Into the Woods (26 page)

"I never believed in love," Declan whispered. "Not really. It was a pretty word for sex, an excuse to bind yourself to another human being so you didn't have to live alone, a fantasy to satisfy women."

"Sounds very cynical," she said, gifting him with a brief kiss.

"I'm a very cynical man," he breathed against her lips.

"You were a very cynical man," she amended. "But that's not so anymore."

"I guess it's not."

She settled against him and drifted toward sleep. A new beginning. The prospect sounded so bright and good, so full of wonderful possibilities.

* * *

This Wednesday the air was sweet with the smell of cinnamon and roasting nuts, caramelized sugar and something fruity. Cherries, perhaps.

"See?" Hanson said. "She hasn't stopped making candy."

"I still think we need to make sure that she stays unmarried. Mr. Harper could ruin everything for us," Gretchen insisted.

They ran toward the side of the cottage, their eyes on the courtyard and the big kitchen beyond. Through the window they could see that the witch was hard at work there. Her hair was in pigtails again, and sweat from the overly warm kitchen dampened her face.

"Hello," Hanson called loudly, giving them away long before they reached the kitchen.

The witch looked out the window, smiled, and wiped her face with the tail end of her white apron. "I haven't seen you two in ages," she said, looking almost as if she were glad to see them.

Gretchen searched the courtyard, the area around the greenhouse, and then turned her gaze to the house. "Is he here?"

"Mr. Harper?"

Gretchen nodded.

Matilda left the window and walked out the kitchen door into the sunlight. "No, he's not here today."

Gretchen lifted her chin defiantly. "Is he still angry because I accidentally pushed him into the pond?"

The witch smiled. "Of course not. Mr. Harper is not one to hold a grudge over a simple mistake."

Gretchen found herself wrinkling her nose. She didn't quite believe that Mr. Harper wasn't still angry. Besides, what was important was that he not come here at all anymore. "Do you like him?"

"Yes, I do," the witch said warmly, a sparkle in her eyes. "Very much."

Gretchen took a deep breath. "Well, he likes lots of women, from what I see about town."

"Is that a fact?" Apparently the witch was not convinced.

"I see him kissing women all the time," she said, her face and voice completely calm.

"Which women?" Matilda asked.

Gretchen had not been expecting that question. The witch was supposed to be angry, she was supposed to turn Declan Harper into a toad or at the very least tell him not to come around kissing her anymore! "Ummm, there was the preacher's daughter, Sarah," she said after a moment's hesitation, trying to think of all the women she usually saw about town. "And the doctor's wife, Mrs. Daly. And Mrs. Fox, and Lily Peterson the dressmaker, and Vanessa Arrington."

The witch continued to smile. "Sarah Wilkes is no more than fifteen, and Mrs. Daly is sixty-five if she's a day. My goodness, Mr. Harper isn't very discriminating, is he?"

Hanson saved his sister from making an even bigger fool of herself by asking, in his usual excited voice, what kinds of candy the witch had made today.

When she'd allowed them to taste a little of everything, the witch led them down to the pond to show off her new watering trough. She carried a bucket with her, and at the edge of the pond she used that bucket to scoop up water and lift it up to pour it into the mouth of the trough. She did it again, and they watched the water flow down the channel. It would empty itself, the witch said, in her garden.

"My father says if it doesn't rain soon we won't have anything left," Gretchen said, watching the water run. "He said the farm will be worthless, that it will dry up and blow away." She didn't like to admit how much that possibility scared her, but her heart lurched, an extra thump jolting in her chest.

The witch laid a hand on her shoulder. "There's time for rain," she said softly. "The situation isn't dire just yet."

"Your pond looks fine, a lot better than our well."

Which in itself was suspicious, Gretchen thought. The witch was in no danger of being without water.

"It's fed by an underground spring," Matilda said. "We'd have to go a very long while without rain for this pond to dry up. Water's heavy to carry, but if you'd like to carry some home to drink, you're welcome."

If only she'd known sooner that witches had beaus! They could've introduced Matilda Candy to their father months ago, long before he'd met Stella. They would have water, and candy, and all the pies they could eat. Matilda might be a witch, but she was a very nice witch, most of the time. She gave them sweets, and never yelled at them even when they swiped candy and she caught them red-handed. She even offered to share her water.

As they headed back to the house, Gretchen almost felt guilty for lying about Mr. Harper kissing all the women in Tanglewood. Almost.

Chapter 18

Declan felt better already. He'd lost a few hands in the beginning, but he was winning now. His luck had changed. Arrington, Durant, the mayor, the sheriff, and the doctor were not so cordial tonight; they'd all lost some of their money.

They'd only lost money they'd won from Declan in the previous card games, so he didn't feel guilty about winning it back.

"How is the remodeling coming along?" Arrington asked as he tossed a coin into the pot.

"Slower and more expensive than I'd expected," Declan said, his eyes on the cards in his hand. "It's coming along, though. The house itself should be in good shape by the end of the year and a real showplace by spring."

"You have big plans for the place, do you?"

"Yep."

The pot grew, as each man raised. Declan remained expressionless as he looked at his hand: four jacks and a deuce. Four jacks! This could be the hand to win back everything he'd lost.

Doc Daly dropped out first, declaring the game too rich for his blood. Mayor Saunders folded next, then Sheriff Marston reluctantly tossed his cards down. Linden Durant studied his hand intently, stroked his thick mustache, glanced at Declan and then at Arrington with narrowed eyes, and quietly folded.

Declan found it somehow poetic that the field had been reduced to no one but him and Warren Arrington. In the back of his mind, he even wondered if this would be revenge enough, if he could win a good bit of Arrington's money and then tell him who he was. He didn't have to marry the man's daughter, didn't have to take over the whole town. He just wanted the man to respect him and all he'd accomplished.

That would be enough.

Arrington raised the bet considerably, so much so that Marston whistled under his breath and the doctor muttered an obscene word that could be heard well in the thick silence of Arrington's study. Mayor Saunders took a long drink of his whiskey, and Durant leaned back and watched intently.

Declan called and raised again, betting everything he had on the table.

Arrington smiled. "I think you're bluffing, Harper." He left the table and went to his desk, unlocked a drawer, and came up with a thick wad of bank notes he tossed into the mountain of coins and bills on the table.

Declan's smile faded. "I don't have any more cash with me tonight. Will you take an IOU?"

Arrington lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. "How do I know you've got the cash to make an IOU good?"

"You have my word."

Arrington looked suddenly ancient, old and wrinkled and sunken-eyed. "Not good enough, unless you want to make the IOU for that plantation of yours."

Declan almost tossed his cards facedown into the table. Everything he had was tied up in that place! If he lost it, he'd have nothing. He glanced at the four jacks and reconsidered. Arrington thought he was bluffing, that he was just waiting for the old fool to fold so he could take the pot.

"My place is worth a lot more than what you have there," he said, nodding at the pot.

"I'll throw in the parcel of land by the lake and the old cabin that's there."

That particular parcel adjoined Matilda's place. Hell, he'd make her a gift of it.

They each drew up markers that were witnessed and signed by the mayor and the sheriff. Doc Daly just shook his head, and Durant seemed to be having a good old time watching the proceedings.

When the markers had been added to the pile in the center of the table, Declan fanned his cards and laid them down. Mayor Saunders exclaimed loudly, and Doc Daly muttered an obscenity and fanned himself with one of his own discarded cards.

Marston laughed. "I've never seen four jacks played before. Impressive!" He grinned and clapped Declan on the back.

Arrington smiled and laid his own cards on the table.

Four kings.

Declan's heart stopped. He couldn't breathe, and he couldn't make his heart start beating again. His legs went numb, his hands balled into fists. "Impossible," he whispered. What had he done?

"I guess your luck didn't change after all, did it, Harper?" Arrington said as he raked in his winnings.

No one wanted to continue. The sheriff clapped Declan on the back again, in consolation this time, and the doctor and the mayor muttered their condolences. Declan sat numbly in his chair while the men from town left. They took Arrington's gambling friend Durant with them.

Arrington sat across the table from Declan and leaned slightly forward. There was a sick satisfaction in his eyes. "What's the matter, Harper? Can't move?" he asked softy. "Can't make yourself leave the table where you lost everything to me?"

Declan's heart had started beating again, thumping too hard in his chest.

"Now that you're no longer a property owner in this county," Arrington said smugly, "I suggest you leave town the way your mama left," he whispered. "With your tail between your legs and nothing in your pocket."

"You knew?" Declan asked calmly. He should have been angry, horrified, but at this point, nothing surprised him.

"It took me a while, but you look just like that good-for-nothing drunk your mama married." His evident satisfaction faded quickly. "You're a fool just like Brenna. You don't know when to quit, you don't know when to give up."

There was more to Arrington's hatred than a dislike of a poor, drunken farmer, Declan saw in the fury that flashed in the old man's eyes.

"What did she do to you?"

Arrington scowled. "She chose to marry that sot when I could have given her anything she wanted: a fine home, the best clothes, servants. She preferred toiling on a farm with that drunkard and spitting out baby after baby after baby."

Nothing was the way it was supposed to be; not the game, not this conversation he'd imagined for years. "You asked her to marry you?"

"God, no!" Arrington exclaimed, horrified. "I couldn't possibly have married a woman like her. She was unrefined, she came from a poor family. Hell, she couldn't even manage to lose that damned accent." He smirked. "But she was a beautiful woman," he whispered.

Everything fell together for Declan. "She refused to be your mistress," he whispered.

"Said she was too good for me," Arrington seethed. "She should have been honored!"

Declan looked at the scattered cards on the table, and everything suddenly made sense in a way that made him feel physically ill. He'd been duped. Arrington had known the truth all along, and had been making his own plans.

"The game was rigged, wasn't it? You brought Durant in just to break me."

"Of course not," Arrington said indignantly, a wide smile stealing away his bitter memories. "That would be illegal and immoral. And of course if you decide to propose such charges you might remember who sat at the table with you. I feel quite sure the others will swear that there was no cheating at my table."

Declan stood slowly. "I could kill you right now," he said softly. "I could strangle you with my bare hands."

"I should expect no less from a barbarian like yourself," Arrington said, "which is why I asked a few of my friends to stand behind me this evening. Just in case such a situation should arise, of course," he added.

An armed man appeared in the doorway from the entry hall, another in the door that connected the study to the parlor.

"So I suggest you run along, little Harper. Run like your mother. Become a drunkard like your father." He smiled. "How could you have ever expected to make anything decent of yourself?"

For a moment, he tried to decide if he had time to strangle Arrington before one of the goons got off a shot.

And then a better route of revenge occurred to him. His anger faded, a little. He no longer saw red.

"You have everything," Declan said as he walked toward the doorway. "You won everything I worked all my life for, and I have no one to blame but myself."

"That's right, Harper," Arrington called as Declan made his way to the door. "Run."

Declan had already decided he was not going to run; he was going to fight.

* * *

Vanessa sneaked into the room by the stables, sure that Johnny was ready to forgive her by now. He loved her, so he couldn't stay mad at her for long!