Reclaiming His Past (9 page)

“Morning.” She sidestepped out of his way, her gaze locked on Grant's. The main door slammed behind the boy.

Grant tried to think of something to say to break the tension suddenly permeating the room and came up blank. She looked as fresh as a daisy in her sunny yellow blouse and dark brown skirt. Her hair wasn't in its usual ponytail. Shining red locks spilled over her shoulders. Only the top strands had been pulled back and restrained with a crooked ribbon. The casual style made her look younger and softer. More like a woman and less like a warrior. His mouth went dry.

Whatever she saw in his gaze caused her to break eye contact, and she hurried to pour herself some tea.

“Good morning, my dear,” Alice greeted. “Do you have any orders to work on today?”

“No. Why? Do you need my help with something?”

“I was hoping we'd get those bushels of green beans preserved.”

“I'll get started on it right after breakfast.”

“Thanks, dear. Here you go.”

Grant had kept his attention on his plate during their exchange. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jessica's slow approach. He couldn't have her feeling uncomfortable in her own home.

He gave her a welcoming smile, one he hoped communicated that last night didn't have to ruin today. “Does your harvest fair host a competition for autumn queen?”

“What?” She sank into the chair Will had vacated, her brows pulling together. “Oh, um, no. Why?”

“Because you'd win the crown today. I like your hair like that.”

Her full petal-pink lips parted as becoming color tinged her cheeks. “That's sweet of you to say.”

The urge to cradle her hand seized him. Aware of their audience, he cleared his throat. “I'll help with chores today,” he told Alice. “I'm assuming you have to break the beans first.”

“That's right. But Doc said you should focus on getting your strength back.”

“If I sit still any longer, I'll lose what's left of my mind. It's not strenuous work, anyway.”

“If you're sure. You and Jessica can break them while I get the jars washed and ready.”

What felt like a tiny lightning bolt of pain arced through his skull. He flinched, and then it was gone. Neither woman noticed.

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather read a book or practice the guitar?” Jessica suggested, her reluctance to spend time with him plain.

She didn't want him around. She'd made that clear from the moment he collapsed in her yard. He tried to mask how much it bothered him.

“I'm well enough to help you. I won't be around for long. Take the assistance while you have it.”

Blowing lightly on the tawny liquid in her china cup, she lowered her gaze.

A second spasm streaked through his head. His fork clinked against the plate. Pain exploded behind his temple. He rammed his chair back, leaned over and gripped his head with both hands.

Chapter Nine

“G
rant!”

Barely aware of Jessica kneeling beside him, he squeezed his eyes tight and willed the pain to stop. An image flashed in his mind. Not a face, but an object.

“Grant, what's wrong?” Her fingers trembled where they cupped his knee. “What can I do to help you?”

“My head.” He concentrated on his breathing. “Hurts.”

Alice's soft tread neared. “Should we fetch Doc?”

“No.” Somehow, his hand found Jessica's, and their fingers wound together. He drew strength from the contact. “It'll pass.”

Gradually, the intensity lessened until he could straighten and meet their anxious gazes. “I remembered something,” he wheezed.

Jessica sat back on her heels. “What?”

“A star. Made of silver, I think. It was blurry.”

As if just noticing their linked hands, she disengaged and stood. “A star? What does that mean?”

Alice scratched her head. “A piece of the puzzle, that's what it is.”

“It might not mean anything.” Grant closed his eyes and tried to recall more details. Nothing. Nothing but emptiness. A sense of helplessness swamped him, followed swiftly by a tidal wave of fury. He wanted to plant his fist in something. Shake the walls.
Why did You allow this to happen, God? I thought You were supposed to care about me.

He shot to his feet so fast the women took a step back. His wound protested the sudden, careless movement.

“I need air.”

No one spoke as he hobbled through the dining area and into the living room. By the time he reached the door, Jessica had caught up to him.

“I'm going with you.”

“Jessica—”

“I can show you the spot where I discovered your travel bag.” Her chin jutted. “You might see something I overlooked.”

Grant wanted to ask why she was insisting but figured he wouldn't like the answer. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Jessica stuck close to Grant's side as they meandered through the woods. He was using the cane to navigate the uneven terrain. While his countenance no longer bore the vestiges of pain, he was too pale for her peace of mind. Seeing him like that had been difficult. Not just the physical anguish he was dealing with, but the mental turmoil, as well.

He didn't seem inclined to conversation, and she didn't press him. The forest provided ample distraction. Grant was like a scientist on a mission, absorbing every detail, stopping intermittently to study a plant, test a tree's bark or touch an insect's body. He was familiar with the constellations. Perhaps he was a professor at one of those expensive universities back East.

They reached the stream crisscrossing their property. About four feet wide at this spot, mossy rocks of all sizes littered the streambed and banks on either side. The trees grew close together here, and the forest floor was hardly visible through the layer of fallen leaves. Their orange hue contrasted nicely with those bushes and saplings that were still green.

“This is spectacular.” Leaning on his cane, he did a slow circle and surveyed their surroundings with appreciation.

“Spring and summer are wonderful,” she said. “The forest is a canvas of lush greens and browns. Autumn is the best season, in my opinion. It brings these mountains to life.”

“I can see why anyone would want to live here. It's peaceful. You have abundant wildlife to sustain your family. Rich soil for growing things.”

“My only complaint is that everyone knows your business. You are already the talk of the town, and you've only met a handful of its residents.”

His brows lifted. “You're serious?”

“I am.”

Taking a seat on one of the larger boulders, he wrapped both hands around the cane. He looked troubled. “I've been thinking. What if I was ambushed, and the person responsible wanted to make sure he finished the job? What if he returns? You could very well be in danger.”

Jessica began to pace. She should've thought of that possibility.

“I couldn't live with myself if I brought that sort of trouble to your door.”

“We'll be prepared,” she said. “I carry a gun on me everywhere I go.”

“Is that typical around here?”

Deliberately ignoring his assessing gaze, she crouched at the water's edge and watched the pinkie-sized minnows darting beneath the surface. She shouldn't have let that tidbit about Jane and her brush with death slip the other day. His curiosity had been piqued. “Depends on the woman, I suppose. I happen to think it best to be prepared.”

“Have you ever been in a situation where you've been forced to use it?”

She bent closer to the water so that her hair hid her profile. The questions needled her, prodded her fortified defenses. After Lee's death, she'd given an account to the sheriff and that was it. Her family and friends had respected her privacy and given her the space to work through her grief. Folks talked about what happened, but never to her face.

“No, I haven't.”

While she'd brandished her weapon in a bid to free Jane from John Farnsworth, she hadn't had a chance to use it. Lee's coldhearted boss had had a knife to Jane's throat and would've hurt her if Jessica hadn't forfeited her gun. She'd never felt such a formidable mix of helplessness, dread and rage. The helplessness had been the worst.

Rising to her full height, she considered him. “You should have a means to protect yourself. You weren't wearing a gun belt or holster when I found you, but that could've been stolen along with your other possessions.” Pulling out her gun, she handed it to him. “This one's a four-chamber. I've got a six-shooter at home you'd probably like better. Want to get some practice in before we break beans?”

A slow, mischievous grin curved his lips. “Let's see...shooting practice or preserving vegetables? Which should I pick? It's a surprisingly tough decision. I like guns. I also like to eat.”

Jessica's mouth went dry. Injured and out of his element, Grant was handsome and endearing, his charm a powerful draw. She hated to think how she would've fared against him in his normal life.

“You're incorrigible.”

“I'll take that over infuriating any day.” He winked.

She threw up her hands. “Wait here while I get you a gun and ammunition.”

At home, her ma didn't take pains to mask her pleasure, smiling and nodding at Jessica's practical explanation.

“What are you so excited about? It's shooting practice. That's all.”

“It's good for you to concentrate on someone else's needs for a change. To focus outward, instead of inward.”

Speechless, Jessica took a longer time to return through the woods than she'd taken to reach home. Her mother's observation reverberated through her mind. The implication had been clear—she was selfish. Too absorbed in her own problems to notice or care about others'.

She couldn't argue or defend herself. Her mother was right. Since the moment she and Jane were taken captive and her life was lifted from the pages of a gothic novel, she'd wrestled with destructive emotions. Memories tormented her. Remorse consumed any and all crumbs of peace she managed to seize. The ardent wish to change the past, the choices she made, was a constant, living thing inside her. The futility of such a wish didn't prevent it from existing.

Selfish. Self-absorbed.
Those were ugly flaws. What troubled her was the fact it had taken a stranger in need to bring her attention to them.

Her family and friends must really love her to put up with such behavior for so long. While she couldn't rid herself of the guilt and grief, she could make sure it didn't overflow to those around her. She couldn't go on like this. Not if she didn't want to wind up a bitter, lonely old woman.

Grant was exactly where she'd left him, still on the boulder, managing to appear deep in thought yet aware of his surroundings. The cane was propped beside him, her gun resting on his thigh and the barrel pointed away from them. He was wearing one of the two outfits in his travel bag—slate-gray trousers that hugged his muscular legs and a sea-blue shirt that molded to his shoulders. He'd rolled the long sleeves up, revealing tanned, toned forearms and thick wrists. Sunlight speared through a break in the trees and lit on his short blond hair. Several locks fell across his forehead. That, combined with the hint of shadow along his jawline, gave her the impression of a rakish pirate.

Oh, come on, Jessica. Leave the frivolous imaginings to Jane.

At her approach, he came and relieved her of the ammunitions pouch. They switched weapons and, setting the pouch at his feet, he examined the Smith and Wesson Schofield revolver. He let out a low whistle. “Nice. I used to have one like this, except the barrel was longer.”

Popping open the chamber, he didn't seem to realize the significance of his words.

“You did?”

His gaze lifted and locked with hers. “Yeah...I did.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

To distract him, she lifted the tin can she'd brought. “I say we put this here.” She strode to the boulder he'd vacated and set it on top. “I'll even let you go first.”

The worry smoothed from his face, and he smiled. “Oh, no, a gentleman always allows the lady to go first.”

She kicked up a shoulder. “Whatever you say.”

They readied their weapons and moved a sufficient distance away from the target. She had no trouble hitting it. Friendly competition between the males and females in her family was commonplace. Grant's unchecked admiration sent warmth fizzing through her. Unlike some men of her acquaintance, he wasn't intimidated by a woman's competence.

Then he stepped up to shoot, and it was her turn to be impressed. Moving farther away from the can didn't hinder his ability.

“You're amazing,” she gushed, inwardly cringing. She sounded like an infatuated schoolgirl.

He shrugged off her praise as he gathered their things. “I can say the same about you.”

“You're a better shot than I am. You're better than any of my cousins.”

He grabbed up his cane, and they started for home. “I know what you're thinking.”

There was a heaviness to his bearing that hadn't been there before.

“That's not arrogant at all,” she quipped. “Tell me, what's on my mind?”

He turned his head toward hers, his eyes deep, endless pools of blue. “You're thinking only a bank robber would possess such skills.”

“Wrong.” She met his gaze head-on. “I was thinking only a lawman would.”

He came to a halt, knuckles loosening on the cane's knob-like handle. “Honestly?”

“There are two sides to every coin, after all.”

“Without solid proof of who and what I was, I have to strive to stay positive. Hope for the best outcome.”

Jessica could empathize with his situation. Without hope, how was he to move forward with confidence? How would he find the strength to begin anew? She couldn't shatter his tenuous foundation, despite the lingering voice inside her head telling her that whatever he'd been involved in couldn't have been good.

* * *

He should be exhausted. The day had been a full one. Between the three of them, they'd washed, snapped and canned three bushels of green beans. He'd been grateful for something to do to keep his mind occupied. His proficiency with the gun troubled him more than he'd let on. Safe to say he wasn't an ordinary postmaster or storekeeper. The image of the silver star remained embedded in his mind as well, and he yearned for answers.

Alice and Jessica had proved excellent company. For all her prickly ways, the feisty redhead was a dutiful daughter who clearly loved and respected her mother. The haunted light in her eyes awakened Grant's protective instincts, and he wished there was some way he could chase away her sadness. Those rare moments when her guard lowered and she gave in to humor, she became a different person, her bright smile and husky laughter infectious.

Whatever secrets she was harboring, they were chipping away at her contentment. He'd wanted to press her at the stream, to demand answers, but it wasn't his place. He had no stake in her life. He was just a traveler passing through.

Grant didn't need his memories to know he didn't like inaction, detested feeling powerless.

He walked over to where Alice and Jessica were washing the supper dishes. “Thanks for another excellent meal, ladies. While you're finishing up here, I'll do the milking. Just tell me which pails you prefer me to use.”

“Aren't you tired?” Alice said.

He couldn't explain the restlessness plaguing him. His injuries pained him, but he wasn't ready to rest. “I'm too young to be going to bed at seven o'clock.”

Alice's smile was indulgent. “Jess, would you mind taking him out to the barn and showing him the tool room? You can introduce him to Sadie while you're at it.”

Nodding resignedly, Jessica finished drying the plate in her hand before removing her apron. The yellow ribbon in her hair drooped and looked close to falling out. Her skin was damp, and there were shadows under her eyes. She looked as if she could use a hug.

“I'm sure I can find what I need,” he said. “You don't have to come.”

“It's all right.”

At the door, he took her knitted ivory shawl from the peg and offered it to her.

Murmuring her thanks, she wrapped it about her shoulders. Her long hair became trapped beneath the tightly woven yarn, and he considered freeing it. He would have if he didn't think she'd slap him.

He opened the door for her and, remembering his cane, followed her to the barn. She hesitated at the entrance.

“Is there a problem?” he said.

“N-no. No problem.”

Firming her shoulders, she lifted the lamp she'd brought and hung it on a nail on the nearest wall. A small room housed tools, hoes, rakes and other gardening implements, ropes and pails. She chose one of the pails.