After the Frost (22 page)

"The canal."

"That's what I said." She licked her lips and glanced down at Sarah, who was gathered against Lillian's skirts. "We went to visit Shenky."

"Shenky."

"Yeah."

"I see." He struggled to maintain calm, acutely aware of the men standing silently behind him, of Lillian's censure. It took everything he had to keep from strangling Belle with his bare hands. "You didn't tell us where you were going."

Her chin jerked up then, her eyes flashed. "I didn't think you and Mama would approve." She looked past him to the men. "I guess I was right about that. Looks like you were gettin' a posse up. Hey there, boys."

He heard the murmur of nervous, uncertain hellos behind him.

Kenny Alspaugh cleared his throat. "Well, I guess ev'ryone's safe and sound, eh? Looks like we'll just be headin' on home, Rand."

Rand nodded. He didn't turn around, kept his eyes fastened on Belle's face. "Thanks. I appreciate the help."

"No problem at all."

"See you later."

He heard them shuffle out, heard the hasty steps down the hallway and the opening and closing of the front door. And then there was nothing but silence.

But before he could say anything, Belle lifted a brow, gave him that look he was beginning to hate—that infuriating mix of sarcasm and indifference. "Quite a search party you had goin' there," she said insolently. "I didn't know you cared so much."

"We didn't know what had happened," Lillian said softly. "Your clothes were gone."

"My clothes?" Belle said in surprise. "I didn't take them. They're upstairs, under the bed. I haven't unpacked yet, Mama."

"Well, you can imagine how worried we were."

Belle snorted in disbelief.

The sound shattered Rand's control. He slammed his hand against the door. It crashed to the wall, shivering on its hinges. Lillian and Sarah jumped, but Belle only flinched, and she didn't move away.

"Papa?" Sarah said in a small, frightened voice.

Frightened. Of him. The knowledge only made him angrier. Rand twisted around. "You listen to me, Sarah. You are not to go anywhere alone with Belle. I mean ever. Do you understand me? Nowhere."

He heard Belle's catch of breath behind him, Lillian's breathless
"Rand."
Rand ignored them both. He kept his eyes focused on his daughter. "Do you understand?"

Sarah frowned. She glanced at Belle and then back to Rand. "But, Papa—"

"Do you understand?"

She nodded, wide-eyed.

"Good." The sight of her wary expression made Rand hesitate, but only for a second. He thought of his promise to himself earlier, to put the fear of God into Sarah if he had to. Well, it was there now. He wondered why the thought didn't fill him with satisfaction, why it just seemed to sit there on top of his rage.

He jerked his head at Lillian. "Go on," he said tersely. "Get out of here."

"Rand—"

"Take Sarah and get out."

Lillian's mouth tightened, but she grabbed Sarah's hand and left the room. He waited until he heard them go upstairs, until he heard the quiet latching of a door, and then he spun around to face Belle.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he exploded. "Christ, don't you ever consider other people? Are you that damned selfish? You disappear without a goddamned word to anyone—" He broke off, too angry to think, even to breathe. "What the hell were we supposed to think?"

He expected her to retreat, expected her to back down, but she didn't. Her brown eyes glittered as she faced him, and her expression was hard and angry. "How about that Sarah and I were havin' a good time?" she asked. "Hell, she was with me, Rand. It wasn't like she was goin' to get hurt."

He didn't bother to contradict her. "I went into town. I checked the train."

Her eyes widened; she stared at him in disbelief. "The train?" She crossed her arms over her chest, laughed bitterly. "You thought I was takin' her away."

"Weren't you?"

She looked away; he saw the working of her jaw, the clenching of her fingers on her arms. "I told you I wouldn't take her. I told you I was stayin'."

"And I was supposed to believe you?"

"Yeah," she said. "You were s'posed to believe me. But I guess I should have known you wouldn't. I guess you've changed too much for that, haven't you?"

He glared at her, ignoring her comment—along with the urge to flinch at the truth in it. "Why the hell should I believe you?"

She looked surprised and—hurt. But only for a second, and then that sarcastic look was in her eyes again, and her words were quiet and condemning. "Why shouldn't you? When have I ever lied to you?"

They startled him, those words, shocked him into silence—an indictment he couldn't fight or deny. He told himself it didn't matter, that she had taught him not to believe her, but when he tried to remember how, he couldn't, and he was struck with the notion that he'd wronged her again, felt the nudge of guilt.

Don't let her do this to you. Don't let her change your mind.
The voice rang in his head, and he tried to listen to it, tried to hold on to his anger, to tell her to pack her damn bags and leave.

He opened his mouth, meaning to say the words, wanting to, but before he could, Belle looked up at him, and that strange mix of things in her expression, that half-defiant, half-defenseless way she stood, made him think of the other day, when he'd asked her to keep their secret from Sarah, when he'd stumbled upon Belle standing at the top of the stairs. It made him think of a time six years ago, when he'd seen that same wounded look in her eyes, when he'd felt her pain and hadn't been able to stop himself from destroying what was left of their friendship.

It's your imagination
, he told himself. But it wasn't, and he knew it. He knew that look in her face, had seen it a hundred times in his nightmares.

The last of his anger melted away, replaced by horrible, hot guilt that closed his throat, by voices screaming blame in his ear. He wanted to say he was sorry, wanted to do something—anything—to get rid of the memories. But when he opened his mouth to say the words, all he heard was, incredibly, "I—I was worried."

"You shouldn't have been," Belle said slowly. She took a deep breath, and suddenly that vulnerability he'd seen was gone, replaced by a gaze so measuring and

cool, it made him feel instantly small. "She was with me.”

Then she turned away from him, and when he thought she would walk out the door, she paused and looked over her shoulder at him, still with those cold, cold eyes. Eyes that showed him unexpectedly and completely that she was her mother's daughter, that perhaps she had inherited something from Lillian after all.

Her chilly voice only emphasized it. "I'm goin' back over to Hooker's Station," she said. "I guess I could use a smile tonight."

And before he could say anything more, she was gone.

Chapter 16

T
he evening air was cool. The setting sun had stolen the summerlike warmth of the day, but in return it drenched the sky in color: blood-red against the dark hills, then orange and yellow and green and violet, a rainbow rising to dark blue just overhead. The sight left Belle cold. There couldn't be a sky beautiful enough to make her feel welcome here, no rainbow of color could take away the harsh chill of Rand's words.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot despite the cold evening air. He thought she was a liar—the knowledge infuriated her. Even after she'd given her word, he hadn't believed her. She'd said she wasn't taking Sarah away, and yet he thought she had done just that. God, he'd even checked the train. Her hands clenched at her sides; she felt the harsh heat of anger in her cheeks. She was no liar, and Rand knew it; knew her word was good. Once, he never would have doubted that.

But it was obvious now that Rand preferred to be her enemy. She'd been wrong to think his smile of a few days ago meant anything at all. He'd been caught up in the moment, as she was, but it had only been a moment. Nothing more important than that. Knowing that made things easier again, black and white. She could hate Rand; God knew she'd been doing it the last six years. She had plenty of practice. And if hating him brought an uncomfortable stab of sadness, well, she was used to that too.

Belle took a deep breath; the cold air burned her throat, tingled in her nose. She didn't want to think about that now. What she wanted was a place where she could forget everything, where there were people who knew who she was and trusted her. People who knew the only lies she'd ever told were harmless stories and poker bluffs. A place where harsh words disappeared in smoke-filled rooms and laughter. She hoped—oh, God, she hoped—that the tavern at Hooker was as she remembered, because it was such a place. And she needed that tonight more than she could ever remember needing it before.

She walked faster. Before long the hill overlooking Hooker's Station stretched before her, with the tavem holding its lone sentry at the top. The old clapboard building was grayed and battered, the flat-topped pine that sheltered it as weathered as the tavern itself. A few wagons loaded with feed, potatoes, and melons were already out front despite the earliness of the hour.

Anticipation made Belle's step lighter as she hurried up the rise. As she approached the narrow porch, she heard the tinny music of a piano, the murmur of talking, and she smiled with relief as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The tavern was just as she remembered it. The short, scarred bar to the left and the rickety tables surrounded with benches hadn't changed; the same smoke hung heavy just below the rafters, giving the room a blue-gray cast, filling her nostrils with the acrid-sweet scent of tobacco. At the back of the bar someone was running his fingers across the untuned keys of the piano, plunking out a melody she didn't recognize.

The tension of the last weeks, the last hours, seemed to ease a little bit; Belle closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of smoke and beer and sweat and loved it.

"Well, I'll be hanged, if it ain't Belle Sault!"

The familiar voice made her eyes snap open. She glanced toward the sound, at a tall, skinny man leaning over the bar. He had a huge smile on his face, his gold tooth winked in the lamplight.

"Bobby!" She smiled, hurrying over. "Why, Bad Bobby Barrows, I never once thought you might still be tendin' bar here."

"Ain't ever left," he said. "I've just been sittin' here waitin' for you to come back."

"Well, I'm here now." Belle plopped onto a stool. It rocked crookedly beneath her. "And I'd be much obliged if you'd hand me a beer."

Bobby nodded. His gaze swept past her shoulder. "Looks like there's a few more here who've missed you, girl.”

Belle spun around on the stool to see another tall, lean man coming toward her. "Charlie Boston!" she laughed, warmed by the welcoming smile on his angular face. "I wondered if I'd see your skinny old self down here tonight."

She was instantly enveloped in his arms. Charlie squeezed her once and stepped away, holding her at arm's length while his gaze swept over her. "I can't hardly believe my eyes. Belle Sault. Why, you've grown into one fine-lookin' woman."

Belle flushed, pulling away. "Yeah, well, you look the same, Charlie. Just as ugly as ever."

"Ain't that the truth." He laughed. "I heard you was in town, but I didn't believe it. Figured you'd've shown up by now."

"Well, here I am." Belle grinned broadly, reaching back to take the beer Bobby slid across the counter, feeling more at home than she had in the last week and a half. This was what she'd wanted all night, this comfortable familiarity, the easy laughter. "And I dearly hope you haven't gotten any better at poker."

Behind her, Bobby snorted. "You're damn right about that."

Charlie looked pained. "Don't you go tellin' lies like that, Bobby Barrows. You know it ain't right to fool a lady."

"A lady?" Bobby teased. "1 don't see one of those in here."

Belle laughed. "And you aren't goin' to either." She glanced over the crowd in the direction of Charlie's table. "Any of the others here?"

"Some of 'em." Charlie nodded. "John Dumont's waitin' for me to bring you on over. And I think you know Abe Shearer."

Belle took a sip of lukewarm beer. "Ben Drymon?"

"He's long gone. Went to California a good while back. Mike and Tom left too." Charlie broke into a grin. "But you got the best of 'em right here, little girl, just see if you don't."

"The best ones to beat at poker, anyhow," Belle teased.

Charlie shook back his dark, shaggy head in a sudden whoop. "Damn, if you ain't changed one bit, Belle," he said, taking her arm and leading her through the smoky room toward a table against the side wall. "You want to play a few hands—or are you too old now for that?"

Belle lifted a brow. "Too old to win a game of poker? Not hardly."

Charlie laughed. "Come on, then," he said, heading to where John Dumont and Abe Shearer sat talking. A deck of cards and a pile of coins lay abandoned in the center of the dark, pitted table. "Hey, boys, look what the cat dragged in!"

"Well, damn!" John slapped his heavy thigh and sat back in his chair, a huge smile on his face. "Where the hell you been, girl?"

"New York City."

"New York City?" Abe rubbed his long chin. "1 guess we better count ourselves lucky, eh, boys? Ain't ev'ry day a New York City gal decides to grace us with her comp'ny."

"Don't I know it," Belle said good-naturedly, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "You boys better treat me right, too."

"Guess we could let her win a few hands," John offered.

She gave him her best challenging look. "If I remember right, Johnny-boy, you'll be lucky if I don't."

"Damn, Belle Sault, you got a mouth on you." John shook his head. "That big city ain't changed you, that's for sure."

Belle took a sip of her beer, then grabbed the cards, shuffling them with an ease born of years of practice. "I'll tell you one thing that hasn't changed," she said, winking at John. "I can still beat the pants off you boys."