Shades of Gray (4 page)

The crease
between her eyes softened and she seemed to calm.  Not fully trusting, over the
next hour, she alternated between opening her eyes and tightening her hold. 
Sunlight warmed the room, and the hall clock chimed six bells.  She finally
relaxed.  A small smile formed on her lips and her breathing deepened.  He
eased his weight from the bed and moved to the windows, closing the curtains. 
The woman under the blankets whimpered, and her hand searched the area next to
her hip.

“I’m still
here,” he said. 

She turned her
face away from him and sighed in her sleep.

Gray watched
the heat lightning, dancing its way ahead of the sunrise.  Now tied to him, her
future was as prickly as the dawn.

Chapter 4

Not fully
awake, Laura Gregory stumbled down the hallway, heading toward the back stairs
of her house.  The storm last night had been thunderous.  She yawned and
stretched, trying to convince her stiff bones to function as God intended, and
to ignore her lack of sleep.  A nap later today might make up for her lost
rest.  She walked past her son’s room and paused.  Normally left half-open, his
door was pulled fully closed.  She cinched her bathrobe sash tighter and
stepped toward the entry.  It wasn’t like him to sleep so late in the morning. 
An early riser, Grayson was always awake before her.  He hadn’t shown signs of
sickness yesterday.  Of course, an illness could have come on during the
night. 

She gripped
the handle and slowly twisted it to the left.  A quick peek inside his bedroom
would ease her mind.  If he was still asleep, she would bring a tray up to him
after she made breakfast.  Toast and jam was always a good start to a speedy
recovery.  She nudged the door open, and prepared to peer in. 

Stale air
covered her face like a highwayman’s mask.  She blinked several times, forcing
her eyes to water while she made a mental note to give the room a good airing. 
This task would only be accomplished after listening to, and then ignoring,
Grayson’s insistence that he would attend to it later.  She pushed the door
open further and poked her head through the crack.  Widening her eyes, she
tried to adjust her vision to the dimness of the room. 

The space was
as he kept it.  Discarded clothes and towels scattered the floor.  His tricorn
dangled from a chair arm, and the center of the bed was piled high with
blankets.  She didn’t dare look at the entire space without a proper breakfast
in her system for fortification.  It grieved her to see his living conditions. 

Five years of
obligation and heartbreak had plummeted him to the bottom of his despair.  At
least he did maintain suitable hygiene and allowed her in his room to replace
dirty clothes with cleaned ones.  She should be thankful for that.  Later
today, she would make a pass through the room and clear some of the clutter. 
Laundry and cleaning could wait.  As for now, she would see why her son was
still in bed. 

From this
distance, the drawn curtains prevented her from knowing if he lay beneath the
tangled lump of blankets or if this was his clumsy attempt at tidiness.  She
slipped past the door and moved toward the window, carefully maneuvering the
labyrinth of debris.  Gathering the drapes to one side of the frame, light
spilled into the room, filling it with life.  She turned her head and studied
the bed. 

Stepping
closer, her foot caught the edge of a whiskey bottle.  She kicked the glass to the
side, rolling it against an array of overturned jars.  She jutted her jaw and
placed her hand on her hip, drumming her fingers on her side.  He could at
least throw away his empties.  Movement redirected her attention from the
floor, and she remembered the reason she stood amidst the squalor.  She lifted
the curtain higher and leaned toward the bed.  

Long, blonde
tresses were splayed across the pillow.  Although fair haired, her son’s locks
were not a match to what lay on the mattress.  Laura pulled her head back and
inspected the rest of the bed.  The figure under the blankets was definitely
feminine, but there was no trace of Grayson.  She didn’t know if she should be
relieved or concerned.  She released the curtain, letting it swish back in
place, and then softly tiptoed out of the room.  Pulling the door closed behind
her, she briskly stepped toward the back stairs.  The presence of a strange
woman and a missing son was not how she expected to greet her day.      

Descending the
steps, she stopped on the landing and peered into the kitchen.  Sunlight warmed
the work area like the fuzz on a summer peach.  Maybe the storm had passed
through the area faster than she first thought.  She scanned the room.  Nothing
seemed to be out of the ordinary except for the table.  Grayson sat with his
back to her.  His shoulders hunched forward and he leaned his forehead on
folded arms.  In front of him, a ceramic coffee cup lay tipped on its side. 
Dried tea stained the side of the china.  She stepped behind him and pushed a
clump of hair away from his face and held her hand to his forehead.  Closing
her eyes, she sighed.  At least he wasn’t sick. She patted the back of his
head, ruffling his hair and moved the china to the counter.  Lowering a clean
cup from the cupboard, she turned back and studied him.  

This wasn’t
the first time she had found him asleep at the breakfast table.  He never
rested well after a trip to Crest Ridge.  He had disappeared yesterday morning
and returned around sunset last night.  As was his custom when returning late,
he skipped dinner and busied himself in the barn until she went to bed.  He
rarely talked about his visits, and she had stopped asking for details when her
questions resulted in a locked bedroom door and a heavy consumption of
alcohol.  Whiskey seemed to be his preference but on those days, no bottle went
unattended.  

He stirred and
raised his head.  His hair hung in front of his face like that of a disgruntled
sheep dog.  Plopping his chin on his forearms, he looked up from under a mop of
blond strands.  His eyes were red-rimmed and haggard looking.  Heavy bags cushioned
dark circles under his lashes.  And as she expected, his pale skin was pulled
tight over his cheek bones, giving the manifestation of a child’s attempt at a
charcoal drawing.  His appearance pulled at her heart to see him age this way. 
Each trip to Crest Ridge seemed to add a decade to his thirty-two years. 

She hoped he
planned to bathe this morning.  Perhaps he could remove more than grime from
his appearance.  A copper kettle sat on the front burner of the stove.  Not
enough water for a bath, she poured a cup of tea and sat down opposite him. 
Steam wafted up from the liquid and she blew across the rim to cool her drink.

“What are your
plans for the day?” she asked, opting to let him bring up the subject of their
house guest.  She still wasn’t sure whether to be overjoyed with the idea of a
woman in his bed or if she should be appalled that he had left her in the
messiest room in the house. She lifted her cup and held it in mid-air, her lips
held poised to receive the rim.  She tilted her head and sifted through a new
thought.  Last night, Grayson had arrived home alone.  She glanced up at the
ceiling and tapped her finger on the side of the cup.  And this morning, a
strange woman lay sound asleep in his upstairs bedroom.  Where did she come
from?

Grayson pushed
back in his chair.  “I have no plans for today.  Did you need something?” 
Fatigue floated across his face, making him look as though he had no strength
to butter toast. 

Laura sat her
cup on the table without tasting the content and drew her brows together. 
Surely he knew someone occupied his bed.  “Did the storm keep you up last
night?” she asked, playing along with his game for a little while longer.

He glanced
past her shoulder to the window as if verifying her information.  He pulled one
side of his face into a crooked expression and drew his gaze down to her. 
“Storm?  There was no storm last night.”

She lowered
her cup to the table.  “Yes.  It started well past midnight.  I heard a huge
clap of thunder, followed by quiet rumbling.  It lasted for about an hour or
two.”

Grayson shook
his head back and forth and ran a hand through his hair.  “Last night’s skies
were clear, mother.  The loud noise you heard was my rifle.  I’m sorry I woke
you.”

Laura’s eyes
widened and she looked toward the back door.  Solid oak and a forged iron latch
should prevent unwanted intruders from entering the house, but the porch was
open and unprotected from nosy wildlife.  She had been careful to clean away
all peels and cores from the pie she made yesterday, but the apple residue
could linger for days and attract any type of creature.  She mentally added to
her chore list: douse the portico with vinegar.  “Did a bear come near the
house?” she asked.

Grayson
reached across the table and helped himself to his mother’s tea.  “Worse,” he
said, emptying her cup in one swallow.  “Reece Mullins showed up.” 

For once,
Laura wished she had something stronger than tea in her cupboards.  She glanced
at Grayson to see if he had found a stray bottle.  He had learned to guard his
emotions when confronted with Reece.  At least, the heaviness of his gaze
indicated the drawn lines and glassy eyes were from fatigue and not alcohol. 

“Reece was
here?” she asked.  “In the dead of night?  What did he want?” 

Laura leaned
in and pressed her arms against the table edge.  Grayson’s ability with a
weapon was well known throughout the county.  Over the years, he had provided
meat for more than one family who lacked food on their table.  But those
gestures were received before Reece had convinced the community that his skills
had been used for something other than compassionate purposes. 

“Grayson
Gregory,” Laura snapped, her voice pert.  “Did you shoot Reece Mullins?”    

A wicked light
flickered behind the gray cloud in his eyes.  “Shoot him, no.  Fire at him,
yes.  It was just powder.  I left the ball out of the shot.  I didn’t want to
chance a lack of judgment on my part, or increased stupidity on his.”

Laura blew out
her breath, lifting a strand of hair from away from her brow.  At least she
could be thankful that her son showed some restraint.  The last time the two
men faced each other, Reece had survived only because of Grayson’s lack of
weapon.  Even unarmed, her son had nearly finished the man’s life. 

A fist fight
had catapulted both men into the front yard.  Pounding each other senseless,
Laura had not interfered.  This bare-knuckled brawl seemed to be the only
justice Grayson would receive.  Although Reece had lain bloody and
unresponsive, Grayson should have known better than to turn his back on him. 
Never one to play fair, Reece had pulled a derringer from his breast pocket and
fired.  A short-fill and bad sights had saved Grayson’s life, but grazed his
skull, and temporarily blinded him.  Six months had left him homebound and
miserable.  During his recovery, Grayson had installed a rifle and an ample
supply of shot and powder in every room of the house.  He would not be caught
unarmed the next time Reece came onto his property. 

A soft cry
sounded from the second floor.  Laura raised her gaze toward the ceiling and
then dropped her attention to Grayson.  The muscles around his eyes clenched
and he rubbed his fingers across his forehead.  There was no way of denying he
had heard the noise, too.  Now seemed to be as good a time as any to ask why a
strange woman occupied his room. 

“Did we
recently acquire a cat?” Laura asked.  She walked to the stove and swirled the
teapot.  Steam funneled upward through the spout.  Holding the kettle to her
cup, she transferred the remaining liquid.

“In a way,”
Grayson said over his shoulder.  He moved to the sideboard and pulled open the
top drawer.  Rummaging through the content, he rearranged the linens, leaving
them lumped together in one cohesive pile.  He slid the drawer closed and
yanked the second one open.  Silver rattled at its sudden exposure. 

Laura tilted
her head to the side and tried to determine what he searched for.  Was his
guest a member of royalty, who demanded her breakfast be served on only the
finest tableware?  If that were true, she would be sadly disappointed.  Other
than a few place settings of everyday china and stemware, the ornate pieces had
been stored for a special occasion.  From the evidence of her last five years,
the Gregory family may never see the return of a formal table setting. 

She sipped her
tea and returned her cup to the chipped saucer she held.  Since Grayson seemed
lost in his search, she might as well wrestle the proverbial pig into the
open.  “Son, does your haggard appearance have more to do with Reece Mullins,
or the girl I found in your bed?”

“Both,” he
shouted, without pausing to face her.

Laura was
certain that her statement would have at least broken his stride.  Stepping
next to the sideboard, she placed her hand on his shoulder.  “You explained the
situation with Reece.  Now, I’d like to hear the details about the young lady.”

“What do you
want to know?”

“To begin
with, if she is in your bed, may I ask, where did you sleep last night?”

He sat back on
his heels and shook his head.  “I haven’t been to sleep.”  Closing the drawer,
he moved to the cabinet.

“What
are
you looking for?” she asked.  Talking to the back of his head was wearing a bit
thin.

“More salve. 
I used the last of the container last night.  I was certain there was a second
pot down here.”

“Salve?” she
echoed.  She ran a motherly eye over his body.  Other than a rumpled
appearance, he seemed to be unscathed.  Regardless of what had happened last
night, he wa. . .  She paused while Grayson’s words swirled in her mind.  The
nouns looked for the proper placement in her logic.  Girl…salve…Reece Mullins. 
Laura’s stomach fell to her feet and she closed her eyes.  She thought back to
her discovery of the girl.  The face under the blond hair had been turned away
from the window.  Laura shuddered, nearly dropping her cup and saucer to the
floor.  She knew as well as Grayson did that a person’s gender would not
prevent Reece Mullins from striking them.

Grayson closed
the cabinet door and stared at his mother.  A blue-gray ice wrapped her in an
eerily familiar fog.  “Did you get a good look at the girl, mother?” he asked.

“No.  She
seemed to be sound asleep when I saw her.”  Laura pointed to the wall behind
him.  “Did you look in the pantry behind the apple butter?  I think there’s a
small pot of salve in there.”