Ashes and Memories (2 page)

His gaze flickered to the corpse. The disparate faces of war and innocence converged before his mind's eye, as inseparable as they were incompatible. In the Shenandoah Valley, those two faces had clashed with a vengeance. As a partisan ranger, his duty had been to protect the populace while harassing a superior army -- an impossible feat, since it was the presence of the rangers and the fact that the civilians gave them sanctuary that put the populace in danger to begin with.

He raised his eyes from the dead soldier to the girl before him, another victim of a war no one could quite forget. She might be a fighter, a survivor. She might swagger around in breeches, a dangerous-looking revolver strapped to her hip, but the innocence in her eyes was unmistakable.

Of course, innocence was something easily lost.

“Not my problem,” he muttered. He had done the right thing, offered her help. Caring for destitute women was not his mission in life. He had enough to occupy his time and energy, he decided as he turned back to the task at hand.

#####

Nearly two hours later, Reece wiped his sleeve across his sweat-dampened brow and crawled up out of the chest-high hole. He walked over to the body, brushing his hands together in a futile effort to clean them. His white shirt and dark trousers were covered with grime, his breathing labored.

It had been a long time since he'd performed that kind of manual labor, and for good reason. He preferred not to, and his position as owner of the Dixie Mining Company allowed him to hire others for such tasks, freeing him to work with his mind instead of his hands.

Sometime while he was digging, she had come to sit on the ground a safe distance away. She'd spent the last hour gazing at the horizon, though he doubted she'd seen anything past her own pain. He quelled the pity that rose in his throat.

“What was his name?" If you buried a man, you should at least know his name.

He gazed around for something to serve as a marker, but there was not so much as a twisted tree limb in sight. The red and brown buttes of the badlands surrounded them. It was an utterly indefensible position, not the kind of place he would have chosen to leave a woman to fend for herself. If Sergeant Parker was going to kill himself, at least he might have waited until his daughter was somewhere safe.

“Samuel Parker,” she whispered.

Reece straightened as Miss Parker suddenly came to her feet and disappeared into the covered wagon. She reappeared almost as quickly as she’d vanished, kneeling beside her father’s grave and opened a small leather box with great care. Reece’s heart gave a lurch at the sight of the dull gold Confederate medal resting on dark gray velvet.

She lifted the stone and placed the medal beneath it.

“Don’t you imagine he would want you to have that?” he asked gruffly.

“No,” she murmured, backing away from the grave. “No.”

“That is not just some worthless trinket --”

She stared at him, and the anger inside her reached out to him. “I know exactly what it is."

“Then you know it is not a toy or a mere memento to be left out where it will corrode in the sun or be stolen by outlaws." His own vehemence surprised him. It shouldn’t matter. The war was over, had been for a long time.

“I told you I know what it is,” she said wearily, her shoulders rigid. “Look, Mr. MacBride, I’m grateful for your help, but it’s none of your concern."

“You’re right,” Reece conceded, though it took all his restraint not to vent the outrage swelling in his soul. “I’ll leave you alone for a while if you like."

“I’ve already said my good-byes,” she assured him almost before he’d finished speaking.

He was a master at control, but right now he was not at all sure how long he could hold back the anger inside him. He might not have always gotten along with his own father, but there was family loyalty and an undeniable, indissoluble blood bond between family members that seemed to be missing altogether in this girl.

“You are obviously a very brave and determined young woman,” he said tautly. “But I cannot help wondering how you can bury your own father without shedding a tear and then leave his war decoration --”

“I told you, it’s not your concern."

But Reece hardly heard her. The image of three crosses marking three fresh graves flashed through his brain. He could see himself, a weary young man kneeling before them, his shoulders slumped under the weight of loss. Behind him lay the corpse of a once grand house, as grotesque in death as it had been beautiful in life. Charred and cracked columns stood among the ruins like sun-bleached bones, reaching defiantly toward the sky.

For eight long months he’d thought of nothing but going home, walking the familiar halls of the house where he’d been born, holding Sarah again. But war and innocence had collided once more, leaving him with nothing.

Closing his eyes, he steeled himself against a pain so powerful it nearly drove him to his knees, and willed himself to let go of the past. With a deep breath, he stilled his mind, regaining the tight control he had learned so well. He had conquered the loneliness long ago, banished the memories to the place where memories belonged, stored them away like an old uniform. They had no place in his world any longer.

Walking to the wagon, he retrieved his discarded hat, struggling desperately to focus on the present as his breathing slowly returned to normal. “Where are you headed, Miss Parker?” he asked when he could trust himself to speak again.

“Providence,” she said tiredly.

He brushed his hat against his pants before placing it on his head. “That happens to be where I am headed. I would be pleased to drive your wagon for you."

“That won’t be necessary,” she said emphatically.

His patience was wearing thin, but he managed to veil his irritation with sarcasm. “I have no doubt you can manage quite well, Miss Parker,” he said, though the truth was clearly carved on her weary face. She was near collapse. She would never make it to town on her own, but she was too damned stubborn to admit it. “However, you have been through quite a great deal with your father just passing away and all."

Just committing suicide
, he corrected silently. The words remained unspoken, hanging between them like a thick curtain of fog. Both of them knew it was there, but they ignored it, speaking through it instead of acknowledging it and lifting it out of the way. And in truth, Reece was as glad for the barrier as she obviously was -- it helped him maintain his distance.
 

Emma laughed without humor. “My father died a long time ago. He just didn’t lie down until today."

In that instant, her eyes looked far too old for such a young woman, too old and too wise. Her pain and vulnerability reached out to him, penetrating again into that hollow place in his soul.

“Miss Parker,” he said, his voice choked with unaccustomed emotion. It was easy to forget at times what it was like to live with the intolerable, to be forced to accept things that your spirit and your soul cried out against. “This country is not safe for a woman traveling alone,” he continued. “I insist upon escorting you the rest of the way to town."

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug, leading the draft horses to the front of the wagon.

Ungrateful woman. She ought to thank him for stopping instead of frowning at him and tossing away his offers of help like empty pecan shells.

If he had suited himself, he would be in town by now, relaxing in the saloon with a bottle of whiskey and a fine cigar instead of standing here covered in sweat and dirt.

Struggling with righteous anger, Reece reminded himself the girl's father had shot himself in front of her. A little compassion on his part would not be out of order. Perhaps she was still in shock or using indifference as a defense. Now that he could understand. He had learned to do that quite well himself. And he'd trained himself not to become involved in the misfortunes of others, but he wasn't quite able to shield himself from this strange, unfortunate girl.
 

The less he knew about Miss Parker, the better. He already knew more than he wanted to know. As soon as they reached town, he planned to put as much distance as possible between them.

They had nothing in common, after all, nothing but ashes and memories and abandoned graves.

A cold tremor ran up his spine, and he halted the direction of his thoughts with an effort. Nothing could undo the past, and he’d stopped living there a long time ago. The only way to start over was to leave the past where it belonged -- in the past.

His gaze fell on the fresh grave before him, on the stone that covered a hard-earned medal. No soldier went into battle with the intention of earning a medal, but Reece well knew what was required of its recipient. He had received one like it after Antietam. In cold weather, his left shoulder still pained him where he’d been wounded in that battle. His regiment had suffered tremendous loses. No medal could make up for that.

If he closed his eyes, he could see the way the sunlight glinted off the medal as it was pinned to his uniform, feel again the pain of losing so many men, friends, comrades. His painful wound had paled in the face of that loss.

Cursing himself for a sentimental fool, Reece strode over to the grave, retrieved the medal and slipped it into his vest pocket. Perhaps it meant nothing to the girl, but he could not bring himself to leave it here for thieves.

Maybe later he would ask her how she could do something so heartless. Maybe he would ask her if she felt nothing for her own father, for the land of her birth.

He touched the brim of his hat as he turned away. “Rest in peace, sir, if you can.”

CHAPTER ONE

“Well, thank you again,” Emma said, forcing a slight smile. “I feel so foolish.”

Doctor Stevens smiled in return. “Those are very bad blisters, Miss Parker, and blisters can be extremely painful.”

He had treated her hands with gentleness and efficiency, and had talked to her the whole time, drawing her out, putting her at ease.

She gazed into sky-blue eyes, compassionate eyes, eyes as clear and unmarred as Reece MacBride’s were clouded and dark.

Emma forced her mind away from Reece MacBride, away from the memory of the darkness in those eyes. It reminded her far too much of the darkness that had destroyed her father in the end. Instead, she concentrated on the doctor’s words and his tender touch.

“When did you arrive in Providence?” he asked.

“Yesterday.”

It seemed impossible that her life could have been altered so drastically in that length of time.

She remembered sitting beside her father’s body for hours, praying for an angel of mercy to come along and help her, but the man who had stopped seemed more like the devil himself.

Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light, she reminded herself, recalling the gun he’d worn so easily and the danger she’d sensed just beneath the surface veneer of civilization.

She remembered, too, that damned southern accent of his that had the power to catapult her back to Tennessee, back home where she’d been so happy until war had destroyed everything.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked.

“Two free issues of your paper.”

“But I don’t even know if there will be one issue, let alone two.”

They’d come here for a fresh start, to take over the newspaper. Her father had bought printing equipment sight unseen. What if it wasn’t in working order? What if it was beyond repair or it had been stolen during the three months it had taken them to get here?

The doctor shrugged. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Thank you,” she said simply.

She’d reached the door and turned the knob when he called after her.

“Miss Parker.”

Emma turned to face him, but before she could reply, a loud noise from outside startled her and she jerked the door open. A large, boisterous crowd gathered in the street, and she peered closer, her curiosity piqued.

Then she saw it.

Her blood turned cold as her gaze riveted on the sidewalk in front of the saloon. A man dangled by his feet like an animal carcass.

“Oh my God,” the doctor muttered.

He'd followed her out the door, and they stood together on the landing, studying the scene below in shared horror.

Someone had tied the body to an overhead beam, and those of the population who weren't posing for a group photograph with the corpse were milling about, staring at the exhibition, talking among themselves.

Driven by anger and curiosity, Emma started down the stairs, ignoring the doctor's voice calling after her to stop, to stay out of it. She stepped into the street just as a black horse galloped toward her. With a startled cry, she jumped back onto the boardwalk in time to avoid being trampled and watched as Reece MacBride dismounted before the animal came to a complete halt.

She couldn’t stop trembling, whether from fear or outrage she couldn’t say. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small writing pad and a stub of a pencil.

A tall, muscular man broke away from the crowd and met Reece in the middle of the street.

 “What the hell is going on here?" Gone was the slow, seductive drawl she remembered from yesterday. Reece MacBride's voice boomed in the sudden silence.

“It's Joe Garrett,” the taller man explained a bit sheepishly. The badge on his shirt proclaimed him the sheriff. “Bounty hunter brought him in --”

“Cut him down. Now!" Reece pointed to two men who stood close by, his movements quick and precise where they had been slow and languid yesterday. “Grady, Stanton, cut him down!”

He was like a general in the field commanding his men, directing everything and everyone. Two men immediately cut the outlaw down, leaving Reece to turn his full fury on the man before him.

“I see MacBride is back,” the doctor said, his voice disapproving.

“Yes, we've met.” Emma spoke to the doctor but she never took her eyes off Reece MacBride.

“Sheriff,” Reece said, his voice lower but no less commanding, “I expect you to keep the peace in this town. We are not a bunch of barbarians here!”