Northern Star (26 page)

“There’s one in the cellar,” Molly said, yawning. “It’s a big old rusty box I’ve been pushing out of my way ever’ time I store food.”

“We’ll bring it up tomorrow and find a place for it,” Perry answered.

“There’s a drawer in Old Henry’s room with several keys. In the morning I’ll see if one fits the box, but right now I’m taking these tired bones to bed. This honest work’s hard on a body.” Molly stood and moved toward the door connecting her bedroom with the office. Though she’d moved her things into the room over a week ago, she still called it Old Henry’s Room, as if he might return from the dead and have need of it. Molly talked about Old Henry so much, Perry sometimes felt he was a third partner.

Luke also stood. “I’ll check around and lock everything up before I go for a little walk.” He paused at the door before nodding respectfully. “’Night, Miss Perry.”

Perry smiled up at Luke as he withdrew. He’d proven far better help than she’d ever hoped. He was a large, gentle sort of man with a big heart that overflowed when he was shown any kindness. He’d never asked any questions about their meeting during the war, but Perry knew he’d pieced most of the puzzle together. Luke was always
near, except when he would ask to go out walking for a few hours. She could smell liquor on his breath when he returned, but true to his word, he was never drunk.

Closing her ledger book, she walked to her bedroom. She was glad she’d been so busy, for she’d had little time to think of Hunter today. As she undressed, she let her mind wander to him and the way he’d touched her in the darkness of the barn. What would have happened if she hadn’t been frightened by the man outside? Why had Hunter’s words of need melted her heart so completely? He was a man who had everything—money, power, adventure. Why would he cling to her like a dying man to one last hope?

“Tomorrow he’ll be married,” she said aloud as she circled the room. “All my life I’ll think of him, and he doesn’t even know who I am.”

She undressed slowly, staring at the impersonal room that had become her home. The cold rain pounded against her windows, pressing a chill into the room that not even the mahogany furniture could dispel. In front of the warm fire sat a small tub, half filled with water. Since she’d moved upstairs, Molly and Luke had seen she had a fresh bath every night. Though they both worried that so much bathing might weaken her health, they’d given into her wishes; both pampering her like two maiden aunts. A huge kettle bubbled on the hearth. She poured the steaming water into the tub, letting the hot moisture caress her face with its warmth.

As she sank into the steamy water her muscles relaxed for the first time since the doors downstairs had opened for business. Reaching, she wound a small music box Molly had found while cleaning. As the charming lullaby drifted around the room she closed her eyes, remembering another cold, rainy night a month ago. Hunter’s arms had encircled her as they waited beneath a tree for Abram to return. She could almost feel his hard frame molded along her back. From the depth of her being she knew he was
thinking of her at this moment, just as she was dreaming of him.

*   *   *

Hunter spent a sleepless night thinking of the woman he’d held in the darkness. She’d been heaven in his arms and exactly what he’d needed after witnessing Jennifer’s betrayal. But her appearance reinforced the worry inside him that he might be going mad. How could a woman feel so wonderful and only be a dream, an imaginary lover he’d pasted together from the memory of all the good traits he’d seen in every woman he’d ever met?

When he finally rolled out of bed, he was greeted by a day as gloomy as his mood. The icy wind of midnight had brought in a cold rain that drizzled so slowly, it seemed to hang in the air, as heavy as a milk cloth full of cream.

A nagging logic kept tapping at his mind. Someone had wanted him to find Jennifer and her lover last night. The same person must have left the note, then followed him. But why? How could anyone profit from his knowledge of Jennifer having an affair? Was the person who’d been hiding in the shadows his friend or foe? A friend might want to save him from a bad marriage. But an enemy, knowing his sense of honor, might hope he’d react violently. If he’d killed Jennifer or Richard, Hunter probably would have hanged for murder. There was also the chance Richard would kill him in a fight. Hunter could think of only one person who hated him enough to wish him dead…Wade.

Evening brought with it heavier rains and the realization that he had to deal with Jennifer. Hunter waited until Abram retired, then rode over to her house with little thought of the weather. A carriage would have been more comfortable, but he wanted to see if the shadowy figure would follow again.

Within a block Hunter had his answer. One lean rider on a black stallion stayed well behind, convincing Hunter the man meant harm. He disappeared as Hunter knocked
on Jennifer’s door, but an hour later, when Hunter returned, the man was waiting half a block away.

The argument with Jennifer had left a bitter taste in Hunter’s mouth. He stopped at a small tavern, wanting to settle his raw nerves with a strong drink and hoping his pursuer would come close enough to be identified.

But the tavern was as poorly lit as the street, with layered clouds of smoke blurring his vision. Hunter found a table facing the door and sat waiting. He paid little heed to the filthy tables or the rough language that surrounded him. The stranger who’d tailed him was about to feel the wrath of his bottled-up anger.

The tavern door opened with a gust of damp air just as a barmaid blocked Hunter’s view. He heard the voices of several men entering, but they mixed with the crowd before he could study them.

“What’ll it be, mister?” the barmaid’s rough voice bellowed as she leaned over the table toward Hunter, displaying her cleavage like a peddler showing his wares.

“Whiskey.” Hunter raised one sandy eyebrow. “And see that my glass is never empty.” He felt a chill all the way to his bones that had nothing to do with the weather. Jennifer had taken the time to inform him of his every shortcoming. She’d reminded him repeatedly of his cold manner. In the end she’d even thanked him for saving her from having to share a bed with such a heartless man as himself. Hunter downed the drink and waited for the girl to pour him another. Maybe Jennifer was right. Maybe the only woman who could put passion in his soul was a figment of his imagination, a dream who fired all the warmth within him just by her nearness.

“Be you wantin’ some company in your drinkin’?” the barmaid asked as she smiled, revealing yellowed, stubby teeth. Her breasts swung in her loose blouse like two overripe melons and her rounded stomach rose to meet the bottom of her chest.

“Thanks, but I’ve some thinking to do,” Hunter
answered as he handed her a coin. How different she was from his angel.

He swore under his breath and downed another glass. Must he compare every woman to her? His arms ached to hold her. There could be no substitute. Not Jennifer, not the barmaid. He would hold his angel or he would hold no woman. She had stolen all passion, all need, and left him a lonely hull of a man. Maybe he was destined to live the rest of his life unmarried, with only his dreams to give reason to living.

Hunter scanned the room for the shadowy figure he’d seen following him. Half of the men in the bar would have qualified, for most wore dark, wet coats.

He downed his third glass of whiskey, angry at the world and not really knowing why. He should be happy. He’d lived through the war, his father had left him enough money to do whatever he wanted in life, and he’d just been saved from marriage to a leech. Then why did he find it so hard to smile? Why was he so lonely?

Deep in his own thoughts, he was unaware of the men who talked around him. Rough voices rumbled and rose at the next table like a pot beginning to boil over. Four men shoved chairs across the room, clearing a space on the floor. They suddenly began to swing at one another in anger. Hunter lifted his glass and stood, uninterested in the quarrel. As he turned, a fist plowed unexpectedly into his chin. His drink showered several onlookers as another fist hit him in the side. In an instant he found himself in the middle of a barroom fight. Though he’d had a few drinks, he was clearheaded enough to realize the men were ganging up on him, deliberately fighting him, not each other. To this small band he must have looked an easy target to rob.

Anger flashed in Hunter’s eyes as he fought. He was a skilled boxer, and Abram had taught him a great deal about street fighting. In a few minutes two men were sprawled
unconscious on the floor. The other two quickly lost some of their bravery.

Hunter watched as one of the men backed away, preparing to rush at him. The man stopped in mid-stride and turned his eyes upward above Hunter’s head. His glance followed the man’s eyes but he had no time to react. A second later a chair slammed into Hunter’s skull. He saw a flash of bright light before darkness overtook him and he crumpled to the floor.

*   *   *

A man in a dark, rain-soaked coat moved over Hunter’s body. His voice was a low hiss, full of malice. “If I hadn’t stepped in with this chair, he’d have beaten the lot of you.

“Pick him up and tie him up out back. Then come back in and wake up your friends. I’ll need all four of you to help.” With these orders Wade sat down at the table and began to plan his next move. This was his chance to get rid of Hunter once and for all. His only cousin was an ever-present blow to Wade’s pride. The money Wade might inherit was a minor detail. All of his life Wade felt he’d been compared to Hunter and come up lacking. Now was his chance to end it once and for all. Always before, Abram had stood near like a guardian angel, but tonight Hunter was alone. It was really quite a shame his cousin hadn’t reacted over Jennifer as Wade had planned. Now he’d have to resort to something more direct.

Wade scribbled down directions, unaware of the huge man who’d observed the drama from a corner seat at the bar. As the two hoodlums returned from dragging Hunter out, the huge man stood and quietly left through the back exit.

*   *   *

Wade slapped one of the men on the back. “Take care of this for me and I’ll see you’re paid well. If there was one thing I learned in the war, it was how to cover my tracks. See that there is nothing on the man out back that
could identify him. Should someone find the body, he’ll be just one of many the police have no name for.”

A few minutes later, when Wade and his four hired ruffians stepped out in the alley, Hunter was gone.

Luke carried Hunter’s unconscious body swiftly through the rainy streets toward Molly’s place. He laughed to himself at having spoiled Wade Williams’s plan. He’d hated Captain Williams after serving under him during the war and could imagine how angry the short-tempered captain was at this instant. From the looks of the gutter rats who were huddling around Wade in the tavern, they were up to no good. It had been so simple for Luke to slip from the tavern, untie Hunter, then vanish into the rainy darkness. Wade would have no clue.

The kitchen door rattled on its hinges as Luke entered. His huge boots left puddles with each step as he hurried toward the fire, left unattended to die in peace.

Luke shifted Hunter’s body on his massive shoulder as he kicked a rug close to the fire. There’d be hell to pay come morning for trailing mud all over the kitchen, but right now he had to see how badly the young gentleman was hurt.

The rocker creaked in the darkness, freezing Luke’s muscles into rock hardness. Molly’s plump form materialized.

“Luke, what’s that you got there?” she demanded as she stood, spilling the cat onto the floor.

“I found him, Miss Molly. He was beat up by some
fellers in the bar.” Luke lay Hunter on the rug at Molly’s feet. The firelight danced across the blood on Hunter’s face; reflecting its light in sparkling diamonds of red.

“Now, Luke, you can’t go bringin’ every stray you find on your walks,” Molly scolded as she knelt beside the man. Though her voice was rough, Luke watched wrinkles of concern twist around her eyes. “He’s a fine-lookin’ fellow, ain’t he?” Molly brushed the blond hair from Hunter’s forehead. “But none of our concern.”

“But, ma’am, this is the man I saw with Abram during the war. The first time I saw Miss Perry, she was with this gentleman and he weren’t in much better shape than he is right now. She was dressed like a boy and this man was a Union officer.”

Molly’s eyes widened as she studied the unconscious man with renewed interest. So this is Perry’s Hunter, she thought. Then she commended Luke. “You done right, Luke, to bring him here.”

“Yes, ma’am. There was a group of men beatin’ him up. Looked like they planned to kill ‘im. I’m thinkin’ he’s more hurt than drunk.” Luke nodded his head continuously, proud of himself for his actions.

“I’ll doctor his head first.” Molly reached for her small medicine kit. “When I’m finished, you take him upstairs and put him in Old Henry’s room. Then you go after Abram. My guess is he’ll want to know about Hunter bein’ here. He may even want to send for a real doctor.”

Luke continued to nod for several seconds. He warmed himself by the fire and watched Molly work on the cut in Hunter’s scalp. “You’re up late, ma’am,” Luke said, more as a statement than a question.

“I have trouble sleepin’ when it’s dark. Too many years of being awake all night,” Molly said, a slight flavor of her Scottish accent showing.

“Yes, ma’am.” Luke watched her closely. He’d heard about what Molly had been; so had everyone else in town. But as long as she was square with him, he would give
her all the respect she asked. Besides, he genuinely liked the old woman.

“There.” Molly stood and closed the medicine box. “Be gentle with him, Luke, and don’t let those big feet of yours go wakin’ up Perry.”

Luke cradled Hunter in his arms and eased through the main hall and up the stairs. He knew his way, even in the dark. Part of his job was to check out the house a few times each night. The womenfolk were still afraid one of Old Henry’s nephews might try to return. The first night, Luke had stumbled into furniture, bringing Molly storming down the stairs waving a dueling pistol like a pirate boarding a king’s ship. Since then he’d been careful to follow a precise path through the house in the dark.