Loving Linsey (24 page)

She had forgiven Linsey, of course, and seemed satisfied with the new purse Linsey had bought to replace the old one.

But borrowing a purse and stealing a kiss were not the same thing at all, nor could the hurt she'd inflict on Addie be repaired by money.

The clock began to toll the midnight hour, giving Linsey a welcome reprieve. Later, she promised herself. She'd tell Addie later—when she had more courage. For now, the task before them needed all her concentration.

The divination called for complete silence, and she and Addie followed the edict as they plucked twenty hairs from their head, one at a time, then wrapped them in the cloth with Aunt Louisa's precious store of true-love leaves.

When the clock struck one, they fed each hair separately into the candle flame and recited, “I offer this, my sacrifice . . .”

Then, with the rank odor of singed hair filling their nostrils, they waited.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Rain poured down outside. The heat of the fire grazed Linsey's cheeks like a lover's kiss. She steeled herself against the disturbing sensation, and focused on keeping the mystical passages open so that Addie could see her destiny.

And then, oddly enough, a hazy image began to form in the periphery of Linsey's mind. Her brow crimped in a puzzled frown. Surely she couldn't be seeing the face of her own husband; she wouldn't be around long enough to find the man, much less marry him. So what in the name of Gus could it be?

The shape moved around the room, touching the lucky tokens on her dresser, studying the picture of her parents.

“Do you see him, Addie?”

“Yes,” she whispered with a breathless catch in her voice.

Who
do you see? Linsey wanted to ask. She couldn't, of course. Proper carrying out of the divination forbade Addie from saying the man's name. But it didn't stop Linsey from wondering.

And it didn't stop her from puzzling over the appearance of a man in her future, either.

Finally the form leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed in a pose that started a curl of uneasiness in Linsey's middle.

Then he started coming into focus. Dark hair. Big shoulders. A chill broke out over Linsey's arms. The features became more distinct. Dark brows. Straight nose. Full lips.

A pair of dimples.

Her eyes snapped open. It couldn't possibly be . . . she couldn't have just seen . . . Daniel?

No, she denied with a sharp shake of her head. There must be some mistake. It just wasn't possible that she and Daniel were meant to be together, that
he
was destined to be
her husband. Aside from all the presaged reasons, they barely tolerated each other!

And yet, there he had stood in all his brooding allure, looking real enough to touch.

She glanced at Addie, whose eyes remained shut. Twin patches of pink-colored cheeks. Tangled strands of damp blond hair framed her face. Slowly, her lashes lifted, and in her eyes, Linsey glimpsed bittersweet yearning. Had she seen Daniel, too? How could they both have seen him?

“Let's do one more,” she told Addie.

With a discouraged slump of her shoulders and a lackluster sigh, Addie started to rock herself off the blanket. “Linsey, I feel like I've been wrung out to dry. Can't we do it another night?”

Addie did look weary, and she did have school in the morning, yet Linsey knew she'd not rest a wink if she didn't prove to herself that the vision had been a quirk of circumstance. “One more—it will only take a minute.” Linsey flipped through the book, searching for another divination. “Here, then let's do this one. ‘Point your shoes toward the street, tie your garters around your feet, pin your stockings under your head, and you'll dream of the one you're going to wed.'” Linsey shut the book with a determined snap. Yes, one more. By morning, she would know without a shadow of a doubt that she was matching her sister up with the right man.

Linsey dreamed of Daniel that night.

It started out innocently enough. She was
a child, perhaps eleven or so, sitting beside Addie at the brand-new ice-cream counter in Doc Sr.'s apothecary. Mrs. Sharpe stood behind the counter, her raven hair pulled back in a haphazard bun. The apron covering her ample figure bore the stains of her efforts as she mixed up yet another tub of ice cream.

Linsey was waiting with eager anticipation for the next batch, wondering how chocolate could possibly taste better than vanilla, when Daniel walked in, home on holiday. Even at eighteen he'd been handsome enough to throw a girl's senses off balance, as Addie proved when she swooned face-first into her bowl.

The years rolled forward to the Christmas of '75. Daniel returning from Louisiana for his mother's funeral, looking so lost and empty that it hurt to see him.

Then 1880, the day he'd held his precious letter in his hands. Linsey tossed and turned, trying to escape the contempt in his eyes.

The color blue drifted across the picture—a pure, vivid shade of joy and freedom. She lay still, tranquillity claiming her, echoes of laughter making her feel light as a cloud. And Daniel's smile, with that flashing dimple, made her heartbeat quicken and her breath come in shallow gasps of wonder. Even his eyes no longer held bitter emotion, but something hotter. More elemental.

Need.

Raw, dark, dangerous need. Growing wilder and more powerful as he held her.

The image switched abruptly, replaced
with wind-brushed fields of clover—the symbol of a long and prosperous relationship. Amidst the fragile foliage stood Daniel in a black Sunday-go-to-meeting suit, beside him a lady in a flowing blue gown trimmed in lace and pearls . . .

A wedding.

His wedding.

Linsey's mouth curved in a bittersweet smile. Her wish, coming true. Daniel and Addie, together at last. Happiness claimed her, balmy and poignant—

Until he lifted his bride's veil and the face beneath belonged not to her sister, but to herself.

Linsey jerked awake. She snapped upright, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and pressed a trembling hand to her brow. Beneath her bed she spotted her kid slippers, set in the manner specified the night before.

What in the name of Gus was happening? This made it twice she'd seen Daniel in one form or another, and it was beginning to alarm her. She had no right dreaming of him, no right wanting him. Daniel belonged to Addie—not to a woman with one foot in the grave.

There had to be an explanation.

Linsey tossed her hair out of her eyes. It was all the time she'd spent with him—that had to be why she kept conjuring him. That and the thoughts of weddings—both Noah and Jenny's upcoming one, and the one she was trying to finagle for Daniel and Addie. But they were no closer to getting married than they'd been a month ago, and at the rate it was progressing,
she'd be dead and buried before the two exchanged a word.

The time had come for drastic action.

Oren ran a finger along the paper collar that seemed to get tighter around his neck with each passing minute he stood on the school-house stoop.

He felt like a durn-blamed fool. He was thirty-four years old, standin' outside in the pourin' down rain, goin' a courtin' to a woman young enough to be his daughter. Okay, maybe that was stretching it. His sister, then.

But fourteen years. He'd been married and widowed three times in those years. He'd married the first time out of youth, the second time from loneliness, the third time out of necessity. He knew the routine. Court 'em, kiss, wed 'em, bed 'em. He was getting to be an old hand at this.

Except this time he felt green as a new shoot. This time, he'd fallen in love.

He hadn't thought it possible. He'd about given up ever findin' the woman he wanted to grow old with. Who woulda thought she'd be right under his nose?

Now he could only hope she'd taken a shine to him, too.

Oren pulled out the posy from under his coat, where he'd tried to keep it safe and dry. Since it was almost winter all he'd been able to find were a handful of asters, and even they were looking pretty pitiful. But it was the best he could do.

Would his best be enough?

“Miss Addie,” he practiced. “I know I ain't much to look at, and we ain't known each other but a couple years or so, and I can't be sure of your feelin's, but I'd be right proud if you'd take me . . .” Ah Jeez, he couldn't say that. She might think he meant
take
him. Not that the idea hadn't crossed his mind every second of every day for the last month, but a fella just didn't blurt something like that out to a lady. Whispered it in the dark maybe, but didn't blurt it out in broad daylight.

He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts, and tried again. “Miss Addie, I'd be plum tickled if you'd step over the broomstick with me.”

The schoolhouse door swung open, and Oren jumped back just in time to miss getting skewered by an umbrella.

“Mr. Potter!”

Oren stiffened in alarm. She hadn't heard him, had she? He hoped to God not. What a knucklehead she'd think him.

“How long have you been out here?” she asked, lowering the umbrella.

Long enough to get cold feet.

“Did I miss a lesson with Bryce today?”

“No.” His voice came out in a croak. He cleared his throat and repeated himself. “No, ma'am, no lesson.”

“Then what are you doing out in this weather? You'll catch your death.”

“I—I . . .”
Hell, Potter, stop bein' such a yellowbelly—just ask her! Say the words, “Miss Addie, would you step out with me tonight?
”

Yet hard as he tried, they stuck in his throat.

So they just stood there, she in the doorway looking as pretty as a summer daffodil and him on the stoop, staring like a drowned half-wit, trying to think up a sound reason for standing out in the pouring rain.

Then the chance went to seed all together as his son came bursting through the school-yard gate, hollering,”Pa! Pa, come quick! Your mare is foaling!”

Oh, hell!
“Beggin', your pardon, Miss Adelaide.” Oren went to tip his hat, forgetting that he held the durned thing in his hand, and poked himself in the eye. Blushing to the roots of his hair, he turned on his heel and fled down the lane after his boy.

As Addie watched them, she couldn't help the twinge of disappointment. The last person she'd expected to find on her doorstep was Bryce's father—the man who, according to the divinations, would be her husband.

She didn't dare tell Linsey that she'd dreamed of Oren Potter, or that she had seen him walking about the bedroom last night. Linsey was so determined to see her wed Daniel, that she'd likely die right then and there if she thought her plans weren't coming to fruition.

Besides, marrying Daniel was what Addie had always wanted—to become his wife. So why were the divinations pointing to Oren? Why was it
him
stirring up all these feelings inside her instead of Daniel? And why, with each thought of Oren, did it feel as if she were
betraying Daniel, even though he'd never indicated he returned her affections? And where did that leave her promise to help Linsey accomplish her list of last wishes? Addie pressed a hand to her brow. Oh, heavens, she'd never been so confused.

A spot of color on the stoop caught her notice. She bent down and plucked up the sodden posie of flowers, tenderly touching the wilted petals and smoothing the crushed stems. It was a miserable offering as far as flowers went, but she'd never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

Her gaze returned to the man and boy dodging people and wagons in their path. What compelled her to follow, she couldn't say; she simply picked up her skirts and went after them. By the time she arrived at the smithy, she was soaked to the skin.

She found Oren in one of the middle stalls, kneeling beside a cream-colored mare lying on its side, its stomach bulging from the life it nurtured within. “Is this the expectant mother?”

The look of surprise and pleasure on his craggy face made her heart leap.

“Yes, ma'am.”

That said, Addie didn't know what to do. So she stood there, clutching the folds of her wet skirt in her hand, chiding herself. It wasn't like her to make impetuous decisions, and now that she'd done so, she was at a loss as to how to get out of it with some shred of dignity.

Then Bryce walked into the stall, a pile of coarse blankets draped over his shoulder. “Why, hello, Miss Addie. Have you come to help, too?”

Oh, dear. Help? What did she know about horses? What did she know about anything? “I'm afraid I'd just get in the way.”

“You'd never be in the way, Adelaide,” Oren told her. “If you want to stay, just pull up a blanket.”

They were the sweetest words Addie had ever heard.

And then it didn't matter what she knew or didn't know about horses, or what she did or didn't know about anything. The only thing that mattered was that this big and gentle man and his brilliant, charming son wanted her with them. Her. A plain, prim, faint-hearted, unwanted corn farmer's daughter. She knelt between them on the bed of straw, looked into Oren's fathomless blue eyes, and asked, “What can I do to help?”

“Caroline, you must take every precaution against having more children,” Daniel told the woman as he drew the sheet over her scarred stomach. “I can't stress enough how risky this delivery was.”

“Louisa Gordon says that children of cesarean birth are supposed to be of unusual body strength and have the power to find hidden treasure.”

“She is a strong little girl,” he conceded, “but take my advice: if you want to be
around to see her grow up, do
not
conceive again.”

“Am I to ban Axel from my bed, then?” Caroline asked, tucking the baby close. “Would you like it if your wife denied you your husbandly rights?”

A flashing thought of Linsey crossed his mind. Daniel banished it instantly.