Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A
few moments later, Tabitha found herself strolling down the desolate street at a loss for words. They’d already passed the empty sheriff’s office with the one lantern burning in the rear by the stove, and the quiet saloon. Now they were in front of the bank’s large front window. “Have you been inside?” she asked, gesturing to the bank, pleased to finally have something to say. She felt like a schoolgirl walking with her first suitor. Well, she’d walked out with a boy in the eighth grade, but beyond that, no one.

He tipped his head toward the building as they passed it by. “I opened an account.”

“Of course.”

“Pretty darned fancy, if I do say so myself. Reminds me of the banks and businesses I’ve seen around St. Louis, Chicago, and even farther east. I didn’t expect something so nice in Logan Meadows.”

“I’ve forgotten about all of your travels, Mr. Wade. Are you sure you’ll be able to settle down here? Grow some roots?”

His steps slowed, and he stopped, the dark mercantile and the overhang making her feel invisible to the rest of the world.

“Will you
please
call me Hunter? Seems strange to keep hearing you call me Mr. Wade. Every time you do, I think of Thorp. We’ve known each other for a few days now and see each other often. I just think it would be nicer.”

“Maybe nicer. But, I’m not sure it would be proper.”

He mulled that for a few moments.

Could she? Should she? Loneliness squeezed her insides. She didn’t want to feel something for this man. He owned the saloon. The one she’d taken a stand against. Surely, a relationship couldn’t go anywhere.

“Well, at least think about it,
Miss Canterbury
. Just thought that might make things a lot simpler between the two of us.”

Simpler? Actually, more complicated . . . and risky. He didn’t agree with her philosophy on reading, although he was learning how, and he’d voiced his opinion on her wasting time that could be spent better elsewhere. And he wanted to bring more business to the saloon, when she’d like the place to close at midnight. A future with Mr. Wade was asking for trouble.

At the end of the street, they ran into Daisy speaking in hushed tones with Jake on the bench in front of the El Dorado. Feeling conspicuous on Mr. Wade’s arm, she smiled and nodded at the couple, but kept moving. A few guests inside the parlor of the hotel sat with newspapers in front of the lamp, but didn’t even look up.

She and Mr. Wade—
Hunter
, she tested the name in her mind—crossed the road and started back toward her shop on the opposite side of the street. A light still shined from the back of the laundry house where the Lings did their washing.
How late will they work?
Bao, in her seventh month, needed to slow down. That woman was a true workhorse. Tabitha worried about her.

“Have you met Tap and Bao Ling?” she asked. “Owners of the laundry house.”

He let out a small chuckle. “I have, and their little girl. Cute little thing. In a town the size of Logan Meadows, meeting everyone doesn’t take long. Especially if both your businesses reside on the main street. I’ve known a few Chinese in my travels, most coming west to find their fortunes. Hard workers. Most are unassuming and fair. They aren’t looking for any handouts.”

She nodded in agreement. “You’re absolutely right about that. It’s shameful how they’re treated. And now this law that allows anyone who’s come into the country after 1880 to be sent back. I think it’s reprehensible.” When he gazed down into her eyes, clearly confused, she added, “Morally wrong. Unkind. Families ripped apart perhaps never to see each other again.”

His lips flattened as they moved down the boardwalk. “I haven’t heard about that, but I agree with you. Doesn’t seem right.”

She nodded, amazed at how much she and Hunter had in common
.
Yes, they were at odds over the saloon, but they could agree on other things. If someone would have asked her two days ago, she would have laughed at the thought. Her and a buckskin-wearing trail boss? “I read about the law last year, before coming west. Speaking of the saloon,” she went on, liking the ebb and flow of this discussion, “how’s Kendall treating you now? Has he accepted the inevitable? Come around to the fact that he has a partner in the Bright Nugget? I’m sure he likes all the repairs you’ve done. The place must be looking quite nice inside. I couldn’t help but notice all the boards you’ve carried past my front window from the Feed and Seed.”

Even in the darkness, she could see his smile. They proceeded from one lantern to the next, stepping down into the dirt each time they had to cross an alley, and then back up onto the boards where the walkway picked up again.

“I repaired four tables and more chairs than I’d like to remember,” he said, chuckling and shaking his head. “Kendall had a stack piling up out back. I guess he’d rather buy new than restore the broken ones. Some were unsalvageable, but a good portion came through. The upstairs room is once again livable. I wouldn’t say yet that Kendall has warmed to me. I keep one eye on him most of the time. He still won’t let me count the till at closing time, but he’s gettin’ there.” He gazed at her, a good-hearted smile shining in his eyes. “I’m an honest man, if nothing else.”

He took a deep breath and looked around. She wondered if she’d imagined the feel of his palm briefly brushing the top of her hand. She didn’t dare look to see if she were correct.

“This is more what I’m used to,” he said, gesturing to the quiet street. “No walls, the night air. Even rain on my face if the weather turns. Sometimes when I’m sleeping in the apartment the air feels tight. I think about taking my blanket out to the festival grounds. That’s what I’m used to,” he said. “Not streets, businesses.” He glanced around. “Not all this. Or a bed with sheets. That darn thing feels so soft I think sometimes the mattress is going to swallow me up. It’s like a big cloud. Or a swamp pit.”

Tabitha couldn’t stop herself and laughed. That only seemed to encourage him.

He shook his head. “You think that’s funny? I don’t know how everyone else does it—live inside all their lives. They don’t know what they’re missing. Thorp always said the same. He’d take a blanket on the ground to a fancy hotel any day of the week. Guess I’m the same.”

Hunter was the most interesting person she’d ever met. But to sleep on the ground? Not only would it be as hard as a board, the thought of what might crawl over her during the night, when she was asleep and unprotected, was enough to make her hair stand on end.

With his next step, Hunter faltered, and almost dragged her to the boardwalk when his knee buckled and he grappled to stay upright.

“Hunter!” she yelped, pulling on his arm. “What happened? Are you all right?”

He straightened up and ran his hand through his disheveled hair. “Just the leg I took an arrow in when I was a kid. It goes out sometimes on uneven ground.” He looked at her closely. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” She wondered if he was okay. He went down quickly, and she’d heard a loud rap when his knee hit the boards. His brows were still tented in worry over her. “Really, Hunter, I’m not hurt in any way. Just surprised.”

He put out his arm, his lips twitching up.

“What?”

“You called me Hunter. It slipped out before you knew what you were saying.”

“So I did.” She placed her hand back through his arm and they resumed their promenade. “And you may call me Tabitha.” She was playing with fire. Setting herself up for heartache. Not only were they adversaries, but Hunter might come to find living in a town not to his liking. Anything could change. From what he said, the wilderness was deeply ingrained.

“How and when did you take an arrow?”

“On my first wagon train west. I was a small boy, traveling with the aunt and uncle who took me in after my parents died. Indians attacked. Killed my relatives. Thorp pushed me into a ravine, but not before I took the arrow. Luckily, there was a doctor along.”

They walked on. A far-off coyote broke the silence.

“What happened to Thorp? Is he still alive?”

“Sixteen years after he took me in, and many trips back and forth across the country, Thorp fell off his horse, dead from some kind of seizure. From then on I was wagon master.” They paused, and Hunter gazed once again into the dark sky filled with stars. “May he rest in peace.”

What a life! What a heartbreaking life for someone so young to experience. A nomad. No family. Tended by a grizzled old man who offered him food and shelter. Well, she wasn’t sure Thorp was grizzled, but that’s how the mountain men from the books she’d read appeared. Moved by all that Hunter had shared, she wondered about the rest of his life. If he’d ever been in love, perhaps married. A thousand questions filtered through her mind.

Feeling daring, she hugged his arm. “And you never married?”

His head tilted. “Getting rather personal, aren’t you, Tabitha?”

She shrugged. “You’ve told me everything else. Just wondering is all.”

“I had a sweetheart once,” he said in his slow, easy voice. “I was twenty. Brought her and her family west to Oregon with a wagon train some fifty-five families strong. Along the way, Mable and I fell in love. Her parents, not too keen about their sixteen-year-old daughter marrying up with someone like me, talked her into postponing the wedding until Thorp’s and my next trip out. By then, she’d be seventeen, plenty old enough to be a wife.” He shook his head, and a whimsical smile pulled at his lips. “She promised to wait, which would constitute a twelve- to fifteen-month delay, if you counted our riding time back to Missouri, and then making sure all the settlers were prepared for the grueling journey. As fate would have it, bad weather delayed us another four months, and hostiles three more. That can happen. One thing that’s sure on a wagon train is that nothin’ is sure.” He looked meaningfully into her eyes. “By the time I made it back, Mable Firth was Mable Hasselburg. She’d up and married the young preacher in her town, much to her parents’ relief. And she was already in the family way. That was my one and only brush with the institution. Decided I liked myself better on my own.”

She squeezed his arm. He’d lived through so much. “Memories.”

He made an agreeing sound in his throat. “I haven’t talked about that with anyone ever before. Feels like yesterday, and I’m twenty years old again. How about you, Tabitha?”

He made her name sound like a caress.

“I can’t imagine why a good catch like yourself isn’t hitched by now.”

Reaching Dr. Thorn’s office, they stopped when the door opened. As if a person were the last thing he’d expected to see, the doctor pulled up short when they were about to collide. His eyes widened when he saw her hand in the crook of Hunter’s arm.

“Good evening, Miss Canterbury. Mr. Wade,” he said, looking first at her and then at him. “I enjoyed your reading tonight, Miss Canterbury. You read very well.”

“Thank you so much. My head is going to be a mile wide by tomorrow with so much praise from my friends.”

Hunter pulled her hand closer. “Don’t be modest . . .”

At the long pause at the end of Hunter’s sentence, she feared he’d go and call her Tabitha in front of Dr. Thorn. This was a dangerous game she was playing.

“. . . Miss Canterbury,” he finally finished with a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “You deserve all the praise coming your way. I’ve never been that spellbound watching someone read.”

She gave him a look that said to be careful. She didn’t want to give anyone the impression they were stepping out. “Have you ever listened to an oration before?”

He cocked a brow. “Well, no.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“I won’t take up more of your time,” Dr. Thorn said. He buttoned up his jacket against a light breeze that had kicked up, and started off. “Enjoy your walk.”

“So?” Hunter said when the doctor was good and gone.

“What?” She’d hoped he’d forgotten he’d asked about her past.

“You were saying why you aren’t married.”

“That’s right, I was. Well, my case is a bit different. I’m sure you won’t understand at all—as my parents don’t.”

“You’re stalling.”

“You’re right. I’ve never been engaged, and never had a beau. But I’ve always had a dream of owning my own bookstore. I could picture the building, the interior of the shop, and the books in my mind from the time I was six years old.” She shrugged, finding the saying strange even to her ears.

His gaze was filled with questions. “Do you cotton to the fairer sex?”

“No!”

“Just sounded like a question that needed asking.”

“But I do cotton to having a life to call my own. And being in control of such a life, as much as a person can be. I believe anyone can achieve whatever they set their mind to—as long as it’s a burning desire. All-consuming. Much to my parents’ dismay, I’ve been strong-willed since childhood. If I married, my shop would belong to my husband, as would I.” She shrugged. “That’s not my idea of a life . . .”

She let her words trail away. He didn’t need to know about her parents’ betrayal with old Mr. Brackstead, how when they’d learned she
really was
going west, they tried to hoist her off on a wealthy old man. Some things were better left unsaid.