all but dying to quit my tender ministrations.

             
Well, I'd learn. 

             
Through my sleep, I'd heard Mr. Longren in the room above mine, his boots on hardwood floor as he moved about and I assumed he was long gone, out to the mines, perhaps leaving me to cope with the Sheriff, who was due to visit the incorrigible younger Mr. Longren and another visit from the doctor. 

             
That wasn't such a bad thing.  Seeing him again this morning, I figured it might be awkward.  Last night, we had been tired, had talked so long and about so much, had seen through two emergencies together – what had transpired between us seemed natural.

             
By morning light, it might not.

             
I went down the hall, my ankle boots clicking on the hardwood, admiring the shining, polished wood floors.  Whoever had kept house for Mr. Longren before my arrival could teach me a thing or two about keeping Nevada dust from the wood surfaces.

             
At the end of the hall, I veered to the right, checking in the sitting room.  Matthew Longren still slept on the davenport and this morning, his color wasn't good.  He looked gray and washed out, like bed sheets laundered too many times, and his face shined with heat.  It would be good if the doctor came again, though maybe Mr. Longren had simply spent a restless, pained night, and now, perhaps he was simply hot.

             
I could understand.  The day's heat was already starting as the sun came up and burned away the cool, fresh smell, replacing it with a dusty smell of earth and the heady scent of sage.  Still, I wanted to brush the curls from his face and pat down the shine of moisture on his forehead.  I wanted him to open his eyes and see me there and I wanted to touch his hand again, to make certain that spark didn't happen this time.

             
Only
to make certain that spark didn't happen again.

             
I forced myself away, shielding my thoughts from myself, and continued through the sitting room, heading left through the connecting door into the kitchen.

             
And found myself face to face with Hutch Longren.

             
It hadn't been the lateness of the hour or the quiet kitchen or the endless stars in the nighttime sky.  My breath caught and my mind went empty.  I couldn't speak.

             
He didn't speak either, just crossed the kitchen to me as if he thought I might fall.  I didn't feel faint.  I simply wanted to be caught.

             
Standing in the circle of his arms, I thought of him saying we must marry soon.  Then even that thought was lost. 

             
His mouth on mine was hot as the day dawning beyond the kitchen.  His hands burned through my dress.  I pressed against him and opened my mouth to his, letting my hands move over the muscles in his back.  He was lean and hard and very real, not the apparitions I had dreamed.  He was proof of his own existence when I doubted he was anything beyond daydream.  Because in the back of my mind, a voice of reason said, Nothing happens like this.  A marriage of convenience, of logic and reason, doesn't result in these feelings, that such feelings would have be to grown into and probably unearthed at quite a price.  I wasn't a silly girl, believing in fairy tales. 

             
He pushed me up against the kitchen wall, and something on a shelf smacked against my shoulder and tumbled, falling to the floor with a metallic clatter.  Hutch's body pressed against mine and my mind flashed to thoughts I'd seldom entertained. 

             
We were to be married.  Surely, it was –

             
A sudden sound from the sitting room, Matthew waking, startling himself with pain and calling out.  "Hutch?  A hand?"

             
We sprang apart like illicit lovers, staring at each other, each too flushed to go to the call and smiling slightly, sheepish and pleased.

             
"I should," he said, and gestured.

             
"You should," I agreed, and didn't move.

             
"Hutch? I can
hear
you," Matthew called from beyond the door.

             
I put a hand over my mouth, stifling an unladylike giggle.  Hutch kissed the hand in place of my mouth and whispered, "Don't go anywhere."

             
"Where would I go?" I asked and slid away from him, curving around his body and moving to the stove, looking for logs and matches and keeping my elbows clear of the metal rod used to pick up the burners, the one that had caught my arm the night before.

             
There would be bacon in the cold storage, and bread possibly, though probably I'd need to bake soon or find the baker in Gold Hill or Virginia City.

             
The dizzying conversation from the night before came back to me.  There was no money here, no more than there had been at my father's house in Boston.  Maybe I wouldn't be able to stay here.  Maybe he'd only asked me if I wanted to be set free of him and this place because he needed to, wanted out of the contract himself.

             
So I'd need to bake and start thinking about dinner, and find ways to economize.  I could do the washing and if the good neighbor who had been keeping house had been paid for her services, I could take over those services, learning somehow to keep a cleaner house than I'd ever even lived in.  I would do whatever necessary, if he'd let me stay, and I was thinking of dark hair and blue eyes. 

             
Hutch, of course.  I ran my hands up and down my arms, cold despite the heat.

             
Through the unlatched door, I heard Matthew's voice.  "Ask her."

             
Startled into motion, moving to start preparations for breakfast, and Hutch came back into the kitchen.  "Miss – " He stopped himself.  "Margaret, the trouble is awake.  May I impose on you – "

             
"Maggie," I said, laughing.  "The trouble.  It's a grand name.  Give me enough time to find my way 'round this kitchen and you'll both have breakfast."

              The Sheriff came not long after we'd eaten.  I was scowling at the remains of the eggs and potatoes when he arrived, thinking that economizing with two such appetites in the house would require my own extended fast.  Concerned with what stores there were, I didn't hear his horse come up the drive and jumped when footsteps crossed the porch. 

             
He knocked then called through the door, and I heard voices raised, the doors opening and closing, men's footsteps, and a hearty gale of laughter.  Matthew must be looking better, else the laughter was cold hearted.

             
I moved to the kitchen door and stood, holding a plate and drying it, waiting for more. 

             
"He's in the jail, Longren.  Will be there until this is sorted out."

             
"What's to sort out?  He shot my brother, in plain sight of the men at the mine."

             
"Who are loyal to you," the Sheriff's voice said.

             
"What's that supposed to mean?  That they'd lie for me?  A dying mine only buys limited loyalty.  Jason Seth shot Matthew."

             
Matthew himself was adding bits and pieces to the story, not particularly coherently.

             
I moved so I could see through a crack in the door, in time to see the Sheriff raise both hands to shoulder level, palms out.  "I know what Seth has said and I know what young Mr. Longren says and I'm inclined to believe the latter.  Given both are hotheads, still, Matthew has never shot anyone – "

             
"And Jason Seth has," Matthew said angrily.

             
"Peace, boy.  He's already in custody and I'm here for you to swear out a complaint.  Then it's up to the judge, when he comes through the circuit, t'marry your brother and his wife, and decide for or against you in this matter."

             
I could only see Matthew's profile but he didn't look mollified.  Still, what more did he want?

             
"There are other Seths," Matthew said.  "How do we know another won't – "

             
"Because the others don't have a bone to pick with the Longrens, that's how," the Sheriff said.  He was a big man, easily over six feet all, with a barrel chest, thick arms, and a hat he hadn't removed.  His hands looked strong and capable and the gun on his belt, deadly. 

             
I remained where I was, out of sight.

             
"I've talked with Jason's brothers.  They want no part of this, nor his sons, neither.  But there's a slight matter of breach of contract, and that I need to know about."

             
Again, that pang of jealousy, misplaced and inappropriate.  I bit the inside of my cheek.

             
"There was no promise and therefore, no breach," Matthew said and he sounded weary, pained, and sulking.  "Bess is a nice girl, we went once to the theater and another time to a picnic.  Not alone," he added quickly.  "There were other couples and if I saw her other than that, it was in the market or on the street.  I went to school with her, Sheriff.  She's a nice girl but I don't want to marry her."

             
Or anyone else, just yet
, the sentence seemed to finish itself.

             
"She know that?" the Sheriff asked.

             
"Damned if I know," Matthew said angrily and was shushed by Hutch.  "Well, I don't.  We never even talked about it to that extent."