Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (27 page)

An anguished cry escaped Rachel. How could he have figured it out just from her attitude? She felt a sob claw its way up her throat and pressed a fist to her mouth to hold it back.

“Oh, my dear!” Edward said in a tortured voice, rolling his chair over to her and putting a consoling hand on her shoulder. “How hard it must have been for you to keep that secret all this time.”

“I would never have told you,” she said as tears slipped down her cheeks. “Never.”

“I know that, you hard-headed, silly girl. Would you like to tell me about it? The abridged version, of course,” he asked with an awkward attempt at a smile.

Why not? Rachel thought. Perhaps if she told him how it had happened and how she'd felt, it would release some of the guilt and misery that had made her prickly and skeptical and robbed her of so much joy through the years.

“There isn't much to tell,” she said almost thoughtfully. She told him how she'd come home from school and found Gabe at her boardinghouse. “I was so lonely and homesick, and it was so good to see a familiar face...” Her voice trailed away. “I invited him in and we had lemonade.

“As he was leaving, he asked me to dinner the next night and we spent every day together after I got home from school,” she said, allowing long-suppressed memories their freedom. “He brought me flowers from a street vendor, took me out to eat at fancy restaurants, bought me trinkets and told me all sorts of wonderful, fantastic stories of the places he'd been and hoped to go.”

Her tears ran freely as the memories continued to tumble out. “He teased me, and it was—” she gave a huge hiccuping sob “—so nice to laugh. Every evening, he insisted I tell him about what I'd done and what I'd learned. He was just so encouraging, both about my studies and...just everything. I told him all about my dearest hopes and dreams.”

She took the handkerchief Edward offered, mopped at her eyes and blew her running nose.

“He made me believe that all of those hopes and dreams could come true. I fell in love with him,” she said, summing everything up in those few words. “I'm sure you can figure out the rest.”

“I think I understand,” Edward said when she ran out of words. “Your upbringing gave you little or no defense. You had no idea how to guard your heart. So tell me why he left. Did you quarrel?”

Rachel shook her head. “Nothing like that. I thought things were going along just fine. And then I came home from school one day, and he'd left a note with Mrs. Abernathy that said a friend had caught up with him and talked him into taking a paddle wheeler to New Orleans. It was supposed to be great fun, and he'd always wanted to go there. He said the next time he was in town, he'd look me up and we'd go to dinner.”

“That's it?” Edward said, with a look of disbelief.

“Oh, no. He said it had been a fun few weeks and that he'd never forget me.”

She laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. “I was so ashamed,” she said in an anguished whisper. “I'd ruined my whole life. That was bad enough, but when I found out I was going to have a baby, I was terrified. I thought I'd figured out a way that no one would ever find out. Then Sarah showed up and sent all my plans tumbling down.”

Tears spilled down Rachel's cheeks. “I know bearing my shame was hard for you and Mother, especially after I came home, and I know my actions are what brought on her death, but I want to thank you for never once throwing it back in my face and for...for making me...k-keep Danny.” She choked on another sob.

Edward gave her hand an awkward pat. “Your mother had a heart condition, Rachel. Her health had been going downhill for more than a year. Her passing so soon after you came back was just an unfortunate coincidence. She loved you and she adored Danny.”

He smiled. “And as for that young scamp, I hope I didn't
make
you do anything. I hope I just encouraged you to do what you really wanted. I know you well, my precious girl, and I don't believe you'd have been able to live with yourself if you'd given him up. And selfishly, I couldn't bear the thought of strangers bringing up my flesh and blood—or worse, him being put into an orphanage and never knowing the joys of real family. He's a delight, Rachel. I can't imagine life without him.”

“Neither can I.”

“Besides,” he added, “I've never been one to think that two wrongs make a right.”

For long moments, the fire popped and crackled while Rachel worked at regaining her composure.

“What do you plan to do now?” Edward asked, at last.

“Do? About what?”

“Gabe. How do you feel about him after all this time?”

“Nothing,” she snapped. “I plan to
do
nothing and I
feel
nothing but anger toward him. I hope and pray that he'll leave town again as soon as he's able, which will suit me just fine.”

“And if he doesn't? It will certainly be a test, won't it? How long do you think it will take before he figures things out?”

Rachel's face drained of color. “What are you saying?”

There was no compromise in Edward's eyes. “You need to tell Gabe the truth. Danny, too.”

Her horrified gaze met his. “I can't!”

“Listen to me, Rachel. You need to tell Danny before someone else sees the resemblance and starts spreading it around town. Believe me, as hard as it may be, he'll be much better off hearing the truth from you than someone else. They both will.”

Chapter Two

C
hristmas Eve morning dawned crisp and cold. Just as dawn was breaking, Rachel rose from the cot beside Gabe's bed and lit the lamp.

He had rested well in his laudanum-induced sleep, but she had not been so blessed. Sleep had eluded her, as thoughts and recollections tumbled round and round in her mind like colorful fragments in a kaleidoscope. Besides a jumble of troubling memories, her mind replayed the conversation with her father again and again.

She couldn't believe how light her heart felt since sharing the secret she'd carried alone for so long. Who would have thought that something that seemed so small could weigh so heavily on a heart? She would be eternally grateful that her father's love and support had not wavered, even after learning the truth.

She knew Edward was right about telling Danny about Gabe, yet the very thought of doing so filled her with dread. How would she find the words? What would Danny say...and think?

She stoked the dying fire and went to see how Gabe was doing, busying herself with changing his bandages and checking his temperature. Her ministering seemed to agitate him, and he began to move about. When she tried to restrain him, he cried out and opened his eyes. Thankfully she saw no recollection there, no wicked, teasing gleam, nothing but agony. The doctor in her wanted him to be pain free and improve under her care; the woman in her shrank from the moment he would open his eyes and look up at her with recognition.

What would he see when he awakened? What would he think when he saw her for the first time in nine years? She turned toward the mirror hanging above the washstand, drawn to it like a June bug to the light. Her reflection wavered in the flickering light of the oil lamp.

She stared at herself for long moments and then, womanlike, rubbed at her forehead with her fingertips as if she could massage away the few slight creases she saw there, lines etched by her deep concern for her patients.

Exposure to the elements in all sorts of weather had tanned her face and hands despite the bonnet she wore, and squinting against the sun had left tiny lines at the corners of her eyes. Despite regular treatments of lemon juice, a faint spattering of freckles dotted her nose.

Age and Danny's birth had added a few pounds, but according to her father, it was weight she needed. Strangely, her face was thinner than it had been nine years ago, refined by age and life.

She had no illusions. She no longer looked twenty-two. Shouldering the responsibilities that went hand in hand with the demands of her father's practice had taken its toll on her in many ways.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, would Gabe still think her fair at all?

Would he even recognize her? What would he say? What would she? Would he be the shocking flirt she recalled, or would he be filled with contrition?

Telling herself she was a fool for wasting so much as a thought on him, she went back to the bed and dabbed some antiseptic to the cut on Gabe's face.

As she tended to his needs, her mind turned to Caleb's ambivalent feelings about his brother's return. She could relate to them only too well. Like Caleb, and even though she knew that not to pardon Gabe jeopardized her own forgiveness, she couldn't imagine any scenario that would make her feel differently about the man who had taken everything she had to give and walked away as if it meant nothing to him.

Then why are you having such contradictory thoughts about him?

She had no answer for that.

Satisfied that he was fine for the moment, she went to the kitchen, rekindled the fire in the stove and filled the coffeepot. While she waited for the stove to get hot enough to start breakfast, she opened her Bible. Instead of reading, she flipped the pages until she found the pressed petunia she'd placed there. A gift from Gabe, plucked from Mrs. Abernathy's flower bed and tucked behind Rachel's ear when they'd returned from a walk.
“A memento of this evening.”

She could picture the half-light of dusk, could almost hear the sounds of children playing and smell the sweet scent of the petunias dancing in the breeze. Felt again the light brush of his lips against hers. A small, impromptu gesture was so like him. She planned. Gabe lived for the moment.

Impatient with her unruly thoughts, she slammed her Bible shut and began to slice the bacon, placing the strips into the cold cast-iron skillet. Gathering the ingredients for buttermilk biscuits, she measured and mixed flour, salt and leavening and started working the lard into the flour with her fingertips, finding comfort in the simplicity of the everyday task.

Seeing that the stove was hot, she set the skillet of bacon over the heat. After adding just the right amount of buttermilk, she pinched off a biscuit-size piece of dough and deftly rolled the edges under to make it reasonably smooth and round. Placing it into the greased pan, she made a dimple in the center with her knuckle.

Danny, his dark hair standing on end and covering a yawn, came into the kitchen as she was filling the slight indentations with a small dollop of extra lard, just the way her mama had done.

“Good morning,” she said, sliding the pan into the oven.

“Morning.”

She wiped her hands on a wet cloth and sighed as she watched him pour a splash of coffee into a tin cup and fill it to the brim with milk and two spoons full of sugar. He'd started having morning “coffee milk,” as he called it, when Edward had started sharing his own sweetened brew. When she'd questioned the wisdom of the action, Edward had assured her that it was more milk than anything else and maintained it was fine; it hadn't hurt her, had it?

Grandparents! she thought, lifting the crispy strips of bacon onto a platter. If she didn't remain vigilant, no telling how Edward would spoil Danny. But how could she deny him his little indulgences when he had taken on a very special role in Danny's life? Not only was he the child's grandfather, he'd been the closest thing to a father as he was ever likely to know.

Until now.

With her father's words ringing through her mind, Rachel searched her son's face for anything that might give away his paternity. He definitely had Gabe's long, lush eyelashes, as well as the slant of his eyebrows. The dimple in Danny's chin would be a dead giveaway as he grew closer to manhood and his jawline firmed the way his father's had.

His father. Rachel stifled a groan. How could she not think of him when he lay just down the hall? Resolutely, she opened a jar of red plum jam one of her patients had given her in lieu of payment for stitching up a nasty cut.

“Are you excited about going to the Gentrys' tomorrow?” she asked Danny as she smoothed down the recalcitrant “rooster tail” sticking up from the crown of his dark head.

He nodded, his eyes bright. “I made a present for baby Eli.”

“Really? What did you make?”

“Roland gave me some old cedar shingles and helped me drill some holes on one edge so I could put some leather laces through them. I painted Ben's, Betsy's and Laura's names on them with different colors. I made one for Eli yesterday. I thought Miss Abby could hang it on the end of his cradle.”

“That was very sweet of you, Danny.”

“I made some for the Carruthers kids, too,” he said. “I thought they could hang them on the wall above their beds.”

“I'm sure everyone will love them,” she said, marveling as she often did at what a thoughtful child he was.

Feeling blessed to have him, she peeked at the biscuits. “Almost done,” she announced. “How many eggs do you want?”

“Two,” he said promptly. “Soft.”

“I'll have two, myself,” Edward said from the doorway.

“Coming right up,” Rachel said, reaching for the brown crockery bowl that held the eggs she bought from a lady in town.

“I've been thinking about tomorrow,” she said, cracking the first egg into the sizzling bacon grease.

As they had the previous year, the Stones had planned to have their Christmas meal with the Gentrys and Caleb's former in-laws, the Emersons. “Why don't I stay here with Gabe and you and Danny go to Abby and Caleb's?”

“Absolutely not!” Edward told her. “You and Danny go, and I'll stay here with Gabe. You can bring me back a plate.”

“It will be stone cold in this weather,” she argued.

“Then we'll warm it up in the oven. Really, Rachel, you go. It's a special day for Danny, and it's seldom you get much uninterrupted time with him. Besides, it will give you the opportunity to check on Abby and the baby.”

He had a point. Rachel put the first two eggs onto a plate and set it in front of him. The hot biscuits and a bowl of fresh-churned butter were placed on the table next to a platter of bacon. She looked from the determination in her father's eyes to the hopeful expression in Danny's. “If you're sure...” she said. “We'll be gone most of the day.”

“I'm sure. Gabe is stable, and I think I can handle anything that comes up during that short time. Besides—” he shot a smile toward Danny “—I can read that new book on Italy you're giving me for Christmas.”

“Edward Stone!” Rachel cried, her eyes widening in disbelief. “How do you know you got a book about Italy?”

Edward's eyes twinkled. “Never tell an eight-year-old anything you don't want repeated.”

Rachel pinned her son with a familiar, narrow-eyed look. “You little rascal!” she said. “Christmas presents are supposed to be a secret.”

“I didn't exactly
tell
him,” Danny hedged, slathering a biscuit with butter. “He just asked me a buncha questions and sorta guessed.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Rachel said, trying to fix her father with that same stern look and failing as her mouth began to twitch with the beginnings of a smile. It was no secret that when it came to Christmas and secrecy, Edward Stone was a total failure.

“You're as bad as he is,” she charged. “Worse. At least he's just a child.”

Stifling a smile, Edward said, “It's settled, then. You and Danny are going. Now don't you need to see to those eggs?”

* * *

With the cookies all baked, Rachel spent the day stirring up pumpkin pies and an apple cake liberally laced with raisins and the black walnuts she and Edward had cracked and painstakingly picked out.

Finished with the baking, she and Danny loaded up their goodies and made deliveries to the Carruthers family and a widow or two who had a hard time making ends meet.

By the time their visits were over and they'd finished the evening meal, she was pleasantly weary. The day had been so busy that at times she was able to forget the man lying in the bedroom down the way. Danny helped with the dishes, and they were getting ready to begin their yearly Christmas Eve ritual when an agonized cry came from Gabe's room.

Tossing her dish towel onto the table, Rachel ran toward the sound, throwing the door open against the wall in her haste.

Gabe lay on his back, just as he had been, but as she neared the bed she realized that he was fully awake. His eyes were shadowed with pain that became stunned disbelief as he struggled to raise himself up to his uninjured elbow.

“Rachel?” His voice was deep and husky, as if he were getting over a bad sore throat. Looking to blame him for everything, she'd often thought that his voice was the first weapon he'd used in his insidious assault on her senses. Now, even in her concern, she imagined she heard a hint of wonder in his voice.

“Lie still,” she commanded, placing a restraining hand against his shoulder. Offering him no time to formulate a reply, she continued, “What on earth were you thinking trying to get up? You might have injured yourself worse than you already are.”

Ever professional even in her irritation, she placed gentle, questing fingers against his bound ribs. “Does it hurt?” she asked, unaware that the question was somewhat silly under the circumstances. She just wanted to get him easy again and steer clear of the feelings churning inside her now that they were face-to-face.

Despite the pain and grogginess reflected in his eyes, he attempted a smile that more resembled a grimace. “Only when I breathe.”

Nothing had changed, she thought. Still quick with a smile and a glib reply.

“Do you remember what happened?”

A spasm of pain crossed his features. “A couple of guys jumped me between here and Antoine. How did I get
here?
”

All business, she leaned over him to check the bandage on his head. “Simon Teasdale found you and brought you to me.”

She stepped back and allowed her gaze to roam his face. As she had, he'd aged and looked older than the twenty-nine she knew him to be. But, as it seemed with most men, he'd done it better. Maturity had firmed the boyish softness of his jaw and chin as she knew it would Danny's, making it more sharply defined and making his resemblance to Caleb more pronounced, though Gabe would always be the handsomer of the two.

He, too, had a tanned face with crinkly lines at the corners of his eyes, but she knew from past experience that these lines would not have come from worry or the elements but laughter as he pursued countless pleasures. He was still disturbingly handsome and she suspected the inevitable scar he would carry would only add to his aura of mystery and danger. That thought awakened her slumbering anger.

“Did you know them?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “They had bandannas. I won a lotta...money from a couple guys in a poker game...Little Rock.” He made another pitiful attempt to smile. “Guess they wanted it back.”

She dabbed at the still-seeping gash on his head with a piece of cotton wool saturated with peroxide. His hiss of pain gave her far more satisfaction than it should have.

“Simon did find your wallet nearby, and it was empty, but if it was someone from Little Rock, why would they wait so long to attack you?”

His eyes looked troubled. “Guess I'm not...thinking straight. Feel like...death warmed over.”