Dorothy Garlock (25 page)

^“
I
have no right to ask you anything,” Smith said.

“I want to tell you. I don’t want you to think that Papa was a bad man. His appearance would lead one to think that he was, but he went out of his way to be kind. I’ll never forgive myself for not going into town with him that night to deliver the clock he had fixed. Papa always tried to shield me from anything unpleasant. He told me to go on to bed and I did. If I had gone with him, I might have been able to prevent what happened.”

She suddenly became aware that his hand was covering hers and slowly pulled it free.

“I only know what Mr. Frank told me. He said that Papa shot two men, but he didn’t think that he had killed them. He said the men had taunted Papa, made insulting remarks about me, and then stripped off Papa’s shirt and bared the hump on his back.” Willa’s throat clogged and she swallowed repeatedly before she could go on. “It was probably just more humiliation than Papa could bear . . . at the moment.”

“They hanged him for protecting himself?”

“You see, Papa was a hunchback, and about five years
ago big lumps grew on his face, distorting his features. It didn’t matter to me that he was not . . . pleasant to look at. He . . . was dear to me. I loved him for what he was on the inside. And . . . he loved me. Some people are not tolerant of someone who is different. Papa and I learned to keep to ourselves. As a result, some thought I was uppity. It wasn’t that at all.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be included in parties and picnics and other social gatherings. Unfortunately mothers were afraid their sons would want to court me and girls didn’t want to associate with the daughter of a hunchback. Now I realize they were waiting for me to grow a hump. It was ridiculous, of course. There was no danger of that even if I had been Papa Igor’s real daughter.”

The shadow of hurt he saw in her eyes cut him to the quick. His hand on the table formed a fist.

“Do you have other kin?” he asked.

“Not that I know of. My real father left me and my mother when I was a baby. My mother called him an irresponsible boy.”

Willa told him about how she and her mother had come to be with Igor Hammer and about the schools she had attended.

“At times, due to Papa’s teachings, I knew more than the teacher and, of course, that rankled the teacher and made a wider gap between me and my classmates.” She tried a weak little laugh that didn’t quite come off. “I soon learned to keep my knowledge to myself.”

“I take it you didn’t stay very long in one place.”

“No. We traveled from town to town selling and fixing clocks, and Papa and I continued to do that after Mama died.”

Smith listened intently.

“Life was painful for Papa and becoming more so.” A terrible sadness was reflected in her eyes. “In a way, it’s
better that he no longer has to suffer, but the way he died was so unfair. He should have been allowed to die with some dignity.”

Die with dignity.
The words knifed through Smith. He looked away from her and gritted his teeth against the pain of remembering Oliver’s broken, bloody body lying in the dirt. When he looked back at Willa, she was gazing intently at her laced fingers resting on the table.

“I’d like to stay here for a while and take care of Mrs. Eastwood. I’m a good nurse. She needs someone and I need a place to stay.”

“Can you put up with her meanness? I doubt if you’ll ever do anything to please her.”

“You would be suprised at what I’ve put up with in my lifetime. Are you sure Mrs. Eastwood isn’t blood kin to Jo Bell?” She lifted her eyes to his, a smile tilted the corner of her lips.

Smith smiled back, not only with his lips, but with his eyes. It made him look young—handsome.

“That wasn’t nice of me,” Willa said quickly. “I don’t know Mrs. Eastwood.”

“You will.” His smile faded. “You’ll earn your money.”

“I don’t expect . . . much. I’d not take any, but I don’t even own the clothes on my back. They belong to someone named Starr who left her trunk with the Franks.”

“I heard about her from Charlie.”

“Shouldn’t Mrs. Eastwood’s daughter be notified?”

He snorted an obscenity. “Forget her. She wants nothing to do with Maud or this place. She’s hooked a big fish and Maud would only cramp her style.”

“It’s hard to believe a girl would feel that way about her mother.” Willa carried her empty bowl to the work bench and dipped it into the pan of dishwater.

“Believe it. She and Maud are cut from the same cloth.”

Smith turned his head so that he could watch her. How could a woman who had worked as hard as she had today still look so faultlessly clean? She had braided her hair in one long rope. It hung down her back to her waist. She looked more child than woman. But this was no empty-headed girl. He had known that from the start. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself or expecting anything for nothing.

Willa washed her soup bowl and coffee cup and dried them on the cloth that hung on the oven door.

“If Maud’s hip is broken, she may never get out of that bed.” Smith’s words dropped into the silence.

“You don’t like her, do you?” Willa turned to look at him, knowing that her question was ridiculous.

“No, I don’t.”

“Then why do you stay on here? You’re a man. You’re free. You could go anywhere you want.”

“You think I’m here because I hope to get this place when she’s gone.” He drew in a ragged breath. “Yeah, I can see that’s what’s in your mind.”

“I didn’t think that at all. But I did wonder why you stay. Especially after Mrs. Eastwood said that—”

“—I’d killed Oliver. Is that what she said?” He smiled cruelly. “Let me tell you one thing, lady. The minute that old woman up there breathes her last, I’ll high-tail it off this place like I was propelled from a slingshot and I’ll never come back.”

“What will happen to this house?”

“I don’t give a damn what happens to it. No. I take that back. I hope it burns to the ground. I’d rather see that happen than have it sit here and decay like a rotten old pumpkin left in the garden patch.”

His coldness mangled her nerves. She walked to the door, aware that he was watching her.

“What time do you think the doctor will be here? I don’t
want to give Mrs. Eastwood too much laudanum. She should be awake to talk to him.”

“I won’t know until Plenty gets back. That should be any time now.” Smith’s eyes clung to her. It had been damn pleasant talking with her. She was so confident, so calm, and so damn pretty. “Willa—I’ll be down here if you need anything. Billy will be in later to sit with Maud so you can get some sleep.”

“I’m glad you’ll be here. This house is kind of . . . spooky.” The words rolled off her tongue easily and she smiled. A dimple he hadn’t noticed before appeared in her cheek.

“Yeah, it is.”

Willa’s head whirled in a quickening eddy of confused thoughts as she went up the stairs. She had told Smith more about herself than she had ever told another person. Why? Her mind argued that it was madness to think of him as anything but a hellion who was staying on here for reasons of his own.

He hadn’t denied that he had killed Oliver Eastwood.

He thoroughly disliked Mrs. Eastwood. But he hadn’t abandoned her. He seemed concerned for her welfare. The man was a puzzle. Papa Igor would say that Smith was fighting a war with himself.

When Willa entered the room, Maud was still sleeping, but not peacefully. She was moaning and rolling her head. Willa lifted the covers and moved her good leg well away from the one encased in the splint. She pulled on the sheet she had placed under Maud to change her position and take some weight off her hip. After a few minutes Maud stopped fidgeting and breathed more evenly.

Willa sank down in the chair and looked at the woman on the bed. She might have been pretty at one time. Her hair would have been dark brown. Now it was thin and streaked
with gray. Her missing jaw teeth would have filled out her cheeks. The hands that lay on her chest were long and bony, almost claw-like. Willa guessed Maud’s age to be somewhat older than her own mother would be had she lived. Bitterness had taken a toll, not only on this beautiful house, but on its mistress.

With the lamp wick turned down until only a faint glow lighted the room, Willa slipped her feet out of the moccasins and rested them on the edge of the mattress. Bending over the bed was hard on her back. Tomorrow she would ask Smith if they could put blocks under the legs to raise it.

The moment she closed her lids she saw his face; green eyes, smooth cheeks, wide firm lips and shaggy blond hair. He had a look of loneliness about him. Willa’s eyes flew open. She had to stop thinking about him and any problems he might have connected with the Eastwoods. She had plenty of problems of her own. Thank God one had been solved for the moment. Because of Mrs. Eastwood’s misfortune, she could stay here for a few weeks, maybe even months.

In spite of her resolve not to think about him, her thoughts moved determinedly back to the man downstairs. Was it her imagination, or was he more relaxed in her presence than he had been before? He certainly wasn’t as explosive as he had been back at Byers’ Station. Did he drink like that often? Mr. Byers seemed to be under the impression that he did.

Willa was sure Jo Bell had been most surprised that Smith hadn’t fallen under her spell as she had expected him to. Willa smiled when that thought floated through her mind. She continued to smile when she remembered Jo Bell with her arms in dishwater up to her elbows.

*  *  *

Willa woke from a sound sleep. Her first instinct was to scratch her ankles. When she reached for them, her terror-
filled eyes focused on a large rat on the bed beside her feet. Its sharp claws had awakened her when it had walked across her ankles toward Maud’s face. Now it sat perfectly still, its beady eyes on her. Its hairy body was almost a foot long; an even longer tail stretched out behind it.

A scream tore from her throat as her feet hit the floor. The rat scampered across Maud’s still form and jumped from the bed. Instead of heading for the door, it turned to face Willa. It appeared to be unafraid and moved back toward the bed. Fearing that it would come under the bed and attack her bare feet, Willa jumped up into the rocking chair.

“Smith! S-Sm . . . ith!” Willa’s terror gave strength to her voice. She looked for something to throw, but there was nothing within reach and she was too terrified to move. “Sm . . . ith!” Cold sweat was on her body, cold fear in her heart.

Suddenly the rat turned and ran out the door. A second later Smith was there. Barefoot and shirtless, he paused in the doorway, his eyes on her face.

“A . . . rat! A big . . . one—”

“I saw it. It’s gone. Ran out just as I got here.”

“It was . . . on the bed—” Willa trembled so that she could barely talk.

“Did it bite you? Or Maud?” Quick strides brought Smith around the bed to her side.

“No. Oh . . . Smith—” Words failed her after she cried out his name. The eyes that looked at him were large and fearful.

He reached for her. She launched herself into his arms. He hugged her against his chest and stroked her back. Her arms went around his neck. She clung, her teeth clamped against chattering. She was trembling violently.

Smith felt the pounding of her heart against his chest. His need to soothe and protect her was far greater than his need
to gratify the physical desire the touch of her soft, woman’s body demanded. He wanted to hold her, calm her with gentle words, tell her not to be afraid. He would protect her with his life.

By God, he would!

“You’re all right. Don’t be afraid. It’s gone,” he consoled in a whisper.

His lips caressed her hair, his hand cupped the back of her head, holding her securely to him. He held a treasure here in his arms. The thought struck him with a soul-jarring force. Suddenly aware that he was holding her off the floor, he allowed her to slide down his body until her bare feet reached the tops of his.

“Willa.” He drew her name out into a long, soft caress. “You’re all right now. It won’t come back.”

She shuddered with revulsion. “If there’s one . . . there’s more—”

“You’re shaking. Are you still afraid?”

“I’m not afraid . . . now. It’s nerves, I expect,” she managed shakily and drew in a deep breath.

“You scared the living hell out of me,” he whispered hoarsely—his breath warm against her ear.

“I’m sorry, but . . . please— Don’t leave me alone up here.”

“I won’t. I won’t.”

Fear had drained Willa of all reason. She hadn’t been held so tenderly since she was a little girl. It was wonderful to be wrapped in his arms, to feel safe, to realize that he cared that she was frightened.

“I’m so glad you’re here—”

“Ah . . . Willa—” Smith hoarsely whispered her name, his lips against her brow.

Willa didn’t know she had moved her head until his mouth closed over hers and moved with supplicant precision until,
unknowingly, her lips parted, yielded, and accepted the wandering of his. Her trembling increased and unfamiliar sensations prickled her body.

Their lips met in joint seeking. She needed the strength and security of his warm, male body. He needed her gentle touch to heal the wounds in his soul. Her mouth was wonderfully warm, sweet beyond his wildest imagination. He moved his head and kissed the soft skin of her temples, then took her lips again. It was a hungry, almost desperate kiss, an eager, primitive seeking, but Smith was wise enough not to spoil the mood by demanding more than the instant of sharing.

He looked down at her, his lips just inches from hers, his breath on her mouth, shaken by the almost heart-stopping realization that he had lost some part of his heart to her.

Willa was pressed so tightly to his naked chest that she could feel his heart beating against her breast. His skin smelled of soap and she liked it. His mouth had tasted of tobacco and she liked that, too. She tilted her head. They looked into each other’s eyes.

His face was different. A warm light shone from his eyes. It was hard to believe this man who watched her with such tenderness in his eyes and who held her so protectively was the uncaring, arrogant, demanding person she had met in Mr. Byers’ barn.