Linda Castle (4 page)

He did not pull away, but he stared at her hand for a long moment as if it were the first time he had ever seen it. She wondered if the fading ink stains were noticeable in the muted, wavering light. To prevent him from seeing them, she lifted the lantern up, away from her hand, but it only made his face look more bleak and lonely. He reached out one slim finger and slowly traced along the smooth gold band he had put on her fourth finger himself. His eyes were so sad and empty, she felt a painful tightening of her chest while she watched him.

“Sleep well, Linese.” There was longing in the flat tone of his voice. He leaned down and deposited one chaste kiss on her forehead, then he turned and limped down the stairs.

She stood frozen on the spot and watched her husband disappear out the front door and into the humid Texas night.

L
inese sipped the hot chicory and watched Chase over the rim of her cup. She had listened to his uneven pacing long into the night, beyond the door that separated their rooms, after he returned from his walk. Whatever had denied him sleep still lingered this morning, if his creased brow and ravaged expression were any indication. Linese looked away from his stern face and tried to calm her tumultuous emotions.

She wanted to ask him what was wrong, to offer some kind of solace to her husband. But she doubted he would welcome her comfort, since he had seen fit to exile her from his bed. She glanced back at Chase and found him looking at her with a questioning expression in his eyes.

She wondered if he felt the same uncomfortable unfamil-iarity she experienced each time she stole a glance at him. Linese’s stomach lurched when she finally admitted to herself that two weeks was time enough to fall hopelessly in love, but not time enough to learn about the man who was her husband. In a strange and undefinable way, he had kept her at arm’s length during their frenzied courtship, almost as if he were shielding himself from her, or perhaps her from him. Now she wondered if maybe he had been hiding this dark, brooding side of his nature from her. She shook her head to banish the foolish notion, only to have it replaced by a new fear that popped into her head.

Perhaps he was regretting his impulsiveness. Perhaps he now regretted proposing to a virtual stranger. Maybe the two years he had been at war had made him wonder if his choice for his wife had been unwise. That could account for his decision to sleep apart.

The words that sent her into the adjoining bedroom continued to batter her pride, just as they had kept her from rest while she listened to his uneven journey across the wood floor all night long. Linese placed the cup of chicory into the saucer and acknowledged the painful truth. She was married to Chase, but the man sitting at the opposite end of the long polished table was no more than a stranger.

A stern forbidding stranger,
a voice inside her head reminded her.

She had never been a quitter. And she would not give up on her marriage. Now was about as good a time as any to begin learning about the man she married.

Did he prefer silence in the morning? Was he the kind of man who wished to start the day with activity, or did he ease into it slowly? He had ridden off the day after he brought her from her home, a county away, to Cordellane, and she had no idea about his likes or dislikes. If she took each day as it came, and learned his moods, she was confident they could begin to rebuild a life together.

“What do you wish to do today, Chase?” She watched his reactions carefully.

Chase looked up at her and grimaced. The gesture was an aspect of pure irony—or dread. Uncertainty shone in his gunmetal gray eyes for the first time in Linese’s recollection.

“What have you been doing to fill your days while I’ve been gone?” He answered her question with one of his own.

She frowned. He focused on her face intently. He seemed to be perched on the edge of his chair, waiting for her answer with as much anticipation as she had been awaiting his reply only a heartbeat before. Much to Linese’s chagrin she
had somehow traded places, and now Chase was the inquisitor. Panic welled up inside her chest.

Chase’s dour warning about women who nudged their way into a man’s world rang inside her head. If he learned she had spent nearly every day at the
Gazette
working, would he banish her from his bed forever? Would there be any hope of recapturing the passion they had once shared? Or would it, as she suspected, drive a bigger wedge between them and crush their fragile relationship before it had a chance to live again?

She knew she would tell him the truth about the
Gazette,
but not now.

Her head swam. It was no secret to people in town that she went to the office each day. Chase would probably hear that information from any number of men in Mainfield who would see fit to let him know what had happened in his absence.

The only real secret she kept from him was what she did once she arrived at the
Gazette—a
secret only she and Hez-ikiah shared. The good people, most particularly the businessmen of Mainfield, would be shocked to learn the words they read calling for loyalty and commitment were her own thoughts and not those of Hezikiah Hershner.

Chase cleared his throat and she knew the silence between them had gone on too long. He was still staring at her with his brows drawing more firmly together.

“I, uh, I spent some time with Hezikiah,” Linese stammered.

Chase gnawed the inside of his jaw and forced his mind to link the threads of information together. Linese had mentioned Hezikiah’s name yesterday, at the newspaper office. Her letters had spoken of him in passing. Chase searched his mind for some hard fact of memory. Nothing tangible floated to the top of the murk inside his head. He did not know who Hezikiah Hershner was, or why his wife would spend time with him. He took a desperate risk and plunged forward like a blind man on the edge of a cliff.

“Then let me escort you to Mainfield to see him today.” Chase forced a stiff smile to his lips, and even while he was doing so, a tiny part of his mind mulled over the idea that
his wife
had been spending time with another man.

He found himself scowling at the notion while he chided himself for having such preposterous feelings about a woman he only remembered meeting yesterday. It was absurd, yet the feeling of annoyance lingered despite his efforts to wipe it from his mind.

Linese watched Chase’s face in confusion. He seemed to want her company. That fact both elated and perplexed her. If he wanted to be with her, then why did he stay away from their bed? She felt as if she were trying to balance on the sharp edge of a sword, one misstep either way would end their fragile marriage.

“All right. I’m sure Hezikiah will be pleased to see you, and of course you will probably want to talk to him about the operation of the paper, now that you’ve returned.”

“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally. Each time he opened his mouth he had the sensation of facing enemy cannon fire. And mention of this man had brought an unexplainable edginess to him. He had not expected one thing to lead to the other.

He had no memory of the paper or what was involved in the running of it. By going back to Mainfield today he was setting himself up for possible disaster. Yet, he was going to have to find out what he had done before the war—and he had a burning desire to quench his curiosity about Hersh-ner. The question was, could he delve into his past and discover the man he was without revealing to Linese that he was going mad?

Chase shifted uncomfortably in the narrow buggy seat. He was acutely aware of Linese sitting next to him. He tried to keep his mind on the horse, but it was difficult to ignore his lovely wife. He wrapped his fingers tighter around the reins and told himself not to steal sidelong glances at Linese
every few minutes like a gourd-green youth, but it did no good. His eyes strayed toward her against his will.

She was wearing gloves again. It was a puzzling habit. Chase wondered how she could keep from withering in the damnable heat, much less wear gloves. He noticed that the oppressive humidity cast a healthy glow across her cheeks and made her lips dewy. Her figure was good and she had a quality of tranquility that drew him like a bee to a flower.

She was pretty, and he was only human. Knowing he had held her in the past, at least on the occasion of their wedding night, only made his dilemma worse. It was like trying to remember the words to a familiar tune only to have your mind go blank and leave you humming off-key in frustration.

He squirmed again and tried to focus on something other than her, but it was useless. All night he had paced the floor and racked his brain, trying to remember her. He forced himself to think of the smooth gold band on her finger, to try and remember placing it there, but he could not. When the pinking dawn found him, he was exhausted and more disheartened than when he’d stepped off the train. There was not one single recollection about the woman who was his wife, or his life in this place he had once called home.

Chase pulled the reins taut and the buggy slowed to a stop in front of the
Gazette.
The heat shimmered up from the hard-packed street in waves. Luckily, he had managed to remember the route young Toby had used to take them home yesterday. Each store and landmark he saw, each face and name, he committed to memory in the hopes he could continue his charade for one more hour, one more day.

“It’s too hot for you to walk,” he stated. “I’ll let you out here and take the buggy back to the livery.”

He climbed down from the buggy and allowed himself to look up at Linese. She turned to him and her cool-water blue eyes sliced a path from his head to his belly. He wasn’t going to keep his secret very long if he kept falling into the depths of those eyes each time he looked at her.

“That’s very kind of you, Chase.” She picked up her full skirt and scooted close to the edge of the seat so he could help her to the ground. Linese’s voice resonated with obvious surprise at his suggestion.

He was taken aback by her response. Was his kindness something she didn’t expect? Another suspicious doubt about the kind of man he had been in the past snaked its way into his consciousness. What kind of treatment had he given his young wife before he left her? Was he exposing himself by extending the most common courtesy?

Chase grasped her gloved hand and prepared to help her from the buggy. He found himself wondering again why she wore the gloves when it was so hot. He wanted to ask her, then choked back the words. What if he was already supposed to know? There were a million questions he had about this woman and what they had shared, and no way to find any answers without subjecting himself to ridicule, or worse yet—her pity.

“Chase? Is something wrong?” Her voice snapped him out of his trance.

He discovered that he was holding her, suspended halfway between the buggy and the ground. Her shoes hovered several inches above the earth. For a tiny fraction of time his brain registered how pleasant it was to have her so near. A hot flush of embarrassment flooded his cheeks.

“No, nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.” His voice was gruff with the lie.

She flinched at his tone and he saw her blink rapidly for a minute. Was she holding back tears? Dear God, if she cried he would be undone. The temptation to hold her for another minute or two tugged at him, but he let her down to the ground and tore his eyes away from her face. He climbed stiffly back into the seat without meeting her gaze again.

Chase gathered the reins and drove the buggy down the street, but when he reached the corner, he could stand it no more. He gave in to his impulse and glanced back.

Linese was watching him. For an instant their gazes met and he felt something flit through his mind, but before he could analyze whether it was a memory, it winnowed away. Chase swallowed his disappointment and urged the horse on to Goten’s Livery.

The man Linese had pointed out as being Ira Goten was raking manure at the side of the stable when Chase stopped the buggy. A slick sorrel with wild white-ringed eyes poked his head out of a stall at the back of the stable and nickered at the new arrival.

“Morning, Major.” Ira leaned on his rake handle and watched Chase lead the horse and buggy toward the back of the barn.

“’Morning, Mr. Goten. I’d like to keep the horse here while my wife and I are at the
Gazette—if
that’s all right,” Chase explained.

Ira smiled and gave a little snort. “Mr. Goten? No need to be so formal with me, Chase. I’ve been wondering when you’d stop by. Come inside. I have something of yours I’ve been meaning to return to you.”

“Something of mine?” Chase swallowed hard. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the man who evidently knew him, and once again found his own memory blank.

“Tie your horse up here, I’ll see to him in a bit.” Ira placed the rake against the fence and led the way inside the stable.

The mustiness of grain, straw and horse sweat filled the air. Chase paused a minute to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light. There was a harness spread out on the floor and assorted tools were scattered around in the dirt and grain chaff. Chase watched Ira stride to a corner and move a wooden box out of the way. Then he squeezed his lean body into a dark cranny where he lifted the lid off a staved barrel.

The aroma of cracked corn filled the air while Ira dug through the grain with his bare hands. His arm disappeared
nearly to the shoulder before he smiled and started to pull it out.

“There, I’ve finally got it.”

Ira shook the bits of corn off his arm while he extracted it from the barrel. When his hand reappeared, he was clutching an oilskin-wrapped bundle.

“I kept it real nice for you.” Ira Goten thrust the bundle toward Chase.”I see your hand hardly scarred at all.”

Chase followed the man’s gaze to the narrow white scar on the back of his right hand. He didn’t know how he got it, but it was plain Ira Goten knew. Some deep instinct inside Chase told him not to touch the bundle the man held out to him, but he ignored the silent warning within his head. Whatever was concealed inside the oilskin, it was a link to his past, a bit of the puzzle he longed to piece together. He reached out and took the object from Ira’s hands.

The bundle was hard and moderately heavy in his grasp. He allowed his fingers to wrap around it while curiosity burned inside him. No recall came attached to the object. He wanted to pull back the covering and see what he held, but Ira Goten was watching him, so he forced himself to wait.

“I never did get a chance to talk to you again before you left. We were damned lucky that night in Ferrin County, weren’t we?” Ira smiled but it was a cheerless expression. “We did what we had to for the cause, didn’t we, Chase? And now you’ve come home a major with all kinds of decorations.” Ira shook his head from side to side as if amazed by the outcome of Chase’s time in the war.