Читать книгу The Lady Who Drew Me In - Thomasine Rappold - Страница 9

Daisy’s mood grew as dark as the sky. Thick clouds sailed overhead. The wind blew harder. She tightened her shawl around her, cursing their foolishness for declining Mrs. Rhodes’s supper invitation. The mountain trail could be trying in the best of weather conditions, but traveling in the rain would demand more stamina than she could muster after her draining visit with Andy.

She clenched and unclenched her fist to awaken the numbness that still lingered in her hand. Her arm felt like lead.

“We should forgo the logging trail and take the main road down to town,” she advised.

Jackson shook his head. “I need to get back to Troy. We’ll take the shortcut.”

“The rain could make the trail dangerous. And if it rains hard enough—”

“We have plenty of time before the storm hits,” he replied, glancing skyward.

“You don’t know that. You’re not familiar with this territory. These storms—”

“You’re not going soft on me now, are you, Mrs. Lansing?”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Why is it you lawyers think you know everything?” she asked. “Is arrogance a requirement for your profession?”

“Absolutely.” He laughed.

But ten minutes later, he wasn’t laughing anymore. Daisy cowered in her seat, holding tight to the bonnet flapping against her ears. Lightning flashed through the trees, and the sound of thunder rumbled closer and closer. Rain blew on a wind so fierce the drops hurt when they hit.

The urge to remind Jackson that she’d told him so clogged in her throat with the fear things might only get worse. Felled branches hindered their pace. Twice already Jackson had had to climb from the wagon to drag the gnarled limbs off the muddy trail.

The horse plodded on, the wagon lunging and bounding behind. The wagon plunged into another deep rut, tipping forward as it lurched to a stop. The horse strained to pull the buried front wheels from the muddy bog, but this time the old rig wouldn’t budge.

Jackson hopped out to inspect the situation. “Damn it!”

The two words said it all. Even without looking, she knew it was hopeless. The wagon was mired in mud, and there was no sense wasting time. They needed shelter. Waiting out the storm beneath the bed of the wagon was no option now.

“Cuffy’s shanty is just up ahead,” Daisy shouted above the wind. “We can make it on foot.”

Jackson helped her down from the driver’s side, then scrambled to unhitch the nervous horse from the wagon. He stuffed Daisy’s case and some other supplies into saddlebags and tossed them over the horse. Daisy trudged behind, cursing Jackson under her breath as he led the mare through the slippery muck.

The foolish man’s rush to return to the city had them ankle deep in mud and neck deep in trouble. They trekked to the shanty, where Jackson tied the horse to a nearby tree. Daisy didn’t bother to wait before pounding on the door. When no one answered, she pushed open the door and stumbled inside.

Yanking off her soggy bonnet, she shook the rain from her head, stomping the mud from her shoes. She spun to face Jackson. “I told you!”

He barged past her, his gaze darting around the dim room. During a flash of lightning, he reached for a lamp.

“I knew we shouldn’t have taken the trail. Why didn’t you listen to me?” she said to his back.

He lit the lamp. The small room came alive with light in the darkness of the storm outside. “We’ll be fine here,” he said. But his voice was filled with more irritation than confidence.

“What about the wagon?” she asked. “How do you propose we get back to town?”

Jackson ignored the question, tossing his hat to a small bench near the fireplace. He bent to start a fire as Daisy paced behind him. “You and your big hurry to get back to Troy,” she said. “You—”

“I want to free an innocent man before he dies!” He stood to face her. His brows slanted above cold blue eyes. She blinked hard at his loss of temper. He took a breath, collecting himself. “Randal Morgan is ill. He doesn’t have much time. I’m trying to clear his name before he dies behind bars. Thanks to your sketch, I may now be able to do that,” he said. “Not to mention aid the authorities in apprehending the man who murdered Andy’s father.”

She lowered her gaze, shamed by her selfishness. It wasn’t as though she’d forgotten about Andy and what he’d witnessed, but she was trying hard not to think about it. Her stomach turned. How she’d hated making the poor boy relive it. While she couldn’t regret using her ability in this instance, the wrenching memory of his pained little face spurred her to tears. She blinked them back. Despite everything, her vexation at Jackson lingered.

“It’s almost dark now; we’ll never make it tonight,” she muttered. “This is a nightmare.”

“Calm yourself and come sit down,” Jackson said. The fire sparked into a nice blaze in no time. Jackson peeled off his coat and hung it over the back of the chair. “Sit.”

Daisy sighed. Hiking up her heavy wet skirts, she strode to the chair, then plopped down in front of the fire. “A nightmare,” she uttered again, crossing her arms to her chest.

He dragged a small chair from the sawbuck table, then sat next to her. The wobbly thing creaked beneath his weight, and she wondered how Cuffy hadn’t yet landed on his rump atop a pile of splinters. “We’ll be safe here until morning,” Jackson said. “We’ll get the wagon at daybreak, then slip back into town as discreetly as we left.”

“What if we can’t get the wagon out?”

Jackson frowned. “Then we walk back.”

She took a deep breath, trying hard to stay calm. “I don’t suppose we have much choice,” she said. Inside, though, her mind was whirling with worries. Her hard-earned reputation was at stake, and although she had no regrets for her actions today, she couldn’t afford trouble.

And no matter how persuasive the arrogant attorney was at downplaying the situation, there was no disputing the fact that spending the night in a cabin in the middle of the woods, alone with Jackson Gallway, definitely qualified as trouble.

* * * *

Daisy couldn’t stop shivering. Rain battered the roof. Dripping water splashed into a coffee tin in the corner. Despite the discomfort of sitting in damp skirts, she refused to take off her clothing. Jackson, on the other hand, had no qualms about stripping down. His fine coat and shirt hung, drying by the fire. A small towel covered his bare shoulders as he rummaged around, unabashed by his improper lack of attire.

She shivered again.

“Drink this,” he said, handing her a tin cup. “It will warm you up.”

The scent of whiskey filled her senses as she raised the cup to her lips. She took a deep sip, felt the heat of the whiskey flow through her veins. Hugging the quilt around her, she began to relax. Her feet were soaked. Jackson tossed a pair of wool socks onto her lap.

“Take off your shoes and put those on,” he said. “I’m sure your friend, the giant, won’t mind if you borrow them.”

Daisy turned away from him to remove her shoes and unroll her stockings. She hung the filthy things over the bench by the fireplace and set her muddy shoes on the hearth alongside Jackson’s large boots.

The sight of their footwear, drying side by side in the firelight, seemed so intimate. She stole a glance in his direction. His dark hair was tousled, and there was a wildness about him that she hadn’t noticed when he’d been properly dressed. Below the thin towel draped over his shoulders, muscles flexed as he leaned casually with his elbows on his knees. His lack of modesty in her presence was unnerving. And exciting.

For the briefest of moments, she wondered what life might be like with a man like him. A man near to her age, vital and strong.

She guzzled her drink, feeling warmer. Lighter. Rain dripped from his hair, beading on his naked back below the towel. Drops slid slowly down his spine. His skin glistened in the firelight, and she swallowed hard against the impulse to touch him.

Warmth tingled through her core. She straightened in her seat, regaining her senses. The man was bad news. His wanderlust was no secret, as was his commitment to bachelorhood—Tessa had told her as much. Still, Daisy found her mind drifting….

“So,” she said, “how long have you been working with the Markelson Law Firm?”

“My position is only temporarily. Markelson offered me this case after my resignation from Kressler and Associates.”

“Resignation?”

“Forced resignation,” he clarified boldly.

“Oh.” She lowered her gaze. What on earth had he done to earn a forced resignation?

“Let’s talk about you, Mrs. Lansing.”

“What about me?”

“I saw you with Andy,” he said. “While you were entranced.”

She turned to him, feeling struck. “You were supposed to wait on the porch.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’m sorry you were startled, but if you’d waited outside—”

“I wasn’t startled.”

She eyed him skeptically. “You watched me transfer Andy’s thoughts into a sketch, and that didn’t startle you?”

“No, Mrs. Lansing, it did not,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “It scared the hell out of me.” He smiled at the truth in it, and then she smiled too. “It’s an extraordinary ability,” he said. “How did you learn it?”

“I did not learn it,” she said.

“It just came to you naturally?”

There was nothing natural about it. The ability to transfer people’s thoughts to paper was borne of something else. She blinked back the memory of blinding smoke and flames.

“I’ve always been artistically inclined,” she said quickly. “The discovery of my extraordinary ability came later.”

“Are your parents artistic, as well?”

“I never knew my parents.” She lifted her chin against the pain of her childhood. “I was raised in the orphan asylum until I was nine. After that I was placed out with several families in Troy.” She fiddled with her hands. “When I was a girl, I used to imagine my parents were great artists.” On a fortified breath she added, “So, I am certain I inherited the artistic aspect of my talent from them.”

“So am I.” He smiled.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she smiled too. He was so charming. The compassion in his handsome face—or the whiskey she’d drank—filled her with longing. Heat slithered through her chilly bones. It had been so long since she’d felt such yearnings—since she’d allowed herself to feel them. Lawry had done his best to tame her desires, but unlike Lawry, she knew Jackson could handle them. She stared into his eyes, her gaze trailing to his mouth. His lips looked so soft. So inviting. She’d never see him again.

She barely felt herself leaning toward him, barely felt his light breath on her face as she moved closer and pressed her lips to his. She heard a sharp intake of breath before his mouth softened against hers. She leaned into the gentle pressure of his lips, closing her eyes. He smelled of leather and rain, and everything wonderful.

He eased his mouth from hers, his breath soft and warm as he lingered a mere inch from her lips. “I’m not sure why you did that, Daisy, but I caution you not to do it again.” The husky tone of his voice told her why.

The irresistible impulse to kiss him had stunned her as well. Heat blazed in her cheeks as she drew away. “I—”

“You’d better get some sleep.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You take the cot. I’ll make a bed here on the floor.”

She fumbled for her stockings, scrambling around. “We have to be up at first light,” she reminded him. She tossed the stockings on the cot. “It’s a long walk back to town, if we can’t get the wagon out.” But tomorrow’s tribulations wouldn’t surpass her folly tonight, and she found herself rambling. “I’m attending a meeting tomorrow for Misty Lake’s Overseers of the Poor.”

“Of course you are,” he said with a smile.

She smiled too, feeling better. “My involvement is what led me to the idea of a day home. Membership support is crucial for the success of my plan. I suppose I have to prove myself as well, if I want people to trust me with their children.”

“You’ll be home in plenty of time for your meeting,” he assured her.

She crawled onto the cot, wincing at the thought of whatever else might be crawling there with her. She lay on top of the musty blanket, wide awake, listening to the rain battering the roof. She stared across the room at Jackson, mesmerized by the amber glow of firelight licking his bare back, his broad shoulders. The taste of his kiss was still fresh on her lips, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, wondering how she would ever forget it.

* * * *

Daisy awoke to the sound of a slamming door. She bolted upright. Clutching a blanket to her chest, she searched the dim room for Jackson.

“Whoa, there!” Jackson stood with his arms raised in surrender beneath the towering shadow of Cuffy and his rifle.

She flung her feet to the floor, shoving them into her shoes. “Cuffy! Don’t shoot!” Daisy raced to Jackson’s side. “It’s me, Mrs. Lansing!”

Cuffy narrowed his eyes. “Mrs. Lansing?”

She nodded furiously. “Yes, yes. Please put down that gun.”

Cuffy lowered the rifle. “Whatcha doin’ in my place, Mrs. Lansing?”

“I’m sorry, Cuffy. We got stranded in the storm.” She grabbed Jackson’s arm. “This is Mr. Jackson Gallway.”

“How do, Mr. Jackson.” The small pair of antlers on Cuffy’s cap bobbed with his eager handshake.

Jackson exhaled in relief. “I was just heading to get my wagon,” he said. “It’s stuck a quarter mile or so up the mountain, and I could use some help getting it out.”

Cuffy puffed his massive chest. “I’m strong as an ox. I can get yer wagon out for you.”

Jackson turned to Daisy. “Get your things.”

She complied quickly, then hurried outside to join them.

“You have the sketch?” Jackson called over his shoulder.

“Good heavens,” Daisy said as she circled back to get the case, which contained the sketch she’d drawn. She chased after the men, who’d wasted no time as they led the horse up the muddy trail.

The rain had stopped sometime during the night, but the morning sun was no threat to the streams of water trickling down the rutty trail.

When they reached the wagon, Cuffy assessed the situation, then wedged a few strong branches under the mired wheel. With a few deep grunts, he and Jackson pushed the wagon free. Daisy couldn’t be more grateful to the gentle giant who stood with mud up to his thighs.

“Thank you so much, Cuffy,” she said.

Cuffy wiped his forehead with his flannel sleeve. “It wasn’t nothing,” he replied. “Not for me,” he added with the candor of a child.

Jackson struggled to catch his breath. “We’d appreciate it, Cuffy, if you wouldn’t mention to anyone that you helped us today,” he said between breaths. He placed some coins in Cuffy’s large hand.

Cuffy’s eyes widened with gratitude. “No, sir, I won’t.”

Daisy smiled in relief. “Thank you again, Cuffy,” she said as he helped her board the wagon.

The long ride back to town was slow and awkwardly quiet. Jackson stared straight ahead, his concentration fixed on the challenge of driving. Oh, why had she kissed him? Her embarrassment came in second only to her fear she’d not make it home undetected—though it would serve her right after her shameful behavior.

She pushed away thoughts of her folly. “Do you think Andy is safe?” she asked.

“I believe he is. For the time being, anyway. His future safety will depend on the authorities and their willingness to consider my new evidence.”

Daisy nodded, hoping Jackson could convince them. “Please let me know if I can do anything else.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” he said. “I owe you my thanks.”

She accepted his gratitude with a smile, then turned back to the road ahead.

They finally emerged from the woods, and a mix of relief and disappointment greeted her at the end of the trail. The warmth of the sun intensified as they clattered down the main road back to town.

Jackson stopped the wagon when they reached the fork in the road where they’d met yesterday. “I’d drive you home but—”

He turned toward the sound of rambling wheels around the bend.

“This is fine,” she said, standing. Her heart pounded. “If anyone stops me, I’ll tell them I was out sketching ferns.”

He helped her down as the sound of the distant carriage grew louder.

“Have a safe trip to Troy,” she said, turning.

He reached for her arm. “Thank you again for your help.”

His gentle touch held her in place, as did the gratitude in his eyes. A tentative smile curled his lips, and Heaven help her, she wanted to kiss him again. “Of course,” she uttered, wanting so much to say more. “Good-bye.” She walked as quickly as she could. He snapped the reins, and the wagon rolled past her, ambling down the road toward the livery. Clumps of mud still trailed in its wake.

A few minutes later, a purple carriage buzzed by. Felice Pettington and her maid, Myrtle, gave haughty waves. Daisy’s relief at their timing helped divert her focus from the aching sadness that lingered when she thought about Jackson on his way back to Troy. And how this perfect stranger had affected her more in one single day than her late husband had during six years of marriage.

* * * *

The meeting was about to come to order. The loud chatter waned to a quiet din as the members of Misty Lake’s Overseers of the Poor began to take their seats in the stuffy meeting room in the town hall.

Daisy settled in her seat, pleased by the turnout. Attendance was better than she’d expected after last night’s storm. Last night’s storm… She exhaled a long breath, but the memory of kissing Jackson remained.

She forced her thoughts to the present and the matter at hand. This meeting was important to her future, and she had to focus on securing support. Straightening her shoulders, she recited in her mind the presentation she’d prepared about her plans for the day home.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Lansing.”

Daisy spun toward the familiar voice, her pulse pounding.

“I see her. There she is over there!” Cuffy’s booming voice echoed through the room as he stooped through the entranceway. Heads turned, all eyes following the giant man as he zigzagged through the rows of chairs, antlered cap and all, looking as proud as Lucifer.

She shot to her feet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Felice Pettington and the equally snide Gertrude Hogle creeping closer. Daisy’s heart pounded faster in the room’s sudden silence as Cuffy charged toward her. He reached into his tattered coat.

“I found this in my bed after you and Mr. Jackson left this morning.” He whipped out Daisy’s stocking. The filthy thing dangled from his fist as he flaunted his find like a bagged goose. He leaned close. “And I didn’t tell no one I helped ya’ll with the wagon.”

Daisy stared stunned. The deathly silence of the room lapsed into gasps, which quickly droned into murmurs. The buzz of the crowd intensified, growing louder, but the only words Daisy heard were the ones in her head.

She was ruined.