Whiskey Dreams (8 page)

“I’m not thirsty,” he said, then lowered his voice. “John, I must speak with you. Take a walk with me.” He wracked his mind for some errand they could claim so that their togetherness would not be remarked upon. “Come to the stable, and I’ll show you my best horse.”

John drained his glass before nodding, and didn’t mention the fact that he’d already seen Torben on his first day in Sleepy Hollow. Hopefully, anyone who might have overheard was ignorant of that fact.

Stifling a sigh of relief, Brom turned toward the door, acutely aware of John at his side.

Outside, the stars had begun to emerge, winking out from behind hazy clouds, sharing the sky with a half moon. It was relatively dark, but there was enough moonlight that Brom was able to scan the yard for any sign of another person, and see that there was no one. He kept his voice low anyway. “I regret how things ended between us yesterday, and I spent the entire night hoping that you’d let me make it up to you. Will you?”

John sucked in a breath, keeping his gaze trained on the stable ahead. “I spent the entire night preparing to act as if yesterday never happened, and now you’d try to unravel my will?”

“Yes,” Brom said adamantly. “Let me show you the pleasure I meant to give you.” He laid a hand on the rough wood of the stable door and pushed it open, stepping inside, where the familiar smells of horses and hay hung in the air. A few horses peeked out from their stalls, but there was no sign of human presence. Hopefully they’d be able to steal a few minutes for the conversation Brom craved so strongly, and – God willing – that would be enough for him to convince John to give him one more chance. That was all he needed to set things right – or at least, as right as they could possibly be after what he’d done.

“Surely you don’t mean here and now,” John said. “Not everyone has arrived yet, and anyone might come in at any moment.”

Brom sensed that John was stalling. That was a good thing – he could have refused outright. The fact that he was holding out meant that there was something he wanted to hear. But what was it? “No, not here, and not now. In the wood across from the house in an hour.” That would give Brom time to make his rounds at the party, so that he could slip away afterward, hopefully without being sought out. It would also give the other partygoers time to sip punch and ale, slipping into a state in which they’d hardly notice if Brom Bones and the new schoolmaster left.

John crossed the aisle and laid a hand on Torben’s stall door, standing face to face with the stallion. Torben extended his nose and sniffed curiously at John’s hair. “A part of me still thinks that it would be best to pretend that nothing had transpired between us, and to walk away as acquaintances – nothing more.”

Brom stepped up to stand by his side. “That would be a lie, and I dislike lies.”

John turned his head to meet Brom’s eyes, fixing him with an expression of censure. “So do I.”

Brom’s gut twisted, and he felt the invisible knife that had settled there when he’d realized that he’d lied to John when he’d promised not to harm him. The light scrape that marred John’s cheek hurt to look at. “Two lies are even worse than one. Let me atone for mine, and then we can know each other honestly.”

John’s gaze was searching, and Brom wanted badly to give John whatever signal he was looking for to let him know that he meant it, that he could be trusted. His gaze strayed from John’s eyes to his mouth, and rested on his lips, so full and so close. They were parted, inviting. Ever so slowly, he leaned forward and brushed them with the gentlest kiss he could bear to give.

A few moments of silence followed, during which John simply stood, statue-still. Torben stamped a hoof against the floor of his stall, demanding food or attention – preferably both. Then the stable door swung wide open, creaking faintly on its hinges and shattering the air of intimacy. Immediately, Brom began talking about Torben, gesturing toward him.

John played along, making remarks about Torben’s fine conformation and glossy coat as a man came inside and stabled a bay. The horse was significantly more handsome than its owner – a man who was perhaps a little older than Brom, with a queue of dark hair and small, cruel-looking eyes. Brom tipped his head lightly in the man’s direction, doing his best to appear as if he’d been doing nothing more than discussing horses with John. Fortunately, Torben was a fine animal, worthy of the praise both men were bestowing upon him.

The stranger’s gaze flickered between Brom and John, lighting momentarily upon Torben, and then he was gone, out through the stable door.

“We had better return to the party,” Brom said as a shiver ran down his spine – it chilled the marrow inside his bones to have come so close to being seen kissing John. It had been stupid of him to do such a thing in the stable, where anyone could have walked in. Still, nothing – not even such a close call – could curb his enthusiasm for meeting again with John. “Will I see you at the edge of the wood in an hour?”

John nodded mutely, his speech apparently having dried up now that he no longer had to feign interest in Torben.

Inside, Brom and John parted ways, and Brom began a seemingly endless cycle of socialization, meeting with dozens of acquaintances, many of whom he’d known his entire life. Outside of his soldiering days, he’d spent most of his life within the bounds of the sprawling fields and forests of Sleepy Hollow. The man from the stable was the only stranger, and Brom tried to tell himself that that was why he stood out from the crowd, that the man’s gaze wasn’t lingering overlong on him or John.

His first truly enjoyable conversation came when he noticed the strange man from the stable leering across the room at Katrina Van Tassel, looking as if he were about to offer her a cup of punch. Not liking the lavicious look in the man’s eyes, Brom intervened, stepping up to Katrina’s side, offering her a light bow and a drink. Looking radiant, as usual, she nodded her acceptance and he retrieved a beverage for her from the nearby table, which in addition to the large punch bowl, hosted an assortment of food. “It all smells wonderful,” he said, nodding in the direction of the buffet. “Tell me which dishes you prepared so that I can try those first.”

She smiled, her cheeks going faintly pink as she blinked her cornflower-blue eyes. Katrina had taken over all the household cooking when her mother had died years ago, and was quite skilled. Her baked goods, in particular, were to be craved. Brom had devoured many a treat she’d made while visiting with Mr. Van Tassel. “There’s an apple pie I made with you in mind.” She gestured toward a section of the table where numerous pies were on display.

“Which one?” he asked, stepping forward. Many of the local women had contributed to the assortment, and there were several apple pies; if anyone had known which one she’d baked, it would have been gone already.

“The one with the little dough leaves around the edge.”

He carved a slice and laid it on a plate, retrieving a fork from an assortment of utensils. The golden crust was just a little darker than her moonbeam hair, still slightly warm from the oven and deliciously flaky. The filling was a sweet ambrosia of tart apples, cinnamon, butter and sugar. He’d never tasted anything better. Her beauty aside, any man within a hundred miles would probably gladly marry her for her culinary skills alone. Since his mother’s death, Brom had tasted the baking of nearly every woman in Sleepy Hollow, and none of them could match Katrina’s skill. “Perfect,” he said as a burst of cinnamon melted against his tongue.

She favored him with a smile, smoothing the skirts of her fine blue gown. “I baked a pumpkin pie too, if you’d like to try that.”

“Of course.” The food warmed his insides, dispelling a little of the tension he’d been carrying ever since the day before. Though he knew he deserved to feel guilty, the slight reprieve was welcome; it was important that he conduct himself normally until he slipped away to meet John at the edge of the wood. What he’d do to him there was something he didn’t dare risk anyone else witnessing.

Brom continued to make conversation with Katrina, determined not to leave her side until the man with the cruel eyes stopped stalking her. When the stranger wasn’t leering at Katrina, he was glaring at Brom, who could feel his gaze boring between his shoulder blades, intense and jealous. Their conversation turned to horses – specifically, the mare Brom had sold Katrina’s father several months ago. “I’ve never encountered a sweeter animal,” Katrina said. “I take sugar cubes out to the pasture for her almost every day. She’s the only one of the horses who I’ll hand-feed – the others make me feel as if I’m in danger of losing my fingers.”

Brom smiled, pride swelling inside him, fighting the ever-increasing quantity of pie he’d eaten for room. When Mr. Van Tassel had mentioned that he’d like to acquire a gentle animal for his daughter, Brom had spent quite a while searching for the perfect horse. He’d purchased the mare several counties away and brought her to Sleepy Hollow. “I’m glad you’re pleased with her.”

Brom glanced briefly around the room, refusing to let his gaze linger on John, who was engaged in conversation with some farmer. It was impossible not to notice most of the other men in the room, if only because they were directing envious gazes in Brom’s direction. “Shall we dance?” Brom asked. A farmer with a penchant for playing the fiddle had begun a lively tune and was attempting to make his music heard over the dull roar of chatter.

“I’d like that very much.”

As Brom’s fingertips met Katrina’s soft skin and the fine fabric of her gown, Brom felt the heat of at least a score of jealous stares, all directed at the space between his shoulder blades. Instead of shrugging them away, he twirled Katrina around the room. The fiddler played louder, faster, and their dance was infectious. Couples began pairing up around the room, and soon the center of the floor was filled with dancers. Those who remained lost in conversation moved to the sides, against the walls. Brom caught sight of John stepping lively with a red-headed farmgirl, whose eyes gleamed and cheeks flushed as she gazed up at John.

Katrina was an excellent dancer, light and graceful beneath Brom’s hands. As the fiddle’s music filled the room, Brom was shocked to realize that he was enjoying himself. The nervous knot in his middle had nearly been untied. Nearly – every time he caught a glimpse of John, he felt it again. He focused on Katrina for the remainder of the dance. By the time they stopped, she was breathless, and his heart was thrumming in his chest. “That was wonderful, Brom.” She smiled as he handed her a cup of punch.

“Yes, it was.” He smiled back, just as a shadow loomed dark in the corner of his vision.

It was the stranger, with a greedy look in his eyes as he sidled up to Katrina, inserting himself in the narrow space between her and Brom. “Good—”

“Sorry!” A female voice interrupted his greeting, half-laughing even as she blushed in embarrassment. It belonged to the girl who’d been partnered with John. Apparently dizzy from dancing – or with giddiness, Brom thought as he noted the way she beamed up at John – she’d bumped into Katrina’s elbow. “My apologies, Katrina,” she huffed. “I’m a bit dizzy…”

“Nonsense, it was my fault,” John said gallantly. “I’m afraid I’ve subjected you to my clumsiness for too long, Belinda.”

“Oh, no.” The girl’s – Belinda’s, apparently – eyes went comically wide. “You’re not clumsy at all, Mr. Crane. Just the opposite, in fact.”

“Either way, it’s quite all right,” Katrina said with a smile. “I think we’re all a bit dizzy at the moment.” She sipped her punch, her cheeks prettily flushed as she drank. “Mr. Van Dyck is quite the musician, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes,” Belinda said, tucking a stray lock of her rust-red hair beneath her cap. “He’s wonderful.”

John handed Belinda a cup of punch, and she beamed at him as if it were a Christmas gift.

Brom didn’t mean to catch John’s eye, but he did, and was barely able to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile. With his looks and charm, John was bound to capture the attention of Sleepy Hollow’s younger female population. Brom couldn’t blame Belinda, or any of the other girls who’d cast hopeful looks in John’s direction as he’d danced with her. John had the sort of face that was destined to break hearts, and was kind to a fault on top of it.

John gave the slightest of shrugs and flashed a tiny smile of his own.

“John, allow me to introduce you to Katrina Van Tassel,” Brom said, noting from the corner of his eye that the stranger who’d attempted to intrude upon their conversation had been butted out of the group, which had formed a tight little circle next to the buffet in order to allow more room for those who were still dancing. His face was contorted in what could only be described as a grimace, and as he stood on the outside of the small gathering, he caught Brom’s eye and gave him a bitter look. “Katrina,” Brom continued, careful to keep his expression neutral, “this is John Crane, our new schoolmaster.”