Loving Linsey (4 page)

Five minutes later they entered the business section of town. The buildings were, appropriately, arranged to form the shape of a U. The two-story Horseshoe Hotel and the livery across the way were located at the foremost ends. Wishing Well Lane, in the center of the U, had shops that catered to nearly every need, from a telegraph and newspaper office to a dry-goods store to the understandably profitable Rusty Bucket Saloon, which also provided for a man's, er . . . baser appetites.

Strolling down the lane on the way to the tiny schoolhouse where Addie had been schoolmarm for the last four years, Linsey and Addie passed the public well set in the heart of town. As they had done since they were little girls, they paused by the stone foundation, turned their backs, and closed their eyes.

A reverent silence wrapped around them. For a fleeting moment, Linsey was tempted to wish for prolonged life. But Aunt Louisa always told her that wishes for oneself were selfish and rarely came true. So instead Linsey concentrated on the hope that she would find Addie a life mate, and soon, so she could attend the wedding before she died. Then Linsey tossed a half-cent piece over her left shoulder. Addie followed suit. Two successive plunks sounded from the depths as their offerings hit the water.

“What did you wish for?” Linsey asked.

“You know I can't tell you; it won't come true.” Addie gave her a sly, sideways glance. “What did you wish for?”

Linsey grinned. “Wouldn't you like to know?” Of course, if all went well, Addie would find out soon enough. “I'll tell you this much—it'll make you less lonely once I'm gone.”

Even the reminder of her impending doom couldn't dampen Linsey's mood. If anything, she felt strengthened by it.

They resumed walking, the snap of their heels against the wooden planks laid in front of the bank matched step for step. As they drew closer to the schoolhouse, Linsey couldn't help glancing about her in bittersweet appreciation. Lordy, how she loved this town! The way the rooftop of the livery stepped up to the Rusty Bucket, then dropped down to the telegraph office, then up again to the dry-good and feed store, the pattern repeating itself along the semicircular road. And the people—from Madame Cecilee, owner of the Coiffure and Millinery, to Frank Mackey, editor of the Horseshoe
Herald
, to cranky old Elmer Puckett at Puckett's Market and Mercantile. All felt like extended family. All had helped watch over her as a child. And when Addie came along, they had opened their arms and their hearts and treated her with the same sense of welcome.

Yes, Horseshoe had been very good to her over the years. She only hoped she could be as good to them in return.

“I can't believe how easily you're taking this
whole thing,” Addie said, breaking into Linsey's musings.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Linsey shrugged. “Railing at God won't change anything, and sitting around feeling sorry for myself is just a waste of time.”

“How do you think . . . you know . . . it will happen?”

“I hope it's exciting. I want to go out with a splash!”

“Oh, Linsey, you are incorrigible.”

Maybe so, Linsey thought, but at least she'd made Addie smile again. “It's better than going in my sleep. Remember when old Chester Sawbuck died? Nobody found him for two days.”

“That would never happen to you.”

“It could.”

“But it won't. I won't let it.”

Their conversation was curtailed by the appearance of the Bender twins, leaving the millinery sporting identical new bonnets. Maisy adjusted the left brim of her hat while Daisy adjusted the right brim of hers in comical synchronicity. Linsey and Addie divided, exchanged greetings with the ladies in passing, then united again and quickly chanted, “Bread and butter.”

Linsey laughed at the custom.

Addie fell forlornly silent.

“I wish . . . I wish we could find you a Prince Charming,” Addie finally sighed. “That way when . . .
it
happens, he could kiss you and rouse you from your immortal sleep.”

“If you made that wish at the well, then you
wasted a perfectly good halfpenny. The closest thing to a prince I've seen is that warty toad John Brewster stuck in your desk last month.”

But Linsey might as well have been talking to a lamppost, for all the attention Addie paid her. Her steps slowed to a stop, and she seemed unaware of the traffic around her.

Linsey followed the line of Addie's gaze until it landed on the man emerging from the combined apothecary-doctor's office.
Oh, no
, Linsey mentally groaned. Daniel Sharpe was the last person she needed to see this morning. She'd been able to forget her disgraceful reaction to him the other day, but the sight of him now stirred up a fresh wave of humiliation. She still couldn't believe she'd mistaken the look in his eyes for concern, the warmth of his touch for compassion. Worse, that she'd nearly allowed the illusion to make him seem like a beacon in the midst of a nightmare.

Seeing her reflection had muddled her vision and clouded her thoughts, that's all. Daniel might feel a lot of things for her—hatred, loathing, bitterness . . .

Concern and compassion were not among them.

Disgusted that she could ever have thought differently, Linsey resolutely turned toward the schoolhouse. “Come on, Addie, you'll be late for school.”

Absently, Addie waved her hand. “In a minute.” Her eyes never left Daniel Sharpe, who gave no sign of noticing her silent worship as he loaded a wooden crate into the back of the buggy.

With an impatient sigh, Linsey crossed her arms over her front, tapped her foot, and began to hum an aimless tune. It was no secret that Addie had been moonstruck over the man since he and Doc Sr. had moved to Horseshoe and opened the apothecary back in '72.

Not that Daniel wasn't worthy of a woman's interest—quite the opposite, in fact. With his dark brooding eyes, clean-cut black hair and broad-shouldered build, even Linsey had to admit that Horseshoe's young doctor was handsome enough to give any woman an attack of the vapors.

Taken apart and examined piece by piece, his features weren't that extraordinary. A high brow. Hawkish nose. Firm, sensual lips and strong chin. Yet put together on the tanned canvass of his skin, there was just something . . . breathtakingly striking about the man. Even the boyish cowlick on the right side of his scalp, which might have made another man look callow, simply added to his rakish appeal.

As if to support that thought, a long, mopey sigh from Addie floated on the morning air. “Isn't he divine?” she asked.

“Oh, for the love of Gus.” Linsey let her arms fall to her sides and started to walk away. She had more important tasks to tend to than watching Addie gawk at Daniel.

Linsey stopped abruptly. She spun around. Her gaze flicked from Addie to the young doctor, then back to her sister again.

No.

Oh, no.

Not
Daniel!

But then, why wouldn't Addie fancy him? He was, after all, a respected member of the community. Hardworking. Honest. Dedicated. Or so everyone said. His finances couldn't compare to Aunt Louisa's, but neither did the Sharpes appear to suffer the hardships of many folks Linsey knew. Father and son lived in modest rooms above the apothecary, and Doc Sr. had recently bought himself that shiny new stanhope.

Yes, Daniel fit the criteria for the ideal husband, except for one minor flaw. He was about as approachable as a Texas thistle—toward her, anyway.

But one look at her smitten sister made Linsey sigh in defeat. All right. If Daniel was the mate Addie wanted, then Daniel was the mate Addie would get.

No matter how unpleasant the task might be.

“Come on, Addie.” Linsey grasped her sister's elbow and started across the lane.

“Where are we going?”

“To talk to your future husband.”

Addie came to a screeching halt and wrenched her arm from Linsey's hold. “My
what
?”

Linsey stopped with a huffy breath. “Look, I might have lost my chance for a Prince Charming, there's no reason why you should lose yours, too.”

“What in heaven's name are you going on about?”

“You are going to marry Daniel Sharpe.”

Addie gasped. “Are you out of your mind? I can't marry Daniel!”

“Why not? You're smart, you're funny, you've got a gentle heart . . . those are the perfect qualifications for a doctor's wife. And I need to know that someone is taking care of you after I'm gone. Who better than the man you've been moonstruck over practically since you were in pinafores?”

“Linsey, he hardly knows I'm alive.”

“He will—once you talk to him.”

“But I can't talk to Daniel, I'll trip over my own tongue!”

“Don't be a goose. Just walk up to him and ask him where he's taking those crates.”

“You ask him!”

“Why would I do that?” Linsey lifted her hands away from her sides in exasperation. “Daniel hasn't spoken to me in two years; I doubt he'll welcome a chat with me now.”

“Surely he doesn't still blame you for the stagecoach accident.”

Linsey grabbed Addie's arm again and half pulled, half pushed her across the road. That was one incident she'd rather not relive. “Whether he does or doesn't isn't the point. You've been besotted with him almost half your life and this is your chance to let him know it.”

“Linsey, no—” Addie's protest died a sudden death as they reached the front of the pharmacy.

Daniel didn't notice them at first—or if he did, he pretended not to. Linsey watched the play of muscle under the white linen stretched across his back as he lifted a crate into the back of the stanhope. He really was a fine figure of
a man, she had to admit. Wide shoulders. Flat stomach. Straight waist tapering to lean hips, and long muscular legs wrapped in brown wool.

And eyes like chips of smoldering coal, she discovered when he turned to face them.

Sudden trepidation attacked her. She reached for her amulet and grasped it in a tight fist. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Daniel would just as soon bed down with a cottonmouth as have anything to do with her. Not that she could blame him after what she'd done. . . .

No, for Addie's sake, she had to put the past behind her and start fresh.

Squaring her shoulders, taking a fortifying breath, Linsey manufactured a bright smile and called, “Good morning, Daniel.”

He kept silent.

Addie kept silent.

Linsey jabbed her gaping sister in the ribs. “Greet the good doctor, Addie.”

She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a cracking squeak. Addie's face turned the color of a cardinal's wing. Muttering something about being tardy, she hurried past Daniel without another word, leaving Linsey to contend with close to six feet, 180 pounds of prickly demeanor by herself.

The silence became thick and heavy as curdled milk. Neither made any move to step out of the other's way. In fact, if Linsey didn't know better, she'd think he was trying to intimidate her. And she hated to admit it, but it was working. Not much intimidated Linsey,
but as those sharp brown eyes continued to drill into her, she found herself fighting the urge to bolt.

Only the reminder that running from Daniel would accomplish nothing kept Linsey from turning coward.

She wracked her mind for something to say, some spark of conversation that might crack Daniel's brittle veneer. “Nice day, isn't it?”

He didn't answer. Then again, why should today be any different than any other?

Still, it was getting rather unnerving, standing out in public, enduring that hot/cold stare. Linsey licked her lips, waved toward the stanhope, and tried again. “Planning a trip?”

Again, not a word came from those tightly clamped lips. Instead he started passed her.

Linsey's patience, never strong to begin with, began to fray. She stepped into his path and reached out, wanting only to stop him from escaping yet again. But the instant she touched his arm, a startling current streaked up her fingertips and didn't stop until it caught her heart.

The surprise on Daniel's face told her that he must have felt a similar shock. For a moment they could do nothing more than look at each other, Linsey's hand on his arm, his head cocked at a baffled angle. He smelled of bay rum and morning sun and a hint of forbidden pleasure. She was seized by a disconcerting impulse to trace the contour of his smooth jaw, to brush the crescent-shaped shank of hair off his brow, to curl herself against the solid warmth radiating from his body.

He recovered much faster than she did, his
eyes going hard and flat as weathered stone, his expression settling once again in that merciless scowl Linsey was coming to loathe.

She removed her hand and curled her fingers into her palm. “You are never going to forgive me, are you?” she asked softly.

No answer. Just that implacable stare at some spot over her shoulder.

Linsey propped loose fists on her hips. “Look, Daniel, you have every right to be angry with me, but for the love of Gus, it's been two years. How much longer do you plan on holding this grudge against me?”

Steam practically rose from under his collar as he stared into the apothecary window, his jaw clenched so tight she wondered that he didn't break any teeth.

“Don't you think you're being a little unfair? You won't accept my apology; you won't accept my offer to pay your tuition. What more can I possibly do?”

That stony-eyed stare snapped around to Linsey. “Go. Away.”

Well, glory be, he'd finally spoken to her. Not exactly words to warm her heart, but she wouldn't quibble. “There now, that wasn't so hard, was it? Maybe now we can begin putting the past behind us.”

He looked as if the suggestion had cut off his air supply. His face went ruddy; his spiky-lashed brown eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Because of you, I lost a fellowship to the most prestigious university in the country, not to mention my fiancée, and you expect me to—”