Kaki Warner (15 page)

At a sound from her daughter, she reluctantly pulled out of his arms. But Hannah just sighed and snuggled closer. Luckily, she was on his good side.

“I’m sorry she snuck in again,” Lacy said. “She’s done that every morning since you brought her back. I think she’s afraid to let you out of her sight.”

Daniel stroked the small blonde head beside his chest. He felt the same way. There was something about this child . . . a bond between them he didn’t understand. But it was as familiar to him as the beat of his pulse, and as necessary as the air he breathed. “I guess you know she’s talking again.”

“Another miracle.” Lacy smiled at the sleeping child. “I asked her why she went to you for help instead of us, and she said because you called her.”

“I did?”

“Apparently she’d had a bad dream and was crying, and you called ‘Is anybody there?’ I don’t understand it, but it seems to make sense to her.”

Daniel remembered those terrifying minutes under the snow. He had no explanation for it, either, but it was no longer important that he did. Somehow, in some way, they had found each other, and that was enough explanation for him.

“Well.” Lacy gave his arm a pat. “I have a wedding to plan and less than two days to do it. We’ve invited Doctor Halstead to join us for Christmas dinner and the ceremony. My brothers couldn’t get a turkey, so he’s bringing chickens.”

“Not my chickens?” Daniel asked in alarm. “They’re for laying, not eating.”

“There’s a difference?”

“But I’ve named them. They’re like . . . friends.”

“They’re chickens, Daniel.”

“Still . . . ”

She laughed. “All right. I’ll send my brothers out again.”

She started to rise, but he put a hand on her hip to keep her beside him. Something had been troubling him ever since he’d asked her to marry him and she’d so quickly agreed. At the time, he hadn’t cared why. But now, he had doubts. “You sure about this marriage, Lacy? You’re not just feeling grateful?”

“Ninny.” She punched his shoulder. “Of course I’m grateful. You brought my daughter back to me. But I’m marrying you because I love you.”

Ah . . .
there they were. The words he’d been waiting to hear
.

“And because I need new furniture,” she added with that saucy grin. “My brothers tell me you’re practically famous for that.”

Daniel let his fingers drift up to brush her breast. A nice plump breast that filled his hand perfectly. “I am pretty good with my hands.”

“Are you?”

She acted unmoved, but he felt her heartbeat quicken beneath his palm. It made him desperate for more of her. Leaning up, he grabbed her face in both hands and pressed his open mouth to hers, putting into the kiss every sweaty, heart-pounding emotion he’d ever felt for this woman, awake or asleep.

When he finally ran out of air, he slumped back, gratified by the dazed expression on her face. “I need a favor,” he said once he caught his breath.

“Oh?” She took a deep breath, which brought down some of the color in her cheeks. “Now would be the time to ask, I suppose.”

“Is there any way you can get your family to stay at my cabin after the ceremony, rather than here?” When he saw her tense and glance at her daughter, he quickly added, “Just your brothers. Not Hannah. She stays with us.” He didn’t ever want Hannah thinking they didn’t want her, or would give her away.

Lacy relaxed. “I’ll tell them.”

“Maybe today they could go out there with me. There’s something for Hannah I need to get. We’ll need a wagon.”

“A wagon? Intriguing. But what about something for me? I need a new bureau.”

Daniel stifled his laugh so he wouldn’t wake the child by his side. “Oh, I’ll definitely have something for you. But it won’t be a bureau.”

“Then I’ll make certain my brothers are away when you give it to me.” The look in her eyes told Daniel she was as eager for it as he was.

Which set both his body and mind in motion. He sat up. “Maybe I should carry Hannah back to her own room, and we—”

“Later. You rest now.”

And before he could grab her again, she rose and walked from the room.

***

That afternoon, Daniel rented the sleigh from the livery, let Hannah hang bells all over it and put a bow in Merlin’s mane, then, with Roscoe leading and the Jackson brothers following, drove out to the cabin.

It was a beautiful evening, so clear and crisp the mountains looked like they’d been cut out and pasted against the turquoise sky. Roscoe and Merlin were in fine form, kicking up snow at a fast clip, obviously as delighted as he was to be out after being cooped up for the last few days.

The blizzard that had chased Daniel and Hannah into New Hope had almost buried his little cabin. It already had an abandoned feel to it. Daniel had no illusions that Lacy would give up the house in town to live out here. Which was fine with him. As long as they were all together, he didn’t care where.

While Harvey and Tom carried his furniture wood and woodworking tools from the barn, he stripped the house of the things he would take back to Lacy’s. Books, mostly. His carving knives and extra rifle ammunition. The few clothes he hadn’t taken with him when he’d gone after Hannah.

And, of course, Hannah’s dollhouse.

Not much to show for eight months living here.

Still, after bolting the door, he paused to look around one last time.

It was a lonely place. But peaceful, too. He had come here to heal and come to grips with the changes in his life. Now more changes loomed ahead, and a future as ripe with joy and promise as any he could have ever dreamed.

A second chance.

Another miracle.

It was after dusk when they rode into New Hope. They waited until after supper and Hannah was asleep before bringing the dollhouse inside and setting it on a low table beside the hearth in the front parlor. The upstairs windows no longer bothered him, the balusters no longer reminded him of bared teeth. It was just a dollhouse awaiting a child’s touch to bring it to life.

It was like the pieces of the dollhouse and the pieces of his life were all meshing together at the same time. For the first time in years, he felt truly at peace, as if he had finally come home. A fanciful notion. But it had been a fanciful few weeks.

His wedding day dawned clear and bright. For the first time in days, Daniel awoke without bony knees in his back. Dressing quickly before Hannah came down, he went into the parlor and found Lacy sitting in the rocker beside the dollhouse, nursing a cup of tea.

“Will you build me a house like that?” she asked. “Only bigger.”

An image of Maryellen standing before Harvest House, with Billy in her arms, flashed through his mind. Then just as quickly faded away. “I’ll build you a better one. With a bureau.”

Bending beside her chair, he tipped her head up and kissed her. She tasted like mint and smelled of apples and cinnamon. “You’ve been baking.”

“I have.”

Pulling her from the chair and into his arms, he kissed her properly.

She rose to meet him, her round soft breasts pressed against his chest, her arms reaching up to pull him down for a deeper kiss. He could feel the flutter of her heart against his own, and it filled the emptiness inside him. “I love you, Lacy.”

“Because I bake?”

“That, too. Hannah up?”

“Not yet.”

“Want to go to my room for a minute?”

“A minute?”

“An hour then.”

“You can’t wait until this evening?”

“I can’t wait another heartbeat.”

She laughed and, stepping back, smoothed a hand over her hair. “You’ll have to. She’s on her way.”

Daniel cocked his good ear and heard the rapid footfalls of running feet on the stairs.

“Brace yourselves,” Tom warned as he and Harvey came out of the kitchen with steaming coffee cups.

Roscoe came first, his nails clicking a rapid tattoo on the plank floor. Then Hannah came round the corner, saw the dollhouse, and skidded to a stop. Her eyes were as round as bright blue-green buttons.

Daniel felt his scar pull as he grinned at her. “Merry Christmas, Hannah.”

“Oh,” she breathed, her voice soft with wonder. “You finished it.”

His smile faltered. How did she know he’d been working on it? “You knew about the dollhouse?”

“I had a dream about it. Then the lady came and woke me up. Is it for me?”

“It is.”

“I’ve wanted one forever. How did you know?”

“Just a feeling. I get them sometimes.”

“Me, too.” A smile that stole his heart away, then she was tearing across the floor to peek through every window and open every door.

Daniel bent his head beside Lacy’s. “Did you understand any of that?” he asked in a whisper.

“She’s always had vivid dreams.”

“I’d say hers were a bit more than vivid.”

“Don’t think about it,” Tom advised. “It’s better that way.”

Tipping her head against Daniel’s chest, Lacy started to cry. “Oh, Daniel, look what you’ve done. She’s home. She’s finally home.”

His own eyes burning, Daniel pulled her closer and rested his scarred cheek against her silky hair. There was no name for what he was feeling. No words to express the joy coursing through him. No way to explain the forces that had brought three lost people together in a way he would never understand.

But he didn’t question it.

Like Doc said . . . this was
the season for miracles.

Read on for a special excerpt from Kaki Warner’s next historical romance

BEHIND HIS BLUE EYES

Available August 2013 from Berkley Sensation

Chapter 1

February 1871, Baltimore

“Another letter came today.”

Audra looked up, her mind still caught on whether to use further or farther—she always confused the two no matter how many times she consulted
Butler’s English Usage Manual
. “From whom?”

“That place in Colorado Territory.” Winnie set a travel-worn envelope beside the stack of scribbled pages on Audra’s desk, her disdain apparent in the pinch of her full lips. “Sounds like a right dismal place, you ask me.”

Audra checked that the letter had, indeed, come from Heartbreak Creek then dropped the missive, unopened, into the overflowing waste bin beside her desk. “Has Father eaten?”

Winnie nodded, the white cap pinned atop her tight black curls bobbing with the motion. “Had a good lunch. Hardly spilled a drop.”

Motion drew Audra’s eye and she looked out the front window to see a black closed carriage stop before the rented house she shared with her father, Winnie and Winnie’s husband, Curtis. Four figures stepped out. Men.

“Oh, God.”
She jumped to her feet.
Did they know? Had they found out what she had done?
Frantically, she gathered the notes piled on the desk and shoved them into the desk drawer.

“What’s wrong?” Winnie asked.

“It’s Father’s colleagues. Help me hide all this.” Racing to the bookcase, she stuffed books and notepads into the lower cabinet, while Winnie crammed down the wads of paper in the waste bin and shoved it under the desk.

“What do they want?”

“Maybe they found out about Father.” Audra slammed the cabinet door and looked breathlessly around. Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might faint. “Where are Father and Curtis?”

“Last I saw, headed to the stable to pet the cats.”

“Make sure they stay there.”

They both flinched when the knocker on the front door sounded. With trembling fingers, Audra tucked a loose strand of brown hair into her bun and made a final inspection of the room for loose papers and reference books. Everything appeared in order.

She faced the stout, dark skinned woman who was old enough to be her mother, and since Audra’s sixth birthday, had served as such. In the twenty years since, Winnie had added housekeeper, cook, nurse, and benevolent tyrant to her duties, ruling the household with sharp criticisms and gentle hugs. Audra was terrified of what might become of her and Curtis and Father if she went to jail. “How do I look?”

“Best remove those.” Winnie waggled a finger at the cloth shields tied around the cuffs of Audra’s sensible at-home dress.

Quickly stripping off the protectors, Audra stuffed them into the cabinet with the papers and slammed the door shut again. “Anything else?”

“Spectacles.”

Audra slipped those into her skirt pocket then smoothed her hair again with trembling hands. “Better?”

“You might at least try to look pleased. Not every day you get callers.”

“Especially ones who have come to accuse me of fraud.”

“Smile anyway. Wouldn’t kill you and might fool them.”

Audra pasted on a stiff smile. “How’s that?”

“Make an undertaker proud.”

Another wave of panic rolled over her. “Oh, Winnie, what if they—”

“Calm yourself, child. And quit twisting your hands. I can hear your knuckles cracking from over here.”

Audra struggled to breathe. Her throat was so tight she felt suffocated. Excuses and explanations and lies tumbled through her head.

She could tell them she had always transcribed Father’s papers and that when he became ill and she had found his notes in his desk, she had continued to do so. It was his research, not hers. She had just put it in readable form.

And signed it with his name. And forged his signature on the royalty checks. And lied to anyone who asked about him.

Another knock almost buckled her knees.

She took a deep breath, let it out, and nodded. “You may let them in, Winnie. Then go tell Curtis under no account is he to allow Father to come into the house. Understand?”

“‘Course I understand. I’m not a nitwit like some in this house.” Muttering, she crossed the entry hall and flung open the front door. “Afternoon, gentlemens. What a fine day for visiting. I’ll tell Miss Audra she got company.”

“Actually,” a deep voice said, “we’ve come to see the professor. Is he in?”

“No sir. He off studying whatever it is he study. But Miss Audra here.”

A moment later, they filed into the room. Audra recognized them all, and knew the youngest quite well. Scarcely daring to breathe, she studied their faces, but saw nothing to increase her alarm. Richard even smiled at her.

Audra’s father, Professor Percival Prendergast Pearsall, had once been a revered member of the group that these men represented. He had been the driving force behind the Baltimore Society of Learned Historians for so many years he had become the yardstick by which all other members were measured. “Mind your Ps” had become the frequently heard admonishment whenever a contributor offered his treatise or essay for consideration in the esteemed annual historians’ publication. It had been her father’s exacting standards that had made the society and its annual competition the final word in historical analysis.

And now all that was in jeopardy because of her.

Fearing the worst, she positioned herself so that the callers faced the front windows rather than the buggy house and stable in back. “May I offer you refreshment, gentlemen?” she said, nodding in welcome to Misters Uxley, Beamis, Collins, and her onetime suitor, Richard Villars. It was a struggle to keep her smile intact and her voice steady.

Hiram Uxley, the president and most officious member of the group, shook his head. “We cannot stay long, Miss Pearsall. But it’s imperative that we see the professor. Do you expect him soon?”

Heat flooded her face. “I regret not, sir. He is still visiting the ancient pueblos in New Mexico Territory and will be gone for several more months.” This was the third time she had put off her father’s colleagues with that excuse. Had they finally seen through her lies?

“Several more months?” Uxley’s muttonchops trembled in agitation. “He’s already been gone over two years. What on earth could he have found?”

“I ca-cannot tell you, sir. He’s been very secretive about it.”

“This certainly puts a twist in our plans.” With a huff, he turned to the other three gentlemen and engaged in a low voiced conversation.

Audra watched them, terror pounding through her. A familiar bark sounded, and she looked out the window behind her guests to see Winnie chasing after Curtis, who was chasing after her father, who was shuffling after Cleo, his little dog.

Horrified, she glanced at the others to see if they had noticed, and found Richard Villars also watching the drama playing out beside the buggy house.

She watched puzzlement come over his face.

Then recognition.

Oh God. He knows.

He turned to her and started to say something, but Uxley interrupted. “Well, Richard, there’s no help for it. Present the award to Miss Pearsall, and she can inform her father when next she sees him.”

Award?
Her mind still trapped in fear, Audra watched Richard pull a folded paper from the inside pocket of his frock coat.

“As treasurer of the Baltimore Society of Learned Historians, Miss Pearsall, I am pleased to present our annual Historian of Merit Award, as well as the Peabody Grant, to Professor Percival Prendergast Pearsall for his very excellent essay on ‘The Development of Gas Artillery Capsules and How They Might Have Altered the Outcome of The War of The Rebellion.’” With a bow, he offered the paper to Audra. “Please convey to your father my congratulations, Miss Pearsall. His article was one of the most articulate and compelling I have ever read.”

Audra stared at the paper in his hand, her mind slow to take it all in. They didn’t know? They hadn’t come to have her arrested?

“Miss Pearsall?”

She blinked, looked up into Richard’s worried face, and forced a smile. “T-Thank you.” She took the folded paper in trembling fingers and slipped it into her pocket. “I-I wasn’t aware he had entered it in the competition.” She had certainly not done so, and had only transcribed her father’s notes in hopes of gaining another small royalty to augment their meager income.

Mr. Uxley stepped forward. “That was my doing, Miss Pearsall. With so few entries of true merit,” he sent Richard a pointed look, “I thought it wise to put the society’s best work forward. Reputation is all, you know.”

Color flooded Richard’s face, but he didn’t respond.

“It’s an excellent piece,” Mr. Beamis offered.

“Here, here,” Mr. Collins seconded. “Does us all proud.”

Audra felt wretched. One of the reasons she hadn’t entered the article in the contest—other than the fact it would have been even more dishonest than offering it for publication—was that she guessed Richard would be submitting his own paper on cave drawings in the southern Appalachians. He was so desperate to establish himself as a leading American historian it was almost painful to watch. Sadly, he was a much better researcher than writer.

Uxley waved the others toward the door. “We must be off, Miss Pearsall. Our congratulations again to your father.” He glanced at Richard, who hadn’t moved. “Are you coming, Villars?”

“I’ll be along in a moment.”

As the other men filed out, Richard frowned at Audra, then at the buggy house, although, thankfully, neither Winnie, nor Curtis, nor Father was in sight. “Was that your father I saw, Audra?”

“My father? When?”

“Just now. Out back.”

Audra pretended confusion as her mind raced for a plausible lie. Then she smiled and shook her head. “You must have seen Uncle Edward, Father’s older brother. He took ill not long after my aunt died, and has been slow to recover. We’ve taken him in until Father returns.”

“I could have sworn he was the professor.”

“They do look very much alike, don’t they? Although since his illness, Uncle Edward has become alarmingly frail. I’m not sure how much longer we can keep him here, although I would hate to put him in a home. I’m quite worried about him.” She realized she was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop herself. She was a horrid liar.

Richard’s dark eyes bored into hers in that intense way she had always found intrusive. “Perhaps on my next visit I might meet him. The coming week, perhaps?”

Audra held her smile, the muscles in her face trembling with the effort. “That would be lovely. But do let us know when you plan to come so we can be sure he’s up to a visit.”

“Of course. Until then.”

After the door closed behind him, Audra collapsed into the chair at the desk, tears further blurring her faulty vision. “Now what am I going to do?”

Winnie came in. “What happened?”

“Richard Villars saw Father. I told him it was my Uncle Edward, but I don’t think he believed me. He’s invited himself back next week to meet him. What should I tell him?”

“The truth.”

Audra pressed fingertips against her throbbing temple. “I fear it’s gone too far, Winnie. If Richard tells Uxley, he’ll feel honor bound to bring my deception to light. Father’s reputation will be ruined and all his hard work will be forever shrouded in doubt. And if I go to jail for fraud, you and Curtis will be on the street, and Father will be shuffled off to one of those wretched institutions for mentally impaired indigents. I can’t allow that to happen.”

Winnie gave it some thought. “Mr. Villars cared enough to propose to you last year. Maybe he’ll go along and not tell.” She gave Audra a critical look. “‘Specially if you fix up.”

Audra doubted it. Richard didn’t like being thwarted and had taken her refusal hard. But how could she have accepted him—even if she’d wanted to—without revealing Father’s dementia? And if he now found out she’d been lying to him and had fraudulently cheated him out of a coveted award, no telling what he might do. He had more to gain by exposing her father than by covering up for her. And Richard had always been ambitious.

“Or you can leave.”

“Leave? How? You know I have barely enough money to keep the four of us fed. And even if I could afford it, where could we go?”

Winnie dug through the waste basket, then straightened, the sealed envelope Audra had thrown away earlier in her hand. “How about here?”

“Heartbreak Creek?”

“Why not? You say your daddy inherited a cabin there. Dismal sounding town like that would be a fine place to hide. Doubt anybody there ever heard of your daddy, or would care that you wrote his papers for him.” Tossing the letter on the desk, Winnie turned toward the door. “Your choice. The truth and marriage to Mr. Villars, or Heartbreak Creek. You pick. Though after thirty years married to that no-account Curtis, if I had the choice, I’d pick jail. Yes, ma’am, I think I would.”

Audra pulled the society letter from her pocket. Richard had said something about a grant. If it was enough . . .

She unfolded the letter then gasped when she saw the amount. With that much money, they could cover a lot of miles . . . assuming Father was strong enough to make the trip, and the cabin was even habitable, and she was willing to leave everything she’d ever known.

A ghastly prospect, but what other option did she have?

Pulling out her pen and a fresh sheet of paper, she began to write.

Dear Richard, I know this comes as a surprise, but Father has asked us to join him in New Mexico. By the time this reaches you, we will already be gone, and I doubt we’ll return in the near future . . .