Conor's Way (36 page)

It scared the hell out of him.

He eased away until he was no longer touching
her, then turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He could
leave. Right now. He could get up, put on his clothes, and walk out
while she slept. Leaving a woman was easy. He'd done it dozens of
times.

He didn't move.

He lay still, listening to the soft rhythm of
her breathing, and thought about all the reasons why it made sense
to leave now while she was still asleep. That way, there would be
no awkward silences or emotional scene. No bloody tears, no injured
feminine pride, no wounded brown eyes to haunt him after he had
walked away.

He didn't move.

He hated being tied down. But he'd been tied
down two months now. It suffocated him to get close. But he hadn't
felt suffocated when he'd first woken, holding her in his arms.
He'd felt a moment of contentment, hadn't he? A moment of
peace.

He shoved away that fanciful thought the
moment it came. To Olivia, land, home, family, and honor were
everything. But to Conor, they were all the things that had been
taken from him, all the things he couldn't bear to lose again.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been honest with
her. It wasn't as if he'd given her any false hopes. She'd come to
him last night; he'd given her what she wanted because he had
wanted it, too. That was the end of it. He'd promised to stay until
her harvest, and her harvest was over. There was no reason to stay
with her a moment longer.

He didn't move.

He couldn't leave yet. He couldn't let her
make the trip back alone. She needed him to drive the second wagon.
Besides, it was dangerous for a woman to travel alone. He had to
stay with her long enough to get her home to her farm and her girls
where she belonged. Then he'd leave. He hauled himself out of bed
and pulled on his under-drawers and trousers, then walked across
the room to pick up his shirt. He wondered why it seemed like the
longest walk of his life.

***

Olivia woke slowly. With a huge yawn, she
lifted her arms above her head and stretched, grimacing at the
twinge of pain that shot through her muscles. She felt stiff and a
bit sore, as if she'd been riding horseback too long, but she also
felt gloriously alive and incredibly happy. She was a fallen woman,
she reminded herself, trying to feel ashamed.

Memories of the night before came rushing
back. She smiled even as she blushed, unable to feel properly
guilty. She opened her eyes and found him already awake, dressed,
and seated in a chair across the room, watching her. To her
surprise, her carpetbag was on the floor beside his chair.

She stirred beneath his gaze, feeling shy and
flustered and very feminine. "Good morning," she said, brushing
her hair out of her eyes and drawing the sheet around herself as
she sat up.

"Good morning." He turned his face away, and
her happiness vanished.

He was sitting right in front of her, but he
wasn't really there. He'd already withdrawn into himself, retreated
behind his walls. He was an isolated stranger. Again.

Raw pain ripped through her, but she did not
show it. She could not. It would be too humiliating. She lowered
her gaze to the sheets and fought to keep her face expressionless,
but after a moment she took a peek at him from beneath her lashes
and realized it didn't matter. He wasn't even looking at her.

He gestured to a tray on the table beside his
chair. "I thought you might want some breakfast and coffee," he
said, studying the covered plate and silver coffeepot on the tray
as if he found them fascinating.

"Thank you."

"You'll have to eat it quickly," he went on.
"It's after seven o'clock and the maid will be bringing water and
towels at about half past. We'd best be going, anyway. It's a long
drive back." He rose to his feet without looking at her. He
gestured to her carpetbag. "I brought your things in here, and put
my things in your room. I'll meet you downstairs in an hour."

Her grip on the sheet tightened, and she held
it around herself as if it were a shield. "Of course," she said
stiffly, and watched him leave, closing the door behind him.

She pushed back the covers and immediately
saw the bloodstains that marked her thighs and the sheets. Shocked,
she stared down at the dark smears, knowing full well it wasn't
time for her monthly illness. It must have come from what had
happened last night. She hadn't realized that she had bled; it
really hadn't hurt that much.

The physical pain seemed insignificant now,
but the emotional pain was a different matter entirely.

She closed her eyes, struggling against the
hurt of his withdrawal even as she accepted the inevitability of
his imminent departure. She'd known all along he was just passing
through her life. It wasn't his fault she'd developed foolish
wishes about him; it wasn't his fault she'd fallen in love with
him.

When he was gone, she would still have her
girls and her home to get her through the days, and she would have
memories of him to get her through the nights. But at this moment,
that thought brought very little comfort.

***

The sewing party for Kate Johnson was already
well under way by the time the guest of honor made her appearance.
The ladies of Callersville had been arriving at the white frame
house behind the mercantile in a steady stream ever since ten
o'clock, accompanied by sewing baskets and quilting hoops, until
Lila Miller's tiny parlor was filled to overflowing. All of the
ladies were working on quilts and clothes for Kate's new baby, of
course, but the real reason for any such gathering was to exchange
recipes, advice, and gossip. Gossip, most of all.

Cara Johnson and Becky pulled their younger
sisters out of the way as all the ladies crowded into the foyer to
see Kate and gush over the baby. The universal opinion seemed to be
that he looked just like his daddy.

"I see you brought Olivia's girls," Martha
Chubb said, with a nod to Becky and her sisters, as the ladies
settled themselves back in their chairs and resumed their
sewing.

"Peach harvest," Kate reminded them, gladly
handing over Robert Thomas to her oldest daughter, who immediately
began showing him off to those friends who hadn't yet seen her baby
brother. Kate sat down beside Becky on one of the settees and
pulled out her knitting. "Since Nate's not here to take her peaches
to Monroe, Olivia's gone there herself. The girls are staying with
us until she gets back tonight."

Martha frowned with disapproval. "Really,
Olivia is becoming quite eccentric, leaving her girls to be cared
for by others, to go gadding about the countryside alone. And
she'll have to stay in a hotel—unchaperoned, of course. It's
shocking."

"Quite shocking," Emily Chubb echoed her
sister.

Becky's head shot up at these comments. She
glanced over at Miranda and Carrie, who had stopped their game of
checkers to listen, and it made her angry that Martha would say
things like that in front of her little sisters. She frowned at the
woman. "I don't think you should say things like that about my
mama. It's rude."

"Shush, child," Martha said with a dismissive
wave of her hand. "Young ladies speak only when spoken to."

Becky fell silent at the rebuke and lowered
her head, but her cheeks grew hot as Martha went on, "Olivia's
behavior since her father's death has been less than decorous, but
going to Monroe alone? It's indecent."

"Martha!" Kate lowered her knitting needles
to give the other woman a piece of her mind. "That's not fair. How
is she supposed to get her peaches to market otherwise? She's been
trying to find help. In fact, she told him—"

"And that's another thing," Martha
interrupted, with a decisive nod that set the feather of her bonnet
bouncing. "Advertising all over the four parishes for a farmhand.
Shameless."

"Appalling," Emily added.

Becky pushed her needle through the doily she
was embroidering, too furious to notice what she was doing, and
jabbed her finger hard enough to draw blood. She winced and dropped
her sewing to suck the tip of her finger, wishing she could tell
Martha Chubb just what she thought of her, the old busybody.

Kate sat up straighter in her chair. "And how
else is Olivia supposed to find a farmhand?" she demanded. "Land
sakes, Martha, Olivia's had enough trouble in her life. Leave her
be."

Martha started to interrupt, but Kate drew a
deep breath and went on, her voice rising as fast as her temper.
"The Harlan boys all got drunk the other night and went out to her
place. They threw rocks in her windows and scared the girls nearly
half to death. Olivia had to use a shotgun to get rid of them. We
heard the shots clear over at our place, and Olivia told us about
what happened when she dropped off the girls yesterday."

"A shotgun?" Martha lifted her hands in an
expansive gesture and sniffed. "That's exactly the kind of thing
I'm talking about. Shotguns. I can't think what's gotten into
Olivia."

"I think Olivia's a brave woman who's
managing as best she can," Kate answered. "Furthermore, I probably
wouldn't even be here if it hadn't been for her. She helped deliver
Robert Thomas. I was having such a hard time, and she helped me.
Why, I might have died without Olivia."

Kate glanced over at Becky, and the girl shot
the woman a grateful look for coming to her mother's defense when
she'd been prevented from doing that herself. She felt a hand on
her shoulder and she turned to look at Carrie, who had moved to
stand beside her chair, Miranda right behind her.

"Why are the Chubb sisters saying mean things
about Mama?" Carrie whispered.

"Because they're nasty old busybodies," Becky
answered through clenched teeth, glaring at Martha and Emily.
"That's why."

Kate leaned forward in her chair and spoke
again. "We all know it was Vernon who sent the Harlan boys out
there, and we all know why. He wants Olivia's land to build that
railroad of his with his wife's Yankee money. He's done the same
thing to half the folks around here. I say good for Olivia for
standing up to him!"

Becky wanted to cheer.

"Need I remind you that Vernon donated a new
organ to the church last year?" Martha said acidly.

"That's because Vernon thinks he can buy
anything," Kate shot back, with a toss of her blond head, "even a
place in heaven."

Lila, as the hostess, tried to intervene and
stop the discussion before tempers flared any higher. She grabbed
the plate of tea cakes from the table before her and rose to her
feet. "Would anyone care for a cake?"

She was ignored by everyone except Miranda,
who adored sweets and was close enough to take her up on that
offer.

"I hardly think blasphemy is necessary,
Kate." Martha settled back in her chair as a queen might on her
throne, fully aware that she had everyone's attention. "Olivia
shouldn't be trying to run Peachtree herself anyway. She should
have sold that land when her father died."

"Balderdash!" was Kate's decisive
response.

Other voices began to rise as the point was
debated among the ladies present. But when Martha spoke again, her
formidable voice rose above the others.

"I realize that, as her friend, you feel
compelled to defend her, Kate; but really, this trip to Monroe
passes all bounds of feminine decency. Going all that way
alone!"

Some of the ladies nodded agreement, and the
discussion began again.

"But Mama's not alone," Miranda piped up,
reaching for another of the cakes on Lila's tray. "Mr. Conor's with
her."

The low murmurs of the ladies faded into
silence.

"Miranda, you weren't supposed to tell
anybody about Mr. Conor!" Carrie cried, scowling at her sister.
"Mama said it was a secret."

Miranda dropped the cake back onto the plate
and clapped a hand over her mouth, giving her sister a contrite
glance. "I forgot."

Becky glanced around at the circle of
horrified faces, with a sinking feeling of dismay.

Martha leaned forward and gave Miranda a hard
stare, "Just who is this Mr. Conor, child?"

Becky remembered her mother's words about how
easily a girl could lose her reputation just by walking out with a
boy, and the ramifications of Miranda's innocent comment about
Mama and Mr. Conor suddenly hit her. She lowered her face into her
hands. "Oh, no," she whispered. "Oh, no."

Because they'd gotten a late start out of
Monroe, it was dark by the time Olivia and Conor reached the
Johnson farm to pick up the girls. She halted her wagon beside the
lane that led to their home, and when Conor pulled his wagon to a
halt beside hers, she asked him to wait for her there, then turned
her wagon down the lane, the moon lighting her way.