The Stranger's Secrets (20 page)

“Who’s Eppie?” Sarah’s grip grew tighter on the sheriff’s firm arm.

“That’s what we call Elizabeth—it’s her nickname.” Daniel pointed ahead to a huge house with a picket fence and swing on the front porch. “There’s the house.”

Sarah’s heart began to pound as a figure on the porch stood up from the swing. She didn’t even have a drop of spit in her mouth. It was as dry as the cotton fields from her past.

The figure walked down the steps and she could clearly see it was a man. In the dappled sunlight from the trees, she couldn’t make out his face, but in her heart, she knew it was Micah.

Suddenly the trip seemed like a bad idea, a really, really bad idea. Sarah wanted to run, to hide, anything to avoid facing her brother again. A little girl poked her head up from behind the fence, followed by a yellow dog, and then they both disappeared.

“I think I’m going to vomit.” She didn’t realize she’d said it out loud until the sheriff chuckled.

“It’s okay, Miss Sarah. There is nothing more important than family. I’ve heard Micah speak of you and it was always with love in his voice.”

Micah reached the gate and stepped out on the sidewalk, staring at them as they walked the last twenty feet. Sarah’s heart was thundering as she finally saw her brother’s face.

He had a scar from the saber wound she’d stitched, an ugly scar that marred his handsome face. However, his hair was the same, a little darker than hers but long too. It shouldn’t surprise her, but it did.

Sarah didn’t feel the tears sliding down her cheeks, but the sheriff pressed a handkerchief into her trembling hand. And then there she was, face-to-face with her brother.

He was a man, a full-grown man with wrinkles near his eyes and, amazingly, love in his silver gaze.

“Sarah?”

She nodded and then she was in his arms, surrounded by the one person in the world she had always loved. His scent surrounded her and she was awash in memories of Micah, the brother who was in her heart and her soul. The boy who became a man while she had grown into a woman.

Sarah pressed her face into his neck and sobbed. Their lives had been fraught with so many tragedies, so many obstacles, and so much darkness. It was so hard to believe they had journeyed through life apart and yet when they came together it was as if no time had passed.

He rubbed her back and waited while the storm of emotions wreaked havoc on her. She still could hardly believe she was there with Micah.

“God, how I’ve missed you.” His voice was husky with emotion. “Sarah, honey, I can’t believe you’re here.”

She could hardly speak, hardly form a thought other than relief and joy at finding Micah again.

“It wasn’t easy,” she managed.

“Nothing worthwhile ever is, right?” He picked up her cane and glanced at her curiously. “I’d say we have a lot to talk about.”

She took the cane and nodded. “Yes, we surely do.”

Then he smiled and gave her the most wonderful gift.

“Welcome home, Sarah.”

Whitman stepped out of the restaurant in Kansas City and looked up at the sky. He figured Sarah must have made it to her brother’s that morning and he was happy for her.

She’d been nervous about seeing him again, but Whit knew she’d be welcomed with open arms. Family always did—at least normal ones always did.

Whit couldn’t call his family normal by any means, but he had a feeling Sarah and her brother would be just fine. He walked back slowly to the hotel, without really knowing where he was going.

In the morning, he was due to leave for San Francisco on the train west. He’d already purchased a house with the money he’d saved from his army pay. All he had to do was get on that train and begin his life.

Alone, of course.

He’d told Melissa he couldn’t marry her. Whit was no kind of man if he’d let that innocent woman bear the burden of the ghost in the bed with them.

Sarah would never leave his heart—of that he was certain. She had been the woman he was supposed to spend his life with. Too bad he’d destroyed their relationship.

A light rain began to fall, which turned into a full-blown deluge by the time he made it to the hotel. He was soaking wet and miserable. He expected miserable to be the normal state of things once he reached San Francisco.

He’d been dreaming of Sarah, wondering how she was, what she was doing, and if she was all right. He had no right to ask, of course, or even to intrude on her life anymore.

But, damn, he wanted to so badly it made his stomach hurt. The train to Denver was leaving in an hour. He’d checked the schedule already, perhaps just to torture himself some more.

As he stepped into the lobby, dripping wet, a couple was just leaving. The woman smiled up at the man and he kissed her on the tip of her nose.

“Ready?”

“Whenever you are, honey.” The man nodded to the desk clerk. “Thank you for your help. We’re off to catch the train.”

“No problem, sir.” The redheaded desk clerk reminded Whitman of Patrick.

After the couple went out into the rain, Whitman started toward the stairs, then stopped and changed his mind. Instead he walked over to the desk.

“May I help you, sir?”

“What’s your name?”

“Jimmy Finn.” The clerk smiled. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Where was that couple going?”

“The train to Denver. They were supposed to meet two days ago, but the man got held up because the train was delayed. I heard it was because of a murder.” Jimmy sounded as if he was imparting gossip and lowered his voice. “They had to be in Denver by yesterday to buy their house, but instead of going without him, she waited.”

Whitman stared at the young man, certain he hadn’t heard the story right. “So they lost the house?”

“Yep, sure did. But they’re as happy as a pig in a wallow. I don’t understand love sometimes.” Jimmy shook his head. “Folks will go through hell and back for it, though. Maybe one day it will happen to me.”

Whit’s heart shook off the cloak of misery and began to beat again. The boy was right. Love endured all things, even heartbreak and separation. True love forgave.

True love never died.

He ran up the stairs to his room and threw his belongings into his travel case. The trunk lay wide open, but he didn’t have time for that. The train was leaving in an hour and he intended to be on it.

When he came back downstairs, Jimmy stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “You okay, sir?”

“For the first time in days, I’m okay.” Whit’s smile was genuine. “I’ve got to get to Denver, but my trunk is upstairs. Can you see to it that it gets on the next train west to Denver?” Whit scribbled his name on a piece of paper and handed the boy twenty dollars. “This should be enough for the trunk and your trouble. Have it sent to Plum Creek, Colorado, in care of Micah Spalding.”

Jimmy took the money and the note. “Yes, sir, I can do that.” He cocked his head and studied Whit’s face for a moment. “You in love, Mr. Kendrick?”

“More than you can ever know. Thank you, Jimmy!” Whit dashed out the door and ran through the rain toward the train station.

The rest of his life waited for him, and all he had to do was ask for it. Sarah was his love, his soul, his very heart that beat in his chest madly.

He couldn’t spend the rest of his life wondering if she would say yes if he asked her to marry him. Regret would eat away at his soul if he didn’t try.

By the time he arrived, he was dripping wet again, but Whit didn’t care. He’d made the right decision—he could feel it in his bones.

He walked up to the depot clerk’s desk and smiled. “One ticket to Denver please.”

The gray-haired clerk looked him up and down from beneath bushy white brows. “I’d say it’s raining out there, young fella.”

“You’d be right.” Whit counted out the money and handed it to the clerk.

“Is it a woman?” the old man asked as he filled out the ticket and gave it to Whitman.

Whit stared at the ticket in his hand. “The only woman.”

“Ah, it’s that way, is it? Good luck, son.” The twinkle in the old man’s eyes told Whit he knew exactly how he felt.

With a spring in his step, Whit went out onto the platform and started toward the train.

A voice from his past stopped him in his tracks, making his blood run cold.

“Is that you, Kendrick?”

Whit turned and saw the one person who had nearly destroyed the woman he loved.

Sergeant William Booker.

S
arah sat on the porch swing of Micah’s house. She was shaking with relief, joy, and a hundred other emotions. He picked up a mug of coffee from the railing and she noticed his hand shook as much as hers.

At least she didn’t feel like a fool anymore.

“How did she find you? It was Eppie, right?” He sipped the coffee and waited for her to answer. Micah had discovered patience in the years they were apart.

“I was living at the boardinghouse, what used to be the Spalding Plantation house, when I got a telegram.”

The coffee cup stopped halfway to his lips. “Did you say you were living at the house? Our house?”

She could see in the silver depths of his eyes the question he didn’t want to ask out loud.

“Mother died almost ten years ago. After that, I was lonely and desperate, as many people were. I met someone, a friend named Vickie”—she swallowed the lump at the thought of her best friend so far away—“and we concocted the idea of opening the house up as a boardinghouse.”

He nodded. “It’s big enough, that’s for sure.”

“Exactly. Too many women and girls were out there alone and unprotected. We decided that together we could make a home for all of them.” She managed a small smile. “We were pretty young and full of big ideas, but damned if it didn’t work.”

Sarah hadn’t meant to let the curse slip out, but if Micah was surprised by her cursing, he didn’t show it.

“Eppie found you there?”

“She did. When the telegram came at first, I wasn’t even going to send a reply.” She studied her hands, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me, especially after what Mother did to you.”

Micah sat beside her and took her hands, frowning at the missing little finger. He rubbed the spot with his thumb.

“Ah, honey, you were the only sunshine in my life as a boy. I would never, ever blame you for anything that bitch did. I loved you, and I still love you.” He tipped her chin up. “You are one of the strongest people I know. I can’t believe you made it all the way to Colorado alone.”

Although she thought she was done crying, one tear slipped out. Micah had to mention her journey, didn’t he? She hoped it would be at least a few hours before she thought of Whitman again.

“It wasn’t an easy trip, was it?” He put his arm around her shoulder. “But you made it. I hope the cane isn’t a result of the trip, though.”

Sarah shook her head. “That story is for another day. I can’t handle too much telling all at once.”

Micah kissed the top of her head. “I understand, sprite.”

Sprite.

She had forgotten the nickname. He’d called her that because she resembled a wood sprite, with her gangly arms and legs, and her long wavy hair. Micah would tease her about growing pointy ears.

God, it was so long ago, the memories tasted bittersweet to her.

“Are you happy, Micah?” She felt comforted by the sway of the swing, the warmth of his body, and the knowledge she had finally made it.

“Yes, I’m happier than I ever thought I could be, or was allowed to be.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m guessing you know exactly what I mean.”

Sarah thought of what she’d lost along the way from Virginia, her heart being the biggest. Whitman had frustrated, annoyed, and fascinated her. The big dumb Yankee had wormed his way into her heart and she doubted he’d ever leave.

Yet he had. He’d left her on the train without ever asking her if that was what she wanted. Of course, she probably wouldn’t have been able to tell him at the time.

However, she knew now. She also knew Whitman was another woman’s husband now, and she could never have him again.

“Yes, I do know what you mean.” She closed her eyes and counted to five to try to hold back the damn emotions that kept rearing their ugly heads.

Could she get through one day without crying?

Apparently not.

“Do you want to meet my family?” He smiled down at her.

“I would love to meet them.” She knew that he had a daughter, figuring the girl she saw at the fence was one and the same, and that he and Elizabeth were to be married soon.

Micah helped her to her feet, then handed her the cane. “Is this something you need a doctor to work on?”

Sarah smiled sadly. “No, I need magic.”

He chuckled softly and led her into the house to meet the family he loved. As she stepped over the threshold, Sarah felt as if she was finally coming home.

Whitman stared in disbelief at Booker. He was the same big, hairy man, but different. Gray streaked his beard, and he had a much bigger belly, if that was even possible. Yet his eyes were just as cold as, if not colder than, Whit remembered.

“Booker?”

“Yep, it sure is. Fancy seeing you out here in Kansas City.” He pointed at the case. “Where you headed?”

Whitman’s stomach somersaulted and landed with a thud. “Are you on the train to Denver?”

“Nah, I got a job at a mine in California. A cousin of mine got it for me. I’ve been living hand to mouth for a while, making my way west. The train don’t leave until tomorrow morning, though.” He loudly sucked back snot, then spat a wad of phlegm on the wooden platform. “How about you?”

“I, uh, just mustered out of the army actually.” Whit was faced with the possibility that Booker might end up somewhere near Sarah, and he couldn’t let that happen.

“Really? Are you fucking loco?” Booker was loud enough to garner attention from nearly everyone around them.

“It was a good steady job, Booker. I worked in Washington most of the time.” Whitman straightened his shoulders. “You need to show some respect to both the army and your fellow passengers, Sergeant.”

Booker leaned in close, the fetid smell of his breath nearly overpowering. “I ain’t in the fucking army no more, Kendrick. Don’t be calling me nothing but Booker.”

There were many crimes Booker was guilty of, not the least of which was raping and mutilating Sarah. Whitman had a choice. He could get on the train and forget about the man, find Sarah, and make her his wife. Or he could have Booker arrested by the local army outpost, put in the brig, and tried for twelve-year-old crimes.

Whitman stared at the man who had shaped the lives of both him and Sarah until he made a decision.

“I can only hope you suffer the same type of suffering you have inflicted during your lifetime. You’re a miserable excuse for a human being and I’m sorry I ever saw your face. I’d wish you good luck, but I wouldn’t mean it. Rot in hell, Booker.” Whitman started to walk away, leaving a sputtering bastard behind him.

“You ain’t got no call to say things like that, lousy son of a bitch.” Booker continued to curse and shout at him, but Whit kept walking.

The battles he fought in life had always been thrust upon him. This time, Whitman chose not to fight one.

Instead, he chose to fight for the woman he loved.

Sarah snuggled into the soft quilt and sighed. It had been an amazing day of getting to know Micah’s Eppie and Miracle. The love in their eyes when they looked at one another had made her heart ache.

It seemed their path hadn’t been smooth either. Sarah gathered that some folks didn’t take kindly to their marriage or their beautiful daughter.

Yet they had persevered and fought for what they wanted and loved and, in the end, won the battle. Sarah was happy for her brother and wondered if she’d ever find a man she loved as much as Whitman.

Of course, in her heart, she knew there would never be another man besides Whitman. She rolled over and stared at the curtains in the window. The guest room was at the top of the stairs in the enormous mansion.

Micah had told her softly that his friend Madeline had given it to them as a wedding gift. For a moment, Sarah wished she had a friend like that. Then she thought better of it. Rich friends usually expected too much from a person.

Sarah preferred her ragtag, poor friends, who only had their love and affection to give and receive. She hoped Lorenzo was all right in Denver, and Vickie and the girls in Virginia.

As Sarah drifted off to sleep, she thought of Whitman and how he looked when he was above her, making love to her. Her body thrummed with arousal almost immediately and she cursed aloud.

It seemed Whitman would haunt her mind, heart, and body. He had become part of her. Goddamn, but she loved him.

She’d never be able to let him go.

Whitman could hardly wait to ride to Plum Creek. It was still dark when he went to the livery in Denver to buy a horse. The young man working there looked at him as if he were crazy.

“You want to buy a horse
now?
” The boy had sandy-blond sleep-tousled hair and wore a pair of overalls with no shirt.

“Yes, I want to buy one now. Are all of these for sale or are they boarded?” He started walking down the stalls looking for a sturdy mount.

“Um, some of them is owned, and others is what we rent to folks.” The boy rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Mr. Foster will be here at six. You got to wait til he gets here to buy a horse.”

Whitman glanced at his pocket watch. That was an hour away and he could hardly stand the wait. “Can I rent one then?”

“I suppose. I do that all the time for Mr. Foster. Where you headed?” The boy yawned again and scratched his head.

“Plum Creek, and I need directions too.”

“That’s about three hours from here, due north.”

Whit was dismayed to find there were no good horses in the barn. Half of them were swaybacks, the others too small or old to ride. What did he expect in a livery? He was pleased to find a nice-looking buckskin in the last stall. “Is this gelding for rent?”

“That there is Mr. Foster’s personal horse. He ain’t never for rent.”

“Hell’s bells. Where does Mr. Foster live?” Whitman couldn’t wait even one more minute to be on his way. Knowing Sarah was only a few hours away made him nearly crazy.

He had to find her, to apologize and grovel at her feet. Whit had to tell her he loved her. He’d never done that and he’d regretted that fact ever since he’d left her train compartment.

However, Whit refused to live with regrets anymore.

“Up the hill a ways at number forty-two.” The boy pointed. “He ain’t gonna be happy if you wake him up, though.”

Whit grinned. “He will be when I pay him twice what his horse is worth. Saddle this one up—I’ll be back.”

With an energy he hadn’t felt in years, Whitman ran up the hill to number forty-two and Mr. Foster.

Whit wasn’t going to wait for his new life to begin.

A man emerged from the shadows and stepped toward Jeremy. The boy shrank back, afraid of the man, as he hadn’t been by the stranger who wanted to buy Mr. Foster’s buckskin.

“Boy, where is that man going?” the man’s voice was harsh and rough.

“P-plum Creek.” Jeremy swallowed, but his mouth was so dry it made his tongue stick to the roof.

“Where’s that?” The stranger came closer, revealing himself. He was hairy, with a beard and crazy, cold eyes.

“Th-three hours n-north.” Jeremy began to shake and prayed he wasn’t about to piss his britches. The stranger scared him like a bogeyman.

“You got a horse for rent?” The stranger peered into old Tink’s stall.

“That one there is. He’s an old bay, not too fast but he’s s-sturdy.” Jeremy wanted to run, but he had no idea why. The stranger hadn’t threatened him or even hit him.

But he was afraid. Damn afraid.

“How much?”

“T-two dollars a day.”

“For that you’d better suck my dick, boy.” Two dollars fluttered in the air in front of Jeremy’s face. “Saddle him.”

As he ran to do the man’s bidding, Jeremy focused on not getting attacked or worse.

After he had the horse saddled, the stranger took hold of Jeremy’s jaw and squeezed. Nasty onion breath gushed out of the man’s bearded face.

“If’n you tell the other man I was here or I’m headed to Plum Creek, I’ll come back and gut you. Understand, boy?” Jeremy nodded, too frightened to speak. It wasn’t until after the stranger rode off that he realized he had pissed his britches after all.

But he was alive and he planned to keep it that way.

Mr. Foster was more than glad to get a hundred dollars for his buckskin. Whitman walked back with the man as he chattered away, pleased with his early morning sale.

When they arrived back at the livery, the buckskin was saddled and ready, but the boy was nowhere to be found.

“Well, you just be on your way then, Mr. Kendrick. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Foster.” Whitman led the buckskin out of the barn. “What’s his name?”

“I called him Horse, but you can call him whatever you want.”

“How do I get to Plum Creek?” It would be a shame to get lost on the way to propose marriage.

“Take the road north out of town. Follow it until you reach the fork by the big mossy rock. Can’t miss it. Take the right fork, and Plum Creek is about ten miles from there.”

“Thank you again.” Whit turned to leave.

“Good luck, Kendrick. I hope your lady is worth it.” Mr. Foster, a big barrel-chested man with a balding head, went in search of his errant stable boy.

“Oh, she’s more than worth it. She’s worth everything.”

Whit mounted with the ease born of a man who spent many years in the saddle. When he was astride the gelding, the horse whickered and tossed his head.

“Me too, boy. I’m ready to ride. I’m going to let Sarah name you. Then I’ll buy her a carriage and you can be her wedding gift.” Whitman smiled as he kneed the horse into motion.

Within hours, he’d see Sarah again. His stomach jumped right along with the rest of his body. The anticipation was enough to make him light-headed.

Was this what love did to normal men?

No wonder he’d shied away from it most of his life. If it hadn’t been for a sarcastic sharp-tongued Southern belle, he’d never have discovered the joys and sorrows of love.

Then again, he’d never have found love, and that would have been a real tragedy.

It was a beautiful spring day, perfect for a ride into the Colorado countryside. Tall evergreens towered over the ground from the mountains. The views were absolutely breathtaking.