Margaret Brownley (20 page)

Just let Lucy hurry back with his clothes. That’s all he asked. The sooner he could finish his business and return to the Panhandle and the job waiting for him there, the sooner he could leave the painful memories behind.

It was dark by the time he heard her ride up to the church on her horse. He had just returned from bathing in the creek and his hair was wet. He quickly donned his buckskin shirt and wrapped a blanket around his waist.

Standing in the sanctuary, he held up the kerosene lantern so she wouldn’t have to walk in the dark.

She greeted him with a smile.

“Ah, good, you brought trousers.”

“And a razor,” she said.

Once inside the anteroom, he took Caleb’s pants, turned, and dropped his blanket.

“Ohhh,” she cried. “You could have at least warned me.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Her back was toward him, her hands covering her face. “Sorry,” he said. He’d been so anxious to dress and regain some sense of normalcy, he hadn’t even considered her sensibilities, and for that he felt ashamed. “You can look.”

Caleb’s pants were at least four inches too short but they would have to do for now.

Acting as if she didn’t notice, she busied herself setting out his meal, picnic style, while he shaved. Staring at his reflection in the little handheld looking glass she brought him, he lathered his chin with soap and scraped off his whiskers with the straight-edge razor.

Given the way she smiled at him when he finished the task, it must have been a vast improvement.

She’d brought beef stew, and the savory smell made his stomach turn over in anticipation. The stew was every bit as delicious as he imagined, and he couldn’t remember ever enjoying a meal more. After he finished he wiped his newly shaven chin with a cloth napkin.

“I have a gift for you,” he said.

“A gift.” Her eyes widened in surprise.

He pulled a wooden bracelet from beneath his pillow and handed it to her. He’d worked on it for most of the afternoon.

She gasped when she saw it and ran her finger over the engraved picture of a wolf. “It’s . . . it’s beautiful.”

After a moment she handed the bracelet back to him. “I . . . I can’t accept this,” she said. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

He took the bracelet in hand and slipped it onto her slender wrist. It looked perfect.

“Considering my state of undress these past few days, I believe you and I have passed the point of worrying about being proper,” he said. “Accept it as a token of my gratitude for taking care of me.” He released her hand but only because he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t.

She fingered the intricately carved wolf. “Mr. Wolf. I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“David,” he said. “Call me David.” David seemed more real to him than Wolf, a name adapted from the carving on the box left in his cradle. He reckoned the animal held some meaning to the person who left it with him.

“David,” she whispered. Holding her hand up, she continued to admire the bracelet. “I’ll always treasure this. Thank you.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you like it. By the way, don’t bother coming tomorrow as I won’t be here.”

“You aren’t leaving town, are you?” Her indifferent voice contradicted her strained expression.

“Not till I finish my business.”

“With Mr. Barnes.”

He said nothing and her eyes narrowed and mouth twisted in what looked like disapproval.

“I better go,” she said, surprising him with her abruptness. She quickly gathered up the empty plate and silverware and placed them in the basket.

“You’re upset with me,” he said.

She bit her lower lip. “I’m not upset.”

He studied her. “After everything we’ve been through, I thought we were friends, at least in private. Naturally we can’t be seen together in public but . . .”

“Because of who you are,” she said. “Half Indian and half white.”

He felt a squeezing pain in his chest. With those words she had deftly reminded him that he had no right to ask for her friendship, private or otherwise.

When he didn’t answer, she shook her head. “We can’t be friends,” she said firmly, echoing his thoughts. “But not because of your heritage.”

He held her gaze. The light from the kerosene lantern turned her eyes into shining stars. “What other reason could there be?”

“You’re a man with too many secrets. Secretive people make terrible friends.” As an afterthought she added, “They also make terrible parents.”

She looked about to leave, but he couldn’t bear to see her go. Not with this strain between them. He rose to his feet. “Are you saying you have no secrets, Lucy?”

“I had to keep your secret,” she replied, and he could see how much it cost her.

“I’m sorry.” He took another step closer and cupped her face in his hands. “I’ll never forget your kindness to me.”

She moistened her lips, drawing his attention to the pretty curve of her mouth.

“Lucy.” He caught a lock of her shiny chestnut hair and twisted it around his finger. “You saved my life. I’ve never known anyone like you. You made me feel like I belonged for the very first time in my life.” He dropped his hands to his sides, glanced around, and laughed. “A dusty, drafty room in the back of a church, and for a time I felt like I belong here. Now I know why you used to hide here. Crazy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not crazy,” she whispered.

They stood staring at each other.

“This is good-bye,” he said at last, and the words felt like acid to his tongue. She’d already agreed they couldn’t be friends and yet . . .

Her lips parted as if she, too, felt a need to postpone the inevitable. He recalled her hand on his forehead, her gentle touch as she tended to his wound, her delicate scent as she sat by his side watching over him.

He couldn’t remember anyone being that kind to him, that concerned. Taking care of him was the Christian thing to do, she’d said, but the missionaries never showed him any kindness. The man who rescued him from the river had never mistreated him and always saw that he had what he needed, but it wasn’t in Combes’s nature to mollycoddle.

Looking into her big blue eyes was like looking into a perfect world—a world where prejudice and hate didn’t exist.

Now that he had a glimpse of such a world he knew things would never be the same.
He
would never be the same.

Like a man dying of thirst, he absorbed every detail until her eyes, nose, and sweet curving mouth were forever ingrained in his memory.

As if to sense the growing tension between them, she said, “I . . . I b-better go before Papa discovers I’m gone. I also promised Caleb to quiz him on the human heart. Did you know that . . .”

He wasn’t a praying man. If he was he would ask God’s help in resisting the temptation she posed. He would ask for the strength to walk out of that door and never look back. Instead he stood frozen in place, willing himself not to do something he would most likely regret.

I can’t do this, I can’t. I won’t
. He didn’t realize he had groaned as if in pain until he saw the concern on her face.

“Are you all right?” she asked. Much to his dismay, she stepped so close to him he could feel the heat of her body. She reached up to touch his forehead but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

“Yes.”
No
. “You better go.” He released her hand and lowered his head, meaning to plant a kiss on her cheek—a good-bye kiss. A brotherly kiss. Two acquaintances simply bidding each other farewell.

Instead his lips brushed against hers like a butterfly tentatively testing a flower. She sighed softly and gazed at him, her eyes glowing with tenderness.

Heart thudding, he pulled her all the way into his arms, locking her in his embrace. Since she offered no resistance he knew he was doomed. Instead of pushing him away, she astonished him by stretching her body the full length of his to wrap her arms around his neck. At that moment he wasn’t half this or half that. He was simply all man.

This time when his lips met hers there was no holding back. Judging by the way she returned his kisses, she didn’t mind. Not one bit.

Pulling his lips away, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Lucy,” he whispered, simply for the pleasure of saying her name. No sooner was the word out of his mouth than his lips found hers again. She moaned softly and he deepened his kiss.

Something snapped, the tension in the air dissipated. Her body stiffened next to his. It took him a moment to realize that the door to the anteroom had flown open.

“Oh!” came an unfamiliar voice.

Lucy pulled out of his arms and cried, “Monica!”

Before the intruder could say another word, a stack of hymnals fell from a shelf and the door slammed shut with a bang. More books fell, knocking over the lantern. The smell of kerosene was followed by a bright flash of light and suddenly Monica’s cloak was on fire.

Lucy cried out and Monica jumped around, screaming. Wolf grabbed a woolen blanket and threw it over her to smother the flames. By then, a wall of fire had trapped them inside the tiny smoke-filled room.

“Quick, do something,” Lucy cried. “Or we’ll die and . . .” Words streamed out of her like sand in an hourglass.

He could barely breathe for all the smoke and there she was, talking up a storm.

He grabbed another blanket off his makeshift bed and flung it against the door, but it was too late. Flames shot across the ceiling like an invading army.

Flinging hot cinders off her clothes, Monica covered her mouth with one hand and coughed. Lucy kept talking.

“I don’t know who will take care of Caleb and Papa and . . .”

Realizing the futility of trying to put out the fire, Wolf threw the blanket down. “Let’s get out of here.”

He held his arm out to protect Lucy and gave the opposite wall a couple of kicks with his good leg. Wood splintered with a cracking sound, leaving a gaping hole, but the fresh air made the flames burn brighter.

“Hurry!” he rasped from smoke-filled lungs. He grabbed Lucy by the hand and dragged her outside. Much to his horror, the other woman failed to follow.

The fresh air was almost as painful to breathe as the smoke. Lucy coughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes burned. Blinking furiously, she glanced around and suddenly realized she was alone. “Monica? David?”

Panicking, she stared in horror at the flames leaping high above the roofline, sending brilliant sparks into the darkness.

“David!” she screamed. “Monica!”

A portion of the church collapsed inward with a loud crackling sound, sending sparks high into the nighttime sky. She ran forward but the heat of the fire and falling timbers forced her back.

The remainder of the church’s roof caved in with a crash, and Lucy let out a gut-wrenching sob. Then she saw him, saw David carrying Monica in his arms, and she practically collapsed with thanksgiving.

He ran a safe distance away from the church and laid Monica on the ground.

Lucy rushed toward them and dropped to her knees next to Monica’s side. Monica’s body was racked with coughs but she was alive.

“Thank God,” Lucy cried, hugging her close. Tears of gratitude streamed down her cheeks.