Whispers of Moonlight (16 page)

A noise came from outside, wagon wheels or a cart, and then a dog barked. Rebecca knew they would never disturb her as she climbed back into bed in broad daylight, something she had never done in her life. She was asleep in less than five minutes.

12

Four days. Travis' hand balled into a Fist as he stood at the window of his bedroom. His wife had been gone for four days. He had ridden to find her, that night and again in the morning. He had nearly driven his horse into the ground as he searched the closest towns, but no one had seen her. He had been forced to come home last night; he'd left in such a hurry that he was out of provisions and money. A part of him had also wished to come home and find her there, with a simple explanation of their misunderstanding. But things between them were not simple, not in the least. Now he waited for the sun to rise in the sky so he could start again. He had to find her. He had to know where she was.

The livery had been no help that first night. She had left the horse and buggy with them but only talked to a stable hand who had remembered next to nothing about the whole incident. The agent at the stage office had been even less help.

Travis' eyes left his own reflection in the glass and glanced around his bedroom. He knew he should turn the lantern out in order to
see the first streaks of light in the sky, but his gaze landed on the bed. He was tired enough to
lie down and sleep for a week, but he resisted. Instead he picked up the lantern and moved down the hall. He forced himself not to look at the closed portal to Andrew's room as he moved toward his wife's door. What he hoped to see there was not clear to him, but maybe, Just maybe, she'd dropped some sort of clue.

With the light held high in front of him, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was just as tidy as he'd remembered, but there was a coldness inside that had nothing to do with the temperature. Travis set the lantern on the small writing table near the door and stood still, letting his eyes roam at will. He spotted the sleeve of a garment hanging from the ornately carved wardrobe in the corner and approached.

Here, all was not as neat. Inside it looked as if Rebecca had grabbed things in a hurry. The possible implications of the jumbled mess made his heart clench. He thought, however, that most of her things were there. The remaining dresses, ones that he loved seeing on her, were knocked askew or lay in a fallen heap in the bottom. He closed the door softly and turned slowly back to the room. Nothing leapt out at him until he moved to the lantern again. He lifted it and caught a glimpse of something in the wastebasket. It was only a small ball of paper, but Travis felt compelled to pick it up.

He unfolded the wad slowly and recognized his wife's handwriting. He saw right away that it was a letter to her Aunt Hannah, but he read it anyway. The words were like a lash.

I
was forced to marry my father's foreman, and all because you're a selfish, sick old woman!

Travis' hand shook, but he made himself read it all and then read it again. She had been forced—Travis had known that. It hadn't been a violent, tempestuous act with tears and shouting, but neither had it been a gentle courtship over a reasonable period of time, one that ended with a declaration of love and much-anticipated vows at the altar. Even with his understanding of all that had happened, this lashing out, this anger and disgust in the letter, was a surprise to him. He knew she'd written it in grief and pain, but still . . .

Travis made himself calmly fold the paper and put it back on the writing table, the edge tucked under the heavy crystal inkwell. He could no longer stand the sight of the room and the remembrance of their time there together. He blew the lantern out and stood helplessly in the dark. It didn't take more than a few seconds for his eyes to note that the sky was growing light. He knew he could ride now, but should he? Should he go after a woman who obviously wanted nothing to do with him?

Pine Grove

Rebecca looked across the kitchen table at Angel and marveled just a little. Even right out of bed she was beautiful. She had been sipping hot coffee for 20 minutes and not spoken, but that was all right with Rebecca; she wanted only to stare at her clear skin, high forehead, delicate nose, sapphire blue eyes, and light blonde hair.

"I didn't get in until late." Angel's morning voice was husky. "But you seemed to be sleeping soundly."

"Yes. I slept well."

Angel's gaze came off her coffee cup, and Rebecca felt a little nervous under her steady regard. Angel managed to give her the impression that she could read her mind. Rebecca would have liked to ask if the offer from the night before still stood but felt that would be presumptuous.

"I'll tell you what I had in mind," Angel spoke as she rose, convincing Rebecca that she
could
read her thoughts. The younger woman watched as she reached toward the shelf for a frying pan and a bowl of eggs. "I can pay you 50 cents a week, plus room and board, if you'll keep the whole house clean, do my laundry, and have a meal on the table for me when I get up each day."

Angel glanced over her shoulder. "You're welcome to make this your home, but if your friends start tearing up the place, they'll have to go." She took in Rebecca's wide eyes and continued calmly. "Like I said last night, I work nights, but I like to get up and relax in the afternoons before I have to be at the Bell. If you are going to have friends in, I'd rather it be in the morning before I get up or in the evening after I leave for work. I'm off on Monday nights, and I'd rather you didn't have any company at all then."

Rebecca nodded, but was confused. What friends? A little shiver ran over her. The last person she thought was a friend had turned out to be anything but. He had married her for the ranch. It must be a relief to have gotten rid of her so easily.

Oh, Travis,
her heart cried,
for a few days I thought we really had something. I thought it was going to last. Didn't you know how much I needed you? Didn't you understand how I hurt over Papa's death? Why didn't you punch Biscuit in the face and tell him it was me you wanted?

Awash with misery, Rebecca looked up to find Angel's eyes on her. She averted her own gaze, and Angel didn't comment. Nothing was said by
either of them until Angel passed Rebecca some food and she thanked her in a small voice.

Rebecca looked at the burned food in the pot and bit her lower lip. Angel would be up in less than an hour, and she had nothing for her to eat. Lavena
had made it look so easy, but the potatoes in the pot were so stuck to the bottom that Rebecca wondered if she would have to throw the pot away. And she felt dreadful. When she'd gone to the cupboards to see what Angel had on hand to
eat, she'd come across a plate of spoiled food that had caused her to gag and nearly be sick. She had held a dishcloth over her mouth and nose in order to dispose of it, but the thought still turned her stomach. Now the potatoes. What in the
world was she going to do?

The thought had no more formed when there was a knock on the back door. It opened before Rebecca could move or speak. A man, the one who had put his head in the front door two nights before, now walked calmly into the kitchen.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly as he smiled in Rebecca's direction.

"Hello," she said warily, wondering if the sound-sleeping Angel would even hear her if she cried out.

"We weren't properly introduced the other night, but I'm Dan."

"Hello," Rebecca said again, but only stood warily.

Dan, who was quite accustomed to female attention, was more intrigued than ever. He forced himself to gaze around the room before looking back at her. In an effort to reopen
the conversation, he gestured toward the pot with his hand.

"Smells like it burned a little."

Rebecca hated herself for the tears she felt gathering, but blinked them away.

"I don't know what I did Wrong.

Dan's jaded heart broke. He took a step closer and looked down at the black mess.

"It looks as if you let the water boil dry."

"Water?"

"Yes." He wanted to laugh but didn't. "Didn't you add any?"

She only shook her head miserably and averted her eyes. Dan came to the rescue, gently taking the pan from her grasp, his voice matter-of-fact.

"Well, let's start over. Does Angel have more spuds?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you grab some, and I'll find another pot."

"Is the pot ruined?"

"Well, not quite," he stated tactfully, "but it'll take less time if we just use another one."

Rebecca moved silently to the small pantry and came back with four more potatoes. She set to peeling them without comment, but when Dan returned from the pump, he saw that she was cutting away most of the potato.

"Here," he stepped in, his voice too kind to be intrusive. "Let me show you."

Rebecca watched for a moment and then tried again when he handed the knife back to her. She was not as fast or smooth as he was, but there was more potato left the second time.

It was the start of a very enlightening half hour. As though they'd been friends for years, Dan spoke casually and showed her how to cook the potatoes, toast the bread, fry the little strips of bacon he'd unearthed, and perk a pot of coffee. It was all unbelievably complicated to her, but she knew if she didn't learn swiftly she would lose her job.

"Here," Dan poured a cup of the freshly brewed liquid and passed it to her. "You deserve this."

Rebecca took it but said, "I didn't do anything."

"Sure you did. You catch on quickly, and this is just the start. You'll do better tomorrow. Miss—"

Rebecca's eyes widened in surprise. Had she really not told him her name? Miss—? All at once her eyes became shuttered.

"My name is Rebecca."

"I'
m Dan."

Rebecca nodded. "I remember seeing you before."

Dan was pleased but managed to keep it hidden. "I take it you'll be living here with Angel?"

"Yes," Rebecca said with a sigh. "If I can do the job."

"What did she hire you to do?"

"Cook and clean."

Dan smiled; he couldn't help himself. He glanced around the wreckage from the meal they had just prepared. He was on the verge of commenting, but Angel walked in.

"The parlor looks great, Rebecca. Oh, hello, Dan. What brings you—" Angel stopped when she caught sight of the room.

"Rebecca had a little trouble with the meal," Dan said smoothly. "But she's okay now."

Angel looked toward the younger woman. Her look was not accusing but questioning. Rebecca dropped her eyes and admitted, "I can't cook. There wouldn't be a meal at all if Dan hadn't come." She forced herself to look up. "If you want to throw me out, I'll go quietly. Angel."

Angel looked to Dan, but he was staring at Rebecca. Rebecca's eyes shifted to the man as well. He spoke when she looked at him.

"If Angel says you have to go, Rebecca, you can live with me."

The color drained from Rebecca's face, and her mouth and eyes opened wide in astonishment.

Dan's laugh was soft. "Don't panic, kitten. I was only kidding." With that he reached for the hat he'd set on the shelf by the door, his nonchalant movements helping Rebecca to breathe again.

"I'll see you at the Bell, Angel."

"We have plenty of food, Dan," Angel offered sincerely. "Why don't you stay?"