California Caress (43 page)

“I think whoever did it died before he could let anyone know,” Luke added his opinion, as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What do you think, Hope?”

“Good question,” she replied thoughtfully, studying the steamy cider as she swirled it in her mug. “That’s a lot of money to be pulling out of the bank to help a neighbor or friend. And most people would want credit for their generosity so they could get their money paid back. But if they expected something in return, wouldn’t they have asked for it by now?” She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense. I’d be careful if I were you, Papa. This mysterious benefactor of yours could pop up any day to call in his loan.”

Bart grinned. “Fine with me. Joe’s been sending along our share of the take pretty regular lately. If anyone shows up, I could pay him. It’d mean putting off planting for another year, but I could do it.”

The cot squeaked as Bentley rubbed her eyes, then pushed her tired old body into a hunched-over sit. “If you ask me, I say keep your money in your pocket until someone asks for it. No sense looking for trouble when there isn’t any.”

Hope stiffened. As it had all afternoon, tension crackled in the air between Bart and Bentley, as real and as loud as the flames dancing in the hearth.

“Ain’t a gentlemanly way to pay back a favor,” her father mumbled before taking a sip of his scalding hot coffee. “Not that a woman like yourself would know anything of it, 'course.”

“Bah!” she hobbled over to the bench, her cane patting the floor, and eased herself onto the seat next to Luke. “Know more than you think, old man. I borrowed money in my day, and I lent it. I’m smart enough to know that whoever gave it to you would ask for it back if they wanted it.”

She’s enjoying this!
Hope thought as she watched her father’s face flood an angry shade of crimson.

“Oh really?” her father asked with open dislike. His coffee cup slammed loudly on the table. Dark brown liquid sloshed over the side, dotting the dented wood.

Bart launched into a tirade about the benefits of paying a debt, which Bentley wasted no time in staunchly rebutting. The two were deep into their discussion, with Luke watching like it was a tennis match, and no one noticed when Hope rose from the bench and inched toward the door. They barely looked up when the old metal knob creaked beneath her hand.

Stealthily, she slipped into the chilly, starlit night. The Blue Ridge Mountains stretched to the west, dark, black mounds jutting the moonswept horizon. To the east, hill and tree dotted the Great Basin as far as the eye could see.

She shivered and hugged her arms close for warmth. Her breath fogged the air with each rhythmic breath.

She considered going back for her black cloak, then dismissed the idea. She had no wish to hear her father and Bentley arguing again. They had bickered back and forth since their first meeting, and their surly banter showed no signs of letting up. If anything, it worsened with each minute one was forced to spend in the other’s company.

Oil and vinegar
, she thought, as her booted feet crunched over dry leaves and twigs.
Fire and water
. She wandered past a line of white oaks.
Hope and Drake.

A seagull squawked overhead, its wide wings flapping as Hope's thoughts took an abrupt turn.
Where is Drake now?
she wondered with a distracted sigh. Did he know where she’d gone? Did he care?

Although she would like to believe he did, she had a devil of a time convincing herself. He had, after all, only hired her to do a job, a job she had seen to it herself she was paid for. Pitifully. Now that the job was done, her services were no longer required, or wanted. He was probably relieved she’d left. Why else hadn’t he shown up at the dock to keep her from boarding that ship?

Because he doesn’t care.

Her breath caught as she remembered his hand caressing the puckered flesh on her back. He had been shocked, but not repulsed. Concerned, but not condescending. Certainly that was not the response of a man who didn’t care!

The image of Drake, enfolded in Angelique’s embrace, his calloused palm gliding over her smoothly perfect spine, stopped Hope cold. Again, she shivered, although this time the tremor had precious little to do with the brisk night air.

She wasn’t foolish enough to delude herself that Angelique would not take full advantage of her absence. No doubt the sly witch would convince Drake quickly of his “wife’s” infidelity, deception, lack of feelings—whatever it took to win him into her bed.

Oh, how Hope could see that feline smile when Angelique learned she’d left. It was the opportunity the conniving witch had been waiting for, planning for,
living
for. She wouldn’t let it go to waste.

But what would Drake’s response be?

It was a question Hope didn’t dare contemplate. If she were still in Boston, she would fight Angelique every step of the way. But here, in the hidden valleys of Virginia, there was precious little she could do to stop Drake’s seduction.

She walked on, mindless of where she was going. Her feet knew these foothills by heart, she wouldn’t get lost.

She thought of her vow to Bentley—her vow to get Drake back.
Could I get him back?
she wondered.
Did I ever have him to begin with? Isn’t it a little too late to start fighting for him now?

“Life won’t come to you, little one.” Her mother’s softly spoken words rang through her mind. How often had Emma Bennett said that? Often enough for the haunting voice to have an immediate response on Hope. “If you want something badly enough, go out there and fight for it like a Bennett. You’ll never win a race if racing is the only time you ride. And you’ll never ride if you get thrown from the saddle and refuse to get back up.”

All her life, she’d taken her mother’s wisdom to heart. Back in the saddle she’d always gone, never allowing herself to be defeated—at least, not without a damn good fight.

Is this so different?
she asked herself, stopping to lean against the rough bark of an oak.

No,
she thought,
it wasn’t any different at all.
She’d fallen off the horse that was Drake Frazier, but she’d never gotten back on. She’d hidden behind a cloak of fear, afraid he would hurt her worse than she was already hurt. He couldn’t, of course, but she hadn’t known that then. She hadn’t realized until now that the prize for fighting Angelique would be the man in all his glory. And the man and his love was what she wanted more than anything in the world.

Fight for it like a Bennett,
her mother would advise.

Damn it, but if that wasn’t exactly what she intended to do! Hope pushed away from the tree with new resolve. Her strides, as they carried her back to the house, were long and filled with determination.

She hadn’t expected ever to see her family again, but she had, proving that miracles
do
happen. Now all she had to do was set about making a lifelong miracle of her own.

A week, she decided firmly. She would spend a week with her family. Then she would return to Boston, with Bentley in tow, and she would fight for Drake Frazier. She’d do whatever it took to make him love her. And if she lost, at least she could console herself with the knowledge that her defeat was not due to lack of effort.

A smile played about her lips as she neared the house, and a plan began to form in her mind. Her steps lightened as her mind whirled to smooth out all the details. The plan was so wonderful in its simplicity, she cursed herself for not having thought of it before.

Everything came around full circle, she thought, and that was exactly where Hope intended to take her relationship with Drake Frazier. Back to be beginning.

It was silly. Preposterous. Perfect! How could he resist? She would simply hand the gunslinger an offer she knew he couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t as though this was the first time!

“Drake, if you do not stop prowling the deck like some caged animal I’ll have you dragged below and tied to the bunk until we reach port. Now, come have a seat, and do try to relax.”

Drake ignored his friend as he continued to pace the deck. He sent Elbert a heated glance. One look at the small man, leisurely reclined in a lounge chair, basking in the midday sun with a legal journal open on his gaunt lap, made Drake wonder why he had ever chosen this insensitive oaf as a friend. It also made him question his wisdom in having asked the man along, although he knew the logic behind that reasoning well enough. Elbert Sneyd was the only man in Boston Drake trusted, and he trusted Elbert with his life.

Proof.

The single word shot through Drake’s mind like a bullet, as he jammed his hands in his pockets and lifted his cheeks to the salty breeze. When he found Hope—and he
would
find her, there was never a doubt—he’d need proof to back up his somewhat wild but truthful explanation. After everything what had passed between them, he couldn’t expect her to believe his story simply because he said it was true. If they were ever to have honesty between them, they would have to begin anew. He had to be sure she never doubted him again because, deep in his soul, he knew he’d never give her another reason to.

But first, he had to prove it. Not an easy task.

With a ragged spin, he stopped his relentless pacing to lean against the ship’s rail. He read the sky and jagged coastline with an ease born of years at sea. If the storm brewing angrily on the horizon held off, they would reach the Chesapeake by late tomorrow afternoon. Until then, he would wait, worry, and pray he wasn’t too late.

God, but he hated to wait!

Spinning on his heel, Drake pushed away from the rail and again began pacing the spray-slickened deck. His agitated strides earned him a grunt of aggravation from his friend. His tight denims, thick, bleached chambray shirt, bright red bandanna, and low-riding hat earned him looks of perplexity from the other strolling passengers. The black leather gunbelt strapped to a muscular thigh earned him looks of respect bordering on fear.

He barely glanced up when he heard his name mentioned, with not a little disdain, by an elderly couple strolling by. He was too lost in his thoughts to much care about their shocked reaction, although at another time he would probably have found their suddenly white faces comical.

Tomorrow,
he thought. Tomorrow he would see Hope again. His heart sang with the thought and his calloused palms began to sweat. Now that Charles and Angelique had been taken care of, he was finally free to do something about setting his life in order.

Funny, but in his wildest dreams, he would never have imagined that
this
was the way he would go about it. Nor had he ever planned on centering his life, and his future, around a single, stubborn woman.

Things change
, Drake thought as his gaze wandered back to the horizon. The rain-heavy clouds there reminded him of a pair of stormy, dark-brown eyes. Hope’s eyes, lids thick with slaked passion.

Tomorrow seemed like a lifetime away.

Hope knelt beside the perfectly groomed grave. Her trembling fingers absently traced her mother’s name, and she noticed how weathered the delicate carving had become against the chipped, white marble tombstone.

A light breeze rustled sap-scented air, disturbing the chestnut hair that waved down her back to the cinched waist of her new, mint-green dress. She barely noticed. Her thoughts were busy drifting over the time spent lazily in Virginia.

One week had slipped past, easing its way into two. What a coward she was! Her days were spent fishing in the early morning hours with Luke, her afternoons spent cooking meals and keeping house. The early evening hours were reserved for long walks with her father amongst their vast Virginia fields. Hand in hand she and Bart would stroll, in tune with the sun as it stroked a fiery palette of color over the horizon, the vibrant shadows reflecting on the lush, promising fields that stretched at their feet.

At times, he talked about Emma, her mother, and Hope came slowly to realize how deeply her father’s feelings ran when it came to the fires that had nearly destroyed their lives. It was a side that Bart Bennett had never before revealed.

He had loved and lost, just as his daughter had. And though both took special care never to mention Drake Frazier’s name, both knew they now had a common, if unspoken, bond.

Bentley had left the week before to keep her promise to her great-nephew and talk to his fiancée. “Don’t know what good it’ll do, but I’ve gotta try, I suppose,” she’d huffed, hoisting her tired body into the carriage with a promise to return for Hope soon. After a callous remark to Bart, she’d left.

Although Hope wished her friend luck and was sorry to see her go, she was glad to feel the tension in the Bennett household ease. Bart returned to his jovial, albeit tight-lipped self, and even their prized cow started giving milk again. Her father swore Old Nellie sensed that the “old prune’s finally gone.”

Hope sighed. She dropped her hand, pillowing it on top of her lap. The paper tucked snugly in the side pocket crinkled. Her heartbeat quickened and her palms grew moist when she thought of the newly arrived letter.