Prologue Read online

  Chloe stared down at him with tremendous agitation. "Your face is a mess. I've got to put this medicine on it."

  "My face is a mess! You're not exactly the first breath of spring, you know. Can you close your eyes to sleep at night with your hair skinned back and screwed down to your head like that?"

  Automatically Chloe put a hand to her hair, surprised that a stranger's rude remarks could hurt so much. Her mental clock ticked louder. By God, she vowed, she'd snub him to the bedpost if that's what it took to get the medicine on his face. She wanted him patched up and out of her house.

  Glaring at him, she went to her room and grabbed her silver hand mirror. She marched back to his bed and shoved the glass at him. "Look at yourself and tell me which of us looks worse."

  He regarded her through the swollen slits of his eyelids.

  "Go on." She shook the mirror at him again. "Take a good look!"

  He slowly reached for the handle and looked into the glass. He stared at himself for several seconds, surprise and worry holding his attention. His right eye and most of that side of his face was as purple and swollen as an eggplant. Various raw abrasions still contained sand and dirt he'd picked up when he fell. Maybe this was serious.

  Lowering the mirror, he mumbled, "I guess you're right."

  "Excuse me, I didn't hear you," she pressed.

  "I said you're right."

  Mollified, Chloe continued, "Shall we try again?" He nodded.

  She sat on the edge of the mattress and dabbed at the wounds with feathery strokes. Then she smoothed the ointment over them. His beard was prickly beneath her fingertips and his skin was hot. Under her hand, she felt his jaw clench and she didn't think he drew breath the whole time she worked on his face, but he remained still long enough for her to finish.

  Wiping her hand on the towel at the washstand, she faced him. "I'm going downstairs to have my dinner now, but I'll be back afterward." She turned and pulled the door closed.

  "Thank you."

  It was said so quietly she wondered if it was meant for her.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Chloe stood at the front door, breathing in the coming twilight. What a horrible day it had been.

  She dragged herself upstairs and carrying her bedside candle, went to the nursery to check on Travis. She stood in the connecting doorway and looked at him. What had she been thinking of to put him in here, in such intimate proximity, with no way out but through her bedroom?

  He was asleep on his side with his back to her. He'd kicked off the blanket and only the sheet was wrapped around his middle, leaving his long legs uncovered. One foot hung over the end of the bed. Chloe stared with curiosity at a red stripe encircling his ankle. In the low light she couldn't make out what the mark was. Tiptoeing closer, she held the candle higher. The shiny red line appeared to be a newly healed wound. Over the bone the angry scar was especially deep, as if something had rubbed away the flesh.

  Something like a manacle.

  Suddenly she remembered all she knew and didn't know about Travis McGuire and fear rose in her again. But as he lay there, reluctant compassion elbowed aside her apprehension. The thought of him wearing iron manacles that ground off his flesh made her heart contract. And with a touch that was no more than the brush of a moth's wing, she briefly pressed one cool fingertip to the scar.

  Then she went to her own room, leaving the door ajar.

  She didn't hear Travis McGuire's weary sigh.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After Chloe blew out her candle, she slept like the dead but she was awake at six the next morning. She put on a plain gray dress and, standing before the mirror, began to twist her hair into its knot and then stopped, her arms in midair. Travis McGuire's remark had stung more than she cared to admit, but it had been so long since she'd worn her hair any other way she didn't know what else to do with it. Tentatively, experimentally, she wound the shiny red-gold length instead of twisting it. She stood there a minute, holding it like that until she was hit with a bold inspiration.

  Moving swiftly through the hall and down the stairs, she retrieved her sewing scissors from the parlor. Back in her bedroom, she stared with concentration into the glass and severed fine strands across her forehead and at her temples. Then dipping her hand into the pitcher, she dampened the tendrils and watched them curl. Again she wound her hair, but not so tightly this time, and pinned it in place on the crown of her head. The total effect was flattering to her face and made her feel very feminine.

  Travis's baiting may have been partially responsible for this change, but from now till he left, she resolved, she would not let him bother her. She would just ignore his sarcasm and barbs. If he had no one to argue with, he'd give up. She took one last glance at her hair and smiled at herself in the mirror.

  Travis was still asleep in the darkened nursery when she checked on him before going down to the kitchen to fix their breakfast and she had to wake him when she brought his tray.

  "Good morning," she called as she stood next to his bed.

  His face looked only a little better but he stretched and was able to sit up so she could set the tray on his lap.

  "Morning," he responded. He looked at the dishes and found thin oatmeal, dry toast with strawberry jam, apple sauce, and weak tea. "It smells good," he said without enthusiasm.

  "It's light food, but it's better for you right now."

  Chloe moved around the little room raising the window shades to let in the early sun. As he munched the toast he took in her appearance. He realized she was younger than he'd originally thought. The purple smudges beneath her green eyes were gone and even her hair looked a little different. And along with her sunny smell, he thought he. detected a touch of some flowery fragrance. Her skirt and blouse were plain but she moved well in them; they seemed to flow with her. She was taller than most women, but she had a willowy grace, accentuated by her long waist and softly rounded hips.

  He'd seen less attractive females, he grudgingly admitted to himself.

  "How are you feeling today, Mr. McGuire?"

  Mr. McGuire again. Every time she called him that, it rankled. If he hadn't been out of his head, he knew he never would have told her his last name. 'Travis."

  "All right, then. Travis."

  "Better, I think."

  Then maybe he'd be more civil today, she hoped. She resumed her post in the rocker and started the chair in motion while they studied each other.

  He was so different from any man she'd ever met, so irritating and threatening, she didn't know how to deal with him. Those long limbs, those pale gray eyes—

  "You've changed your hair," he said, gesturing at her head with his fork.

  Startled out of her thoughts, she fidgeted and looked at her lap. Now that he'd noticed, she felt a little foolish. She certainly didn't want him to get the idea that his criticism had made her hurry to alter her hair. "You caught me on a bad day, yesterday. I always wear it like that when I do the washing."

  "It looks nice," he continued, his eyes returning to his breakfast. "Looser or something."

  It occurred to her then that he might be apologizing for his previous insult. "Thank you. I'll change your pillowcase after you eat and put more ointment on your face. You rubbed most of it off during the night."

  The prospect of more ointment made him frown at his plate. When he looked up, he caught her staring at the outline of his legs under the sheet. He waited for her to ask about the scar on his ankle she'd discovered the night before.

  That wound was the last thought on Chloe's mind as she looked at his legs. Embarrassed at the disturbing turns her thoughts had taken when she glanced at him, she blurted, "I was wondering how you got this far with no horse, no water, starving, beaten."

  Relieved, he supposed it was a fair question, but he didn't know what to say that wouldn't reveal that part of his past he wouldn't discuss. After a minute of chewing and thinking, he said, "I didn't have any choice. I had a horse, but he stepped in a gophe
r hole about forty miles from here. He broke his leg. I had to shoot him. I was thrown when he went down and landed on my face."

  For her own peace of mind, Chloe gave him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that might explain why there were only four bullets in his revolver.

  "I hated having to put him down," he continued pensively, "but I couldn't help him. So I started walking and I ran out of water before I ended up here."

  Just then a knock sounded at the front door downstairs.

  'That must be Doc," Chloe said, rising from the chair. "He said he'd stop in the morning to see how you're doing."

  When she left the room, Travis sighed, glad for the interruption. He didn't know how long it would be before she started asking more pointed questions. In fairness to her, he had to admit she wasn't as nosy and gabby as some would have been under the circumstances. He leaned over and set the tray on the table next to him just as a tall, elegant-looking man with flowing white hair came into the room.

  "Well," the man said, appraising him. "Looks like you might make it after all. I wasn't sure yesterday." He approached the bed and held out his hand. "Miles Sherwood. I'm the doctor in these parts."

  "Travis is my name," he replied, taking the man's hand. "I want to thank you for what you did yesterday. I can't say I remember any of it."

  "Hell, son, if Chloe wasn't as quick-witted as she is, I couldn't have saved you." The doctor asked a few questions about how he was feeling and then examined his face.

  "You're recovering faster than I thought you would. You'd better stay in bed for now," Doc summed up, "but you can have dinner downstairs in a couple of days, if Chloe doesn't mind. You should be up to it by then."

  Getting out of bed sounded good to Travis, but he couldn't do that without pants. He shrugged. "I won't be going anywhere until I get some clothes. I heard you had to cut them off."

  Doc sat in Chloe's chair and crossed his legs. "Sorry about that, but I couldn't see any other way to get you out of them. It's not easy to strip wet denims off an unconscious man. And I couldn't very well ask Chloe to help. She has a sassy tongue sometimes, and she might seem to have enough grit to hunt bear with a switch. Don't let that fool you. She hasn't had an easy life, but it's been a sheltered one."

  Travis had seen almost nothing in this woman of the blushing shyness that would indicate a protected life. "It's hard to tell," Travis replied.

  Doc stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Travis stared back.

  "Son," Doc began, "right after I graduated from medical school, the War Between the States got started. I ended up working as a surgeon at Andersonville—maybe you've heard of it. Anyway, I was there long enough to see what leg irons can do to a man's ankle and I know you're too young to have been involved in the war."

  Travis felt the blood rising to his face and he looked away from the man's intense scrutiny, fixing his gaze on a bright square of sun on the hardwood floor.

  "Now I don't know what kind of trouble you're in and I suppose it's none of my business, so I won't ask. My job is to patch you up. But I will tell you this. Chloe talks tough but she's one of the finest people I've ever known; fair, honorable, and trustworthy. She offered to take you into her home because I thought you'd die otherwise. God knows she has enough on her hands doing folk's laundry. And I would hate to think you'd take advantage of the hospitality you've been given here, if you know what I mean."

  Travis gave a short nod, but kept his gaze averted and said nothing. Fury boiled in him. Did the doctor think he'd jump on that female and rape her? Or maybe steal the silver? He cursed his continuing bad luck, this time for letting the man see his ankle. Every time someone figured out he'd been in prison, he was on the road again. He'd always be running and would always be treated as though he were less than human, either because of Rankin or because of his past. It wore him out to think about it.

  Doc continued. "Now you follow Chloe's instructions and cooperate with her. She'll have you back on your feet in no time."

  “That's fine with me," was his sullen reply. "I want to be out of this bed as soon as I'm able." He wanted to add that he didn't want the silver and he sure as hell didn't want that old maid's virginity.

  The doctor stood. "That won't be for a while yet. I'm not going to tell Chloe or anyone else about this conversation. If you want to that's your business."

  Travis looked up at him and the hand that was offered. He saw no judgment in the doctor's eyes, only kindness. Slowly, he reached out to take the extended hand. "I appreciate that, Doc. Thanks."

  Doc was already in the hall when Travis heard, "And the next time you decide to go for a walk, take some water with you."

  Travis almost smiled.

  * * *

  Chloe was putting away the last of the lunch dishes when she heard a hesitant knock at the front door. She hung her apron and went to the parlor.

  Silhouetted in the screen door she saw Evan Peterson holding a shaggy bouquet. She'd been thoroughly annoyed with him yesterday but now as he stood there, she was touched by his woebegone, lost-soul expression and her irritation faded.

  "Hello, Evan," she said, opening the door to him.

  He came in and thrust the flowers at her like an embarrassed ten-year-old boy, his face pointed at the bright rag rug under his feet.

  "Hello, Miss Chloe," he mumbled, raising his eyes only as high as her collar.

  For an instant, Chloe thought Evan was staring at her bosom but discarded the suspicion. Evan Peterson? No one could accuse him of improper behavior.

  She took the withered bouquet. "Goodness, Evan, these are lovely but you must have cleaned out Mrs. Tolliver's flower beds."

  He looked up then, vehemence animating his face, and she almost stepped back from its strange intensity. "I wish they were more. I'd do anything for you." He took her elbow and directed her to the settee. "Please, I-I'd like to talk to you."

  This new and unsuspected facet of his personality caught Chloe off guard. "Well, yes, of course, but let me put these flowers in water first," she replied. "I'll bring some iced tea, too."

  She went to the kitchen and found a tall cut glass vase and pumped water into it, wondering all the while what had gotten into the man. When she came back to the parlor, she brought a napkin-lined tray with a pitcher and glasses and set it on the oval table in front of Evan. She looked at Evan a moment, then handed him a glass of tea and sat on the end of the settee, wishing she could shake off the creepy feeling he was giving her. She felt as though someone else's eyes, a stranger's eyes, were staring back at her through Evan's face, just watching. Her muscles tightened and she took a quick breath—that was a silly notion. Nervously, she smoothed the doily on the arm of the settee.

  He took a long, noisy drink from the glass, then blurted, "Miss Chloe."

  She looked at him and as she did he grappled for her free hand with his damp fingers. Mild foreboding rose in her. She really didn't want a repeat performance of his embarrassing attempts to kiss her but he was behaving so oddly, she didn't know what to expect. Her senses narrowed and focused and without knowing why, she felt she was about to be faced with something unpleasant.

  "Well—uh, we have known each other for several years, and uh, I have been formally calling on you for almost six months now . . ."

  Evan paused here and swallowed. Chloe suddenly realized what was about to happen, the thing she'd dreaded and yet had felt curious about all this time. She was reminded of when she was a child and had turned over rocks in the garden, fascinated and at the same time repelled by the insects that scattered when the sunlight hit them. What a thing to remember now.

  As she looked at Evan, his eyes occasionally met hers and then darted away.

  He spoke again. "We seem to get along quite well, and since neither of us is getting any younger-" Her brows lowered ominously.

  Amending his poor choice of words, Evan said, "I mean time has a way of slipping by, and I have worried about you having no male protector . . ."

 
; She saw a look of panic cross his features. The more he talked, the more he botched the whole thing.

  "Miss Chloe, I want to marry you. And the sooner the better."

  The words were out and lay between them like a shapeless lump of dough. Chloe felt her eyes widen and Evan hovered expectantly for her reply.

  Knowing that some kind of response was required, Chloe said, "Yes, it's true we've known each other for quite a while, but your proposal comes as a surprise."

  And it did, too. Although she had thought of it as an inevitability, hearing the words spoken came as a shock. It was like when Emma had died. She had known her mother could not get well, and yet when the end had come, she was still stunned.

  As slim as her vanity was, it would not permit her to believe that fear of gossip was Evan's sole motivation for his proposal. Yet while she hadn't expected to feel ecstatic joy when he asked to marry her, she was surprised by the vague depression settling over her. It was all so cold, so businesslike. And she had only worried that he might try to kiss her again.

  "Please don't be offended, Evan, but I would like to think about it before I give you an answer. I hope you understand."

  "Naturally, you should think about it," Evan began weakly, then stressed, "but don't wait too long. I want to spare you from the rumors that are sure to crop up now that a drifter is living in the house. And while your—visitor—is here, perhaps I should come by every evening for dinner. It will give you a sense of security."

  She clutched at the idea that he wanted to protect her, hoping she would feel heartened. She forced a smile and replied, "I suppose you're right."

  He returned her smile then, obviously satisfied, and crossed to the door. "Then I'll see you this evening." He reached for her hand again, and suddenly leaned over and grazed her mouth with his dry lips. "Until then, Miss Chloe."

  "Goodbye, Evan," she said as she watched him go down the steps. When he was out of sight, she went back inside and sank to the settee. A feeling of terrible emptiness enveloped her as his musty smell floated to her from the cushions.