The Rebel Wife (19 page)

She bounced to one side.

Calhoun stumbled. A loud scraping noise filled the air. His expression turned horrified.

“Get out of the way—” He threw up his arms, then careened into her, pushing her to the ground. Before she could roll free, he thumped atop her, his weight forcing the air from her lungs.

Everything went silent and dark.

Chapter Twelve

Prepare for the worst; hope for the best
.

Jack pushed through the front door and into the foyer, his gut telling him to start preparing. While sending a telegraph to his editor in New York City, he’d run into one of the guards from Point Lookout. Private Duncan had come into town with a small detail to deliver a wagon-load of prisoners to Fort McHenry. A detail led by Lieutenant Calhoun.

“And very interested in you, Mr. Porter,” Duncan had revealed of his squad leader. The young private had been easy prey. It took only one beer to loosen his tongue. “Talked of little else but you and that prison story you’re writing.” Duncan wiped foam from his scraggly mustache and grinned. “And your pretty lil’ wife.”

Calhoun might not have any ill intentions, but it was better to be safe than sorry. In the end, he decided it was better to tell Kitty her enemy was in town.

“Kitty,” he bellowed from the bottom of the staircase.

Only the tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway answered him. Not upstairs, then. He combed the study, parlor, and kitchen. Nothing. And no Sally either. When he’d left earlier, the housekeeper had been working in the garden. Perhaps she was still there and Kitty with her.

He retraced his steps to the parlor. Late afternoon heat blasted him as he crossed the room and passed through the open doors. Nothing stirred in the stifling garden. Not a breeze, not a bird, not even a stray bee. And it was quiet. Too quiet. Unease rolled in his gut.

The path ahead curled around a tall hedgerow. He rounded the bend and froze. Beside the toppled figure of Saint Francis, two bodies lay unmoving. White cotton showed beneath a length of federal blue. A tangled mass of red hair fanned out over the ground.

Kitty
! Fear unlike any he’d ever experienced exploded inside him. He sprinted the last few steps and rolled the unconscious soldier off her. He pulled her into his arms and crushed her against him, heartened by the faint rise and fall of her chest.

She was alive.

He loosened his grip and gently brushed a stray lock from her face. Dark lashes fanned her cheeks. So angelic. So beautiful. He wanted to hold her in his arms and never let go.

Blood streaked her forehead, the red stark against her pale skin. He thumbed away the smear and found no obvious wounds. The soldier’s blood?

Though red stained the man’s face, his features were familiar.
Calhoun.
The Texan lived—barely. Blood matted his hair and pooled beneath his head. He’d seen that much blood before. The battlefields had run red with it. Death wasn’t far away.

He got a quick picture of a young soldier writhing on the ground and clutching his disemboweled innards. The figure shifted and swirled and became his father lying on the river bank. No smile. No laughter. Just mottled and bloated, his lifeless eyes staring skyward.

A hot breeze rifled over his face, jarring him back to the present. He tightened his grip on Kitty, holding onto her like a lifeline. He couldn’t lose her, too. Not the only woman who made him look forward to the future instead of dreading it.

“Kitty?” With effort he pushed the word past the lump in his throat. The little nickname that started out as part of their scheme had come to mean so much more.

He gave her a gentle shake. “Wake up, Kitty.”
Don’t leave me. I need you.

The thought startled him, like a stranger leaping out of the shadows. He hadn’t seen it coming and wasn’t the least bit prepared.

Had he ever really
needed
anyone before?

She made a small sound. Good, she was coming around. Her head rolled to the side. A twig had left a crease on her cheek. He traced the impression with a fingertip. Losing his fiancée because of his mangled eye had been merely a blow to his ego, if he were honest about it.

Losing Kitty would leave a hole in his heart.

She groaned. Her eyes fluttered open. “J-Jack?”

“Yes, it’s me.” She meant to eventually part company with him. He wouldn’t think about that now. “How do you feel? Are you hurt?”

“Wh-what happened?”

“I don’t know. I found you lying beneath Calhoun with the statue toppled over beside you.”

“Calhoun..?” Her confused gaze flicked to the motionless soldier. She quivered in his arms. “Is he...dead?”

“He’s still breathing, but it doesn’t look good. Appears he took the brunt of the blow from the falling statue. Do you remember what happened?”

“I’m not sure. Everything’s so...hazy.”

Not good.
“Do you remember me leaving to run an errand?”

“You went to the telegraph office.”

“That’s right. What did you do after I left the house?”

“I drew a bath, and...” Bewilderment turned to alarm. “Calhoun! He was in my bedroom.”

Only a man intent on foulness entered a woman’s bedchamber uninvited. His fingers itched to end what the statue had started.

“He came after me...j-just like Bart.”

Gripes, did Calhoun have an accomplice? He tossed a glance around the deserted garden. Either the thug was long gone, or her memory was fuddled. With any luck, it was the latter.

“Who is Bart?”

“Wh-what?”

“Was there someone else with Calhoun?”

“I...uh...no. I didn’t see anyone.”

Calhoun was bad enough. They’d discuss Bart later. “How did you get out here in the garden?”

“He came at me, so I ran. I made it outside, but he was right on my heels. He grabbed me. We bumped into something hard.” She eyed the statue and shivered again. “Dear Lord...I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Of course you didn’t.” He pressed a reassuring kiss to the top of her head. She smelled of soap and lavender. The scent of clean. And Calhoun had tried to soil her.

“Did he hurt you?”

“He didn’t have time. I ran before he could...then the statue toppled. I think he actually tried to save me from it.” She wiggled upright. Pain twisted her face. She lifted a hand to her temple. “My head. I must’ve struck it when I fell.”

He parted her hair. A small lump protruded from her skull. “Just a bump. No blood, which is good. Does anything else hurt?”

She shook her head and then grimaced. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“Jack, I’m sorry. Seems I’m always causing trouble of some sort.”

“Shhh. You’re not to blame for this.” A bee buzzed around her head. He shooed it away, then rose with her cradled in his arms. She didn’t need a sting adding to her misery. “Let’s get you inside where you’ll be more comfortable.”

Trembling fingers clamped around the back of his neck. She rested her head on his chest and melted against him, her warm tears soaking into his shirt. He ground his teeth around a curse and stepped over Calhoun. The swine deserved to die. Twice, if he had any say.

He set her on the settee in the parlor, then crossed to the sideboard and poured a shot of brandy into a glass. She needed a drink after all that. Hell, he needed one.

“Here, drink this.”

She swiped away her tears and pushed upright. Her thin robe did little to hide her womanly curves. Not twenty-four hours ago, he would have delighted in a peek at that milky skin, but all he felt now was a consuming joy that she was alive.

“I don’t need anything, Jack.”

“Drink it.”

She took the glass, downed the contents in one gulp, and thrust the tumbler back at him, eyes flaring with annoyance.

Good. That blow to the head hadn’t dulled her lively spirit.

He set the glass on the end table, then sat beside her and took her hand in his. It was icy and trembling. He rubbed her with calming strokes. “Do you feel like talking, or do you need more time to recover?”

“I’m good.”

“Let me know if you start feeling poorly.”

She pulled her hand away and tucked it into a fold of her robe. “What did you want to know?”

“Calhoun. Any idea why he was here, besides the obvious?”

“He said he didn’t believe our story...that we’re married. He came to find out the truth.”

“Damn. I didn’t expect that. I just learned he was in town. Thought he might want payback for when you poked fun at him at Point Lookout.”

“Oh, he wanted payback. But there’s more. He knows who I am and that I crossed the Potomac and landed at Tall Timbers.” She trembled like a rabbit caught in a snare. “Did they...could they have gotten that out of Jeb?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. I’m sure if they had, Lieutenant Whitlock would’ve sent word to us. He’s a good egg, as you would say.”

“I hope to God you’re right. Perhaps when Calhoun found my locket, he recognized Lance and figured out who I am.”

“Could be. But it doesn’t matter now.” He glanced at the open doorway. “He’ll soon be taking that knowledge with him to the grave.”

She rubbed her upper arm as though it pained her. Had she injured it during her fall? “Let me see that arm.”

“There’s no need. It’s only bruised.”

“Then just humor me.” He pushed the wide sleeve to her elbow and gently prodded her smooth flesh.

A faint moan rumbled deep in her throat.

“Pains you does it?”

She closed her eyes. “Not in the way you mean.”

“How then?”

“I can’t say. It’s too...” Her voice trailed away on a desolate sigh.

“You can tell me, Kitty. I’m your friend.”
And more if you’ll let me.

She eased out of his grasp and pulled a pillow against her chest, clutching it like a life buoy. What would make her trust him enough to seek comfort from him? He used Sally’s favorite saying, hoping to coax her into opening up. “Things will fester if left bottled inside.”

She looked up at him, those amazing green cat-eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Lord knows I want to tell you. I-It’s been shut inside me for so long.”

“Then let it out. You’ll feel better if you do.”

“You’re wrong. I’ll feel worse.”

“Why will you feel worse?”

She drew in a ragged breath and averted her gaze. “’Cause you’ll hate me.”

Tears shimmered on her lashes. She sounded so forlorn, so dejected, his own eye burned. “I could never hate you, Kitty.” He cupped her chin and gently tugged her head around until she faced him. Something more than despair shone in her eyes. His good opinion was important to her. She cared what he thought of her.

And that mattered more than he could ever have dreamed.

She sobbed and jerked out of his grasp. Her chest heaved as she tried to collect herself. Whatever she was holding inside was eating away at her.

He lifted his hand, moving slowly so he wouldn’t frighten her. His fingertips hovered near her tear-stained cheek. “May I?”

Her lips parted. She drew in another less shaky breath. “Y-yes.”

He wiped the wetness from her face with his thumb. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too difficult. I understand.”

“Thank you, Jack. For understanding.” A hesitant smile tipped her lips. “You’ve been so good to me.”

“What have I done? Let you tag along to places I was going anyway?”

His attempt at lightheartedness failed. Her smile faded. “You let me tag along, as you say, even though it put you at risk. You brought me here. To your home. Introduced me to your family, to—” She gasped, eyes widening to the size of goose eggs. “Dear God. Sally.”

Apprehension knifed into him. In all the confusion, he’d forgotten about the missing housekeeper. “Where is she?”

“Calhoun did something to her so he could be alone with me.” Her fingers clamped around his hand. “We have to find her.”

****

Louisa paused in the doorway and leaned against the jamb, waiting for the dizziness to subside. Her head felt as if a millstone had taken to grinding inside her skull. Added to that, muscles she didn’t know existed argued when she tried to move. But none of that mattered. Sally was out there somewhere, possibly hurt...or worse.

Jack’s frantic search of the house had uncovered nothing. When he’d dashed into the garden, she could no longer sit idle. She had to help. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to the friendly housekeeper because of her.

After a few minutes, the swimming in her head receded to a mild paddle. She pushed away from the door and followed the path that ran alongside the house, careful not to disturb the agreement she and her body had come to.

She studied the bushes and hedges as she walked, looking for a splash of color among the greens and browns.
Blue.
The last she recalled, Sally had been wearing a dark blue outfit with a starched white apron tied at the waist. No gee-gaws or frills. Sally wasn’t the frilly type. She dressed plain and simple. Just like the wisdom she parceled out.

A stiff gust rifled through the garden, pitching the treetops from side to side. Maple leaves twisted and flipped, showing their underbellies. The air was thick and heavy and carried a sharp metallic scent. A storm was brewing. She picked up her pace. They had to find Sally before the rain came and washed away her tracks.

Just ahead, Jack rounded the corner of the house, toting a shovel in one hand, the other clamped around Sally’s upper arm. The housekeeper appeared to be unhurt. She walked upright, no limping or sagging. There was no blood that she could see. Her clothes were just a little rumpled and dusty. Louisa breathed a sigh of relief. Sally was safe and sound...

“Where is he?” the housekeeper demanded. “Where’s that no-good Yankee polecat.”

...And madder than a stirred-up nest of hornets.

Jack shook his head. “He’s been taken care of.”

“Not by me, he ain’t. Thumpin’ my skull and lockin’ me in the cellar. Why I ought to...”