Then one of the men behind her asked how she was doing up here, and she came back to life, turning to look over her shoulder at the stove and mutter something. When she looked outside again, Jesse had stepped back beyond the circle of window light, but she could still see his boots and knew he stood there watching her with those jet black eyes and his old familiar half grin.
She scuttled down to search for the tack on the floor; but couldn't find it, so clambered back up again and started hammering the one she had, ever conscious now of the angle from which he studied her; the way her breasts thrust out against her dress front and jiggled with each fall of the hammer: The other tack winked at her from inside the spooled railing and she climbed down to retrieve it, unable to keep her eyes from seeking the waiting figure beyond the window. For a moment she stood framed by red curtains, like a dumbstruck mannequin on display, quite unable to move her limbs or draw her eyes away from the dim figure who watched from the street, frowning as the wind tried to blow him over.
Jesse, go away, she pleaded silently, terrified of his pull on her.
Somehow her limbs found their ability to move, and she climbed up on the railing again and pounded in the second nail, her heart cracking against her ribs in rhythm with the hammer.
David came from the rear of the store then, admiring her handiwork.
"Should we hang the bell together?" he asked.
"Yes, let's," she choked, hoping he would not note the hysteria in her voice. "That way it will bring good luck to both of us." She could see now that Jesse's legs were gone and wondered if David had spied them out there.
When the bell was on the bracket, David brought her coat and helped her into it. "You'd better get back home before the weather gets worse."
"You're coming up for supper, aren't you?" she asked, trying to keep the desperation from reverberating in her tone.
"What do you think?" he answered, then pulled her scarf protectively around her neck and turned her by the shoulders toward the door before he opened it for her and smiled her away.
The bell tinkled.
Two steps outside she turned, imploring, "Hurry home, David."
"I will."
She lowered her head to hold the scarf more tightly around her neck, but the wind lifted its fringed end and threw it back at her face. She scanned the dark street ahead.
He was gone!
The snow was fine and stinging and had glazed the streets with dangerous ice, which left no tracks for her to either follow or avoid. The wind slashed at her back, buffeting her along the slick boardwalks while her skirts luffed like a mainsail in a gale. She looked into each lighted store as she passed but he was in none of them. Turning at the saloon corner, the wind eddied into a whirlpool and twisted her skirts about her with renewed mastery. She ducked her head, hanging on to her scarf to keep it on her head, pulling her chin down low into her coat collar.
"Hello, Abbie."
Her head snapped up as if the trap door of a gallows had opened beneath her feet. His voice came out of the wild darkness, so near that she realized she'd nearly bumped into him rounding the corner. He stood with feet spread wide, hands in pockets, the swirling wind lifting his white, misty breath up and away.
"Jesse," she got out, "I thought it was you." She had come to a stop and could not help staring.
"It was."
The way they stood, the wind pelted his back but riveted the icy snow into her face, stinging it. She had forgotten how big he was, strapping wide and so tall that she had to look up sharply to see his face.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, but her teeth had begun to chatter, the cold having little to do with it.
"I heard there's going to be a wedding in town," he said, as conversationally as if they were still in her summer garden on a mellow, floral afternoon. Without asking, he withdrew a bare hand from his pocket and turned her by an elbow so that her back was to the wind, his face into it. He moved her nearer the clapboard wall, stood close before her, and jammed his hand back into his pocket again.
"How did you know I was getting married?"
"I figured it before I left, so I kept my eye on the papers."
"Then why didn't you just stay away and leave us in peace?"
His smileless face looked as ominous as the roiling clouds that had brought on the early dark. He scowled, black brows curling together as he ignored her question and asked one of his own.
"Are you pregnant?"
He couldn't have stunned her more had he kicked her in the side of the head with his slant-heeled cowboy boot.
"Why, you insufferable—" But the wind stole the rest of her lashing epithet, muffling her voice as the scarf flapped at her lips.
"Are you pregnant!" he repeated, hard, demanding, standing like a barrier before hen She moved as if to lurch around him, but he blocked her way simply by taking a step sideways, with his hands still buried in his pockets, keeping her between his bulk and the saloon wall.
"Let me past," she said coldly, glaring up at him.
"Like hell I will, woman! I asked you a question and I deserve an answer."
"You deserve nothing and that is precisely what you shall get!"
In an injured tone he went on, "Damnit, Abbie, I left him enough money to set the two of you up in high style for life. All I want in return is to know if the baby is mine."
Rage swooped over her. How dare he sashay into town and imply such a thing—that she had allowed David to make love to her to disguise the mistake she'd made with him, Jesse. At that moment she hated him. She wound up and swung, forgetting that the muff was on her hand. It caught him on the side of the face, doing no damage whatsoever with the soft white rabbit's fur, the pathetic attempt at violence made all the more pitiful by its ineffectuality.
With his hands in his pockets he couldn't block her swing in time, but shrugged and feinted to one side and the muff glanced off his cheek and rolled away onto the icy street behind him.
She made a move toward it, but he caught her by the shoulders, swinging her in a half circle to face him.
"Listen to me, you! I came back here to get the truth out of you and—by God!—I'll have it!"
She skewered him with her eyes and moved again as if to pick up the muff. But he pushed her back against the wall, his eyes warning her not to move, then he knelt and retrieved the muff, but when he handed it to her she had forgotten all about it.
"You despicable goat!" she cried, tears now freezing paths down her cheeks. "If you think I'm going to stand here in the middle of a blizzard and be insulted by you again, you are sadly mistaken!"
"All it takes is a simple yes or no," he argued, holding her in place while the wind threatened to rip them both off their feet. "Are you pregnant, damnit!"
Again she tried to jerk away, but his fingers closed over her coat sleeves like talons. "Are you?" he demanded, giving her a little shake.
"No!" she shouted into his face, stamping her foot and at last spinning free, running away from him. But the ground was glare ice now and a little foot flew sideways, and the next thing she knew she was sprawled at his feet. Immediately he went down on one knee and reached for her elbow, still holding the white muff in his massive, dark hand.
"Abbie, I'm sorry," he said, but she shook his hand off, sat up and whisked at her skirts, fighting back tears of mortification. "Damnit, Abbie, we can't talk here," he said, reaching as if to aid her once more, but she slapped his hand away.
"We cannot talk anywhere!" she exploded, still sitting on the street, glaring up at him. "We never could!
All we could ever do was
fight
, and here you are, back for more. Well, what's the matter, Mr.
DuFrayne, couldn't you find any other woman to force yourself on?"
All traces of temper left his voice as he looked into her angry eyes, kneeling there on one knee, engulfed in that dreadfully masculine sheepskin jacket, and said simply, "I haven't been looking for one."
God help me, she thought, and gathered her outrage about her like armor, struggling to her feet while he held her elbow solicitously and offered her the muff, which she yanked out of his hand. As she swung away and stalked up the street again, everything in her stomach threatened to erupt.
He watched her retreating back a moment, then called out to her, "Abbie, are you happy?"
Don't! Don't! Don't! she wanted to scream at him. Not again! Instead, she whirled into the banshee wind and yelled, "What do you care! Leave me alone. Do you hear! I've been screaming it to an empty house for three months now, but at last I can scream it to you in person.
Get out of my life, Jesse DuFrayne
!"
Then she spun again toward home, running as best she could on the precarious ice.
For some minutes after she rounded Doc's corner and disappeared, Jesse stared at the empty street, then he stamped the gathering snow off his boots and turned back toward the corner saloon. Inside, he ordered a drink, sat brooding until it arrived, then downed it in a single gulp, his mind made up. He'd damn well go back up to her place and get some answers out of that woman!
The roses were gone now from beside her white pickets, which looked forlorn in the wintry gale.
Walking up the path he studied the porch. The wicker furniture was gone now. The swing hung disconsolately, shivering in the wind as if a ghost had just risen from it—maybe two. He took the steps and peered through the long oval window of her front door. He could see her rump and the back of her skirts at the far end of the house. It looked like she was bending over, putting wood into the kitchen range.
Hitching his collar up, he rapped on the door, watching her hurry toward him down the length of the house. He stepped back into the shadows.
As she opened the door, she began, "Supper's not ready yet, David, but it—" The words died upon her lips as Jesse stepped into the light. She lurched to slam the door, but his long fingers curled around the edge of it and a boot wedged it open at the floor.
"Abbie, can we talk a minute?"
Her cheeks made up for the missing roses outside.
"You get off my front porch! Do you hear me,
sir
. That is all I need right now, for you to be seen here."
She darted a look beyond him, but the yard and street were empty.
"It won't take a minute, and shouldn't an old friend be allowed to wish the bride well?"
"Go away before David comes and sees you here. He is coming for supper any minute."
"Then I can congratulate the groom too."
Her eyes quickly assessed the hand and boot holding the door open; there was no possible way she could force him to leave.
"Neither David nor I wish anything from you except that you be gone from our lives." The cold air swirled into the house causing the flames to flicker in the lanterns. Jesse's hand was nearly frozen to that door.
"Very well. I'll leave now, but I'll be seeing you again,
Miss Abigail
. I still owe you one photograph and that twenty-three dollars I borrowed from you."
Then, before she could harp once more about wanting absolutely nothing from him, he released the door, bounded down the porch steps, hit the path at a run, and jogged off toward town, kicking up snow behind him.
His limp was completely gone.
When David arrived for supper, Abigail's greeting was far warmer than usual. She took his arm and squeezed his hand, saying, "Oh, David, I'm so glad you're here."
"Where else would I be three days before my wedding?" he asked, smiling.
But she squeezed his arm harder, then helped him out of his coat. "David, you're so good for me," she said, holding his coat in both arms against her body, hoping, hoping, that it was true.
"Why, Abigail, what is it?" he asked, noting the glitter of tears in her eyes, moving to take her in his arms.
"Oh, I don't know," she said chokily. "I guess it's all the plans and jitters and getting everything done in time. I've been so worried about the headpiece not arriving in time for the photograph, and now this storm is starting and what if the photographer can't make it in from Denver?" She backed away, swiped at a single tear which had spilled over, and said to the floor between them, "I guess I'm just having what I've heard most brides have sooner or later—an attack of last-minute nerves."
"You've done too much, that's all," he sympathized. "What with the store and the preparations for the reception and getting all your clothes ready for the ceremony and our trip. It isn't
all
necessary, you know. I've told you that before."
"I know you did," she said plaintively, feeling foolish now at her display of jangling nerves, "but a woman has only one wedding in her lifetime and she wants it perfect, with all the amenities."
He circled her shoulders with an arm and herded her toward the kitchen. "But most women have mothers and sisters and aunts to help carry the load. You're doing too much. Just make sure you don't overdo it, Abigail. I want you well and happy on Saturday."
His concern made her feel somewhat better, but it was extremely difficult to forget that somewhere out there Jesse DuFrayne was spending the night, and should David encounter him between now and Saturday and stir up old animosities, there was no telling what might happen. The results could be unpleasant, to say the least, disastrous, to say the most. For she wouldn't put anything past Jesse.
All through supper she found her thoughts returning time and again to one plaguing question: would Jesse stoop so low that he'd tell David about what they'd done together?
An instinct for preservation made her broach the subject of Richard. David was relaxed and lethargic, sitting back on the settee with his hands laced over his full stomach, feet outstretched and crossed at the ankle.
"David?"
"Yes, Abigail?" He had never taken to using any shortened form of her name like Jesse had. It had always disappointed her just a little.
"Did I ever tell you I was engaged once?" She knew perfectly well she'd never told him before. He suddenly sat up and took interest. "It was long ago—when I was twenty."