Cinnamon and Roses (16 page)

"This afternoon.
What did you do in town?"

She swallowed. “First I went to the bank, and then I went shopping for sewing supplies."

Caleb rested his hip on the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “Didn't you have trouble carrying all those packages into the house?"

Rebecca felt the walls of the room closing in on her, cutting off her air. “No, I managed."

"Amazing.”
He shook his head and whistled through his teeth. “Just how many bolts of fabric and spools of thread can five hundred dollars buy? And where have you hidden this storehouse of supplies?"

Rebecca closed her eyes and collapsed against the back of the chair.

"I see you don't intend to deny it. Good.” His voice became hard. “Now tell me why the hell you needed so much money."

She turned her face into the smooth leather, absorbing its coolness on her heated skin. “I'm sorry,” was all she could manage.

"Sorry for what?” He threw up his hands and went around to the other side of the desk, kicking his father's chair with such force that it bounced off of the back wall. “Just what did you do with it, Rebecca?"

She opened her eyes and sat up, ready for Caleb's angry assault and more than willing to make amends. “I'll pay you back. I promise. I'll just need some time."

"I don't want the goddamn money!” he bellowed. “I want to know what the hell you did with it. Who did you meet behind the saloon?"

This time Rebecca's heart stopped altogether.

"That's right, I know all about it.” Caleb ran a hand though his dark hair and sank into the desk chair. “I know that you took five hundred dollars out of my bank account. I know that you didn't do a stitch of shopping today. Marshal Thompson said he saw you out back of the Dog Tick with some painted whore. You're damned lucky he was the one who saw you. I'm pretty sure he can be trusted to keep this to himself. Otherwise the whole town would be talking about it by morning. What were you doing, Rebecca, looking for a job?"

Rebecca guessed she deserved Caleb's fury. She had, after all, stolen from him. “I would really rather not tell you. Just please trust me. I promise to pay back every cent as soon as I can."

"The
last
thing I'll ever do is trust you again."

His emotionless gaze and cold declaration caused Rebecca's eyes to brim with stinging tears.

"And I don't care whether you'd
rather
tell me or not.
You damn well better if you want to see another sunrise."

"If I tell you,” Rebecca said, wiping her running nose on the hem of her apron, “you'll hate me."

"It's too late to worry about that."

She lifted her head and stared at the stem lines of her husband's face. A muscle in his jaw jumped sporadically.

She cried harder at the thought that she had lost Caleb forever. They had just begun to get close, and now they were being torn apart. She saw in his eyes that he did indeed hate her for what she'd done. And he didn't even know about her past yet.

"The woman behind the saloon ... She's my..."

"
Your
what?” Caleb asked when she didn't finish.

"She's my mother."

Caleb watched Rebecca's small shoulders tremble in an effort to hold back her sobs. He shook his head slightly, thinking he must have heard her wrong. There was no way the woman Thompson described could possibly be related to Rebecca.

"Your mother?” he asked quietly.

"Yes,” she managed between shuddering breaths.

His muscles
relaxed,
all the anger and tension pouring out of his body. He brushed back a wave of hair that had fallen across one eye. Exhaling a lungful of air, he looked at Rebecca. Usually strong and self-assured, she now seemed frail and vulnerable.

"Maybe you should tell me more."

Rebecca raised wide eyes.

Caleb pushed back his chair and crossed the room to the bar. He filled two glasses with brandy and returned to her side. He coaxed a drink into her hand and tapped the bottom to get her to put it to her lips. Then he leaned on the edge of the desk and emptied his in one shot.

"Tell me everything,” he said.
“From the beginning."

"I ... grew up in a back room of the Scarlet Garter in Kansas City,” Rebecca began haltingly. Then she went through the major happenings of her childhood.

"I overheard
Lilah
telling Mother I was old enough, at thirteen, to start working. Kate didn't argue. She seemed to agree quite readily. Said we could use the extra income. That's the night I ran away. I hid with the luggage on the back of a stagecoach until it stopped in Leavenworth. If Widow Fitzgerald hadn't taken me in, I probably would have ended up in an orphanage somewhere. Or back at the Scarlet Garter."

"And you never told Octavia Fitzgerald where you'd come from?"

"No. She probably would have understood, but if anyone else had found out, I would have been nothing more than the bastard daughter of a whore. Widow Fitzgerald taught me so much. When she died, I knew enough about sewing to continue with her business. It wasn't much, but I got by."

"I don't suppose it helped any when I refused to pay for Sabrina's dresses.” Caleb frowned slightly, ashamed of
himself
for being so stingy, keeping money from Rebecca that she probably needed for food, treating her like an overly avaricious merchant.

Her mouth lifted in a small smile. “No, it didn't help."

"So all your life you've been afraid someone would find out about your past."

She nodded, averting her gaze.

"Didn't you realize that the people in this town like you for who you are? I doubt they'd give a fig about who your mother is or where you grew up. The important thing is that you got away from that life and made something of yourself."

A single tear welled on her eyelashes and slipped down her cheek. “It does matter. How will you feel when everyone in church stares at you because you married a prostitute's daughter?” She placed a hand over the mound of her stomach. “How will this child react when he finds out his grandmother is a whore?"

A streak of fury ran down Caleb's spine. Intense love filled his heart, and he knew he would do anything to protect his child from that stigma. And he would do anything to protect the mother of that child.

"Why did your mother come looking for you? Why now?"

"She found out I'd married you."

His brow creased. “What's so important about that?"

"You're rich, Caleb,” she said softly. “Much richer than most people around here could ever hope to be."

The skin over his cheekbones tightened as he clenched his teeth. “I see. Yes, it stands to reason, then, that she would try to get money from you."

"She said if I didn't pay her five hundred dollars, she would make sure everyone in town heard about my past. And that I was with child before we married. Now she wants a thousand more to keep quiet."

"Son of a bitch!”
He hit the top of the desk with his fist,
then
shook the hand to relieve some of the sting.

"I'm sorry, Caleb. I should have told you, but I was so afraid you wouldn't understand. I was so afraid you would hate me."

Caleb looked at his wife and felt a warm, niggling sensation in the pit of his stomach. He ran a hand over her soft hair. “Why don't you go upstairs and rest. You look exhausted."

She nodded and rose, keeping her head down. “What about supper?"

One side of his mouth lifted. “I'll think of something,” he said and kissed her cheek. “Go get some sleep.” She walked to the door of the study and opened it, before leaving she turned and fixed him with a conned gaze. “Caleb. What are you going to do?"

He waved his hands, shooing her out of the room. “Don't worry,” he said. “Go to bed."

Closing the door behind her, he rested his temple against the hardwood panel and took a deep breath. “I'll think of something."

Caleb snapped the lid of his watch closed and slipped it back into his coat pocket. He leaned against the dingy, splintered wood of the wall of the Dog Tick, the dusty heel of one boot digging a rut in the dry earth.

The back door of the saloon opened, and a red-haired, haggard-looking woman stepped out. She looked first to the right and then to the left, finally spotting Caleb. Voices filtered out of the saloon, mostly female, a few male. The front doors had opened only an hour earlier.

"
Lookin
’ for something special, honey?” The woman ran a finger along the over-stuffed bodice of her bright red dress.

"You Kate?” he asked, intentionally keeping his eyes half closed, feigning disinterest.

"Sure am, sweetie. What can I do for you?"

She pressed against him, her heavy perfume invading his nostrils and almost choking off his next breath. Caleb pushed away from the side of the building, causing Kate to stagger back a few steps.

"For starters, you can leave my wife alone."

"I
ain't
never
messed with no man's wife,” the woman protested, waving her hands in denial. “It's not my style. If a man comes here, he's bound to get what he pays for, married or not. And I wouldn't be the only one to accommodate him."

"I don't think you understand,” Caleb said, tapping the brim of his hat up to reveal his eyes. He kept them glued on the woman before him. “You've been making a nuisance of yourself, and I want it to stop.
Leave Rebecca alone."

"Rebecca? Why, you must be my new son-in-law."

Kate wiped a hand on her skirt and held it out for him to shake. “Pleased to meet you."

He ignored the offering. “Sorry I can't say the same. I didn't come to make small talk. I came to warn you. Stay away from my wife."

"Did Rebecca tell you about me?
About her past?"

"I know everything, so you needn't bother trying to blackmail me the way you did your daughter.” He wanted to spit just to clear his mouth of the vile taste the thought left.
To blackmail your own flesh and blood, your own child.
Despicable.
And this was the woman who had raised Rebecca. It was a wonder she had turned out half decent, given the circumstances.

Kate twirled a length of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “So you wouldn't mind everyone in town knowing that your wife—your child's mother—is the daughter of a prostitute?"

"The truth?
No, I wouldn't.” Caleb took a step forward, rewarded by the widening of the woman's painted eyes. “But Rebecca would, and that's what matters."

She tugged at the small black bow at the center of her breasts. “Then maybe we can come to some sort of agreement to make sure no one finds out."

"Sounds good to me,” Caleb said. He dug into his front pocket and removed several bills. “You take this money, and the money my wife gave you yesterday, and see if you can't find your way back to Kansas City. Got it?"

Kate grabbed the money and counted it. “There's only fifty dollars here."

"That's right.
Which is more than you'd get for entertaining ten men a night.
Take it and get out of Leavenworth."

"But I wanted—"

"A thousand dollars, I know. But this is all you're going to get, so I suggest you take it and make the best of a bad situation."

"What makes you think I still won't tell?"

"Oh, I just thought you might be partial to that pretty neck of yours. You try to ruin my wife's good name—now or ever—and I'll see you swing for the crime of blackmail. Understood?"

For a moment Rebecca's mother was silent, and he expected her to argue. He was prepared to give her the whole goddamn one thousand dollars—which he had in his pocket—if it meant she would leave Rebecca alone. But he didn't think he would have to go that far.

He was right.

Kate tucked the money into her bodice and walked toward him.
“All right.
I'll take the money. Five hundred and fifty dollars is enough to keep me happy—and quiet.
For now."

"It better keep you happy until the day they put you in the ground.” He spat at her feet and walked away.

Rebecca moved down the staircase, shamefully aware of her swollen, red-rimmed eyes and of the lateness of the hour. Though Caleb had claimed not to hold her past against her, he hadn't come to bed last night, leaving her to cry herself to sleep.

She tiptoed into the dining room, pulling her robe closed and tightening the sash. The breakfast dishes had already been cleared, and the sounds of someone washing plates drifted from the kitchen. She pushed the swinging door open and stepped in. Megan, face ruddy with exertion, was bent over a tub of soapy water, her white apron soaked through.

Rebecca walked to her side and picked up a dish towel. “Would you like some help?"

Megan spun around and pressed a dripping hand to her heart. “Oh, Rebecca, you startled me.” She looked at her a bit oddly but simply said, “Yes, thank you."

Megan scrubbed clean an iron skillet and passed it to Rebecca to dry, saying, “I don't know how you cook breakfast every morning without going crazy."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, by the time the potatoes were brown, the eggs and ham were burned clean through. And then the food was cold before I could make coffee. Please don't leave me alone in here again.” Water splattered on the floor as she waved a hand to encompass the room.

"I won't,” Rebecca promised ashamed of having stayed abed so late. “But if I had to, you could always send your father and brother into town for breakfast. I'm sure Mrs. Wilkes would break her residents-only rule and give them a plate of bacon and eggs.” She set the last frying pan aside and draped the towel on a hook to dry.

"Speaking of Caleb,” Megan said, casting a curious glance in Rebecca's direction. “Did you and he have a fight?"

Rebecca flinched and turned away to straighten a set of linen napkins that was already perfectly neat. “No. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, he was all sullen and grumpy this morning, muttering something about bloodsuckers and gutter rats."

"And you thought he was talking about me?” Rebecca put her hands to her chest. “Oh, goodness, I'm flattered."

Megan's cheeks
pinkened
, and she gasped, “No, I didn't mean it that way. I just thought maybe you'd had an argument, and he was in a foul mood. I mean ... oh, I'm sorry."

Rebecca had to chuckle. “Don't worry so. I didn't take offense."

"Oh, good.
I have a bad habit of speaking before I consider how people will take what I have to say. The night of the Harvest Festival, I told
Anabelle
Archer that I thought she was being a little too flirtatious with Caleb, and she hasn't spoken to me since. I honestly didn't mean to upset her. I just thought she might find somewhere to prop her breasts other than Caleb's arm."

"You're joking.
Anabelle
actually threw herself at Caleb?"

"She all but pranced around naked for him."

Rebecca chuckled again, imagining Caleb enduring such a show from the young woman. But then she began to wonder if Caleb had enjoyed
Anabelle's
attentions.
And if so, just how much?
“What did Caleb think of her?” she asked, a bit more seriously.

"He nearly killed me for having suggested that she ask him to dance. If I hadn't distracted her while he got away, I'm sure he would have strangled me."

"So he didn't seem interested in her?"

"Not at all.
She's much too young and scatterbrained for him. Besides, he's got you now. What more could he want?"

A sweet, innocent young bride.
A wife who doesn't have a past that could shame him.
A woman who wouldn't embarrass him and his child.
Unbidden, moisture gathered in her eyes.

"Rebecca, what's wrong?” Megan put an arm around her shoulders.

She tried to answer, but her throat clogged with tears. She let Megan lead her through the house and out onto the porch for a breath of fresh, mid-morning air. They sat on the swing, which afforded a view of the trees and fields that stretched the distance between the house and town, keeping the Adams home secluded.

In the long minutes that followed, Rebecca cried more than she had in years. Everything seemed so bleak that she didn't know how her life would ever get back to any semblance of order.

Her mother wanted to drag her reputation through the swamp. Her husband hadn't spoken to her since she'd told him the truth, and despite his initial gentleness, perhaps after some reflection he intended to send her packing. She was starting to show, and was still often sick and overtired, and she would never be able to find a job to raise money before the baby was born. And who in the future would ever want a dress made by a seamstress with a bastard child?

Megan kept urging her to talk out what was troubling her, and she haltingly began to pour out the secrets of her tortured soul. But between her sobs and trembling, her words were incomprehensible.

"Calm down,” Megan said, rubbing Rebecca's back in a soothing circular motion. “I can't understand you."

Rebecca took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself and choose her words carefully. She finally told Megan about growing up in a brothel and about her mother's blackmail. About her many disagreements with Caleb and that they had married only because of the baby. She even admitted that their loveless marriage hurt, but that worse even than that was the fact that Caleb didn't seem to like her very much.

"What nonsense,” Megan said, giving her leg a squeeze. “Caleb is wild about you."

Rebecca rolled her eyes and all but snorted her disbelief. “I hardly think so."

"No, it's true. Even a blind man could see that my brother is totally smitten with you. He never takes his eyes off you during dinner. And papa says he's as restless as a caged bobcat until he can excuse himself for the evening and go upstairs with you. And do I have to remind you of what goes on then?"

Rebecca felt her face flush ten shades of red.

"I didn't think so.” Her sister-in-law grinned. “With all that evidence, how can you possibly think Caleb doesn't care about you?"

Rebecca turned her head and focused on a patch of blue and yellow wildflowers in the distance. When she answered, her words were soft and sad. “Caleb loves being in my bed, but he doesn't love me."

Megan reached over and took her hand, holding it firmly in her own. “Rebecca, you don't understand. To my brother, that's as close to love as he's ever gotten. Caleb doesn't know any other way of showing that he cares for you."

Rebecca frowned and faced Megan. “If he can only show his feelings in bed"—she blushed to so openly discuss such intimacies—"then he must have loved Sabrina Leslie, and all the other ladies he's kept for his pleasure."

"No, no.” Megan tapped her foot on the porch restlessly. “I don't know how to explain it exactly, but despite his dalliances, Caleb has always been rather cold toward women. It's as if he's built a wall around his heart to keep them out. He's been that way for as long as I can remember.
Ever since Josephine."

"Josephine?” Rebecca asked, her heart constricting at the sound of another woman's name, a woman from Caleb's past.

Megan shrugged. “I don't know her myself. I only know that anytime Mother or Father
talk
about Caleb's coldness toward women, they say it's because of Josephine.” She gave Rebecca a look. “He might tell you about her, if you ask."

Rebecca averted her gaze. She didn't know if she had the courage to pry into Caleb's past when their present was about as stable as a raft made of straw.

"Give him a chance,” Megan suggested, patting her hand in a sisterly gesture. “His heart may be buried deep right now, but it's still there."

Rebecca closed her eyes and called herself every kind of fool. She was the last person Caleb would ever trust after all the secrets she'd kept from him.

But maybe ... maybe if she could get him to talk about this woman who'd hurt him, this Josephine, no matter how much it hurt her own heart to hear about his last love, it would help her understand him better. After all, he now knew all about her sordid past. What could be worse than being raised in a brothel?

Caleb reached to hang his hat just inside the front door. It missed the hook and fell to the floor. He ignored it and leaned back against the door, thoroughly exhausted.

If the confrontation with Rebecca's mother hadn't been enough to wear him out, he'd also gone to talk to the marshal about the mess at Rebecca's house. On top of that, the Express had been busier than usual. Caleb had sent his father home hours ago and stayed to finish the day's work. He would return the bay mare he'd rented to the livery in the morning.

All he wanted now was to drop into bed and sleep.

Rebecca came into the foyer from the dining room, an odd sparkle in her eyes. She bent to pick up his hat, placing it on the row of hooks.

"Your father said you'd be home late. He and Megan have already eaten and retired."