Shadows Wait

by Denise A. Agnew

  Morgan didn’t hesitate another minute. He left the administration offices and ran to the kitchens where he procured a sack of nonperishable foods and a water skin. He hurried to the stables where he knew he’d find more supplies. Thank God he’d worn his long winter coat, boots, knit hat, and thick gloves. The wind had picked up, plunging the day to near freezing. Clouds drifted across the sun, pouring over the mountains in a chilling blast that heralded the possibility of more snow. Fear pushed him into a trot. Before long, the stable master helped him saddle a strong gelding. He packed his items in a saddlebag, and headed into the winter afternoon with dread tearing up his gut. All he wanted to do was find her safe and sound. He knew she was smart as a whip and could take care of herself, but that didn’t remove the churning apprehension making him sweat.

  Morgan searched the graveyard from one end to the next, without any sign of her. He didn’t scream her name, intent on searching the woods and keeping his eyes trained on any shapes that might be lying in the snow. Was she safe? Had she worn warm enough clothing?

  He remembered that she visited her mother’s grave and her friend Becca’s grave. When he reached Becca’s grave, he saw the footsteps slightly obscured by drifting snow. They had to be hers. He followed them. Within a mile, clouds grew closer, fluffy and dense and dark. Lilly’s footsteps soon would be obscured by powdery snow drifting through the trees. He started to call her name, emotion burning his throat. With relief he saw her footsteps heading in the direction of the cabin. Good. He continued to call her name, but no one answered.

  Jesus, Lilly. Please be alive.

  His good sense of direction and familiarity with these woods gave him some comfort. Urgency drove him.

  Snow came, rolling over the trees in a white wave. Frozen flakes tickled his face. He pulled the scarf at his neck up over his nose until only his eyes were exposed The snow doubled. The flakes were bigger, coming down faster, sweeping sideways, and obscuring vision to a short distance ahead. He pulled out his compass. Still heading in the right direction, thank God. East. Time stretched, bringing more fear and uncertainty. She must be here, somewhere in this whiteness. For as long as she’d been gone, it surely could have happened by now. Anger arose along with his concern. Damn her little ass. When he found her he’d—

  What? He didn’t know. He’d tell her what he thought of her trick, of making her friends worry for her, of sending him on this fool’s errand. His father’s voice rang in his ears. Father’s indifference rose with each passing year, but the time Morgan had spent in medical school had blunted the realization. This trip had sealed it. Morgan’s respect for his father had slipped away and disappeared like water down a drain.

  Heavy cloud cover added to the gloom of late afternoon. Less than an hour and it would be dark. He had to find her now.

  The cabin appeared ahead, surrounded in swirling white. He pulled his scarf down.

  “Lilly! Lilly!”

  Smoke drifted up from the chimney of the two-room cabin. Staggering relief sent a ragged sigh through Morgan’s throat. He hadn’t gone far when he noted the body lying supine in the snow. A woman. Wearing a coat, hat, and boots. The woman’s face was coffee and cream, frozen in terror, and eyes wide open. There were bruises on her neck and dried blood caked across her face. He recognized the woman. Oleta Franklin.

  Fuck—

  The cabin door flew open. Lilly stood there, profound grief carved into her features. “Morgan, what are you doing here?”

  Renewed anger coalesced with his relief into a dramatic surge of hot emotion. “What am I doing here? Damn it, Lilly. Do you know what I’ve gone through to find you? Do you know what I thought?”

  He dismounted and wrestled to undo his pack. The small barn next to the cabin would have to do for the horse. But then he saw the tears on her face and stopped. He walked up to her and dragged her into his arms, needing that one portion of contact and heat before he allowed anger to destroy his need to hold her close.

  Chapter 20

  As Morgan held her, Lilly sank into relief. He felt wonderful. Delicious beyond belief. She’d warmed up in the cabin, but being in his arms felt more precious than anything she could imagine. His hands coasted across her back as if searching for injury. For a tiny moment, she forgot the devastation of finding Oleta’s body and the fatigue that threatened to pull her under.

  He drew back, but his hands cupped her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” She hastened to explain. “The storm came up so quickly.”

  His gaze danced over her. “Damn it, Lilly.”

  He frowned, his expression beyond thunderous. With his winter attire, he looked ready for an expedition to the Arctic. Lilly recognized stark anger diluted with profound relief when she saw it. The first emotion worried her, but the second pleasured. Yesterday Morgan had wanted nothing to do with her. What had changed?

  “Go back in the cabin while I take care of the horse. We aren’t returning to the asylum in this weather,” he said.

  She couldn’t deny the storm. Snow spitting sideways threatened a genuine blizzard. Two emotions jumped up and down within her as she went inside and closed the door—apprehension and excitement.

  She busied herself with the rustic space. A rocking chair sat in one corner near the fireplace, as did a dusty wingback chair on the opposite side. She’d found several heavy quilts and blankets in the small bedroom’s rustic wardrobe. The bed had pillows and a quilt. A fire crackled in the small fireplace, and she’d found some dried foodstuffs. She would have been all right for the evening without him. Now that he’d come, though, she felt more protected and secure.

  The door swung open a short time later and Morgan stepped through. He slammed and latched the door. He didn’t say a word, glancing here and there as he yanked off his outerwear piece by piece. He tossed it all by a table near the door. Down to suit jacket and pants, he looked like the sophisticated medical man except for the sturdy boots. But his grim expression, wild and hard, made Morgan an animal with feral intent. He looked perturbed; there were no two ways about it. Without the hat, his hair was a thick and messy ruffle. Ruddy color touched his cheeks from the cold.

  She took a step forward, and he took two. Adversaries ready to do battle. She tensed. Morgan finally stood in front of her, his closeness heating her from the inside out. She didn’t want to fight with him, but he might leave her no choice. She couldn’t stand the amazing awareness that rushed through her body on every level. His strength she understood, both physically and mentally. He couldn’t want her the way she shamefully wanted him, and that craving would destroy her if she allowed it.

  He gazed down at her, eyes haunted, fierce with displeasure. “What were you thinking? Why did you go out alone in this weather?”

  She rubbed her hands. They’d become cold again, and she glanced at her outerwear drying and warming by the fire. “I went to Becca’s grave in hopes she’d help me.”

  His mouth twitched for a moment. “The ghost of the girl. The one who fell down the stairs?”

  “The one I pushed down the stairs.”

  “You said it was an accident.”

  “It was. But she doesn’t believe me. I’ve told her over and over. I’d finally had enough of her. We were standing by the stairs one day, she said something nasty to me and punched me in the shoulder. I shoved her and she fell backwards and tottered at the edge of the stairs. She toppled down the stairs and died.”

  “God.” He frowned. “A horrible accident.”

  She shook her head. “Nevermind. You don’t believe in ghosts.” She rubbed her hands together once more. “Becca said she knew where Oleta’s body was. She said it was in the woods near this cabin. If she hadn’t told me that, I wouldn’t have known where to look. I wandered around checking and I realized the storm was coming in, and I’d gone off course a little.”

  He clasped her hands and stopped her compulsive rubbing motion. Heat enveloped more than her fingers as he drew them into h
is much larger hands. She sucked in a breath. His hands more than warmed her; they created a stirring in her body that startled her.

  Reproach colored his eyes. “It was a damned fool thing to do.”

  Frustration took the edge off her enjoyment of his touch. She drew her hands from his. She pushed words through her tight throat. “Foolish or not, I had to do it. I had to understand what happened to Oleta.” Tears stung her eyes.

  “You could have died.”

  Tired of being treated as incompetent, she lashed out. “I was raised around here, remember? Oleta taught me survival skills and I knew about the cabin. I’m not a pampered princess like some of the women you know.”

  “You’re right. You aren’t like them.” His voice deepened to a husky rumble. “You aren’t like any other woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Yet you don’t believe me about Becca or Catherine Renlow, or the other ghosts of the murdered women. Or that your family has something to do with it.” She tensed, ready for wrath in whatever form it might arrive.

  “How can I? Would any rational person believe the things you’ve told me?”

  She turned her gaze on the fire, preferring to fall into the mesmerizing light over seeing his hard skepticism. “Oleta believed me, and now she’s gone.”

  “I know.” His voice softened, went to a low baritone laced with bass. “I saw her body.”

  Tears burned her eyes and reasonableness disappeared like smoke. “I never cried this much until I met you and went to live with your family. Not even when Becca tormented me day after day when I was a child.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His words fell flat. She knew he was sorry; he didn’t want her to suffer. “Perhaps I am a failure. Perhaps everything Mrs. Angel said about me is true.” She’d gone into her revenge attempt blindfolded and stumbled into the companion situation with Patricia. “My best line of defense is to return to the asylum and never leave it again.”

  “No.” His voice rasped, ragged with emotions. “Mrs. Angel is a fool. I don’t understand why my father didn’t dismiss her a long time ago. If I was superintendent I would have.”

  She shook her head, not ready to give into understanding. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. Your father dismissed me. Failure dogs me.”

  “Lilly, you aren’t a failure. You spent twenty years in a closed environment and yet you learned everything you could any way you could. You worked in Simple and learned from mistakes. You were thrown into a different world. There’s bound to be adjustments.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m back where I was, but with a huge hole in my world. Oleta is dead. She was murdered.” A shudder ran through her body that had nothing to do with cold.

  “I’m so sorry.” He clasped her shoulders. “As soon as we can return to the asylum we’ll get the sheriff. I’ll make certain he investigates. We’ll find out why this happened to her.”

  She sniffed, drying her tears by will alone. She saw the sadness and genuine regret in his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “What was she doing out here and why?” he asked, his hands cupping her shoulders gently.

  “It doesn’t seem likely she’d come out here at all.” She grabbed his lapels as an idea came to her. “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe someone brought her here and killed her. “Or they drug her out here and buried her in the snow.”

  He winced. “Very possible.” He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. Then he opened them. “Lilly, I have this rotten feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it isn’t what I ate this morning. Now that we have proof there’s a murderer about, you could be in danger.”

  Lilly drew away from him as the significance of his words sank into her. “Oleta was killed by ....”

  Dare she say it?

  “Who?” His husky question couldn’t be ignored.

  His eyes burned with fire, but not the flames of a man who would hurt a woman. Wandering to the fire, she held her hands out to warm them. They were so white, as white as the snow outside. She felt colder than any time in her life.

  She jumped in headfirst. “Someone in your family.” She didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to see the disbelief in his eyes.

  “It isn’t possible,” he said.

  Frustration clipped her voice. “Believe what you want, Morgan. I’m too tired to argue with you.”

  “My father couldn’t commit murder.”

  She closed her eyes, her body wracked with a sudden chill. “Your mother perhaps?”

  He snorted softly. “My mother is one of the most gentle people I know.”

  “Appearances can deceive, as well you know.”

  Acknowledgement filled those eyes. “But not my mother.”

  “Then it leaves one person.” She allowed her words to hang. They floated in the air without punctuation.

  She half expected him to deny everything one more time. Morgan’s gaze darted to the right and the fire. “My sister.”

  Silence settled around them for a short time. Lilly bathed in it, considered the warmth that came from the quiet. For a few moments she didn’t concern herself with answers or questions, only the hope he’d believe her.

  “If it is my sister, why would she hurt Oleta?” He scratched the back of his neck. “You’re putting forth theories. I’m listening under protest because there’s nowhere else to go.”

  She glared. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry.” He tenderly brushed his fingers over her cheek, melting eyes softening his skepticism. “I shouldn’t have said that. Tell me more.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little strange your sister has had thirteen companions, not including me, over the last ten years?”

  “Yeah, I do think it’s strange. But that isn’t proof of murder.”

  Sighing, she settled into the chair by the fire. They went silent for a considerable time, and she was content to absorb the warmth. He stood with one hand on the crude, knotty wood mantle, his gaze pinpointed on a small window behind her. Snow lashed at the window as the wind howled.

  Lilly frowned, her gaze pinpointed on the fire and its dancing light. Since she couldn’t convince him of her theory, she hurried to another topic. “Do you think a patient killed Oleta?”

  “Possibly. But how would they have escaped without being noticed?”

  “It’s happened before. That other patient escaped and got almost a mile down the road before you rescued her from the snow. I was very impressed with your heroic actions. Most men wouldn’t have done what you did.”

  His gaze wouldn’t release Lilly, and despite the topic of conversation, heat threaded through her body. Morgan held his hands out to the fire and rubbed them together. A shiver wracked his frame. “Most decent men would have.”

  “Then you are very decent.”

  “You flatter me unnecessarily.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes.”

  Their conversation stalled again, until he spoke about two minutes later. “I’m sorry, Lilly. I cannot believe what you’re saying about my family. Yes, my sister is ill. Very ill. That doesn’t mean she’s hurt anyone.”

  “You admit that Patricia is mentally unstable?”

  “Everyone knows it.” His gaze touched hers, then danced away. “Even if they won’t say it out loud in polite company.”

  “Isn’t that called a dirty secret?”

  He surprised her with a smile. “Yes.” He crouched in front of her, his hand cupping one chair arm. “Society has a considerable amount of it.”

  “I noticed when I went to work at the apothecary. People would gossip. They’d whisper. Many times I worked in the back room and they thought I couldn’t hear them.” She gave a feeble smile. “They were ignorant enough to think I was stupid.”

  He returned her smile. “Many people are like that.” More silence surrounded them until he broke it a short time later. “Patricia used to be a wonderful girl. Full of life. Happiness. Ten years ago she started to change. To speak to people who weren’t there. To
say inappropriate things and curse like a doxy.”

  “Like a hundred others in the asylum.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your father wouldn’t admit that Patricia is ill.”

  “No.” When she didn’t speak, he chimed in with more. “You’re thinking that if he’s the superintendent, he should have admitted his own daughter to the asylum.”

  “Yes.”

  Lilly didn’t hold back. The time for covertness had long passed as far as she was concerned. “He won’t admit she’s ill because rich, respectable families don’t have this type of problem.”

  “Correct.” His gaze held hers, filled with bleakness.

  “Then there is Marjorie. I saw how her parents treat her illness. Her need for cocaine.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched, but it looked like a grimace and not a smile. “Marjorie was a wonderful girl. Perhaps she still is, but ....”

  A sudden realization came to Lilly. “All of the women in your life have difficulties ... mental instabilities of one sort or another.”

  A soft snort left his mouth. “Indeed. Marjorie claims to be well, but it’s too soon to be certain.”

  “You saw her recently?”

  “Today. She thinks she wants to be with me.”

  Jealousy pinched Lilly. “And do you want to be with her?”

  “No.”

  Relief and a sweet madness filled Lilly. “Why not?”

  “I don’t love her.”

  Love. She believed she understood it. She’d seen it enough times. She knew Oleta had loved her. Then there was the love between a man and woman. She wondered if what she felt for Morgan would qualify.

  Wind roared outside, overtaking conversation. Lilly watched him not with apprehension but with amazement. “Can I trust you?”

  Those mysterious eyes flashed, but not with anger. “I’ve always been trustworthy. Except for one time.”

  “Except for what happened to Marjorie.”

  “Yes.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.”

  “I’m not convinced it wasn’t,” he said with conviction, his eyes hard with self-condemnation.