Читать книгу Reclaiming His Past - Karen Kirst - Страница 12

Chapter Four

“You’re so lucky.” Teeth flashing in the gathering shadows, Will carried a water bucket in each hand. “Nothing exciting ever happens to me.”

Walking beside him through the tranquil woods, Jessica shook her head. Because of his towering height and sturdy frame, the fifteen-year-old had the appearance of a man. And while he was mature in some ways, times like these reminded her he had plenty of growing up yet to do. Despite the absence of his parents—he’d been raised by an infirm grandfather and his older sister, Sophie—he’d turned out fine.

“Count your blessings, Will. Trust me. Excitement isn’t always a positive thing.”

“Easy for you to say. Your life isn’t all about chores and schoolwork.”

Jessica recalled the time when her biggest irritant was having to write a history report or prepare a speech to deliver in front of the other students. Such innocence seemed like a hazy dream.

They emerged from the trees close to where Grant had hours earlier. The outbuildings were mere outlines, the details obscured by encroaching darkness. The great, hulking barn was impossible to ignore. Her memory conjured up smoke belching out the wide entrance, and she could almost taste the acrid stench of burning wood and hay.

Coming even with the structure, her gaze strayed to the patchy grass and the spot where Tom had dragged Lee’s lifeless body before returning inside and putting out the fire. Moisture smarted. She blinked rapidly, appalled that she still hadn’t mastered the grief and regret. If only it hadn’t happened here. If only she didn’t have to face the lingering images each and every day.

Will reached the porch steps before noticing she hadn’t followed. “You coming?”

“I’ll be along in a minute.”

The door slapped shut behind him. Setting her own full pail on the ground, a little of the water splashing out, she trudged through the grass and stopped directly on the spot where Lee had lain. Heart expanding near to bursting, she knelt and pressed her palm flat against the hard, warm earth. Blades of grass tickled her skin.

“Why can’t I forget, Lord?”

She’d crouched over him in shock, his unmoving hand locked between hers, lost in sorrow to the point she hadn’t given a thought to Jane’s gunshot wound. Tom had had to walk over to her in order to get her attention and convince her to assist her sister.

At the repetitive drum of an approaching rider, she shot to her feet. Jessica squinted at the lane, less than thrilled when she recognized the mount and its owner, Sheriff Shane Timmons. His low instructions carried in the still air, his horse slowing and eventually coming to a halt yards from where she waited.

Shane touched his brim. “Evenin’, Jessica.”

She clasped her hands at her waist. “Hello, Sheriff.”

He dismounted and crossed to her in three easy strides. She held his sharp azure gaze with difficulty. He treated her with nothing but kindness and respect, and yet she couldn’t help thinking he saw her as weak and naive. After all, what intelligent female involved herself with a criminal?

“I hear you got yourself a visitor.”

“That’s right.”

Swiping off his hat, he tunneled his fingers through his light hair. Perusing her face, he opened his mouth to speak, but she held him off.

“I’ll take you to him.”

His concern plain, he acted the gentleman and didn’t remark on her avoidance. Dipping his head, he extended his arm to indicate she precede him. Her progress across the yard was accomplished quickly. She would take him to Grant and escape into her room. Or rather upstairs to Nicole’s old room, now dedicated as a storage area for their sewing supplies.

Her mother and Will greeted Shane with friendly enthusiasm, a far cry from her own stilted welcome. Unlike her, they didn’t have cause to be uncomfortable in his presence.

“He’s taken over Jane’s old room,” she said over her shoulder, ushering him past the grouping of sofas and chairs and into the hall. Stopping just past the entrance, she waved him in. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He paused. “I’d like you to stay for the interview.”

Peeking inside, she saw Grant propped against the pillows, assessing them with undisguised wariness. “I don’t see how I can be of assistance.”

Patience smoothed Shane’s rugged features. “You were the one who found him. And you’ll know if there are changes in his story.”

“Fine.” She sighed.

Inside, she introduced the two men. The room’s size struck her as inadequate all of a sudden. Too confining for the competent, bent-on-justice sheriff and Grant, who, despite his weakened state, exuded quiet strength.

Shane stood at the foot of the bed, one suntanned hand gripping his Stetson and the other resting atop his Smith and Wesson. Jessica sat in the only chair, wishing she could start the day over, wishing it was an ordinary, boring day like all the rest.

“Doc tells me you’ve lost your memory.”

Grant grimaced, the hand closest to her curling into the bedding as he nodded. His turmoil troubled her, evoked sympathy she’d rather not deal with. She stared at his busted knuckles and experienced the strange urge to link hands with him, a small gesture to soothe his anxiety.

How do you know he deserves your sympathy? There could be innocent people out there...victims of his cruelty.

She forced her attention to the rectangular rug covering this section of floorboards and studied the fading flag’s stars and stripes. Deep in her heart, a voice protested that Grant wasn’t a cruel man. A thief or swindler, perhaps, but not cruel.

She listened as he recounted his brief knowledge of the day’s events. Shane’s lingering silence brought her head up. Both men were regarding her with unsettling intensity.

“Care to add anything, Jessica?” Shane said.

Grant’s mouth was set in a grim line, his neck and shoulder muscles stiff with tension. A thin vein was visible at his temple.

“No. Nothing.”

The sheriff riffled through the Bible she’d found, squinting at the pages. “Can you think of anyone else this might belong to?”

“We haven’t had company in months.” She pointed to the bag tucked against the wall. “The bag looks relatively free of debris and dirt. I figure it hasn’t been out there long.”

He slid the book onto the dresser behind him. “What are you expecting to be called?”

“I’ve decided to go by Grant for now.”

“You could adopt the surname Parker, if you’re of a mind to. Good chance this stuff is yours.”

“Grant Parker. Doesn’t sound horrible.”

Shane tapped his weapon handle. “I’ll search my wanted posters tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll post letters to the lawmen in nearby towns.”

“I understand.”

“The O’Malleys are good friends of mine. Don’t make them regret giving you shelter, or you’ll have to answer to me.” The warning in his tone mirrored his expression.

“You have nothing to worry about on that front.” Grant’s chin jutted. “I wouldn’t do anything to harm Mrs. O’Malley or her daughter. Besides,” he drawled with a sideways glance at her, “I’m convinced Miss O’Malley is capable of fending for herself.”

Shane made a noncommittal noise and moved toward the hallway. “Walk me out, Jessica?”

With one final look at their patient, she followed the other man out and onto the porch. Night had fallen and so had the temperatures. The air was cool and crisp, with the faint twang of moist earth and chrysanthemums. Rubbing her arms, she leaned against the railing, thankful for the cover of darkness. Like Grant, she’d been the focus of Shane’s professional interest once upon a time, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

He put his hat on. “I can send my deputy over to keep an eye on things tonight if you need.”

She fixed her attention on the sliver of moon in the velvet expanse. “We’ll be fine.”

“I can’t guarantee he’s harmless.”

“He’s hardly in the shape to ambush us.” She surprised herself by defending him. “I’m armed and so is Will.”

At his huff, Jessica crossed her arms. “Will may be young and obnoxious, but he’s a right good shot. I know you’ve heard of his rifle skills.”

“That is a full-grown man in there, not a skittish deer.”

Light spilled from the windows. In the space between them hung the unspoken remembrance of her stupidity and willfulness. Last year, when Jane had first spoken of her suspicions that Lee was involved in the illegal production and sale of moonshine, Jessica had rejected them outright. She had been in love with the man. She thought she would’ve known if he was involved in unlawful activity. She’d been blind. And so, so wrong.

He studied her a beat longer. “Your cousins aren’t going to be happy about this.”

Josh, Nathan and Caleb would indeed be furious. “As it wasn’t my decision to keep him, they’ll have to take their complaints to my mother.”

“Be on your guard. And come to me at the first hint of trouble.”

Unlike last time, his expression intimated.

“Good night, Sheriff.”

Spinning on her heel, she crossed to the door. Her hand was on the latch when he called after her.

“I’ll come back tonight if I find anything matching his description.”

With a nod, she retreated inside, anticipating a long, uneasy night.

* * *

The bottle of laudanum called to him.

Grant shifted again, unable to find relief. He could take the doctor’s prescribed amount. Wouldn’t mean he was weak. The dose would allow him to sleep and find temporary release from the incessant hammering inside his skull, the radiating pain in his side and the dull throb in his ankle. Not only that, it would make the questions stop.

What was he doing in these mountains? Where had he come from? What had been his destination? Was he a danger to the occupants of this cabin?

On the other side of the window, pricks of light pierced the black sky. He could easily identify the patterns they made. Who had taught him the constellations?

His gaze shifted to the rafters overhead. Too low, he thought. The walls too close.

He yearned for open spaces and fresh air. The fact that he couldn’t get outside without assistance was depressing.

Muffled snores filtered in from the living room, where the O’Malleys’ young relation slept on the sofa. Will Tanner didn’t strike him as a worthy protector. Jessica had introduced her cousin’s brother-in-law when he’d first arrived with Alice, and the young man had studied him with barely concealed awe. As if Grant was an infamous outlaw like Jesse James or in league with Sam Archer and his gang. Problem was, he couldn’t rule that out. No theory—no matter how unpleasant or disturbing—could be dismissed.

Grant massaged his temples in a vain attempt to drive away the headache.

The ornate clock he’d glimpsed on their mantel chimed the hour. One o’clock in the morning. The hours until dawn stretched out before him. Morning wasn’t going to be much better. Nothing would be better until his mind decided to function again.

Grant suppressed a groan of frustration. Here he was, a grown man, feeling sorry for himself. He had his life, didn’t he? He hadn’t died out there in the forest. Alone. Nameless.

He fluffed the pillow again, stilling when he heard a soft cry. Jessica’s door wasn’t visible from his vantage point, but he’d seen her rush past this room soon after the sheriff left, and she hadn’t emerged since.

Pushing aside the covers, he moved like an old man, fighting exhaustion as he hobbled to his door. He hesitated. Gripping the frame, he steadied himself. His frown deepened. She was definitely crying. Her anguish leached through the walls, drawing him closer, concern blocking out self-preservation. If they caught him wandering about in the middle of the night, they’d assume the worst. Sheriff Timmons would have him locked in a cell before dawn.

He moved as quietly as he could. The ropes of her bed creaked, and her weeping became muted. He lifted his hand to knock. Instead, he laid it flat against the wooden surface and debated what to do. She didn’t know him. Certainly didn’t trust him. What made him think she’d willingly share her private pain?

He dropped his head. She wouldn’t. Not with a suspicious stranger with a questionable past.