Shades of Gray (6 page)

Chapter 6

“You want to
do what!” Gray roared over Crowning Glory’s back. 

The pony skittered
away from the sharp noise.  Although not ready for a turn around the field, she
enjoyed her time in the corral.  Contained but large enough to stretch her
knobby legs, the slatted border provided a generous area where she could run
and play.  Dust and debris had covered her from the tip of her nose to her
tail.  Tied to a post inside the barn, rinse water dripped from her coat as
Gray brushed the last of the pasture from her coat.  She shuddered, spraying
Gray and Laura with tiny pellets of excess water.

“There’s no
need to raise your voice,” Laura chided and swept the droplets from her arms
and face.  She reached her hand out and rubbed the horse’s neck in reassuring
strokes. 

Gray’s sleeves
were rolled up to his elbow.  He held the brush in his hand and leaned his
forearms on the horse’s back, resting his weight on the folded cuffs.  “Would
you like for me to be hanged?” he asked.  “Because that’s inevitable if the
magistrate is made aware of our house guest.”

“For once,
would you think with some reason?” his mother snapped.  “Kat is healing, but
her wounds are still fresh.  Two days isn’t long enough for that type of abuse
to disappear.  She can tell the officials what happened.  Her injuries are not
connected to us.”

“Have you
forgotten what occurred five years ago?  Who do you think the magistrate will
believe?  A strange woman who is currently living in our home or Reece, a man
who seems to be above the law.”

“Everyone will
believe the truth.”

Gray dragged
the brush down the filly’s side and flipped the water to the ground.  “Like
they did the last time?”  He scoffed.  “I’m sorry, mother.  I’ve no faith in
the outcome of this tale.”

She stepped
closer, staying his hand.  “This is different.”

Hatred welled
up, en route to every available orifice.  Raw and acidic, his throat burned as
he tried to curb the hazardous emotion.  His mother didn’t deserve to encounter
the brunt of his hostilities.  Shielding her from his anger, he dropped the
brush into the bucket and disappeared into the tack room.  Although shock
registered in her eyes, she didn’t flinch. 

“What happened
was horrible.  Yes,” she conceded, shouting loud enough for him to hear her. 
“What happened was unfair.  I agree.  But, events from the past will not
change.” 

He stepped
from the room carrying a fresh bucket.  Moving the pail to his right hand as he
passed in front of her, fresh water splashed against the wooden sides of the
container.  “I have never tried to change the past,” he argued. 

She stepped
backward, widening his path.  “No, you haven’t.  But, you have allowed it to
destroy your present and for that matter, your future.”

His shoulders
drooped and he glanced up to the ceiling.  It was clear.  She would not give up
without making her point.  Without listening to another word, he knew what her
solution would be.  She had made similar suggestions for the past two years.

“Stop going to
Crest Ridge,” she demanded.  He practically spoke the words with her.  “Give
yourself an opportunity to move on with your life.”

He untied the
lead and led the pony into the stall.  Settling her in, he unbuckled the halter
and slipped it from her head.  She stomped her foot and whinnied.  Apparently
her time in the corral had worked up an appetite.  Pulling fresh hay from the
bin, he filled her trough.  His mother waited patiently on the other side of
the wrought iron bars.  Her arms folded across her chest, and she tapped her
toe against the stone floor.  “You know I have an obligation in Crest Ridge,”
he said, stepping from the stall and pulling the door closed

She shook her
head with the same determination Crowning Glory had used when demanding her
food.  “No, you don’t,” she corrected.  “You
choose
to have an
obligation there.  Why do you allow her to live so far away when Oak Willow is
her home?  This is where she belongs.”  She turned to straighten the saddle
blankets, mumbling under her breath.  “I have never understood your thinking in
this matter.  What purpose does it serve?”  She slammed a saddle on top of the
pile.

“Excuse me,
Gray, Mrs. Gregory.”  A strange voice called to them from outside the barn. 

Gray jerked
his head to the side and hurriedly recounted the last five minutes of his
conversation with his mother.  He didn’t need an eavesdropper drawing the wrong
conclusions.  Narrowing his eyes toward the door, he tried to recognize the
visitor. 

Back-dropped
in natural light, the darkened figure moved into the barn.  Buffed and
polished, Magistrate Istle stood in the entryway.  The door frame surrounded
him like a portrait. 

Gray cast an
accusing glance toward his mother.  He pulled at his shirt collar, already
feeling the noose tighten around his neck.  There would be no trial or
judgment, just a rope and the sturdy limb of the oak tree in the front yard. 
He would be boxed and buried before night fall.  Would it be too much to ask
for them to wrap his body in a blanket from his bed?

“I only
considered talking with him.  I didn’t say a word,” she whispered under her
breath.

The magistrate
stepped closer, studying both of them.  “Excuse the interruption.  I did knock
on the front door of the house.”  He moved closer to them still.  “When no one
answered, I followed the sound of shouting to the back yard.  I hope I’m not
intruding.”  He studied their faces as though contemplating which side of their
argument he should support.

“What brings
you all the way out here, sir?” Gray asked.  The quicker he could send this man
on his way, the more comfortable his day would be.

“I’ll prepare
tea,” Laura volunteered, looking up at Gray.

“Thank you,
ma’am, but I don’t have time to socialize,” the magistrate said, closing the
distance between them.  “I’m following up on a concern that was lodged by Emma
Bradford.”  He turned his gaze to Gray.  “I heard you were in town last week.”

“Is that Mrs.
Bradford’s complaint?  That I came into town last week.”

“No.  She is
more concerned about what she found while she was here.”

Laura’s hand
went to her throat and she worked the buttons on her blouse.  Nearly twisting
the beads free of the thread, she blinked up at the officer.  This old habit
revealed her nervousness better than a sweaty, upper lip, and the blinking
technique was one Gray had become familiar with as a youth.  Outright
disobedience should have cost him a thorough lashing, but his mother had tried
to calm herself before deciding his punishment.  His first trip to Richmond had
nearly blinded her.  Gray hoped the magistrate wasn’t familiar with his
mother’s nervous ticks.

“I wasn’t
aware Emma had visited Oak Willow,” Gray said, looking down at his mother. 

Laura lifted a
brow to Gray and then swung her gaze to the magistrate.  “I saw no need to
mention it.  You’re aware that she takes in laundry and sewing to support her
family.  She stopped by a day or two ago, as she usually does, and asked if I had
any mending for her.  I planned to give her that shirt of yours.  You know the
one.  It has the rip across the shoulder.”

“You
planned
to give her a shirt?” the magistrate asked.  He stopped his inspection of an
empty stall.  “Did you change your mind about having it mended?”

“No,” Laura
answered.  “After I retrieved the shirt and returned to the foyer, Emma was
gone.  I assumed she would return later.”

Magistrate
Istle peered at the harness hanging next to his shoulder.  He ran his hands
down the leather straps and lifted the steel guard, seeming to look for
something specific.  He dug his nail into a scratch in the metal.

Gray lifted
the leash from the probing hand and returned it to the hook. “Did Mrs. Bradford
complain that my mother didn’t have enough soiled hosiery for her to clean?”
Gray asked the intrusive officer.

There was
nothing distinctive about the officer’s appearance.  Other than his
representation of the law, he possessed no intimidating qualities.  He crossed
his arms over his chest and leaned a non-descript hip against the wooden gate. 
“She complained about something more important than a lack of employment.  Mrs.
Bradford believes you might have information about Reece Mullins’ fiancée.”

Gray raked his
hand through his hair and shot his mother an I-told-you-so look.  He tried to
hide the obvious slur behind his bent elbow.  “Why would she think I know
anything about that?”

The officer’s
eyebrows lifted over widened eyes and he tilted his head.  “So you are aware
that Reece is engaged?”

“He made
reference to it while I was in town.”

“Was your
unhappiness with the news what prompted the disagreement you had with him?”

Gray raised
his brow and walked past the magistrate.  He picked up the waste bucket from
Crowning Glory’s stall and walked to the end of the barn.  Setting the pail
outside the door, he glanced up at his bedroom window.  An apple tree blocked a
full view.  As a boy, Gray had used the young sapling to defy punishment.  It
wasn’t that he preferred an icy swim in the moonlight, but the fact that it had
been forbidden challenged his respect for authority.  Now fully grown, the
leafy branches hid his room and the secrets it held.  A breeze lifted the plaid
curtains and flapped the edges like a wave against the rocks.  Seeming to breathe
on its own, the deflated material floated back in place, covering the second
floor window. 

He sighed and
dragged his hand through his hair.  At least his conversation with his mother
had drawn Magistrate Istle’s attention away from the house.  Kat’s leg wouldn’t
be well enough to manage the stairs for several weeks.  It was doubtful that
she would go for an unexpected stroll.  Behind him, Laura tried coaxing details
from the officer.

“People only
need a brief reminder to recall minute details,” the magistrate conceded. 
“You’ve done well to help the past disappear, but that son of yours has a
volatile disposition.”

The hairs on
the back of Gray’s neck stood on end.  He rubbed his hand over the bristled
skin and walked back inside the barn.  “That’s hardly newsworthy,” he snarled
and stood next to the woman who had bestowed her legacy of a quick temper on
him.  “Irritability is a lot more honest than deception, but you didn’t come
all the way out here on an assumption.  How am I responsible for a missing
fiancée?”

Magistrate
Istler stretched his back, shoving his badge forward.  “While Mrs. Bradford
waited in your living room, she found a ripped and bloody nightdress among some
soiled clothes.  The garment matches the clothing Miss Bailey wore when she
disappeared.”

“It also
describes many nightdresses,” Laura insisted.

Gray put his
hand on his mother’s shoulder.  Magistrate Istle was about to see where the
Gregory temper burned the hottest.  There was no need to have her risk arrest,
especially with Kat lying in a bed in their house.  “If you want answers, I
suggest you talk with the worried groom-to-be.”

“That’s where
I’m headed next.”

“Then we won’t
keep you.”

Gray grabbed a
pitchfork and jabbed a stack of hay.  He flipped a clump over his shoulder, not
watching where it landed.  Laura walked the magistrate to his horse.  Hoof
beats softened and Laura returned to where Gray leveled the short pile.

“How did Emma
get Kat’s nightdress?” he asked.

“It was mixed
among your things.  She must have seen the pink color and thought it was the
blouse I meant for her to take.”

Gray handed
his mother the pitchfork and moved toward the door. 

“Where are you
going?” she asked.

“To get some
answers.”

“Kat needs to
rest.”

“She’ll rest
later.”

Chapter 7

Kat pushed her
fists against the mattress and lifted herself to a seated position.  Blinking
sleep out of her eyes, she glanced around the room, looking for the loud noise
that woke her.  Nothing seemed out of place except for her right ankle.  The
joint throbbed almost as bad as her shoulder.  Not able to reach the wounds on
her back, she would have to wait for them to be treated.  Until then, she
stretched forward and flipped the blankets to the side of the bed.  Breathing
heavily, she leaned back against the pillows.  Bed rest had been helpful, but
now minimal exertion exhausted her.  She wondered if her strength would ever
return. 

Sunlight shone
through the curtain and warmed the room.  Perhaps her body had healed enough
that she could sit outside.  It appeared as though it would be a nice day.  She
eyed the crutch Laura had left by the dresser.  Surely she could manage a short
walk if she relied heavily on additional support.  She bent her knee and pulled
her foot toward her.  It might be a good idea to determine how much the limb
could endure before finalizing any excursion plans. 

Loose gauze
hung limply around her ankle.  Running her fingertips under the wrapping, she
tilted her head and pursed her lips.  The color in her leg had faded from the
angry looking, purple streaks to a friendlier shade of pale magenta.  Her calf
was less swollen than it had been two days ago.  She probed the area
delicately, paying close attention to the speed in which the pink color
returned to the white, fingertip-sized impressions.  The blood flowed back at a
slower pace than she hoped.  She huffed her breath and kicked her healthy foot
against the blanket.  At this rate, she would be bed-ridden for weeks.  She’d
never be able to find employment until she could walk on her own.  Raised
voices shouted from outside, and she glanced at the window. 

Loud noises
had sounded from outdoors earlier, waking her.  Now that she was up, the
clatter had to be investigated.  Filled with a fresh purpose, she swung her
legs over the side of the bed.  Her feet grazed the floor, and she scooted her
body closer to the edge.  The window was only a few, short steps away.  There
was no need to use the crutch.  Surely she could limp to the sill without
agitating her injury further. 

It was doubtful
that Reece was part of the commotion.  Although his voice would be sharp and
brassy, she knew an argument would not have prevented him from forcing his way
into the house and dragging her back to his home.  Intimidation seemed to be
something he enjoyed.  Relatively certain in her assessment, she considered her
protectors.  Laura had not seemed to be the type of person who ever raised her
voice.  Gray, on the other hand, rarely spoke.  It was hard to tell what he was
thinking, even when he came into her room during the night and watched her
sleep. 

She had
thought his behavior odd at first, but she was in too much pain to move. 
During these times, he had stood over her for a few brief minutes and then
moved to the window.  He had stared out into the night and it was then that she
realized, he meant her no harm, but simply stood sentry over her.  He didn’t
seem to require much sleep, and truly intended to keep her safe.  He had
promised her as much the night she had shown up on his doorstep. 

Kat shuddered,
remembering the circumstance that had brought her to his home.  She had felt
like a mongrel pup that had been kicked away from every door in town.  Risking
her life to escape Reece, she had found a complete stranger who took her in
without one question being uttered. 

She listened
to the raised voices below the open window and tried to determine what caused
their irritation.  Apparently, someone was asking questions now and, she leaned
closer to the jamb, from the increased tones, they were not getting the answers
they wanted.  She pulled back the curtain.  An average looking man left his
horse by the water trough and entered the barn.  The two other voices quieted. 
At least, the visitor wasn’t Reece.  She was sure to see him in every nightmare
for months to come.  Standing to the side of the frame, she lifted the hem of
the plaid fabric.  Surely her guardian wouldn’t send her back to a man who had
nearly killed her. 

She slid her
foot forward and wiggled her toes.  Five, puffy appendages flexed and stretched
looking like raw, summer sausages.  She sighed, grateful that the injured stubs
had obeyed her unspoken command.  Pulling her head away from the pane, she let
the curtain fall back into place.  Gray stood at the barn door.  He seemed to
look right at her.  She peeked under the edge, and he disappeared inside the
building.  If he had seen her, he gave no indication. 

Not thinking,
she balanced her weight on her foot.  Pain shot up her leg and across her
abdomen, nauseating her.  Sweat drenched her entire body, sticking her clothes
to her skin as though they had been dipped in molasses.  She hobbled to the
bed, grasping for the linens like they were the last secure branch before a
waterfall.  Pulling herself onto the mattress, she thoughtfully eyed the
chamber pot resting under the wardrobe.  It was good to estimate the distance
to the necessity just in case the copper pot became just that.  She leaned
against the poster rail, clinging to it for balance.  The dizziness was
starting to subside.  The nausea should soon go away as well. 

Outside her
borrowed room, footfalls moved down the hallway.  The steps slowed and sounded
as though they paused outside her door.  Laura never hesitated to enter on the
times she brought food, fresh bandages, or company.  A light tap to announce
her presence was generally the only notice she gave before entering.  Kat
peered to the side of the fluted column and watched the doorknob.  The crystal
handle remained in place.  Obviously, it wasn’t time for female company.  She
lifted a brow in thought.  There were no servants that she had seen.  If Gray
stood on the other side of the oak, why did he wait?  It was ridiculous for him
to feel nervous.  It was his idea to put her in this room.

A light knock
tapped on the door, and Kat glanced around.  She had nothing to cover the pink
nightdress she wore.  “Who is it?” she asked, hoping it was Laura, but knowing
it probably wasn’t.

“It’s Gray,”
the voice said.  “I would like to talk with you.”

Kat sighed and
pushed herself back against the pillows.  She pulled at the blankets, covering
her lap and shrugged.  The makeshift dressing gown would have to protect her
reputation. 

“Come in,” she
said.

He stepped
into the room and closed the door behind him.  Sweat glistened on his face, and
wisps of blond hair clung to his skin, framing it to his cheeks and brows.  His
shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, reminding Kat that he’d been in the
barn only moments earlier.  She hoped he didn’t smell of manure.  His arms
tensed under her scrutiny, and he clenched and opened his hands.  Clearly, he
had not exhausted the argument he had before seeking her out.  She swallowed
and closed her eyes in a slow blink. 

His gaze
dropped to her nightdress and he stopped walking.  Blood drained from his face,
dragging with it his hard expression.  In place of the harsh lines and taut
muscles she was used to seeing around his eye, sadness filled the gray orbs. 
He stood completely vulnerable.  Although he didn’t say a word, she knew the
slightest cross word would render him defenseless.  She helped him the only way
she could and raised the blankets to cover her chest.  As if she had broken a
magic spell, he blinked and turned his gaze away as though embarrassed. 

“Mr. Gregory,”
she said, allowing him time to regain his composure.  “I never had the
opportunity to thank you for rescuing me.  I am very grateful.”

He held his
chin downward and seemed to study the dresser top.  Lifting something from
behind the oil lamp, he turned it in his hand.  Kat stretched her neck for a
better view.  The object lay hidden in his palm.  She’d have to look at the
bureau later to see what had captivated his attention.  Whatever it was, he
replaced it lovingly to its proper place and sighed.  His pained and drawn
profile pulled heavily at Kat’s heart.  She had been so concerned about her own
struggle; that she hadn’t considered Gray and his mother.  Clearly, his pain
was as fresh as her own.  What demon had tortured this poor soul?

“You may call
me, Gray,” he said and turned to face her.  His shoulders relaxed as though he
had downed a stiff drink.  Although he seemed glad she had covered herself,
modesty couldn’t be an issue.  He had taken care of her the night she arrived
without Laura being present.  There had to be more than a bad memory connecting
him to the nightdress.  She wondered if she should tell him that Laura had
offered her the garment or simply let him draw his own conclusions.  Her
stomach rolled with the thought of being turned out with no other place to go.

“If my being
here is too much of a burden,” she said.  Her voice shook and she wondered if
she had the courage to finish her thought.  “I will leave.”

Gray narrowed
his eyes as though he considered her suggestion a viable option.  “And where
will you go if you leave Oak Willow?”  His head tilted to the side as he waited
for her answer.

Concentrating
fully on one specific word he had used, she had no immediate response.  He had
said
if
not
when
she left his home.  If her presence had not
initiated the argument she had overheard or the pain that marked his face, what
did he want to talk with her about?  She had noticed a lack of servants.  In a
home of this size, she would expect a minimum staff of twelve.  At least,
that’s what other passengers had estimated while she was aboard ship.  Perhaps
he would offer her a means to offset her keep.  She glanced around the room. 
It would be pleasant to work for this family.

“If you will
allow me to stay until I am healed,” she said.  “I will work to pay any expense
you have incurred with my being here.” 

Gray’s eyes
narrowed, disappearing into two, cinched holes.  “I don’t employ servants,” he
snapped. 

Kat drew
back.  His eye sockets resembled primped, musket barrels, and they were aimed
at her forehead.  Employment was clearly not the topic Gray planned to discuss
with her.  She scrambled to find an agreeable option.  “I could pay you after I
secured a position with a family who does hire indentured.”

Gray slapped
the dresser drawer with the flat of his hand.  Small items clattered against
larger ones, rattling like a wind chime in a hail storm.  Kat was certain the
wood had cracked from the impact.  He breathed in deep and exhaled slowly. 
“Miss Bailey.  I am not in need of your funds.  You may stay here as long as
you deem it necessary for you to recover in full.  Is that agreeable to you?”

Kat pushed
back into the pillows and drew her brows together.  Although relieved that she
would not be thrown out into the elements, Gray’s temper, and the fact that he
continued to address her in a formal manner, needed harnessing.  She squirmed
under the blankets, wanting to set a blaze to his hind quarters.  “There is no
need to call me Miss Bailey, Mr. Gregory.  I am comfortable being addressed as
Katherine.”  She bit her lip.  “Or Kat, if you prefer.  And yes, your terms are
agreeable to me.”  He was the one who gave her the nickname; he might as well
use it.

He nodded. 
“Very well.  Katherine.  As I said, you may consider yourself a guest of Oak
Willow until you feel well enough to leave.”

She sighed,
grateful for his invitation no matter how feeble it sounded. 

“However,” he
added, dashing her last shards of hope.  “Your stay here is conditional.”  He
moved closer to the bed and glanced down at her ankle.  It had slipped out from
under the cover during her imagined, branding fantasy.  She absently pulled it
back under the blanket.  “As you are aware,” he continued, “you appeared on my
doorstep under excessive conditions.  I am not a nosey man, but if I am to act
as your guardian, I feel I have a right to know what led up to your arrival.”

She knew he
was right no matter how uncomfortable it would be to tell him.  She stared up
at the man looming over her and narrowed her own eyes in thought.  Although,
she did owe him an explanation, she considered the amount she should disclose.

He leaned
against the bedrail and crossed his arms over his chest.  Clearly, he was ready
to listen.

She shrugged
her shoulders and decided on full honesty.  If she revealed everything to him
now, she wouldn’t have any need to fear his wrath at a future date.  She
dropped the blanket to her lap and watched as his gaze fell with it.  She
smirked inwardly.  There was no need to give him full control of their
conversation.

She started at
the beginning, filling in the details about her reluctance to initially accept
Reece’s offer and added her opinion of how comfortable he made her feel upon
arrival.  She tensed when remembering how her fiancé’s aloof demeanor had
changed to threatening and terrifying.

Gray’s jaw
clenched as he sat on the end of the bed.  Kat bent her knee and pulled her leg
to the side, giving him room and permission.

“I thought his
demeanor was due to unfamiliarity,” she said.

Gray stared at
a knot in the wood floor.  The way he concentrated, she imagined a small blaze
igniting within seconds.  “Why did you stay with him?” he finally asked.

She hoped that
wasn’t judgment she heard in his voice.  She shook her head and lifted her
shoulders.  “I had no immediate fear for my safety and although I thought him
standoffish, I would honor my commitment.  It wasn’t until I pressed him to
summon the pastor that he became outwardly annoyed with me.”