Summer Breeze (18 page)

After taking a swallow of whiskey, he handed back the jug and began the deal. When she saw her first two cards, she burst out laughing and bet three hairpins. All Joseph had so far was a four and a five. Even so, he didn't want to fold. He anteed and dealt her a card faceup.

"An ace?" She grinned and rolled her eyes. "Definitely worth another three tokens."

Joseph's pile of hairpins was dwindling at an alarming rate. She was flat kicking his butt. His
dream woman.
For reasons beyond him, the thought no longer alarmed him. When a man met a woman who appealed to him on so many levels, why run?

A few minutes later, Rachel had most of his hairpins, and her lashes were starting to droop.

"You're exhausted," he said. "We need to quit and get some shut-eye."

"Naturally you'd say that when I'm the biggest toad in the puddle."

Joseph just grinned. "You are, no doubt about it. How about a silly game to cap off the evening?

You ever played Injun?"

She nodded. "One card each, on your forehead, face out, without looking?"

Joseph nodded, shuffled the cards, and dealt one to each of them. Without turning hers over to look, she pressed it to her forehead. It took all of Joseph's self-control not to laugh. She had a five. To his surprise, she started giggling so hard when she saw his card that tears came to her eyes. Joseph figured he was holding something pretty pathetic. But what were the odds that it could be worse than a five?

He tossed all his remaining hairpins onto the blanket between them. Still laughing, she met his bet. Then they lowered the cards.

"I don't believe it!" he cried. "No way. You've won every hand so far. I dealt myself a
three?"

Joseph went to collect his bedding. When he returned to the water closet, his poker opponent's head

was lolling. When she heard his footsteps, she jerked erect.

"I think you need to stretch out, darlin'. The biggest toad in this puddle is going under."

"Don't leave me," she murmured as she turned in the tub, punched up the pillow, and drew the blankets over her legs. "If I wake up and you're gone, my heart will stop, I swear."

Joseph shook out his bedroll. "I'll be right here beside you, close enough for you to reach out and touch me. No worries."

She snuggled up to the pillow. "Promise?"

"Absolutely," he assured her. "Buddy and I will be right next to you."

Enough lantern light poured in from the kitchen to dimly illuminate the room. Joseph snuffed out the candle and settled on his pallet, Buddy curled up under the blanket beside him. Within seconds, he heard a faint, feminine snore and smiled to himself. The biggest toad in the puddle was out like a light.

When Rachel first opened her eyes the next morning, ice picks stabbed her pupils and it
felt as if someone were doing the double shuffle on her skull. Grasping the edge of the tub,
she pulled herself up and slumped forward over her knees.

"Oh,
God."

"Good morning, sunshine."

Joseph's cheerful baritone sent shards of pain lancing through her brain. She held up a
hand to silence him. "Whisper. Please. It hurts." Even her own voice hurt. "Oh, God, help
me. I'm dying."

"Nah," he assured her in a softer voice. "It's just the Old Orchard, taking its revenge.

Drink this. It'll chirk you right up."

Rachel carefully turned her head and squinted one eye at the cup he proffered. "What is
it?"

"My remedy. Mostly coffee, with a few other ingredients guaranteed to make you feel better
in about a half hour."

With shaky hands, Rachel accepted the cup and

took a gulp of the contents. She sent him a questioning look. "It has whiskey in it."

"That it does. Nothing like some hair of the dog that bit you to set things right."

In thirty minutes, Rachel did feel some better. After leaning the broken water closet door against the shattered frame to afford herself some privacy, she managed to get dressed. Then she moved the broken door to one side to poke her head out the opening to survey the kitchen. To her surprise, the archway doorway was covered with something. The yawning hole that had sent her into a spell last night was gone.

"What is that over the archway?" she asked.

"The dining room table. I stood it on end and walked it over. By way of a barricade, it has its drawbacks, but it'll work for now."

Her skin still crawled as she emerged from the water closet. Joseph motioned for her to sit at the kitchen table and shoved a plate in front of her. She stared dismally at the two pieces of crisp, buttered toast.

"I can't possibly eat."

"You need to. It's part of the cure." He sat down across from her, looking so cheerful that she wanted to shoot him. "Just break off little pieces and wash them down with coffee. You'll feel better with some food in your stomach."

A sound in the other room made her jump. Joseph followed her nervous gaze. "It's nothing. Just the house creaking again. Let me worry about guarding the hole. You eat."

"How do you know eating will make me feel better?"

He winked and grinned. "Experience, darlin'. I've had a few too many tipples in my time."

Rachel broke off a tiny piece of bread and swallowed it with coffee. Her eyebrows shot up.

"There's whiskey in this cup, too."

"Like I said, some hair of the dog. It'll help. Trust me.

In that moment, when Rachel looked into his twinkling blue eyes, she realized just how much she
had
come to trust him. If someone had told her two days ago that she'd soon be sitting at the table with a huge hole yawning in her barricade, counting on a stranger to protect her, she would have laughed. Only now it didn't seem ludicrous at all.

When she thought back, she knew she hadn't known Joseph long enough to feel this safe with him, and yet she did. His presence soothed her in some inexplicable way, filling her with a sense of well-being and security that she hadn't felt in a very long while. Even the sound of his voice was a balm to her frazzled nerves.

He gave her damaged barricade a long look, and then he drew out his watch to check the time.

"Right about now, your horses are wanting out in the paddock, your cows are bawling to be milked, the hens are demanding breakfast, and that sow is looking in her trough, hoping to see some slop. If Ace comes over today, it'll be later, probably well after noon. I'll have to do the chores myself if they're going to get done."

Just the thought of being left alone made Rachel's heart catch. Evidently he saw the panic in her eyes. "I'm thinking about rigging up a door for your barricade before I leave the house. Would that make you feel any better?"

From the corner of her eye, Rachel could see the archway yawning like a giant mouth waiting to swallow her. The table had been a nice gesture on Joseph's part, but if he had been able to set it there, someone else could just as easily move it. "Yes. Yes, a door would make me feel much better."

"I'm thinking about borrowing an interior door from another room." He let his chair drop forward.

"Here's the thing, though. In order to borrow a door and make it work, I'll need the whole unit, doorframe and all. It's liable to do a little damage when I start prying stuff loose."

It had been years since Rachel had ventured into any of the other rooms. A smidgen of damage elsewhere wouldn't matter a whit to her. "That's fine. I don't really care about the rest of the house."

"You sure? Sentimental meaning, and all that. If you ever get well, every nook and cranny will hold memories for you."

Remembering only brought her pain, and Rachel had given up on ever getting well. "I don't think I can handle your going outside unless something is over the hole."

"All right, then." He smiled and shrugged. "I'll need that hammer of yours, all the nails you have on hand, and a screwdriver if you've got one."

Rachel pushed up from the chair. Moments later, she returned to the table with an assortment of tools and a box of nails. Joseph pushed to his feet and went

to fetch her shotgun. As he walked back to the table, he motioned to the chair she had vacated.

"I want you to sit right there while I'm gone," he said. "I'll be just up the hall, mind you, but sit right there, all the same."

As she lowered herself onto the chair seat, he handed her the shotgun. "You've got both barrels loaded, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, then. If anyone appears in that archway, point and fire." He leaned down to fix her with a twinkling gaze. "Just don't get spooked and shoot me."

Buddy squeezed through the gap between the lower end of the table and the wall just then. He bounded happily across the kitchen, smelling of fresh air, grass, and oak leaves, scents that Rachel had nearly forgotten. Joseph bent to pat the dog's head.

"Finished with your morning run, fella?" He pointed at the floor. "Sit."

Buddy promptly dropped to his haunches beside Rachel.

"You
stay"
Joseph said firmly. "No deciding different and following me this time, you hear? I want you to stay with Rachel."

Buddy flopped onto his belly, crossed his paws over his eyes, and whined mournfully.

The dog's antics brought a reluctant smile to Rachel's lips. She sent a nervous look at the archway.

"Listen to me." Joseph planted his hands on his knees, once again leaning forward to get nose to nose with her. "I came through your parents' bedroom window when I broke into the house. If I borrow
their
bed-

room door, I'll be working between you and the only window in the house that isn't boarded
up. No one will be able to get past me to pester you. I'll be just up the hall, only a few steps
away."

A lump of dread filled Rachel's throat. She tried her best to focus on his words and be
reasonable. But her fear had nothing to do with reason. She wished she knew how to explain
that. Only how could she make sense of feelings that she couldn't understand herself? Her
barricade was gone. That was the long and short of it. It was
gone.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I'm crazy. You can say it if you want. It won't hurt my
feelings or anything."

He took the shotgun and put it on the floor. Then, with a weary sigh, he hunkered down in
front of her. Taking her hands in his, he said, "What's crazy and what isn't? What's normal
and what isn't? We all have a phobia about something."

"I'm sure you don't."

"Of course I do."

"What is it then?" she challenged.

His full mouth quirked at one corner. "For starters, I'm afraid of ghosts."

Rachel half expected him to suddenly snap his fingers, point at her, and say, "Gotcha."

Then she searched his face and realized he was actually serious.

"Ghosts?" she echoed, the revelation so astounding that she forgot about the hole for a
moment.
"Ghosts?"

He nodded. "It's loony, I know. Most folks don't even believe in ghosts." He narrowed an
eye at her.

"Tell anyone, and I'll swear you're lying. I've never told anybody, not even my brothers."

A strange ache filled Rachel's chest. "Why are you telling me?"

His lips twitched again. "Now there's a question. Maybe because I know you'll understand and not laugh. And maybe because I think you need to know. You're not the only person on earth with irrational fears, Rachel. If that makes you insane, then all of us are off our rockers."

Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Don't cry. I'm trying to make you feel better, not worse."

Rachel smiled through her tears, for he had made her feel better. Joseph Paxton, afraid of ghosts.

Imagine that. "I'm not crying."

He tugged a hand free to thumb moisture from her cheek. "If that's not a tear, what is it?"

"Maybe the roof sprang a leak." She dragged in a shaky breath. "Ghosts? I never would have thought it."

He shrugged. "I believe in God, and I believe in eternal life. How can I believe in those things and rule out the possibility of ghosts? To my way of thinking, I can't. That being the case, if there are good people and bad people in this life, it stands to reason that there must be good spooks and bad spooks in the next life, and it also makes sense that the truly bad spooks may remain true to character, not following any of the rules. So what if they just up and decide not to go to hell? I sure wouldn't if I could weasel out of it."

"So you believe the really bad spooks who are destined for hell sometimes stay here?"

His sun-burnished face flushed to a deep umber. "Yes, and the thought scares the bejesus out of me."

Rachel couldn't feature Joseph as being afraid of anything. "Truly?"

He nodded. "I'm fine with things I can see. I've got my fists and my gun. I'm confident that I can defend myself. But how can you protect yourself from things you can't see or hit or shoot?"

Rachel totally understood that feeling. "I'm afraid of things I can't see, too," she whispered. She glanced past him at the hole and squeezed his fingers with all her strength. "Things I can't even name."

"I know," he said softly.

Her gaze jerked back to his. He was smiling sadly. As she searched his dark face, she realized that he understood her terror in a way that no one else ever had. Darby accepted her strangeness because he loved her, and he'd stood by her through all the bad times for the same reason. But he'd never really understood. More tears sprang to her eyes, the shimmers nearly blinding her.

"I know it's only a hole," she squeezed out. "In the old days, I walked through that archway dozens of times a day. I don't know why it frightens me so to have it uncovered now. It just does."

He brushed the wetness from her cheeks. "That's good enough for me."

It wasn't good enough for Rachel. She wanted to be well again. "When I was a girl, my absolute favorite pastime was to lie under an oak tree on a sunny afternoon and stare at the fluttering leaves until I fell asleep. I watched the clouds drift by, and I fancied sometimes that there were whispers in the wind. And I loved listening to the birds sing. Denver used to lie beside me, with his nose on my shoulder, and snore."