Summer Breeze (9 page)

When he'd cleaned his bowl, he left the dish on the table and crept over to the barricade.

Prior to this, Joseph had only caught glimpses of her sanctuary. The sight that greeted him was nothing short of amazing. Rachel had transformed the large ranch kitchen into a one-room home, grouping furniture to create different sections. The front of the room still served as a kitchen, the corner to his right had been set up as a parlor, and to his immediate left was her sleeping area, comprised of a double bed, a night table, a chest of drawers, and an armoire. Granted, each area was crowded, but they provided her with all the amenities of a tiny house.

Rachel sat with her back pressed against the headboard of the bed, the shotgun on the mattress beside her. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her fragile jaw set. Joseph took a moment to study her, and what he saw made his heart hurt. No tears, no jerking of her shoulders. Body rigid, she just sat there, hugging her knees as if that were all that held her together.
Memories.
He saw them etched on her face, the grief they brought drawing the skin taut over her cheekbones. He had intentionally forced her to think about that day without considering how painful it might be for her, not just during the conversation, but possibly long after.

Too late, he knew that his brother David was absolutely right. Sometimes the truth went down a little easier if you sprinkled it with sugar. He had no talent for that, never had and never would.

Until now, he'd never thought of it as a serious failing.

Rachel's eyes burned as if they'd been soaked in lye. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting on the bed, only that she'd been there for hours, listening to the rumble of Joseph Paxton's snores.

Her back felt as if the edge of a brutally sharp sword were pressing in just under her shoulder blades. She'd shifted and stretched, but the crick had taken up permanent residence. Quite simply, her body cried out for rest.

Unfortunately, Rachel couldn't bring herself to lie down and try to sleep. Instead, she stared at the hole. It was the proverbial chink in her armor, a weakness in the fortress that had saved her sanity these last five years. Now she felt exposed and vulnerable in a way that made her skin crawl and her nerves leap.

Oddly, the man who slept in the other room was no longer the focus of her terror. His story about Darby rang true, and everything else he'd said rang true as well. He knew things about the old foreman that only a friend might—specifically that Darby wasn't a talker and that he loved Rachel deeply enough to die for her. Rachel was also reassured by the fact that Joseph Paxton had foregone several opportunities to harm her. It was true that he could have grabbed her when she handed out his food. He looked to be a strong man and quick on his feet. There was also no denying that he could easily dispense with the boards over the doorway if he wished. With a couple of waist-high jabs of a boot, he could enlarge the hole, push through, and be on her. In that event, only her willingness to fire the shotgun would save her, and Rachel had a feeling he knew the thought of killing someone gave her the chills.

What had stopped him from entering her quarters? So far as Rachel could see, nothing, which had led her to conclude that he was who he claimed to be and had been sent by Darby, her beloved friend. The old foreman never would have sent a scapegrace to look after her. Rachel knew that beyond a doubt. Darby was nothing if not protective of her. He was also an astute judge of character. In short, Joseph Paxton had come with the very best of recommendations, and she would be foolish to distrust him.

He snorted just then, an abrupt, raucous catch of breath that was so loud Rachel could have sworn it vibrated the walls. It had been so long since she'd heard a man snore that she'd almost forgotten what a comforting sound it was. As a young child awakening from unpleasant dreams, she'd been comforted by the low, rhythmic rumble of her father's snores, which had drifted through the entire house. It was a sound that

said, "All is well. " And it had always lulled her back to sleep.

Joseph Paxton's snores soothed her, too. Perhaps it was because she sensed that he was an alert, guarded man who slept with one eye open. Or maybe it was simply the sound of the snoring itself, which she'd known since infancy and come to associate with cozy warmth and safety.

His snores made her feel drowsy. Oh, how she wished she could stretch out on her soft bed and close her eyes. But with every creak and groan of the house, her heart shot up into her throat.

Danger.
It lurked beyond her walls, a constant threat.

Joseph Paxton's presence didn't allay her fears. Her father, Henry Hollister, had been a strong protector, every inch of his frame padded with steely muscle from a lifetime of hard work. And yet he had failed to keep his family safe. The danger had come unexpectedly and from out of nowhere, catching him unprepared. No man, no matter how strong and devoted, was impervious to a well-aimed bullet.

Rachel shivered and rubbed her arms. Her skin felt as if it were smeared with drying egg white.

Oh, yes.
The danger was out there. She had no idea where it lurked, only that it might strike again if she let down her guard.

That was the most awful part, the not knowing. It had her jumping at shadows, which went against her nature. Prior to the slayings, she'd been a fearless girl, always off and about, more tomboy than young lady, much to her mother's dismay. One afternoon, a pair of rattlers in the barn had sent all the hired hands scattering, and it was Rachel who'd gone in to remove the snakes. The men had teased her mercilessly about her failure to kill the poor things, but she hadn't let that bother her. It had been her belief then, and still was to this day, that all God's creatures had a purpose and a right to live.

Perhaps that was why the murder of her family and dog still haunted her so—because the senseless violence was so inconceivable to her. Ever since she'd awakened from the coma, her world had been at sixes and sevens, a messy, untidy, chaotic, and askew reality interlaced with an awful unpredictability. And at the root of her confusion there was always a cloying fear—of the sunlight, of a breeze touching her face, even of the air itself—because she knew, deep down, that evil permeated everything beyond the safety of her walls.

Rachel couldn't say how she knew that. The conviction was simply there, hiding behind a black curtain in her mind. She had no clear recollection of the tragic events of that fateful afternoon, only a compilation of facts related to her by Darby, who'd grown concerned when she and her family had failed to return to the house and had finally ridden to their picnic place along the creek to discover the bloodbath, and by Doc Hal-loway, who'd been summoned to the scene by one of the other ranch hands and had, as a result, treated Rachel's head wound and nursed her back to health over the next few weeks.

Joseph Paxton had accused her of holding something back, of having memories of her family's murder that she'd chosen not to share. In a way, Rachel almost wished that were true. Knowledge would be far better than the blankness that stubbornly shrouded some parts of her mind. Doc Halloway maintained that Rachel must have been the first to be shot that June afternoon. A bullet from out of nowhere, and then only blackness; thus her inability to remember anything about the incident. Rachel had pretended to accept that because it seemed logical. She'd had no better explanation, after all. But deep down, she knew better.

Her nightmares told her that she had seen and felt and heard many things before the blackness had descended. The memories came to her in confusing rushes, blurry images flashing brightly and then going dark, all separate and disconnected but still so horrifying that they brought her bolt upright from sleep with a scream on her lips and rivulets of cold sweat streaming from her body.

Joseph was accustomed to awakening when the first faint light of dawn streaked the sky. But inside the Hol-lister house, no outside light filtered in. When he first opened his eyes the following morning, he thought for a moment that it was still night. Only the fact that he felt well rested told him otherwise.

He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze trained on the barricade. Light still shone through the hole. He sat perfectly still and listened for a moment. He could hear the hum of Rachel's lanterns, but nothing else.

Always eager to greet a new day, Buddy fairly danced with excitement when Joseph's movements awakened him. The shepherd darted in to lick Joseph's

face, then pranced to the doorway that led from the dining room into the hall.

Joseph pushed to his feet, hoping the dog would keep quiet for once in his life. But, no, the animal let loose with three earsplitting barks, followed by a series of happy growls.

"Quiet!" Joseph whispered, though he didn't know why he bothered. The dog knew the commands to sit, stay, and drop, but "quiet" wasn't in his vocabulary. Life was an endless celebration, and every incident called for at least one bark or growl to mark the moment.

Joseph escorted the sheepdog to the end of the hall and threw open Henry and Marie Hollister's bedroom door. "Go run off some of that mischief. "

Buddy didn't need to be told twice. With three agile leaps, he was across the room and out the window. At a slower pace, Joseph followed, unbuttoning his Levi's as he went. After relieving himself through the opening, he refastened his fly and returned to the dining room. He wasn't surprised to see Rachel standing at the archway.

"I'm sorry if Buddy woke you. He gets a little excited first thing of a morning. "

"I wasn't sleeping. "

Joseph studied her face, taking in the redness of her eyes and the dark circles beneath them. He wondered if she'd sat up all night. She looked frighteningly fragile—like glass blown so fine that the slightest touch might shatter it.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked.

Just the thought made his mouth water. "You don't have to bother. "

"No bother. I need a cup myself. " She turned away from the opening. "If you're hungry, I can make some breakfast, too. "

Joseph was pleased to note that she didn't carry the shotgun with her to the range. He leaned a shoulder against the boards to watch while she built a fire in the box and stepped to the sink to rinse out the metal coffeepot.

"Running water?" Joseph had the same luxury at his place, but this house had been built a good many years before the novelty of indoor plumbing, which was still a rarity in these parts. "I'm surprised. "

"Darby plumbed it in for me. " She gestured at a closed door to his left. "He added on a water closet as well. I have a bathtub, a flushing commode, and a Mosley gas water heater from Montgomery Ward. "

Joseph noticed a hand-cylinder laundry machine beside the range, the fill-up hose disconnected from the stove's water reservoir, the drain hose running from the machine to a hole in the wooden floor. That was a step up from his place. He had a fully equipped water closet, but he still did his laundry the old-fashioned way on the back porch. Last autumn, after getting his house finished, he'd thought about ordering a laundry machine, and he still might yet. But it wasn't one of those things that he felt he couldn't live without.

She noticed him staring past her at the door next to the range. It was barred shut with a thick pine plank. "The cellar, " she explained. "It used to be Ma's pantry.

Darby ripped up part of the floor, dug it out underneath, and built steps down into it. I needed a place to cure meat, make pickles and cheese, and store my home-canned goods. "

As Joseph took in the details that he'd overlooked last night, he couldn't help but marvel. Darby had added every possible amenity to her confined living area, making sure that she had everything she could need or want. Even more amazing, she'd made it all pretty as could be with colorful rag rugs on the wood floor and curtains over the boarded-up windows, lace panels to the left on the back door, blue gingham to the right over the sink. On the kitchen table there was even a porcelain vase filled with silk and velvet geraniums. He guessed the fake flowers were from Montgomery Ward, too. Caitlin had ordered some a while back to brighten up their house during the winter.

"This is really something, " he said.

Turning from the stove, she inspected the room with hollow eyes. "It loses its charm after a while.

"

She pushed at her hair, which had gone curlier since last night, little golden wisps springing every which way. Joseph wondered if it was as soft as it looked and found himself itching to touch it.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to get dressed, " she informed him. "Then I'll start breakfast. "

Joseph hated to use up her food. He wasn't an invited guest, after all. But until Ace showed up to relieve him later that day, he was stuck here without any rations of his own. "That'd be nice. I'll be sure to replace whatever I eat, plus extra to repay you for your trouble. "

She gave him a curious look. "You're here at Darby's request to look after me. Providing your meals is the least I can do. "

Joseph was pleased that she seemed to have accepted the situation at some point during the night.

She wasn't exactly relaxed with him yet, but at least she was no longer jumping out of her skin.

"I'll replace what I eat, all the same, " he insisted. " 'Appetite' is my middle name. "

Her soft mouth curved up sweetly at the corners. "Well, I'd best get to it, then. "

"While you're getting dressed and fixing breakfast, I'll see to the chores. Did you ever empty the wood box and bring in the milk?"

"What milk?"

She truly hadn't registered anything he'd said to her through the door last night, he realized. "I milked both the cows last night and left the buckets just outside the wood box. "

"Oh. " She pushed at her hair again. "No, I didn't bring it in. I doubt I even can. Unless the buckets are in the safe, they're too heavy for me to lift. "

"If you'll take the wood out, I'll put them inside for you. "