Stone Dreaming Woman (10 page)

“Dance with me, Uncle Richard?” he heard Jenny ask as he carefully skated past them.

“Why, Miss Weston, I’d be honored,” Richard replied loftily, bowing over her hand. She glided into his arms, and they began a sedate circuit of the pond. Easily following his long, slow turns, Jenny appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself.

Ben stopped playing and shook the condensation out of his harmonica at the same moment Shane coasted up. He executed a quick but decidedly inelegant turn and came to a spray stop. Jenny stepped out, keeping hold of Richard’s hand.

“Good evening, Miss Weston. Richard.” He solemnly touched the brim of his Stetson.

“Good evening, Sergeant,” she responded primly. However Richard seemed determined to make something of their chance meeting.

“Hello. I’m surprised to see you here, since you’re usually on rounds the last two weeks of the month.”

“Paul will be taking rounds for me this month. We’re going to swap off from now on. I can’t say I’m sorry. He won’t have it easy. The trail to North Village is barely passable right now. I know because I tried to get up there this morning.”

“I’m glad Superintendent Shepherd found someone to do that for you. You deserve a respite, however brief.”

Shane made a wry face. “It’ll be brief. I’ll have to do Paul’s report, and both his handwriting and his spelling are abominable.” Ben began to play again, this time a Strauss waltz. Shane made a great effort to appear casual in Jenny’s presence. “Miss Weston, may I have this dance—with your permission, of course, Richard?” he asked, extending his hand. He saw her surprised look. Then her eyes went quickly to her uncle’s face as though pleading for rescue.

“Naturally you have my permission. As charming and delightful as my niece’s company is, I’ll not monopolize it.”

As he swept Jenny into his arms, he wondered what imp had made him say what he had. Her hand came to rest across the top of his shoulder. Since her hand was cushioned by her sable muff and the thick fur of his parka, he barely felt her light touch. Ditto for the small, gloved right hand that lay ethereally in his. But it still quickened his heartbeat and brought blood to his cheeks in a way that Ruth had never managed to do.

Jenny had perfect manners to go with her expensive appearance. Her eyes sought his face as he pushed off, letting her skate forward for the moment. Then he guided her into a gentle turn, which she executed as easily as he did.

“I was watching you dancing with Richard earlier. You’re quite good,” he remarked after they had both picked up the rhythm of Ben’s waltz.

She gave him a debutante’s staged smile that looked no more than skin deep. “Thank you. But from your hockey skates I’d expect you to be involved in that game over there.”

“Normally I would, but I’ve had a demanding day. I tried to go up to North Village, but the last half mile is impassable right now. It was a difficult slog back to the road. Besides, I like to dance. You must, too.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Politely looking up at him, she followed his lead. During his college years in Ottawa he had learned to dance and actually enjoyed it. From there it was a small transition to ice. Two gentle turns made him realize she was even more proficient than he had given her credit for. She followed easily, as light as a feather against him. Richard’s somewhat indifferent skating skills had not presented Jenny at her best.
There’s way more depth to her than I realized,
he thought.
I wonder what else she is going to do that will surprise me.

Then a violin joined Ben. “Who’s playing now?” she asked.

“That’s Jacques Delacroix.”

“Oh, yes, the barber here in town. I’ve heard his name, but we’ve never met.”

“That’s not surprising. He keeps to himself. He’s a good musician, though. Somewhere along the line he’s had formal training. He’s not the common run of hoedown fiddler you usually find out here in the back country.”

“Yes, I can tell he’s no rank amateur.” As Jacques warmed up to his music, Shane became a little more daring, and soon he and Jenny were dancing in wide, sweeping turns as though they were in a ballroom instead of on the ice. As Jacques dragged Ben through “Tales of the Vienna Woods,” Shane became so absorbed in what he was doing he did not realize almost everyone else had withdrawn from the ice to watch them dance. Then, after once through “The Beautiful Blue Danube,
”
Jacques paused to retune, and Shane came to.

“Well, it looks as though we collected quite an audience,” he remarked. “Thank you very much for the dance.”

“It was my pleasure entirely.” She set a toe pick into the ice and dipped the smallest curtsey, and he had the feeling that the onlookers would have applauded had they not been muffled in gloves and mittens. He gave her his arm to escort her back to Richard.

“You skate so well. Have you taken lessons?”

“Years of them. And you?”

For the first time he smiled just a little. “I’m afraid I’m just a rusty old college hockey player,” he said self-deprecatingly. “May I have another waltz later, or is your program full?”

“I believe there may be a space or two left.”

“Then consider them filled.”

“You flatter me, sir.”

“Believe me, Miss Weston, that is indeed my intention.” This was the same kind of courtly flirtation he engaged in with Belinda and Julia. He did not expect it to penetrate Jenny’s hard veneer.

She returned to Richard’s side, skated with a few other people, including Reverend Aubrey, and Shane retreated to sit by the bonfire for a while. But after escorting Belinda around the pond and then Julia, followed by the slightly older Mary Ann Tillman, he found his way back to Jenny. He checked by dragging his left skate behind him and gave her a shallow bow, extending his hand.

“Miss Weston, I believe this is my dance,” he said.

“Why, Sergeant Adair, I do believe you’re right! This
is
your dance, sir.”

He drew her toward him only with difficulty. His arm had turned stiff, and when he held his hand out for hers, there was a flash of pain.

“What did you do to your shoulder?” she asked. His eyes flared wide for an instant. He had thought he covered it well.

“Midnight fell with me today,” he said. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Mentally he crossed his fingers and asked forgiveness for the white lie. “You know he’s a good hill horse. I’ve had him for five years, and we’ve been through some dicey places together. Until today he’s only fallen with me once, and that was more my fault than his. But today, coming down from North Village, we encountered some ice under the snow, and before either of us realized what was going on, he went down.”

Her forehead puckered. “You didn’t land with your arm extended, did you?”

“No. I had sense enough to tuck my elbow in, but I did land on it. It’s really nothing. I’m all right and so is Midnight, but both of us will ache for a day or two.”

“If you’re sure it’s nothing…” She was cutting a little close to the bone, and he could not help shutting the door on the subject.

“I assure you, there’s nothing wrong. I’m a bit sore here and there, but it’s nothing to bother Doctor MacBride with.” His tone suddenly became as cold as the winter evening. He went into full guarded mode, unwilling to risk another cold rejection.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant. I didn’t mean to pry, really.” She looked down as though properly chastened. Then she turned her eyes to his face and gave him a melting smile. “It’s only that I’m concerned for you.” The latter was obviously designed to disarm his hostility. It worked beautifully. His face and his heart both softened immediately.

“Please excuse me. I didn’t mean to be brusque. I…I’m not exactly at my best right now.”

“Then why don’t we sit out this dance? I could use a few minutes next to the fire.”

To turn beside her he pivoted on the tip of his left skate, the quick, ungraceful move of an ingrained hockey player.

“I’d be glad to accompany you, but why are you smiling like that?”

“Your hockey turn just now. It wasn’t pretty, not at all like the way you were skating when we danced.”

He smiled crookedly. “When you’re chasing the puck down through a line of defenders who’d just as soon rip your head off as look at you, pretty is the last thing you think about.” He gave her his arm, and she let him escort her off the pond. They both paused, politely allowing one another a balancing arm as they put on blade guards. Then they made a cautious way to one of the logs, long ago roughed into benches, about the bonfire. She sat down, and he sat only close enough to her to be polite.

“So you played hockey at university?”

“Royal Dominion in Ottawa. Right Forward. I was captain for two years. Our last season went undefeated.”

“My, what an achievement! Do you ever miss it?”

“Sometimes. But I like my work, and I have a lot of friends here.” The arrival of Nora Redfield with a chilled and tired Alice forced Shane to move a little closer to Jenny. The silver fur of his flashy parka brushed her sleeve. She slipped her right hand out of her glove and touched it.

“What is your parka made of? It’s absolutely beautiful, especially the beadwork.”

“It’s wolf, lined with lynx, and the hood trim is wolverine fur because it doesn’t frost over with the moisture from your breath. The beadwork is a modern thing. They used to use dyed feather quills pounded flat, but the dyes bleed when they get wet, and beads are both more sturdy and more colorful.” His parka had bright geometrically patterned bands, perhaps two inches wide, down the center of the back, around the neck, and down both sides of the front storm closure, where it turned in an arc and went around a few inches above the bottom hem. An identical band ran over the top of each shoulder and down the outsides of the sleeves, meeting the strips around the neck and cuffs. The corners had been rounded out with big, curving swirls of bright primary colors.

“It’s spectacular.”

“Thank you. Someone up in North Village made it for me. It’s actually warmer than my bear furs, but the beadwork is somewhat delicate, so I don’t wear it in the woods.”

“Would you show me the lynx fur?” Obligingly he turned the bottom of the storm closure back, revealing the soft, stipply tan lining. She touched it with the backs of her fingers. “It’s so soft.”

“It is. Rabbit is actually softer and warmer, but it sheds. I had a parka lined with rabbit once. I gave it away because whenever I wore it my Red Serge came out grey, and it would take me half a day with a wet cloth to get the hair off.”

“I understand why you got rid of it.”

“The breeches are forgiving, but anything you get on a Red Serge shows.” Hoping to deflect her attention, he changed the subject. “How is Fleur? Have you ridden her?” he asked. Jenny smiled with delight.

“Every single day. That mare is a miracle. She will do literally anything I want her to. I think I’ll start training her in dressage. She’s almost there already.”

“I’m glad she meets with your approval. I had some misgivings.”

“Why ever?”

“Richard told me about your background and the blood horses your family owns.”

“Appaloosa is a recognized breed.”

“I’ve seen some downright ugly Appaloosas.”

“She certainly isn’t one of them.”

He looked down. “No. She isn’t. Then if you’re warmed up enough, may I have that dance?”

“I’m quite comfortable now. I’d be pleased.” At the water’s edge she rested her hand on his forearm while she slipped off her blade guards, then allowed him to balance against her shoulder while he did the same.

This time they did not dance but merely skated side by side, hands joined right to right and left to left. He was grateful for her understanding; his shoulder was aching, he was tired, and the only reason he had not already started for home—indeed, the reason he had come in the first place—was the sable-wrapped, chin-high enigma skating next to him. He knew he would do it again, given the chance.

And to his surprise, he was already planning to see her again.

Chapter Seven

The cold front ran into a raging blizzard that isolated Richard’s farmhouse for an entire week. Finally it blew itself into exhaustion, and Elk Gap dug out. Jenny had busied herself with sewing and learning to cook, and had even been pressed into a final proofreading of
Milestones.
It gratified her to no end that she discovered three typesetting errors.

The morning routine of the Weston household varied little. After she heard Richard stirring in his room, Mavis started the fire and made tea, and she and Jenny often enjoyed a chat before he showed his face downstairs. As a result, ten o’clock came before dishes were done and the day’s chores began. Since Toby cared for the animals, even to gathering eggs and milking the cows, and the laundress came weekly, wintertime brought a tangible paucity of work. Jenny helped Mavis out of a desire to keep busy rather than any necessity, and, on the morning that would prove to be the biggest turning point in her entire life, she had just returned the last of the tea mugs to the shelf when Mavis parted the curtains above the sink.

“It appears we have a visitor who’s in quite a rush,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Look. It’s Shane, riding at a dead gallop.” Jenny stood on tiptoe to peer over Mavis’s shoulder. Through the winter-bare orchard she glimpsed the big, white-stockinged gelding flying down the lane. Shane was riding like an Indian, up and forward in the saddle with his legs plastered against Midnight’s sides and the hood of his wolf parka blown back. He did not check his speed until he was up to the porch, where he bounced down before the horse stopped. The cold had reddened his face, and his hair lay every which way in wind-ruffled confusion. He flipped the reins around the porch rail and took one long-legged step over all three stairs. Jenny pulled the door open before he had a chance to knock and closed it behind him.

“I need to…use the telephone,” he gasped. “I have to…to call Angus MacBride. There’s been an accident at North Village.” He caught his breath forcibly.