Hidden in a Whisper (8 page)

“I assure you, on my account,” Braeden began, “that your trust will not be misplaced.”

Trust. Rachel cringed inwardly at the word. Was Braeden trying to twist the knife that was already firmly implanted in her heart? Trust had been the reason for the demise of their love. Trust was now the issue that would stand between them to help create a new relationship— or divide them hopelessly.

A knock sounded on the door before Rachel could speak her answer. Jeffery got to his feet and opened it to find a young messenger.

“Mr. O'Donnell, you're needed back at the depot as soon as possible,” the boy relayed.

Jeffery turned to Rachel. “Would you be so kind as to show Mr. Parker the grounds and the living quarters and office we've secured for him?”

Rachel wanted to refuse, saying that she'd have no part in it. She feared being left alone with Braeden, yet she could find no reasonable excuse for denying Jeffrey's request.

“Of course,” she managed to say without sounding totally dumbfounded. “Wonderful!” Jeffery exclaimed with a broad smile. “It will help me a great deal if you will see to this matter.” He bid Braeden goodday with the promise that he would see him early the next morning, and then he was gone. Thoughtfully, he had closed the door behind him, leaving Rachel once again feeling completely trapped.

Allowing her eyes to meet Braeden's, Rachel was at a loss as to what to do or say. So with a deep breath, she said the only thing she could think of.

“What in the world are you doing in Morita?”

  
FIVE
  

BRAEDEN KNEW THE SITUATION was extremely trying for Rachel. After all, he was suffering on his own account and he had known she was here. Of course, he could hardly tell her that. It wasn't like he accepted the job because of her, for he'd already applied and been chosen for the position before being told that Rachel Taylor was a part of Casa Grande's staff. He could have bowed out at that point, but his heart bid him to stay.

His mind raced with the possibilities of what he could say to put her at ease. She looked quite angry and frightened, but even more so, she looked beautiful. He had often thought of her, wondering where she was and if she had married.

“I'm here to do a job,” he finally said, realizing he couldn't very well go on studying her indefinitely.

Rachel pushed back a wispy auburn curl and squared her shoulders. “Did you know I was here?”

Braeden nearly choked. The very thing that he had sworn he'd keep secret he would now have to lie about or admit. “Why do you ask?”

Rachel shrugged. “I suppose I am curious. It hardly seems logical to accept that fate has thrown us together.”

“What about God?”

“What about Him?”

Braeden shifted slightly. “I think it's possible that He brought us together for a reason.”

Rachel tensed. “Yes, I suppose it is possible. The Bible is full of stories where people were tested.”

Braeden couldn't help but laugh. “So you believe working with me is a test?”

“Without a doubt.”

Seeing they were getting nowhere, Braeden tried another approach. “I tried to find out where you'd gone, but your mother wouldn't divulge the information.”

“She was following my instructions,” Rachel countered. Her green eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I told her there was no purpose in you knowing my whereabouts. I had no desire for deceit and lies to follow me into my new life.”

Braeden couldn't help but react. “I'm surprised she managed to keep the information to herself.” He felt his anger mounting. In his thirty-six years of life, he'd never found a woman who affected him more than Rachel. Be it in anger or love, Braeden knew her to consume him. “So did you ever marry?” he asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

“No.” Rachel spoke the word simply, as if daring him to pry for a more detailed answer.

“Couldn't find a man perfect enough to meet your standards?” Braeden questioned, regretting the words the minute they were out of his mouth.
I didn't have to say that
, he chided himself.
I can't let my anger get the best of me
. He looked into her green eyes and saw her wince.

“I suppose not,” she finally answered. “And what of you? Did you ever marry that woman whom you were dallying with?”

Braeden clenched his teeth together. He angered at her insistence that he had somehow wronged her by being unfaithful. He had a perfectly logical explanation for his actions that day, but up until now, no one had even asked him for such an answer. And being the stubborn, prideful man he was, Braeden wasn't about to offer it.

“I've never married.”

For several moments neither one spoke. Rachel appeared completely drained of energy, Braeden thought. Her normally rosy cheeks were pale and her eyes averted meeting his, as if the action might cause her too much pain. He hated seeing her like this, and for the first time since realizing that the Rachel Taylor of Casa Grande was
his
Rachel Taylor, Braeden wondered at the sanity of accepting the position. After all, he would be working with Rachel on a daily basis. And not only that, but they would be housed under the same roof and live their lives in a tiny little town where neither one could avoid the other.

He eased back in his chair and wondered what to do next. He glanced up at her as she studied her lap. The anger and sarcasm that tainted their words was getting them nowhere. He would have to swallow his pride and find a way to make this arrangement less consuming.

But consuming was the only word for it. She had consumed his thoughts and dreams for the last six years, and now that he was here, sitting not two feet away, Braeden longed to take her in his arms. She hadn't changed much, he decided. Her ruddy complexion and auburn hair stood out in contrast against her high-collared white blouse. She had fashioned her hair in a popular style of the day, with the bulk of her dark red curls pulled back and rolled into a knot atop her head.

Wisps of hair curled down gently, softening the effect and framing her face. She was just as lovely and enchanting as Braeden had remembered. “It seems we are in a bit of a fix here,” Braeden said softly.

“I suppose that's putting it mildly,” Rachel said, folding her hands on top of the desk.

“Look, I don't want to spend the next months snapping at each other and creating scenes.”

“I have no intention of creating a scene with you, Mr. Parker,” Rachel said stiffly. She pushed back her shoulders and lifted her chin ever so slightly.

“I think the folks in the dining room would tell it another way.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes once again. “I was shocked by your sudden appearance. I feel my actions were justified.”

“You've always felt your actions were justified.”

“I try to base my actions on the facts at hand.”

“We're playing games here, Rachel,” he said, leaning toward her.

He hadn't intended to use her first name, but it had come out without hesitation, as if their separation had never occurred.

“I'm not playing at anything, Mr. Parker.”

“Don't!” he said, getting to his feet. “Don't try to pretend with me. I know you too well.”

“You don't know me at all!” Rachel retorted and jumped to her feet. “If you knew me as you suppose you do, you would understand why I've reacted the way I have today.”

“As well as how you reacted six years ago?” Braeden questioned, putting his hands on her desk. Leaning forward, ever closer to those wonderful red lips, he pressed his point home. “You acted out of mistrust then … just as you are now.”

“I have no reason to trust you,” she said rather lamely. Her bravado was fading as fast as it had come.

He thought she looked rather lost and vulnerable. Like a child who had turned down the wrong street and found himself separated from all that was familiar. He wanted to comfort her—wanted to tell her that the past didn't matter. But pride stood in his way. He would not yield on this matter. He could not.

“I have never lied to you,” he said simply. “Trust is earned through actions, that much we agree upon. My actions were never out of line, but your trust was fleeting and given only on whim.”

“You're wrong about that,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. “My …” She halted awkwardly.

Braeden wanted her to continue. In fact, his desire was so great that he felt something akin to rage when she refused. He had never been able to justify himself to her—had never been allowed to explain his actions at the hotel the day her mother's friends had witnessed him there. And he had never, ever gotten over her walking away from him. Ending their engagement. Destroying his dreams.

“I suppose it might be better if we saved this for another day,” he said, trying hard to keep his temper under control. “Mr. O'Donnell expects you to tour me around the grounds, and it might be wise to do that before the sun sets and we have to go about in lantern light.”

Rachel took her cue from him and drew a deep breath. “I have to take care of my girls and tend to their needs first. If I had my way about it, I wouldn't have to deal with you at all.”

“Well, that is too bad,” Braeden replied, “because you do have to
deal
with me. I'm not going anywhere. Casa Grande is a fine resort in a beautiful location. I intend to be here for as long as there is a job available for me. At thirty-six, I have a good number of years to look forward to life and employment, and just because you intend to treat me poorly is no reason for me to retire my position. Unlike you, I'm not the type to run away.”

He watched Rachel's hands ball into fists. She kept her hands tightly at her side, but her gaze never left his face. “I do what I must to survive,” she stated, then moved toward the door. “I would like for you to wait by the fireplace in the front lobby. I will see to my girls, and then I will show you where things are.”

He reluctantly followed her into the lobby. He didn't like the fact that he was so angry. Neither did he like that she was upset with him.

He had known she would be surprised to see him, but he had rather hoped that she would put the past behind them and give him another chance. He had never stopped caring for her or desperately wondering where she was. And now that he knew, he was hard-pressed to decide exactly how to handle it. Should he go back to Chicago and make her life less miserable? Or should he stay and hope for a miracle?

“Wait here,” she told him.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said with a stiff little bow.

She stopped in midstep and looked at him with a frown. “You needn't be so tiresome.”

“Perhaps you would rather I had called you Rachel?” he asked, a bit of a grin forming on his lips. She was just so incredibly beautiful, and he loved that she was so obviously affected by his appearance in her life. Perhaps behind her anger he would find tolerance … and eventually love.

“No,” she replied, and he saw the pain flash across her expression.

“Miss Taylor will do.”

He took a hesitant step forward and extended his hand as if to ease her sorrow. “Please understand—” he began.

She backed away, shaking her head. “I have work to do. Wait here and I'll come back to show you the grounds.”

He watched her go, feeling a conflict within his soul. On one hand, he questioned his own sanity in coming to Casa Grande. On the other hand, he wondered quite seriously how he had lived the past six years without Rachel at his side. The future promised to be more than he'd bargained for, yet for the life of him, Braeden couldn't force himself to simply turn and walk away before it was too late.

“It's already too late,” he whispered, knowing that his appearance here at Casa Grande had changed everything for both of them.

Rachel moved through the dining room, instructing her charges in a methodical, mechanical manner. She could scarcely draw breath, much less think rationally. He was here—and he was staying! She had often wondered what she would do if he reappeared in her life. She had pictured herself happily married with children at her side, meeting him on the street in passing. She would have loved for him to have seen her happy and content without him in her life.