The Beholding, page 3
Tess gave Mrs. Hunt her full attention and realized the general’s wife had taken note of her interest in Jim. “As soon as I’ve hired a man to take us across Indian territory.”
“Injuns! Oh, boy!” Tommie squealed with delight, his hands pulling back an imaginary bow. “They can learn me to shoot arras.”
The parasol twirled, and the matron’s face assumed a stern look of disapproval. “I hardly think so, young man.”
Quick defense rose to, spur Tess’s words. “Perhaps we should get to know them first, darling, before we decide what’s best for us to teach them and they, us.”
Suddenly the sympathizer-to-griever mask disappeared. The rheumy eyes sharpened and the shrewd manipulator emerged. “Well, yes, I’m sure. Across Indian territory, you say? It will be difficult to find anyone willing for such employment. Heaven knows Henry can’t spare anyone to offer you escort.”
Battle lines were drawn. Mrs. Hunt would make certain she had difficulty in finding a guide unless Tess found a way to persuade her otherwise. As the general’s wife, the matron wielded a heavy saber of influence. Tess met the woman’s aggressive gaze steadily. “I know General Hunt will help if he can. I’m sure I’ll find someone.”
The woman quirked a brow. “You do seem to land on your feet, my dear, when life gives you a tumble.”
A catty remark raced to the tip of Tess’s tongue, but she decided not to bicker. An eye for an eye might work for men, but women went for the reputation. The general’s wife was influential enough to damage what little reputation Tess had managed to salvage. Better to stroke the cat than yank its tail. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Mrs. Hunt. I would appreciate it if you put in a word for me with the others. Perhaps as the gentler authority of this garrison, you might persuade someone to help me in this matter.”
Beaming with the compliment, Mrs. Hunt nodded, bobbing her chignon and the blond-gray curls that framed her forehead. “Perhaps you need look no further, Mrs. Harper,” she purred. “See that young man over there—Luke Reeves—the bounty hunter? He might attend you. He’s obviously well accustomed to rough country and tough dealings with dangerous sorts. I’m told he’s the man who brought in Sergeant Harper.”
Swinging around in the direction of the woman’s gaze, Tess felt the unvoiced thought setting Mrs. Hunt’s lips into a satisfied smirk. The matron knew how hard it would be for Tess to accept help from the man who killed Clifton, whether or not the deed was an accident. Her gaze swept over the remainder of the mourners who visited the gravesite, noticing that the bounty hunter stood off from the others. Dressed in black, his hat gripped respectfully in his hand, Luke Reeves still wore the Colt that had taken Clifton’s life.
A jolt of attraction coursed through Tess again, and she planted her black parasol into the muddy ground to steady herself. Dirt covered her husband’s grave less than a few hours and all she could do was gawk at the man who’d put him there. Maybe those people back in Hot Springs were right. Maybe a thread of indecency ran through her and she would never be able to overcome those blood ties.
Despite the cover of a lace veil, Luke’s dark gaze pierced hers as he became aware of her regard. Like an intangible touch, it traced a lingering path of appreciation to each swell and curve, kindling a not-so-unpleasant warmth in its wake. Was it the aching numbness inflicted by her husband’s death which made Tess aware of how much more alive the bounty hunter seemed? Or did Clifton ever possess such raw, lethal masculinity? Her husband’s memory dimmed before her eyes, and the unsettling comparison yanked her back to reality.
Tess willed herself to look away, but her will disobeyed. Drawn to the inexplicable power he exuded, she met his gaze. A slow grin lifted one corner of the bounty hunter’s lips as he nodded once, nestled his hat on his head, then turned and disappeared into the woods. A pent-up sigh exhaled slowly from Tess’s lips.
Movement among the crowd captured her attention. Jim Daggert’s broad-shouldered form sliced through the mourners until he arrived at the same spot where Luke had stood. He took a few steps in the direction the bounty hunter had disappeared, then seemed to think better of it. Turning, Jim’s dark brown gaze sifted through the throng, as if he felt Tess watching him. As his attention finally settled on Tess, his chestnut-colored brows veed together over a long-staring question she didn’t understand.
Mrs. Hunt reached out and touched Tess’s sleeve, making her realize she had been staring far too long. She smiled an apology to Jim, who tweaked one edge of his mustache, revealing irritation at the matron’s interruption. How many times when he and Clifton made plans and Tommie begged to tag along, had she noticed the gesture? Though Jim never voiced his aggravation with the boy, she suspected he didn’t care for children—particularly handicapped ones.
Turning away from her husband’s best friend, she discovered a look of suspicion etching Mrs. Hunt’s features.
“Purely a pity we won’t have time to get to know each other better, Mrs. Harper.” The older woman’s gaze went to Jim, then back to Tess. “Please accept my condolences for your loss.”
Tess preferred to think the woman meant the loss of Clifton rather than any designs Tess may have had in mind for Jim. At least the general’s wife attended the funeral, more than she could say of others. For that one concession, Tess forgave the matron’s snobbery. “Thank you. Tommie and I won’t forget your kindness.”
“Mommie, can I go pway with Zach?” Tommie tugged at her hand, impatient with big-people talk.
She let go. “About an hour, son. And thank Zachariah’s mother for the corn dressing and turkey. I’ve some business to attend to, then we’ll finish….”
The three-year-old was a blur of blond hair and stubby legs wobbling down to the garrison, “…packing,” she half chuckled. It felt good to laugh. Tess feared she might never do so again. If only her spirit could be as free as Tommie’s. But then, it had never been. Ma and Pa saw to that.
“Would you pick wildflowers and place them on Clifton’s grave for me each year, Mrs. Hunt?” Tess felt an urgent need to end the conversation and escape to the tasks ahead which might take her mind off the past. Despite all the problems awaiting her, Tess’s heart quickened at the possibilities of the future. A future she would control.
The matron nodded. Tess thanked her, then lifted the hem of her skirt from the moist grass. Treading the rain-soaked path to the fort, she hurried past the laundry huts and stables, then sought the clerk at the camp supply. She posted a notice about the need of a guide and gave the clerk a list of essentials to gather for the journey. At the livery she stopped to purchase a wagon. Finding the cost much more than she expected, Tess visited the paymaster to receive the last of Clifton’s earnings.
“Fifteen dollars?” Her voice rose despite an effort not to reveal her distress. Blood drained from her face as Tess realized how little pay Clifton made as sergeant. He lost more than that amount on one night’s gambling. If she had any doubts before that he was involved in the rifle scheme that got him killed, she could no longer justify them. The grave on the hill held a stranger. A stranger and a thief.
The paymaster looked apologetic. “That’s all I can give ye now, Mrs. Harper. Payroll’s nigh two weeks late. Me and the boys got up a month’s pay for ye and wee Tom. ’Tisn’t much, but all we can muster among us.”
“It’s kind of you. Clifton would be grateful.” With each drop of a coin into her reticule, Tess’s hopes plunged. How could she afford a wagon now, much less an escort? She had intended to refuse the reward money the bounty hunter offered. But now, how could she without depriving her son of essentials for the journey? Can I let pride stand in the way of common sense?
Too exhausted for further thought, too tired to make decisions, Tess was too full of anger even to cry. Offering her hand to the Irishman, she berated herself for being so utterly gullible.
The paymaster ignored the handshake and, instead, gave her a big bear hug. After lingering a moment, he awkwardly let her go. Taken aback by his impulse, the giant of a man’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “To the divil with Clifton Harper, lassie. ’Tis ye and the lad we be wanting to help. A happier life to ye both, and a better man to warm yer pillow and sweeten yer dreams. No offense to the departed.”
She returned the embrace, unsure whether she did so out of anger at her late husband or from gratitude for the genuine regard for her and Tommie’s future.
“’Tis alone he left ye long before now, lassie. We’re betting ye’ll make us all proud.”
Had everyone known how lonely her life had become these final two years? Known how she’d fought to remember her wife’s duty when Clifton bedded her, yet wouldn’t touch her otherwise? No handholding. No affectionate hugs. No lingering looks of love or even guarded respect one might offer a stranger. Yet the worst of it was that she had remained with Clifton. Though she asked herself a thousand times why, only one answer surfaced. Tommie was with someone he loved. Other reasons whispered to her from places deep inside her soul, but she refused to listen. Could not listen even now.
Emotions of the morning mixed with the unhappiness of years added haste to Tess’s farewell. A need to purge herself of the tidal wave of tears welling up inside made her put off the remaining tasks and head straight for officers’ row so she could have a good, hard cry.
When she opened the door to her lodgings, she gasped in disbelief.
Stripped from their pleats at the windows, the calico curtains looked as if someone had taken a razor to them. Furniture had been piled in the center of the room as if in preparation for a bonfire. Tins of meal and sugar were dumped over, their contents spilled on the shelf and table. All her carefully folded clothing lay in crumpled disarray.
As she stepped cautiously into the room, feathers fell from perches in the rafters and joined the dozens of others near the slashes in the bed’s tick mattress. Everything she owned had been riffled through, destroyed. Who would do such a thing? Why?
Touching the quilt which had taken months of handwork to piece together and seeing it fall in shreds to the planked floor sent anguish plunging to the pit of her stomach. Fury rose from those churning depths as Tess picked up what was left of the reading lamp she had purchased on her birthday the year Tommie had been born, bound and determined she would learn to read so she might have the honor of teaching the same to her son.
The sight of Clifton’s carpetbag ripped from its handle was more than she could endure. Anger and desperation brewed in the cauldron of circumstances that had become her life and erupted into a wail of rage. Tess lifted the first thing her hands reached and threw the china with all her might. The saucer crashed against the wall, the sound somehow echoing her shattered life. Another and another struck the wall as she spent her outrage on the unseen person who had destroyed the last of what had been her home.
“Whoa there, lady!” a masculine voice shouted as she spun toward the door.
The cup had already left her hand. Luke Reeves dodged, but he was too tall and her aim too compelled by fury for her not to strike the mark.
“I’m glad I hit you!” she yelled, knowing she meant every word and needing to release the scream that careened through her. But one look at the bloody scratch she dealt his forehead made Tess burst into hiccuping sobs. “I d-didn’t mean to h-hurt you. To hurt any-anyone.”
He held out his arms to show she’d done little damage. “Look, it’s nothing. Only a scratch.”
Seeing the sympathy in his eyes proved Tess’s undoing. She forgot all the man represented. Forgot his role in her current despair. All she saw was the man himself. His compassion. His strength. How she needed strength right now.
Tess flung herself into his arms, desperately in need of human comfort. The sobs strengthened until they shook her to the tips of her toes as she cried the heartache of a woman deprived of her home, a wife unloved by her husband, and a child abused by her parents.
Chapter Three
Tess’s body heaved with another jerking sob. Luke placed his hands on her shoulders and let one hand slip to the middle of her back. “There, hush, now.” He patted her, wondering what a man was supposed to say at a time like this. “Don’t cry. Things will get better.”
That set her off. Luke’s pats increased awkwardly with the pitch of her wails. “It’s gotta get better. Can’t get much worse, can it?” Never one to talk much, Luke wished now he had kept his mouth closed. It was the most ignorant statement he had ever made.
After a while, the sobs slowed to a soft hiccup, then a painful silence ensued. Finally she raised her head to stare at him. The mourning veil blocked his view of her eyes, but he sensed the misery in them.
“Y-you haven’t had much experience at comforting people, have you?”
He heard the jest in her voice and was glad for it. Maybe now she could garner the strength to face the days ahead since she shed the healing tears. Unconsciously, his hand slid up and down her back in one final touch of comfort. “Guilty of the opposite, I’m told, but I meant well.”
Tess unwrapped her arms from his shoulders, took a step backward and lifted off her veil. Tossing it onto an overturned chair, she wiped at a remaining tear which trickled down her cheek. Embarrassed that she had thrown herself into his arms, she supposed he deserved an explanation. But the hurt ran too deep for words. How could she explain when she didn’t understand it all herself? Why did she feel compelled to make him understand? Perhaps he would take a simple reassurance instead. “I feel much better now.”
“That’s because you have what it takes, Mrs. Harper.”
She blushed more at the respect staring back at her than the compliment he offered.
Luke mean what he said. He watched as she went about the business necessary to move on. Tess Harper was very much capable of taking care of herself—a fact which made him both admire her and added to his suspicions.
The uncertainty of how to soothe her kept him from acknowledging the press of her woman’s body against his chest. Now as she stood in front of him, wisps of disheveled hair cascaded to her breasts and her eyes blinked up at him as pretty as rain-washed emeralds, forever imprinting every feature in his mind. Nothing he’d imagined in the stable matched the reality of her touch. The slow burn which had kept him awake all night would be a banked fire for days to come.
Shaken by his blatant look of desire, Tess averted her gaze and waved toward the spilled tin. “I’d offer you some coffee, Mr. Reeves, but I’ll have to restock first.”
Luke found the motion tantalizing for it defined the swell of her cleavage. Hell of a man you are, Luke Reeves, he berated himself, lusting after a woman you just put in mourning. But you’d have to be dead yourself, he reminded, if you didn’t see how beautiful she is… how good she feels against you. He’d known her less than twenty-four hours and already Contessa Harper touched him in ways no woman ever had.
Luke reminded himself she was a suspect and he should regard her as such. Inspecting the debris, he tried to dispel the reluctance to complete his assignment. “Do you have any idea who did this or what they’re looking for?”
Tess shook her head, then stacked pieces of quilt on top of each other. If Clifton had been, indeed, guilty of the crimes she had suspected, there might be any number of things someone would want. “I have no idea.”
Spying the cracked worn leather footwear he left behind, Luke joked, “Good thing it wasn’t my boots.” He turned over a chair and tested its sturdiness before offering it to her. In a more serious tone, he continued, “Anything particular missing?”
“Nothing except Clifton’s pocket watch,” she answered before taking time to gauge whether or not she should share the information with the bounty hunter. The thought of him delving too closely into her and Clifton’s lives made Tess fidget with the buttons on her kid glove. He might learn too much. Yet Luke seemed the sort of man who would think her silence even more suspicious. “Who would go to this extreme for a watch?” she asked, deciding to listen to her intuition about the bounty hunter. “It makes no sense.”
Luke began to separate the repairable from the irreparable. His nose for tracking hinted that a clue lay hidden in the rubble. Whoever did this thought that Contessa Harper had something to hide. If she did, then it was as much his business as hers to discover what they were after. “Anything special about the watch?”
“Nothing that I know of.” Tess refused to sit, instead stripping off her gloves to join in the clean-up. “You needn’t bother, Mr. Reeves.”
“I’d like to. It doesn’t look like the Ladies Auxiliary will be much help.” She rewarded him with a smile, and he was glad he had inspired such a lovely sight.
“I don’t suppose they will, Mr. Reeves.”
“I insist you call me Luke. Lucas to my parents. Luke to my friends,” he offered, knowing only two such people in his past.
“Friends?”
Though she appeared a bit reluctant, the widow held out her hand and Luke shook it like he would have any man’s. The worth he found in her small grip was second only to the amazement he experienced at finding something so delicate and soft fitting perfectly into his own callused hand.
As they stood with hands grasped in a bond of acquaintance, their gazes locked in silent truce.
“Tess,” she finally relented. “Call me Tess.”
“Thumbody’s in bi-i-i-g trouble,” a small voice announced from the opened doorway.
Yeah, and it’s me, Luke acknowledged as Tommie’s blond head peeked around the door.
The boy carefully edged into the room with his palms raised, looking as if he were being held at gunpoint. “I promise, Mommie,” Tommie whispered, “I din’t do it.”
Luke and Tess snatched away their hands as if they’d been caught stealing from a candy counter. Luke busied himself with clearing off the spilled flour and coffee while Tess crossed the distance and bent down on one knee to hug her son.
“I know you didn’t do such a terrible thing, darling.”
