Lady of Light (24 page)

She didn’t think she’d ever tire of watching him. With his dark Stetson, scuffed, dusty boots, and long, lean-muscled legs encased in those well-worn denims, Evan looked every bit the cowboy she always imagined. Claire had to admit that, as much as she liked a man in a kilt, she equally liked one well-clad in snug-fitting denims, wearing boots and a Stetson.

“Lusting after your husband, are you?” a familiar feminine voice intruded just then on Claire’s affectionate musings. Mary Sue Edgerton stepped from the shadows beyond the town hall’s open doorway and sauntered over. “Tsk, tsk. Here I thought that little act we play to win a man became superfluous, once we got a wedding ring on our finger.”

Fleetingly, Mary Sue’s calculating observation gave Claire pause. Then she decided, as she turned and caught a glimpse of the other girl’s smiling face, that Mary Sue was surely jesting. “Well, I can’t say I know or understand all of your American customs as yet,” she replied laughingly, “but I haven’t observed any lack of fondness between husband and wife since I’ve been in America. Abby certainly continues to have a great affection for her husband, and though Hannah has been wed to Devlin nearly a year, her continued devotion toward him is also still most pleasantly apparent.”

“Hannah!” The ebony-haired girl gave a disdainful sniff. “One has to wonder how much of her devotion is sincere, and how much is false. She used to make her living playing to men’s egos, you know, not to mention all those additional male parts a properly bred lady would never put name to. But then, what else would you expect of a former prostitute?”

At the sarcasm, tinged with glee, in the other girl’s voice, Claire’s temper flared. “It doesn’t matter what Hannah used to be!” she said through gritted teeth. “What’s past is past. Hannah’s been good to me. She’s also family. I’ll thank you not to speak ill of her.”

A long silence ensued. Something akin to anger flickered in Mary Sue’s eyes, then, as she stepped back and smiled again, it was gone. “Claire, you have my sincerest apology. You’re right to reprimand me for my unkind words. What is past
is
past. I just hate to see someone use someone—like Hannah did Evan. You know he followed her around for the longest time like some adoring puppy. But, in the end, it didn’t matter to Hannah when she finally tossed him aside and set her cap instead for Devlin. After all Evan did for her, after how deeply and devotedly he seemed to love her, he deserved better than that.”

Claire, who at that moment had been casting about for some excuse to end the conversation and head inside, did a double take. An adoring puppy indeed! “What do you mean, Hannah tossed Evan aside for Devlin? I don’t recall Evan ever speaking of Hannah in such a way.”

“Don’t you?” Mary Sue shot her an arch look. “Well, maybe it slipped his mind? Or maybe he just didn’t want to cause any problems between you and Hannah, knowing he’d be bringing you back to Culdee Creek? Or, though I hate even to bring this up—yet as your friend I feel I must—maybe he still isn’t over her? If there’s even half the truth in all the rumors, she
is
the reason he left here over a year ago, you know?”

The revelation that Hannah was the cause for Evan leaving Culdee Creek sent a shard of jealousy plunging through Claire. That pain, however, was nothing compared to the searing sense of betrayal that followed in its wake. Why hadn’t Evan ever told her Hannah was the woman who had broken his heart? Why was she forced to first learn about it from the likes of Mary Sue?

It was all too much to fathom, much less deal with right now. One thing, however, was certain. Evan had put her in a decidedly embarrassing position, one she was inadequately prepared to defend. Suddenly, Claire was as furious with her husband as she was with the smug-faced girl standing before her.

“And mayhap all of this is none of your business,” Claire snapped, at the end of her tether. She met Mary Sue’s now innocent gaze with a challenging one of her own. “Well,” she demanded hotly, when no reply was forthcoming, “what do you think? Is aught of this any of your business?”

“Most likely not.” The girl flushed scarlet and took a step back. “It’s the truth, though, whether or not you care to believe it.”

“The truth as best as
you
see it, anyway!”

This time, Mary Sue’s eyes widened in shock. “Well, I never! Here I am, trying to be a good and true friend to you, and this is the thanks I get!” With that she turned and, with an injured sniff, stomped back inside.

From within the hall, Claire could hear feet shuffling and chairs scraping across the wooden floor as the members of the Ladies Quilting Society began to take their seats around the large quilting frame. Suddenly, however, she was loath to join them. If Mary Sue knew about Hannah and Evan, how many more in there knew, too? she wondered. Did they laugh and talk about her behind her back when she wasn’t around, pitying her ignorance over what must well be common knowledge? Frustration swelled anew. Why, oh why, hadn’t Evan told her about Hannah?

Suddenly, Claire felt dizzy, sick to her stomach. She glanced frantically around. A short, wooden bench, painted an incongruous shade of bright red, snugged up beneath a window just a few feet away. She stumbled over to it and sat, her sewing basket still clenched in her hands.

Hannah … Hannah, who had tossed Evan aside for Devlin … Perhaps, as Mary Sue had warned the first day they had met, Hannah wasn’t all that she seemed.

I was in love with a girl, and she fell in love with someone else …

Unbidden, Evan’s words that day they had first gone to visit Lainie and Donall MacKay crept back into her mind. Claire hadn’t given his admission much thought then, beyond trying to comfort Evan in his grief. And by the time she might have begun to consider the tale further, Evan had seemed so taken with her that Claire felt certain the mysterious girl was no longer a problem for either of them.

But now … now she wasn’t so certain. Evan hardly talked to Hannah. Evan still held a grudge against Devlin. And, worst of all, Evan had never once admitted to Claire that Hannah was the girl who had broken his heart.

Had
Evan truly ever gotten over losing Hannah, even now that they were both married to others?

Doubt engulfed her, then fear, then scalding rage. She went hot, cold, then hot again. “Och, Evan, Evan,” Claire moaned, clenching her eyes shut, digging her nails into her palms.

Perfect love casteth out fear
… a tiny voice, sounding suspiciously like Father MacLaren’s, whispered of a sudden in her mind.

As quickly as the turbulent emotions had visited her, they were gone. Claire gave a shaky laugh. “Fool,” she scolded herself. “Will you, then, suspect your husband on the word of some girl who obviously has a grudge against Hannah? Evan loves you, and Hannah is now a godly woman, no matter the sins of her past. Don’t condemn them out of hand. Give them both a chance to defend themselves.”

Aye, Claire resolved, that was exactly what she would do—give them both a chance to defend themselves. Problem was, how in heaven’s name was she ever to tactfully broach such a delicate subject? And what, she thought as a shiver of dread rippled through her, would she do if the truth wasn’t all she hoped it would be?

“Well, I’m
still
not so certain your father did right by you in setting your cousin over you,” Claire observed that evening, as she and Evan put fresh sheets on the bed they would now share in Abby and Conor’s bedroom. “I am happy, though, that you and Devlin are trying to work out your problems at long last. It’ll make the mood around here a sight better for everyone, especially now, with your parents gone.”

“Pa did the best he could,” Evan muttered as he tried, and failed, to properly miter the top sheet corner on his side like he had seen Claire do. He gave up and just stuffed it beneath the mattress. “And if the mood between Devlin and me was bothering you, you should’ve said something a long time ago.”

“Och, aye,” his wife said with an exasperated snort. “A lot of good that would’ve done me. I don’t like to be the one to mention this, but has anyone ever pointed out that you can sometimes work yourself into a black humor?” She opened the blanket and tossed it into the air so that his half floated over to him.

Evan shot her a narrow look. Though Claire had an easy day, he hadn’t. He was bone-tired. He and Devlin had already had a few tense moments over what cattle to cull from the herd for market, and the finger he had burned restarting Old Bess for Claire, so she could finish warming up their supper, was throbbing fiercely. Now, on top of everything else, he really wasn’t in the mood for any snide comments on his behavior.

“Look, I’ve been working some mighty long hours lately, even before Pa decided to leave.” Evan knew his tone could’ve been gentler, that he could’ve softened his words with a smile, but he just didn’t have the energy. He took his side of the blanket, smoothed it out, then unceremoniously shoved the foot end of it under the mattress. “Can’t we postpone this discussion regarding the sorry state of my attitude until tomorrow? About all I can handle right now is some shut-eye.”

The teasing light faded from Claire’s eyes. A strange look crossed her face. “Aye, I suppose we can. Of course, we won’t talk about it tomorrow either. You’ll surely have too many chores to attend to before breakfast, and then you’ll be out of the kitchen even before you swallow down your last spoonful of porridge.”

At the mention of the oatmeal mush she insisted on serving every morning, Evan grimaced. “Well, since we’re now on the subject of porridge, do you think we might be able to have something else for a change? It’s one thing for me to eat it every morning. But the hands you’ll now have to cook for in Abby’s absence aren’t going to be as tolerant. You do know how to make flapjacks, don’t you? Or how to fry up some bacon and eggs? If not, I’m sure Hannah would be glad to show you.”

A rosy hue washed her face. She clamped her lips tightly and averted her gaze. “Aye, I know how to make flapjacks and fry eggs,” Claire replied softly. “Mayhap not half so well as Hannah, mind you, but I do know how. I just didn’t think they were proper food to begin the day with. Porridge, on the other hand—”

“I haven’t anything against porridge, Claire,” Evan interrupted her before she launched into yet another lecture. “But I’d just like a good old, stick-to-your-ribs,
American
breakfast on occasion, too. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, is it?”

She turned from picking up the colorful, log cabin style quilt that went atop the blanket and stared at him long and hard. Evan could see the hurt seep into her eyes, the way her pretty mouth began to tug down ever so slightly at the corners. He knew it was his fault. His words had been harsh, derogatory even.

He sighed. “Look, Claire, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that I’m—”

“I know.” She held up a hand to silence him. “You’re tired.” She quickly unfurled the quilt and let it also float down onto the bed. “Like you said before. Tomorrow’s soon enough to talk.”

Walking to the commode, she took up the large, porcelain pitcher and pulled it close to her. “Get on with you. Begin your preparations for bed. I’ll soon be back with some hot water for you to wash with.” In a flurry of skirt and petticoat, Claire was gone from the room.

Evan stared at the closed door for a few seconds, then began unbuttoning his shirt. Things were bad enough with his father gone, he thought in exasperation as he tugged his shirttails free of his denims, without now upsetting his wife. He had never fully comprehended, though, how draining the day-to-day responsibility of running a ranch was. Problem was, from here on out it was only bound to get harder.

He walked to the bed, sat, and tugged off his boots and socks. Just as he was setting them beside the chair, Claire reentered the room, the pitcher in her hands. “Here, let me take that,” Evan said, striding over to relieve her of the now full, steaming container. “I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve been the one to go down and fetch this.” He paused, a lopsided smile on his lips. “I also want to apologize for my unkind comments earlier. Tired or not, they were uncalled for.”

“Och, dinna fash yerself,” his wife said, sending him a cautious, slanting look as she turned and closed the bedroom door, then went to stand before the oak dresser with its oval, beveled mirror. “When I’m overly weary, I can be a bit sharp-tongued myself. I’ll forgive you, if you promise to forgive me for those times I snip and snap at you.”

As she spoke, one by one Claire began to pull the pins from her hair until the rich, auburn bun unfurled and tumbled down her back. Standing there in the middle of the bedroom, the pitcher of water still clutched in his hands, Evan watched, mesmerized, as Claire next finger-combed her long, wavy tresses, then took up a white-bristled hair-brush. With long, languorous strokes, she ran it repeatedly down her hair’s glossy length.

His mouth went dry. His hands became damp, and an ardent need to take Claire in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless swelled within him. Heated, loving actions whirled through his head. Evan opened his mouth to share them with her. Then, as if she had suddenly realized he was watching her, Claire’s gaze lifted, meeting his in the mirror.