Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (26 page)

The painting. The scene rose in his mind with such force that he could feel the sunlight on his arms even here, in Seattle’s chilly predawn darkness. Could feel Beth’s feather-soft kiss brush against his lips. Pain squeezed his heart, but not the old pain to which he’d grown accustomed in the years since Beth’s death. In the long, sleepless hours on his bunk last night he’d realized there was a new element to the grief that clutched at his throat and caused his breath to labor in his chest. A traitorous idea had snaked its way into his thoughts.

Maybe he
could,
one day…love someone else.

The disloyal thought punched at his heart with a guilty fist. A prayer, the first since his wife’s death, formed in his mind.

No, Lord. I love Beth. I’ll always love Beth. You gave her to me, and I promised to love her forever.

Then why did Kathryn’s image swim before him in the darkness of the night? Why did the memory of her standing on the dock, hands clasped over her mouth in horror as she watched two dozen men beat each other to a pulp over her—why did he wake to that image in his mind before he even opened his eyes?

The Almighty remained silent, leaving Jason to grasp for reasons on his own.

It’s because I’m in a place where women are so scarce. The few who are here command the attention of every man, not only me. Does she have any idea how often her name comes up at the mill or at the blockhouse? No wonder I can’t get her off my mind.

For that reason alone it was better for her to leave Seattle. Let her go back to San Francisco, where she belonged. But now it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.

A movement in the darkness ahead drew Jason out of his thoughts. He stopped on the street and glanced around. So distracting had his thoughts been that he walked right past his turn down First Street. Left to themselves his feet had followed a familiar course
and carried him toward the blockhouse instead of the mill. Now he’d have to double back. A good thing he was early this morning.

But what had moved? Hard to tell in the dark, but he’d swear he saw a black shape run down the knoll and disappear into the forest. He stood stock-still, eyes scanning, ears on high alert.

What was that scurrying noise, that rustling in the trees to his right? He narrowed his lids and squinted in that direction, but the forest was pitch-black, impossible to see inside. Probably a deer. He dismissed that thought. Deer were known to bed down at night. The shape he’d glimpsed was too big to be a raccoon or a possum. A cougar maybe? His mouth went dry at the thought. David and Noah had described some of the giant cats that inhabited these woods. There had been a handful of attacks on livestock and even children of families that lived in the forest, but the cougars tended to avoid the cleared areas of town.

Besides, the shape he’d seen—or
might
have seen—had been upright. Like a person.

He started up the knoll, senses on high alert. David’s advice returned to him with force:
Maybe we should all start carrying our long rifles with us. I’m gonna keep mine handy.
Reports kept coming in that hostile tribes were amassing in the woods, the attack force growing bigger every day. David and Noah and the others had discussed posting a guard on the blockhouse at night to guard against possible sabotage, but hadn’t done it yet. Maybe they should.

Jason approached the knoll from the bay side, opposite the closest point of the forest. He circled upward, his head moving constantly to scan the area around him. Nothing moved. The half-finished walls rose high above him, sturdy but still roofless. Everything looked exactly as it had when he and the others left at sundown last night.

Crouching, ready to run if the need arose, he crept toward the open place in the wall that would soon become the door. Inside, the second floor platform they had begun a few days before created even
darker shadows toward the back. His muscles twitching with nerves, he peered into the darkness and inched forward.

The smell hit him just inside. He jerked upright, nose twitching to identify the location. Somewhere off to the right. Turning in that direction, the odor grew stronger with every inch. He had not taken two steps when he found the source. There, by his foot, was an empty bottle. Running a pair of fingers down the wooden boards, they came away wet with a faintly oily residue. He crouched down to inspect the bottle and spied a few items littering the dirt. Picking one up, he verified what he had suspected when he first identified the smell. An unlit match.

Holding his fingers before his nose, he sniffed the familiar odor, mind racing. Oil of turpentine. No doubt at all. And he knew only one person in all of Seattle in possession of oil of turpentine.

Eleven

I
t’s ridiculous!” The force with which Evie applied her rolling pin to the lump of dough kept Jason on the other side of the café’s dining room, well out of swinging distance. “Kathryn would no more sabotage the blockhouse than I would.”

The evidence—the empty bottle and eight unburned matches—lay on the table beside Jason.

“How can you be sure?” Noah adopted an even, almost placating tone to address his wife. “You’ve only known her a little over a week. We all have.”

The glare she turned on him held almost as much force as her rolling pin, and Jason marveled at Noah’s ability to return it without flinching.

“Where is Kathryn?” Jason asked, hoping to diffuse a marital battle before it began. “Isn’t she usually here by now?”

Evie turned that fiery glare his way. “Just because she’s a little later than usual proves nothing. A woman should be able to sleep late every now and then without making everyone suspicious.”

He was about to agree when a new voice entered the conversation.

“Suspicious of what?”

Jason jerked around to see Kathryn enter through the open doorway, her fingers fumbling with the button at the neck of her cloak.

At the sight of her, Evie burst into tears. She abandoned the biscuit dough and charged across the room to throw her arms around her friend. “Oh, Kathryn! I believe in you. Don’t think for a minute I don’t.”

Noah’s mouth dangled open, consternation etched on his face as he stared at his wife. His gaze flickered to Jason and he shook his head, clearly baffled.

Kathryn seemed equally perplexed at the normally composed restaurant owner’s behavior. “Well…thank you.” She patted Evie’s back, casting a questioning glance first at Noah and then Jason. “I appreciate your confidence in me. But would you tell me why?”

Evie straightened and took a step backward, blotting her eyes with her apron. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cried all over you like that. It’s just that—” Her mouth snapped shut and she turned a narrow-lidded glare toward Jason. “You tell her.”

He swallowed convulsively, unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of feminine ire. Beth never lost her temper like this.

He arrested the thought. Now was not the time to dwell on the past, not with Kathryn’s expectant gaze fixed on him.

Clearing his throat, he adopted an even tone. “There’s been an attempt to sabotage the blockhouse.”

As he described his discovery, he watched a series of emotions flicker across her features. Shock, concern, dismay, and finally, a dawning disbelief.

“But surely you don’t suspect
me
.” Her hand flew to her chest and her glance flickered from Evie to Noah and finally came to rest once again on Jason. “I most certainly did not do anything so vile. And I’ll prove it.”

She whirled and ran from the restaurant. The sound of her running footsteps faded, and an awkward silence fell on the room. Jason stared at a knot in one of the logs on the wall, listening to Evie’s sniffle.

A minute later the back door opened and Kathryn stepped inside.
Her eyes looked larger than normal in her pale face. “It’s gone. My oil of turpentine is gone. I’d left it by the back door because of the smell. My room is small, and…” She lifted a fearful gaze toward Jason. “I didn’t do it. What possible reason would I have to do such a terrible thing?”

“Exactly.” Evie had gained control over her tears, and now she looped an arm through Kathryn’s and stood by her side, spine stiff. “It makes no sense. We don’t believe it for an instant. Do we?” The glare that slid between Noah and Jason became intense as both women waited for their answer.

Actually, Jason did not believe Kathryn would attempt such a violent act. For one thing, she had made no secret of her fear of the looming Indian attack. Destroying the place where she and the others would take refuge made no sense. Besides, he could not envision Kathryn creeping through the forest in the dark all the way to the blockhouse, and he had definitely seen the saboteur scurry into the forest. And finally, he could not forget her expression as she watched the riot she had caused the other day. She had been appalled by the violence. Under no circumstances would he describe her as gentle, but neither would he believe her capable of vandalism on a scale such as this.

“No.” He voiced his answer with the confidence he felt. “I don’t believe you did this.”

Grateful tears sparkled in her eyes, and the sight of them caused a sympathetic pang in his chest.

“Neither do I.” Noah stepped toward his wife, who slipped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his sleeve. “But someone obviously wanted us to suspect you.”

Jason agreed. “That’s true. The oil of turpentine is clear evidence that points to you.”

“Not necessarily.” Evie raised her head. “If the bottle was sitting outside in plain sight, anyone could have picked it up. It might have been a scout from one of the hostile tribes.” She looked up at her
husband. “Our Indian friends have told us they’re keeping watch over the town.”

“It’s possible one of them snatched it and decided to do mischief.” He remembered the night a week ago when they’d first agreed to build the blockhouse. An argument had nearly broken out between those who saw the necessity for action and those who accused them of being alarmists and spreading panic without cause. “Or it need not have been an Indian scout. There are plenty of people right here in Seattle who don’t support the blockhouse.”

Noah nodded, his expression sober. He and David had been the target for a lot of verbal jabs and taunts.

“Thank goodness you arrived in time.” Kathryn folded her arms and hugged her middle in a gesture that reminded him of a frightened child. “When I think of what might have happened if you’d been a few minutes later…”

Noah rubbed a hand across his mouth, shaking his head. “I’m not sure the vandal actually intended to set a fire. If it wasn’t one of the hostiles, that is.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, trying to guess where the man’s thoughts had taken him. “What about the matches?”

“They could have been placed there on purpose. Think about it. If someone really wanted to set a fire that would do some damage, wouldn’t they use a lot more fuel than what was in that little bottle?” He gestured toward the empty bottle. “Why not lamp oil? Comes in bigger containers and is far more accessible.”

“Do Indians use lamp oil?” asked Kathryn.

“They use dogfish oil.” Evie wrinkled her nose. “It stinks even worse than turpentine.”

Jason considered Noah’s point. “You’re right.”

“So we’ve got two possible culprits.” Noah raised a finger. “Indian scouts intent on destroying our efforts to protect ourselves, and who happened across your oil of turpentine.” He lifted a second finger.
“Or one of our own who found the bottle and decided to cause a bit of mischief.”

“There’s a third possibility, and I’m afraid it’s the most logical.” Jason turned an apologetic look on her. “Someone in town dislikes you enough to want to cast suspicion on you.”

Her mouth dropped open, shock registering on her face.

“That’s absurd.” Evie drew herself up in staunch defense of her friend. “Kathryn’s only been here ten days and already everyone loves her.”

Not everyone. Jason held his tongue, but Will’s warnings resounded in his mind. The man made no effort to hide his intense dislike for her, at least not to Jason. One way or another, he intended to discover why.