Crane (8 page)

“One week in a new town and I’m hiding a body in my shed,”
she mused, curling her slipping fingers around the fabric of his shirt for better traction. “Nothing unusual about that.”

With s
weat trickling down her spine, Ireland flung the shed door open. Shuffling penguin-style, she maneuvered her drooling cargo over the sleeping bag and eased him to the ground. She even took the good measure to shove the pillow—she fully intended to burn after he used—under his head and kick his legs onto the sleeping bag with the toe of her shoe.

“It’s been real, Rip
,” she said, flipping the open side of the sleeping bag over him. “Rest up, then go peddle your crazy somewhere else.”

A sleep-fart acted as his only response.

“Good talk.” Ireland took a step back, out of the shed, and pulled the door shut behind her.

For a moment she paused, pressing her palm flat to
the rough wood siding of the shed door. This was ridiculous, impractical, and downright dangerous. She didn’t know this man or what he was truly capable of. Common sense screamed at her to display even the slightest iota of self-preservation by calling the cops and turning the obviously troubled man over to them.

A
wry scoff huffed past her lips, blowing back her long side-bangs that had fallen in her eyes during her body-toting workout. Despite the warning siren blaring in her mind, she couldn’t do it. Something deep within her told her this was a man that needed a little kindness; for someone to protect him, even if that meant from himself. The certainty of that realization hushed the worrisome chatter within and provided her the only sense of peace she’d found in … well, a long enough time to make it seem a pretty damned crucial message.

Ireland’s moment of reflection was interrupted by a
low rumble directly behind her. Hot breath puffed against the back of her neck, sending electric chills of danger coursing through her. A frightened yip escaped from her constricted throat as she spun on her would be attacker … only to find herself completely alone. She and the few crickets that chirped their sweet serenade to the night were the only occupants in her ‘four mower swipes’ sized yard. Fear, like bubbles churning in acid, boiled through her, popping and oozing their own toxic thoughts of what could be lurking in the darkness straight into her bloodstream.

Rubbing her arms to ward off
her sudden rash of goose bumps, Ireland forced herself to maintain a steady stride back to the house. “Great job picking your fresh start town, Ire,” she mused.

The sliding door slid
shut behind her before she heard the darkness omit a guttural neigh in response.

9

Ichabod

Ichabod’s slender fingers tickled across the piano keys, the haunting melody of
Canon in D
filling the inn’s gathering room. Long shadows, cast by the flickering candles, danced across the walls like merry little nymphs oblivious to the chaos outside. Suddenly, a sour note broke the melodic spell. Ichabod sat up straight and stretched out his back, only then noticing that his arm was quaking with a fresh onslaught of tremors. He flexed and straightened his digits, hoping it would relax them enough for him to quench his longing for the melodic keys, the memory of which still warmed and tingled his fingertips. Exasperation at the relentless spasming brought his gaze up, a groan of annoyance sneaking past his lips. There, reflected in the glass of the sea side painting hanging over the piano, he saw a ghostly female form reaching for him as she floated up behind him.

Ichabod gasped
, spinning with a jerk.

Katrina emitted a small squeak of surprise and clutched her heart at his abrupt reaction. “I am so sorry if I gave you a fright! I saw your hand trembling and wondered if I could be of aid?
”

“No, I
am fine,” Ichabod nervously chuckled. “Or, I will be once my heart remembers how to beat in rhythm.”

Concern creased her otherwise flawless face. “Again, I must apologize. Elsewise
, are you all right? Was your hand cramping from playing?”

“I wish that were the case.” Ichabod
peered down at the hand that frequently betrayed him. The tremors had dulled, but not enough for him to resume playing. “During the war I took a bayonet to the shoulder. The nerves were damaged. By the grace of God, it was not severe enough to render the limb useless. Unfortunately, during moments of strain or stress, it tends to shake.” He glanced up at the lovely Katrina, suddenly uncomfortable with the level of weakness he’d displayed. “
Ahem
, I do not speak of this often.”

Candle light warmed her face
with the sweet, ethereal glow of an angel. She stepped closer, her head cocked with interest. “What eases it when it flares?”

Ichabod found no judgment
or pity on her face, only genuine concern. It was that which kept him talking on this tender matter. “Relaxation, primarily. Once I can soothe the strain that is plaguing me, it tends to correct itself.”

“Perhaps
a bit of companionship could soothe you?” Blonde waves brushed Katrina’s lovely face with the tender caress of the calm sea lapping against a white sand shore as she nodded to the settee in the corner. “I would happily sit a spell.”

A hot blush rushed to Ichabod’s cheeks and ears
, forcing him to shift his gaze to the loose string on his cuff button. “Your presence evokes many emotions, miss. The effects of which are far from soothing.” Instantly, Ichabod’s head snapped up, stunned by the forward nature of his own words. “A thousand apologies, Katrina. I have no excuse for such banter. It’s even more disgraceful considering you’re on the verge of marriage.”

Katrina’s cornflower blue eyes widened in surprise. “I am? May I inquire as to whom
I am betrothed to?”

“
Brom Van Brunt, of course.”

“Ah
.” Katrina gathered her billowing skirt and made the two strides necessary for her to situate herself on the settee. “Brom has tried on multiple occasions to convince my father to bestow my hand to him. Yet there is one factor that boorish Van Brunt has failed to consider.”

Unable to keep his eyes off her, Ichabod swiveled on the bench as she moved. “
And what, may I ask, is that?”

Katrina’s tight smile did nothing to hide the sadness that seeped into her eyes like slow moving snow clouds, heavy with their weighty burden. “That my father knew real love with my mother
, and would never allow his only daughter to settle for anything less.”

“You must think me a heel.” Ichabod shook his head, aghast with his own insensitivity. “I have failed to offer you my condolences for you
r loss even once. I am so very sorry, I cannot even begin to imagine the devastation you must be dealing with.”

Katrina smoothed her skirt with her palms, then folded them in her lap. “Thank you, that is very kind. However
, the woman that died yesterday was not my mother but my stepmother. The second Mrs. Van Tassel, a title that is quickly becoming a cursed one. It has been five years since my mother was claimed by the fevers. Selena married my father three months ago. The loss was primarily his as I never got much of a chance to know her.”

“If your father experienced love in its truest form
, how could he bring himself to remarry at all?” For the second time that night, Ichabod desperately wished he could retract his words. They seemed to slip past his lips without filter. He blamed it on her beguiling beauty and the overwhelming desire to know absolutely everything about her. Thankfully, she didn’t appear off put by his forwardness … yet.

“There are five Dutch families that have been in Sleepy Hollow since the area was first settled; the Van Tassels, the Van
Brunts, the Landcasters, the DeMarrs, and the Lovenstiens. While all have prospered at varying levels, they have remained a close knit group. As long as I can remember, they have had frequent meetings behind closed doors, making decisions that will affect the entire town. Officials that will be nominated for election, widows in need of aid, how crops are faring, anything and everything involving the wellbeing of the town is discussed. It was they who suggested Father make his home whole once more by taking a wife.” Katrina huffed a humorless laugh as she leaned to the side of the settee and curled her legs under her. “Those same men are also the reason I had to turn to Mama Rosa once again for a place to rest my head.”

A protective fire flamed in Ichabod’s chest. “
They forced you from your own home when a deranged madman is on the loose
?”

“Not
forced
,” Katrina corrected. “Merely suggested strongly after they showed up with barrels of ale and the intentions of helping my father drown his sorrows. Father doesn’t like to be viewed as weak by anyone, least of all his own daughter. Whenever he feels the need to partake in spirits, which is quite seldom, he asks that I stay away so that my vision of my heroic papa is never soiled. ”

Ichabod’s mouth open
ed … but he immediately snapped it shut. While his own parents had died years ago, the memories of the loving, nurturing upbringing they’d bestowed on him still lived on. He couldn’t imagine being in a family where weakness couldn’t be displayed. Wasn’t the whole purpose of a family to support one another?

Before Ichabod could decide on a proper response
, the front door of the inn flew open. Irv stomped inside, slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the wall. He stood in the foyer, framed by the gathering room doorjamb. Globs of stringy orange sludge mixed with tear-shaped seeds hung from his shoulders, dripped from his hair, and swung from the frames of his glasses.

Katrina gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth
.

Ichabod
tried with little success to suppress his grin. “What, pray-tell, happened to you?”

Irv pivoted their way,
his posture ramrod straight and nostrils flaring. “I
may
have suggested that putting up a lookout post, and manning it with glorified vigilantes, may not be the preferable option to the current situation facing the town. And that our resources
may
be better utilized employing more bodies to patrol the streets as legally hired, paid law enforcement.”

“I take it the message was
not well received?” Ichabod said, biting the insides of his cheeks to stifle a laugh.

A wad of pumpkin innards fell from Irving’s hair, slapped against
the tip of his nose, and landed on the polished wood floor with a wet
squish
. “Not as well as one would hope. I am going to retire for the night to scrape and bathe this off. Good night.”

“Night!” Ichabod and Katrina chorused,
letting their amusement spring forth in a chorus of giggles.

As
Irving began his march down the hall, Rip and a lovely young brunette with a narrow waist and full hips emerged from that same direction. The brunette’s face instantly flushed, her gaze averting to anywhere but at those who bore witness to her shameful retreat.

“You smell of pie
,” Rip pointed out to the steaming Irving.

“I am aware
,” Irving snapped and strode on, leaving a trail of seeds and sludge behind.

“Thank you, Ichabod Crane, for
taking the time to show me your wonderful collection of books and discussing the literary merit of each with me,” the brunette declared loud enough for all to hear as she fluffed the flattened back of her hair. “And now, I bid you good night.”

Without so much as a glance back
, she made her retreat. Ichabod and Katrina exchanged confused glances before turning to the rumpled, yet contently happy, Rip for clarification.

“Did she just call you Ichabod?”
Katrina inquired.

Rip ran his fingers through his mahogany
locks, allowing the motion to continue straight up into a wide-arm stretch over his head. “She did. I figured Ichabod’s name has already been villainized in town, no point in sullying my own name as well! Feel free to go by Rip if you’d like.” After shooting a saucy wink to Katrina, Rip ducked back down the hall to his room.

“Your friends are … delightful.” Katrina
pressed her lips together, her cheeks rosy with laughter.

“They are more
my brothers than friends. We fought beside each other in the war. I don’t know much in life, but I
do
know that those two men will stand beside me no matter the situation.”

“You are very—
“ Katrina hid a yawn behind the back of her hand, “—fortunate to have them both. Goodness, I am terribly sorry. I didn’t sleep well after yesterday’s events, and it seems to be catching up with me.”

“Don’t feel you have to stay up on my account. By all means
, feel free to retire.” Ichabod waved his hand in the direction of the rooms.

Katrina’s narrow shoulders sagged. “I would if I were able. However
, the room Rosa gave me is right beside her late husband’s barn where she is allowing the men to construct the lookout post. I’m a light sleeper and won’t be able to rest until they do.”

“Then
, let me offer another option.” Ichabod rose to his feet and offered Katrina his hand. Her skin, like the soft whispered touch of satin, brushed his as she accepted his offering. With a gentle hand, he helped her to her feet. “I am fortunate enough to be able to sleep through most anything. Perhaps we could switch quarters for the night so you may enjoy the solitude of my room at the far end of the inn? It’s a good distance from the working men. You shouldn’t be bothered by them at all there.”

“That’s so very kind, Ichabod,
however I would hate to be such a bother.”

“It’s no bother at all. I will help you collect your things and then it’s off to bed with you.” Ichabod hooked Katrina’s hand around his arm, grabbed the burning lantern from the back of the piano,
and escorted her down the hall.

“I’m not sure it’s proper, sir, for you—a  single man—to enter the quarters of a woman rumored to be betrothed, no matter how adamantly opposed to said union that woman may be.” Katrina
held her head high, adopting a mock haughty air.

Ichabod
pulled free from her grasp. Turning to face her, he dipped into a formal bow. “My lady, I shall wait in the hall only to help carry your belongings. Therefore ensuring public opinion of your virtue is
never
called to question.”

“How very noble of you
.” Katrina giggled, gracing him with a small curtsy. “These are my quarters.”

Ichabod held up the lantern as Katrina retrieved her room key from the velvet coin purse sewn at the waist hem of her dress.
The lock clicked and the door swung in. Katrina turned to Ichabod to borrow the lantern. Instead, she witnessed his face falling slack with horror.