Kary, Elizabeth (24 page)

Pincheon's
were heady words, but there was a pragmatic side to Banister's nature that
demanded the particulars of this operation. "How soon do we need to leave?
And how will we get behind Confederate lines?" Hayes demanded.

"Grant
will be mobilizing in Cairo any day now, so the sooner you and Travis can get
on your way, the better. As for the other, Travis has had a great deal of
practice with just this kind of maneuver, and I commend you to his care."

Hayes
frowned. Essentially, he and Nathan Travis would be spies, moving behind enemy
lines like two wraiths, caught up in deception and intrigue. Hayes did not
welcome such a role. He had always preferred to tackle problems head-on, not
through guile and cunning. Besides, he needed time in St. Louis to resolve
things with Leigh before he went off to risk his life for the Union. He didn't
like the secrecy of the assignment, the urgency, or the odds. Still, he was
being compelled to accept it in spite of his misgivings.

"I
can't leave sooner than the middle of next week," he negotiated.

Pincheon
frowned but nodded, both agreeing with Hayes's request for time and dismissing
him. The interview was over, and Hayes could not help but be overwhelmed by the
changes the past hour had made in his life.

"By
the way, Banister," Pincheon added as the younger man rose to go,
"the letters you sent Travis about the troop movements in Tennessee gave
him the warning he needed to get out of there before things got too tight. But
how did you know about General Buell's maneuvers ahead of time? And who sent
your letters through the lines?"

Hayes
grinned, pleased that the "Christmas messages" he had sent through
contacts from his days with the underground railroad had reached and alerted
Travis to the presence of Yankee patrols and the uproar they would cause.
"I keep my ears open at Eads's office and at the social gatherings
I attend; from
the things our officers let slip, it's not hard to guess what's going to
happen." It was the truth, though any loyal Northerner might wish it
otherwise.

"You'd
make a damned good spy, you know," Pincheon offered, his eyes narrowed
consideringly. "If it's that easy to glean information, I'll have to send
General Halleck a note asking him to talk to his officers about commenting too
freely on Union maneuvers. But how did you get the letters to Travis so quickly?"

Again
Hayes grinned. "A young lady I know sent them for me. It seems there are
quite a lot of letters smuggled out of St. Louis to the Confederacy."

Pincheon's
frown deepened. "I'll have to do something about that as well,
I suppose. These
Rebel women can be damn clever."

Banister
chuckled, thinking about Leigh's reluctance in posting the messages for him. If
she'd had any idea what the letters to his relatives had really said, she would
never have sent them. But the messages to his "Uncle Nate" had been
carefully coded to seem like nothing more than inquiries about his family's
health and welfare. Banister smiled again, and his host rose to see him to the
door.

"Let
me wish you good luck, Banister," Pincheon offered. "What you'll be
doing for us is important and dangerous work. You deserve credit for
undertaking it so willingly."

Willingly?
If this had been willingness, Hayes wondered what reticence would be like, or
outright refusal. Aloud he acknowledged the other man's words. "I know
that, sir. And
in spite of what I said, I intend to serve my country faithfully."

Outside,
Travis was waiting, sitting in a straight-backed chair at the end of the hall.
In the split second when his coal-black eyes met Pincheon's, Hayes felt
communication flash between them. "He's one of us now," the
intelligence officer said softly.

And
just as softly came Travis's reply: "I'll take good care of him, then.
Don't you worry."

Within
moments, Hayes and Travis were outside on the street, headed toward a nearby
tavern. Once settled at a table in one corner with two glasses and a bottle of
whiskey between them, they discussed their imminent departure for the Tennessee
backcountry.

"I've
some loose ends to tie up," Hayes insisted stubbornly when Travis pressed
him for a speedy departure. "Some things I can't just go off and
leave." As he spoke, Leigh's face rose up before him, and he blinked the
image away.

Travis
considered him for a long moment, then frowned. "Well, since you're going
to need some time in St. Louis, I think I'll pay a visit to someone in
Cairo."

Travis
had given no hint that he was going to see a woman, but instinctively Hayes
knew who it was. "Delia Dobbins?" he asked softly.

Travis
poured himself a whiskey and took a long swallow before he answered. "I
never thought I'd find another woman..."

Nathan's
voice trailed off, but there was no need to say more. Hayes knew how Travis
felt: awed, reluctant, a little frightened by the feelings growing inside him.
A bittersweet smile of understanding twisted his mouth.

***

January 20, 1862—St. Louis, Missouri

"Oh
no!" Leigh muttered as she pushed open the hospital's main door and saw
Hayes Banister in his usual place under the street lamp. After that last
afternoon on the
Barbara Dean,
Leigh had hoped never to set eyes on the
man again, but Hayes was waiting, just as he had been every day for the past
week. During the leave she had been granted to recover from the shock of
Lucas's death, Hayes's presence outside the hospital had been the cause of much
speculation. Now she would be forced to face him for the first time since that
awful afternoon under the scrutiny of dozens of eyes.

He
had obviously seen her in the doorway, and it was too late to retreat. Perhaps
it was better to face him and get things settled once and for all, Leigh
reflected, resigned to her fate. There was nothing to do but descend the steps
and inform him of the course she had decided to follow.

In
the past days of solitude, Leigh had come to realize that avoiding Hayes and
denying any feelings she might have for him was the only suitable penance for
having betrayed Lucas's love. It was neither fair nor right to spurn a man who
had done nothing more than what she asked, a man who had offered her passion in
the name of solace, a man who had proved himself her friend time and again. But
only the vow to turn away from Hayes would appease her nagging conscience. She
had known for a long time that she eventually would be forced to admit to and
then deny any feelings she might harbor for Hayes Banister. Now that time seemed
at hand.

Hayes's
expression was grave as he approached the bottom of the steps, his eyes
searching her face as if seeking some clue to how he would be received.
"It's good to see you, Leigh," he greeted her. "I've been very
concerned about you."

"I've
been as well as can be expected, under the circumstances," she told him
softly. Her words conveyed meanings no others could hear.

He
was quiet for a moment as he studied her, the intensity of his pale blue gaze
like an inquisition. Leigh steeled herself to accept his scrutiny, wondering if
he would notice the dark smudges beneath her eyes and guess at their cause.
Would he suspect that she had lain awake night after night remembering both the
past she had shared with Lucas and those intimate hours in Hayes's cabin on the
Barbara
Dean?
Was
it possible he could know about the strange, bittersweet longing that filled
her at the memory of his hands and mouth upon her body or her particular
horror at the
response she had given him? Could he even guess at her pain in resolving to
turn aside his friendship for the sake of what was now nothing more than a
broken promise and the memory of love?

"I've
rented a carriage," he said, breaking into the awkward silence as he
gestured to the vehicle at the curb. "I was hoping you would allow me to
see you home."

"It
is kind of you to offer, but I—"

"Leigh,
please, I really think it would be wise for us to talk."

Hers
had been a token protest, and she was resigned to this conversation as
inevitable. But the steel beneath his polite words underlined a determination
she had not expected to find in him. With a mute nod of assent, Leigh allowed
herself to be handed into the closed carriage.

Once
the cab had begun to roll, Hayes faced her squarely. "Leigh," he
began with unaccustomed gravity, "Leigh, I want you to marry me."

The
statement, without warning or preamble, stunned Leigh, and it took her a moment
to respond. She had not expected Hayes to offer her the protection of his name
after what had passed between them. It had been something quite different from
the seduction that usually elicited such a proposal, and the noble sentiments
that must have prompted it made it so much more difficult to do what she must.

"Is
this sudden offer an attempt to do the honorable thing for a woman whose virtue
you've sullied?" she burst out when she caught her breath. "Well, I
assure you, Hayes, it's not necessary. You're hardly responsible for what we
did the other day on the riverboat, and I am quite willing to admit I threw
myself at your head."

"I
don't want you to admit anything," Hayes stated flatly. "I want you
to marry me."

His
obdurate tone stirred some contrary part of her nature, making her refusal
sharper than she'd intended. "I can't. No, I won't. I don't want to see
you ever again, Hayes, much less marry you."

He
was obviously prepared to be patient. "Be sensible, Leigh," he urged
her. "There are consequence to what we did—"

"Yes,
Hayes, I'm well aware of that."

"Then
since you are, there can be no question about what we must do. After what
happened, you could be pregnant, and I am willing to take the responsibility if
you are."

There
was nothing romantic about this proposal, and somehow that stung. Lucas had
played the gallant the afternoon he had asked Leigh to marry him, bringing her
flowers, taking her hand in his and dropping dramatically to one knee as he
spoke of his love and asked her to be his wife. Hayes's words were cold and
businesslike, a bargain being struck between them. It was as if he were
offering a trade of her virginity for the protection of his name.

"That's
very generous," she conceded, "and your concern for my welfare does
you credit, but I assure you, Hayes, there is no need to marry me."

"Are
you certain?"

It
was clear what he was asking, and her cheeks flamed brilliant red. As a nurse
she was well aware of how a woman knew she was carrying a child, but having a
discussion about her own bodily functions filled her with embarrassment.
"Not positive, no," she answered, her voice tremulous.

"Well,
then, I think it's obvious what we must do."

He
was not going to make this easy for her, and she steeled herself to continue,
strangely piqued that there should be no tenderness in what he was proposing.
He was not offering her emotional ties, nor was he asking for love in return.
Instead he was taking the blame and accepting the consequences for something
that was her fault alone. Somehow that realization devastated her, and Leigh
looked past him out the window, with the ache of unshed tears in her throat.

Marriage
should not be a punishment for past mistakes, but a pledge to the future that
would bring love and joy to both parties. It should be a melding of two wills
and lives. But then, she asked herself tiredly, how could there ever be joy in
a union between her and Hayes now? It would be a union based in ill-considered
passion, a union begun in the ashes of another love. Lucas would always be
between them, just as her feelings for Hayes would forever have stood between
her and Lucas Hale. Startled by the unwelcome admission, Leigh forced the
thought away.

She
had never set much store by marriage anyway. Knowing it was not just tender
feelings that had brought her own parents together, she had never been able to
believe in the rosy dreams of love that most girls cherished. Yet Leigh had
been willing to chance marriage with Lucas. Even as she considered the paradox
within her own nature, she understood the reason she had accepted his suit. It
was because Lucas had been safe, familiar, and secure; because she had known
him all her life and trusted him implicitly. And now that Lucas was dead, she
would never again know that kind of certainty, that kind of security with any
other man. Only with Lucas had there been any chance of contentment.

Surely
a marriage between people as diverse as Hayes and she could not succeed. It was
madness to consider it. What had brought them together was her need for comfort
and the transient physical bond that had turned desire into fleeting delight.
How could anything so ephemeral promise a future, something that would grow and
endure? Didn't she know firsthand the consequences of a marriage based in lust?
Hayes was a fine man, a man of strength and conviction, as his proposal of
marriage attested. And because he was such a man, he deserved a woman far
better than she. Surely a union between them could only end in unhappiness and
in an intimate disaster she could neither cause nor bear.