The Stranger's Secrets (21 page)

Whit could understand why Sarah’s brother decided to make his home there. Of course, in the winter, there was probably quite a bit of snow.

He could feel the thinness of the air as he rode and was doubly glad he’d been smart enough to carry water with him. But he’d forgotten the food, so within an hour, his stomach began to rumble.

None of it mattered, though. He was close enough to Plum Creek that he could almost smell her rose-scented skin. Or maybe that was the flowers on the side of the road.

For the most part, his journey was uneventful. However, every once in a while, Whitman thought he heard hoofbeats, but they were faint. It sounded as if someone else was on the road with him on the way to Plum Creek.

When he got to the fork in the road by the big mossy rock, Whit went right, as Mr. Foster had instructed. His heart beat a steady rhythm as he rode the last ten miles to Sarah.

To his heart, his soul, his woman.

Sarah sipped at the strong coffee and moaned as it slid down her throat. “This is the best coffee I’ve had in a long, long time. Delicious.”

Eppie, Micah’s fiancée, smiled at her. She had the most beautiful brown eyes set in a flawless light cocoa skin. Their daughter, Miracle, was a blend of both of them, but she had her mama’s chocolate brown eyes.

The little girl was eating a biscuit and staring at Sarah over the breakfast table. “You’re the sad lady.”

Startled by the girl’s insight, Sarah could only nod. “Yes, I am sad, but I’m happy to be here with you and your daddy and mommy.”

“Daddy used to be sad, but Mommy fixed him.”

Sarah smiled at the girl’s precociousness. “Mommy is very talented.”

Eppie hid a grin behind her hand. “Go take care of Daisy now, Miracle. She’s probably hungry too.”

Miracle popped the last of the biscuit into her mouth, then jumped up from the table. She hugged Eppie around the middle, then whispered at her mother’s belly.

When she turned to Sarah, Miracle launched herself into her arms and hugged her neck. “Love you, Aunt Sarah.”

Sarah was overwhelmed by the child’s sweet honesty and open, loving behavior. The sweet innocence of a child’s love was as refreshing as it was welcome. Sarah needed it. She hugged her niece back and kissed her forehead. “I love you too, Miracle.”

“Gotta take care of my doggie.” With that the girl skipped out of the kitchen, her braids swinging.

Sarah met Eppie’s gaze, which was full of motherly pride. “She’s amazing.”

“I know, and I thank God every day for her.” Eppie shook her head. “Someday I’ll tell you the story of how she came to be and why she’s called Miracle. Micah tells me it’s my story to tell, but it’s really his.”

Sarah was more than curious to hear that story, but she understood how hard it was to open up to someone, especially when they’d really just met.

“Why did she whisper at your belly?”

Eppie smiled. “She tells me there’s a little brother growing in there and she has to tell him secrets.”

Sarah could hardly believe a girl of three could be so smart and so insightful. Then again, she could believe it—Miracle was Micah’s child.

“Good morning.” Micah walked into the kitchen, freshly shaven and looking more content than Sarah could ever hope to be. He kissed Eppie and patted her belly. “My son okay this morning?”

“Micah, you foolish man, you’re as bad as your daughter.” Eppie rolled her eyes.

He laughed and kissed her again. Sarah sighed quietly with envy over the closeness they shared. She’d turned into a complete sap after meeting Whitman. Her hard edges had softened and even her cursing had lessened. Damn, he’d ruined her for good.

Micah turned to Sarah. “Do you know a man named Whitman Kendrick?”

Sarah’s heart slammed into her ribs. Her entire body began to shake. “Yes, I do.”

Her voice was rough with emotion.

Micah gestured with his head. “Well, he’s at the door with a hangdog look on his face and asking for you. Do you want me to send him packing?”

Sarah rose to her feet as quickly as she could, what with all the shaking and the crippled leg and all. “No, don’t send him packing.”

As she limped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, Sarah thought of a million reasons why Whitman was in Plum Creek, then dismissed all of them.

The only one that mattered was what was in her heart and what she hoped was in his.

When she got to the door, her palms were so sweaty she could hardly turn the knob. As the door opened, Sarah’s stomach dropped when there was no one there.

“Whitman?” she whispered.

He stepped in her view from the left and somehow Sarah threw herself into his arms. Whitman caught her and murmured her name over and over against her neck.

He smelled so good, felt even better, and he was there. Thank God, he was there.

Sarah found herself crying—
again,
for pity’s sake—as her heart beat against his. The thumping vibrated through her, making her realize anything that happened before she met Whitman meant nothing at all.

It didn’t matter that he was a Yankee and she was a Southerner.

It didn’t matter that he had been in the army.

It didn’t matter that she hated Yankee army men.

What mattered was that she loved him and he was there in her arms.

“Sarah, sweetheart.” He held her so tightly she could hardly get a breath.

“What are you doing here, Whit?” She finally got hold of her runaway brain and extricated herself from the embrace.

His green gaze locked with hers. “I came here because somewhere between Virginia and Kentucky I fell in love with a sharp-tongued Southern belle. She turned me on my head, beat me with her cane, and taught me what it meant to live again.”

He got down on one knee and looked up at her. “I came here to tell her that I love her with all my heart and to ask her to marry me.”

Sarah pressed a hand to her chest. She’d wished for a man who would love her, and here he was, on his knees, asking her to marry him. Her mother had been so wrong. There was someone for her.

“Well, I’ve already had practice at being Mrs. Kendrick.” She smiled and cupped his chin. “I think I’ll say yes.”

He whooped and picked her up, whirling her around the porch until she thought she would show Kendrick just how strong the coffee had been that morning.

“Something I should know, sister?” Micah’s voice stopped the mad spinning, thank goodness.

Whitman set Sarah gently on her feet and held out his hand to Micah. “I’ve just asked your sister to marry me. With or without your permission, but I think I’d prefer with, of course.”

Micah raised his brow and met Sarah’s gaze. “A Yankee?”

Sarah shrugged. “We can’t always choose who we fall in love with, Micah.”

He smiled. “Well then, you have my blessing.” Micah finally shook Whitman’s hand. “But you’ll have to get used to Southern cooking, because we make real food to eat.”

Sarah swatted at her brother even as the men laughed. She’d never felt so happy, so amazingly delirious in her life. Joy sang through her veins as she slipped her hand into Whitman’s.

Yes, this was it. She was finally home.

W
hitman sat cross-legged on the floor with Miracle as she introduced him to her dolls. He’d never played with children, but Sarah’s niece was an amazing little girl who hugged him immediately upon meeting him.

Sarah watched him from the settee, her silver eyes calm for the first time since they’d met. Whitman still couldn’t believe she had said yes to his marriage proposal.

Of course, she hadn’t told him she loved him, but that was okay. He was patient enough to wait.

She wouldn’t have agreed to marry him if she hadn’t loved him. Sarah had no fondness for Yankees, after all, so she had to have true feelings for him to want to be his wife in earnest.

“Picnic with me?” Miracle was looking up at him with those fathomless brown eyes.

“You want to go on a picnic?”

“Uh-huh. Mama and Daddy goin’ to town and I don’t wanna go.” She climbed into his lap. “Picnic with me?”

He glanced up in time to see Sarah hiding a grin.

“As long as Aunt Sarah comes on the picnic with us.”

“I can’t go traipsing around to a picnic site. For pity’s sake, Kendrick, I can barely hobble to the necessary.” She hadn’t changed, thank God, and Whitman loved her all the more.

“Then let’s do it in the yard. We can lay out a blanket under the trees and have a picnic.”

“Yay!” Miracle stood up and danced around him. Her childish joy was infectious and soon Whit was dancing with her, much to Sarah’s delight.

Eppie poked her head in the parlor and stared at them with a grin playing around her mouth. “She’s convincing, isn’t she?”

“Amazingly convincing.” Whit laughed a bit sheepishly, then held out his hand. “Picnic, Miss Spalding.”

Sarah frowned but accepted his help standing. Miracle picked up her cane and handed it to her aunt.

“You need magic.” Miracle touched Sarah’s right leg. “Make you all better.”

With that the girl went skipping off singing about picnics. Sarah met Whit’s gaze and he was surprised to feel a tremble in her hands.

“She’s a very special child.”

Whitman had already come to that conclusion and was glad to hear he wasn’t crazy. “She’d have to be, considering how special her aunt is.”

Sarah swatted at his shoulder. “You’re just trying to get in my drawers.”

Whit threw back his head and laughed. He felt so free, so alive, and so blessed.

Nothing would stand in the way of their new life.

The picnic spot was chosen after careful consideration by Miracle and her dog, Daisy. Apparently the pooch had a special sense about picnics.

Whitman and Sarah watched from the kitchen as the girl and dog wandered around the yard examining grass, rocks, and sniffing at everything. Of course, Daisy did most of the sniffing.

“What do you suppose they’re looking for?” Sarah asked.

Whitman shrugged. “I don’t know, but maybe she’ll tell us when she finds it.”

Sarah chuckled. “I would’ve expected her to be special and love being outside. I always did.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed into her. “Mmm, maybe later we’ll find our own special spot.”

Sarah’s pulse picked up and her nipples peaked at the nearness of his body. It had been a week—too long—since they’d been together.

She missed him in every way possible, but especially in her arms. They made their own magic then.

“You’d best be careful, Kendrick, or you’ll light a fire you might not be able to douse.”

He laughed against her neck. “I sure as hell would have fun trying, though.”

Sarah turned her head and captured his lips in a quick, but hot kiss. “Me too.”

The back door banged open and Miracle came running in with Daisy at her heels, startling Sarah and Whitman.

The girl looked up at them. “Hide.” Her voice was full of fear.

She ran down the hallway, her shoes nearly sliding on the shiny wooden floors. Sarah felt a frisson of fear snake through her. She met Whitman’s gaze and he looked as worried as she felt.

“What do you suppose scared her?”

“I don’t know but we need to find out.” Whit opened the door and peered out. “Stay here.”

Sarah snorted and followed him out the door. “What makes you think I would stay put?” She made her way down the small set of stairs, thankfully without falling on her head.

Micah and Eppie had left fifteen minutes earlier, so no one was around but Sarah, Whitman, and a frightened little girl.

Whitman was halfway across the backyard when a shadow darted between the carriage house and the trees.

“Did you see that?” she hissed.

“Yes, now get back in the house, woman. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sarah could protect herself. Whit should know that after all they’d been through.

There was no way she’d allow herself to be hurt again. Beneath her hand, the cane was warm against her skin. The deadly knife in her sleeve was comforting. Sarah was armed and ready for whoever or whatever threatened.

Whit was at the edge of the trees before Sarah reached him. He disappeared into the gloom, the leaves and sticks cracking beneath his boots.

She stopped and listened and heard a second set of feet in the woods.

“Whitman, look out!” She started toward where she’d seen him as fast as her crippled damn leg could carry her.

The sounds of a struggle bounced around the trees. By the time Sarah reached where she’d seen him, the sounds had stopped. The silence made every hair on her body stand on end.

“Whit?”

As expected, he didn’t answer. Blood rushed around in her veins as she readied for whatever battle was about to be hers. Someone had come to steal her life away from her and she wasn’t going to let it happen.

If Whit had been killed, then whoever it was would soon join him.

Sarah pulled the top from the cane and it made a swoosh of metal as the ten-inch-long blade was revealed. With her other hand, she slid the dagger from its pocket in her sleeve.

“Come on then! Let’s get on with it!” she called to the trees. “Afraid of a crippled woman?! Do you have a pair of balls or not?!”

A rustling noise came from her left. She watched as a figure appeared in the shadows of the trees, pulling something behind it.

Then she realized the something being dragged was Whitman. Another man had him by the arm and was pulling him through the leaves with no regard for the sticks and rocks beneath them.

Sarah checked her balance and tightened her grip on the weapons.

When the man came closer, the world shifted beneath her feet. There before her stood the man who’d raped her, crippled her, and cut off her finger.

Her heart stopped beating for just a moment.

The sheer terror of being beneath the man returned, and it felt as if she’d run into a brick wall. It stole her breath and turned her back into a seventeen-year-old girl hiding in the cobwebs of the root cellar.

The very last person she expected to intrude on her life was this man. This poor excuse for a human being who found pleasure in hurting others.

Sarah grew dizzy with lack of air but she was finally able to suck in a lungful. She knew the man was waiting for her to speak, but her voice was still stuck in her throat.

He was as big as she remembered, gap toothed and ugly but dirtier, with a full, greasy beard and a big stomach. The one thing that definitely hadn’t changed, however, were his eyes. They were as cold as death.

“Go away, bad man!” Miracle called from somewhere in the house.

“Come down here and I’ll teach you a lesson, you little shit!” The man rubbed a bloody spot on his temple. “That little bitch threw a rock at me.”

Miracle’s courage gave Sarah the time and the boost to find her own.

“Get out of here before I kill you.”

The idiot had the audacity to laugh. “Kill me? Listen, missy, I just about split your man’s head in two. I don’t plan on leaving before he’s dead.”

He kicked Whitman in the ribs and Sarah heard a sickening crack.

“I’m going to give you one more chance to leave, and then I’m going to enjoy killing you.” Sarah didn’t even recognize her own voice.

The threat on Whitman’s life, and on sweet Miracle’s life, had pulled the fear that had been lingering deep down inside Sarah and thrown it aside.

It was time to fight.

“What’s your name, sugar? I feel like I know you.”

This time it was Sarah’s turn to laugh. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” She pointed the dagger at him. “You came to hurt Whitman, didn’t you?”

He kicked Whitman in the back. “Hurt him? Nah, I came to kill him.” His smile would probably scare the fur off a squirrel.

Sarah knew Whitman’s life was in her hands. There was no one else around to help her except herself. She had to be stronger and more agile than she’d ever had to be.

“Well, isn’t that too bad. I’m going to kill you instead.” Sarah bared her teeth and readied herself for battle.

The stranger circled around her, watching her. She somehow found the balance she needed to keep turning as he walked. Sarah’s heart was beating so hard, she was afraid it would burst from her chest.

“You don’t look strong enough to kill a bird, much less a man like me.”

“You’re not a man, you’re an animal. Makes you easier to take down.” Her jab hit home, judging by the red flush that spread across his cheeks.

“You’ve got a smart mouth.”

“I’ve got a smart brain too. Better to defeat you with, you disgusting piece of dog shit.” Sarah felt better with each word that burst from her mouth.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you suck my dick with that smart mouth.” He lunged toward her and Sarah had only moments to react.

She whirled to the right and sliced at him as he went past her. A blossom of red appeared on his shirt and Sarah growled in triumph.

She didn’t celebrate long, however, because he regained his balance and grabbed her arm. Sarah pulled the dagger up and stabbed his shoulder.

He howled and punched her so hard, she saw stars. Yet she didn’t fall.

“You bitch.” He punched her in the stomach and she sliced him in the neck.

Blood sprayed everywhere, including in Sarah’s eyes. She stumbled as he launched himself on her. His hands wrapped around her throat as she struggled for breath.

His weight kept her pinned to the ground as rocks dug into her back. The blood temporarily blinded her, but she could still see him in her mind’s eye.

The bastard had tried to strangle her before, so long ago, and she’d fought until she’d passed out. Not this time, however. This time one of them would die.

Whitman came into consciousness after a scream echoed through his head. His body screamed in protest when he rolled over. It felt as if he’d been stomped by a horse.

He heard another scream and realized it was Sarah. Whitman got to his knees and shook his head, willing away the spots. That proved to be a mistake when he almost passed out again.

A grunt and a man’s shout brought him back to the here and now. Sarah was in trouble.

Whitman looked up and tried to focus on the two figures struggling in front of him. A spray of blood told him it was a deadly battle and someone was losing.

With a mighty groan, he got to his feet and staggered over in time to see a man drag Sarah to the ground as he choked her. Whit fell to his knees and realized he wasn’t going to be able to save her.

He crawled to her, desperate to save the woman who owned his heart. “Sarah,” he croaked.

The man on top of her rolled off and Whitman howled in agony. He’d killed her. God, that son of a bitch had killed his Sarah.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he crawled across the dirt to her. Sarah was covered in blood and lying there as still as death.

Whitman’s heart was torn asunder with the knowledge he’d been in the dirt on his knees while she’d been murdered. When he got closer, he realized the man was Booker.

“No!” Whitman screamed when he realized his run-in with the former sergeant was what brought the man to Colorado.

To exact revenge.

To murder Sarah.

To take everything from Whitman.

Whitman reached her and tried to wipe away the blood from her face. She’d fought hard and hadn’t given up easily. Booker was a big man and obviously too much for a woman with a damaged leg.

He pulled her limp body into his arms and rocked back and forth. Sobs of agony were torn from deep inside him as he grieved for the woman he loved.

“She needs magic.” Miracle’s voice broke through the haze of grief.

Whitman tried to focus on the girl but he was still seeing double. “What?”

“Give her a magic kiss, Uncle Whit.” Miracle patted his cheek as if he were the child.

Whit stared into the girl’s brown eyes. “A kiss?”

Miracle shook her head. “She wake up with a magic kiss.”

He realized the child was seeing enough blood and gore to scar her for life. “Go back in the house, Miracle. You shouldn’t see this.”

Miracle stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Give her a magic kiss.” Her insistence finally made it through Whitman’s fuzzy, grief-filled thoughts.

He looked down at Sarah’s bloody face and touched her lips. That’s when he saw her lids flutter.

Give her a magic kiss.

Whit held his breath as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment, it was as if he were kissing her dead body, but then, God shone down upon him and her lips moved beneath his.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Whitman, you look like somebody beat the shit out of you.”

He laughed and hugged her close, ignoring the pain thrumming through his skull and his ribs.

Sarah was alive!

“Told you. Magic kisses are special.” Miracle turned to look at Booker’s body. “Bad man dead now.”

With that, the amazing little girl went back in the house, leaving Whitman in the dirt next to a bloody dead bastard and with a very alive woman in his arms.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered brokenly.

She snorted. “I’m too tough to die. That bastard never knew what he was up against. My blades are sharp enough to cut off someone’s head.”

Whitman laughed through his tears. “Are you hurt?”