His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2)

by Adrienne deWolfe

  Aunt Claudia snorted. "I ain't ever met a puss that needs an excuse to be irritable. Mark my words, missy, that mouser of yours ain't coming down."

  "But the storm! Stazzie could be struck by lightning."

  "Fried to a crisp," Aunt Claudia agreed, striking a match.

  Gritting her teeth, Eden waved away tobacco smoke. Over the years, Papa had chuckled about his mother's spinster sister and her "peculiar" charm. However, he had somehow neglected to mention that Claudia had the manners of a street arab.

  Meanwhile, the other object of Eden's frustration clung stubbornly to one of the elm's highest boughs, despite the way her perch was being pummeled by the wind. Eden could feel rather than see the accusation in those topaz eyes, because from the street level, Anastasia looked like a big black dandelion seed ruffling with each gust.

  Oh, Stazzie, quit being such a pill. Kentucky's not going to be as bad as Colorado—I hope.

  She glared back at her pet. The cat had an uncanny way of knowing things long before they happened. For instance, she'd refused to enter the medicine wagon for seven whole days before drunken miners had come to ransack it. And Stazzie hadn't left Papa's side, not even for a second, on the day that he'd died.

  If Anastasia hadn't been Eden's single best friend, comforting her so faithfully through those horrible days in Silverton, Eden might have thrown up her hands and let the mulish feline get what she deserved: a thorough soaking.

  The whip strolled over to Anastasia's tree. He was a barrel of a man in straining suspenders, and he made no attempt to conceal the tobacco chaw that made him look like a chipmunk with a toothache. "The kitty ain't come down yet, eh?"

  "No," Eden answered, hard-pressed to hide her annoyance.

  "You got any ideas?" Claudia asked him.

  The whip shrugged, spewing a stream of tobacco juice at the elm. "Reckon you could chop the tree down."

  "Use your dang head, Angus," Claudia snapped. "That tree'll fall on the roof of my store. I got enough trouble with leaks as it is."

  "Thunderation, Aunt Claudia," Angus retorted. Apparently everyone in Blue Thunder called Claudia "aunt."

  "You can afford another roof. Hell, you can afford a whole 'nother store. Why don't you hire yourself a handyman who knows what he's doing? All that booklearning makes Doc Jones too high and mighty for hammerin' and sawin'. 'Sides, you got more money than God."

  "I got money 'cause I don't squander it on hired hands." She drilled him with a ferocious stare. "As for Michael, we got an agreement. He's a fine carpenter once he gets around to it. And he's gonna get around to it, if I have my say about it. And I always do. So shut up, Angus."

  Angus turned beet red, sputtering an excuse and hurrying back to his team. Eden couldn't blame him. Still, remembering how easily he'd heaved the traveling trunks she could barely drag, Eden marveled at the way her seventy-five-year-old aunt had glared the man down. Apparently, Claudia was someone to be reckoned with in this town.

  The thought of Claudia's age made Eden squirm. She didn't want to think her last surviving kinswoman might be heaven-bound soon. She'd watched helplessly at the age of twelve as Mama had died from complications following a riding accident, and then eleven years later as Talking Raven's miscarriage had ended her life and Eden's last hope for a brother or sister.

  But Eden's failure to save her own Papa eight weeks ago from pneumonia had been the final defeat. She'd been forced to the bitter conclusion that her calling to heal people made her more of a menace than a savior.

  The people of Silverton had largely agreed. In fact, some of the more mean-spirited townsfolk had claimed that she and Papa had done nothing but bilk people. Once that rumor had spread, a veritable army of derelicts had started appearing at the wagon, demanding the wages that, they'd claimed, Papa owed them because they'd "pretended" to be cured during his medicine show.

  Eden had been stunned by the accusations and the threats that accompanied them. Papa had been the most honest man she'd ever known. She'd never doubted the power of his remedies before, because from Texas to Montana, she'd watched his patients improve.

  Of course, during their western travels, Eden had learned there were other medicine show pitchmen, shysters who secretly paid actors to endorse their cures. But no one had ever dared say such things about Dr. Andrew Mallory. Not in her presence, anyway.

  Tears prickled Eden's eyelids. Could she really have been so wrong about her father?

  Eden felt a nudge against her hip. Grateful for the distraction, she glanced down and saw that a curly-haired boy of about eleven years had joined them by the tree. She had a heartbeat to notice his expensive linen shirt, freshly soiled, and the eye-poppingly huge toad he gripped between his muddy fists. Then his brown eyes rose to hers.

  "How much money does God have?"

  She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Mr. Angus said Aunt Claudia's got more money than God. How much money is that?"

  Bracing her gnarled hands on her knees, Claudia grinned at the boy. "More money than your pa ever did, Jamie Harragan."

  Jamie gazed at her thoughtfully, the toad giving an occasional kick to protest its imprisonment. "Then maybe you could pay God to bring Pa back."

  Claudia cocked a bushy eyebrow. "Why would I want to do that?"

  "'Cause I miss 'im."

  Claudia's blustery facade softened. "Jamie Harragan, you can't go bribing God."

  "How come? Pa said anyone could be bribed."

  "God ain't just anyone, Jamie Harragan," Claudia retorted, then muttered under her breath, "Dang, if I don't give that mother of yours a piece of my mind, letting a boy go on thinking such things." She fixed him with a keen, appraising stare. "Say, where'd you find that hoppy toad?"

  He brightened, jerking his head in the direction of the general store. "Under your porch."

  "He's a big 'un."

  Jamie grinned, stretching his freckles from ear to ear. "I'm gonna call him Charlie."

  He raised his pet for her inspection, and Eden hid a smile to see how solemnly her aunt made a fuss over the none-too-happy toad.

  After a couple of nods and admiring whistles, Claudia dropped her arm around Jamie's shoulders and stabbed her pipe toward the elm. "Lookie there, Jamie. We got a stuck cat. You know how to get one of those dang critters out of a tree?"

  Jamie cocked his head, as if considering. "I got my slingshot in my back pocket."

  Eden glanced warily at the Y-shaped stick and leather thong that jutted from the boy's broadcloth breeches. "I don't think slinging stones at Stazzie is a good idea."

  Claudia drew the boy closer. "That there's my niece," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "She's kind of particular about the whys and wherefores, on account of it's her cat."

  Jamie nodded sagely.

  "Well, I wouldn't hurt the cat, ma'am," he said politely. "I'd just spook her a bit, maybe hit some twigs up above her."

  "Jamie's got a fine aim," Claudia said, patting the boy's shoulder. "If he says he's gonna hit a twig, he'll hit a twig. Isn't that right, Angus?" she bellowed at the whip.

  "Sure," Angus shouted back gamely. "As aimin' a slingshot goes, Jamie's the best."

  Claudia narrowed her eyes at him. "Not better'n me."

  Eden cleared her throat. "I'm sure Jamie is more than proficient with his slingshot," she intervened, "but Stazzie can be quite unpredictable, and I don't want her to—"

  "That storm's about to hit, missy," Claudia interrupted with a wag of her pipe stem. "You want your cat outta that tree, or don't you?"

  "Yes, of course I do, but—"

  A female voice sliced through her protest, shrill enough to cut through thunder.

  "Jamie Harragan! What have you done to your trousers?"

  The boy started, hurrying to hide Charlie behind his back. A youngish, smartly dressed woman in honey-colored taffeta sailed toward them. With her petticoats fluttering like froth, she looked like a battleship in full steam.

  "Young man, you are filthy. Pos
itively filthy! And you've torn out the knees in your trousers! How dare you go crawling around in the dirt, when I expressly told you to sit on our wagon and keep clean? Do you have any idea how much our tailor charges to repair your britches?"

  Claudia stepped briskly to intercept the woman. "Bonnie Harragan, a boy's got better things to do than sit on a wagon, waiting for his mother to make up her mind over some silly new gewgaw."

  "But—"

  "Boys get dirty. That's the difference between boys and dolls. If you don't like mud on Jamie's fancy pants, buy him dungarees."

  Eden bit her lip, fully expecting the younger woman to knock Aunt Claudia on her impudent rear end. Instead, Bonnie halted, drawing a ragged breath. Something canny and disquietingly artificial flickered in her eyes. She bowed her head.

  "Why, you're right, of course," she demurred. "It's just that Jamie can be so willful at times, and he really has to start learning his social graces if he's ever to follow in the footsteps of our beloved Mr. Lincoln and become the next Kentucky-born president."

  Claudia muttered something about the apple not falling far from the tree.

  "Hello, Mr. McGee," Bonnie called sweetly to Angus.

  "Miss Bonnie," he grunted, tipping his dusty slouch hat.

  Her cool gray eyes next turned to Eden. Eden felt her face heat as Bonnie's appraising stare swept from her fraying straw hat, past her modest, yellow muslin, to her scuffed and muddy traveling boots. Bonnie's lip curled faintly.

  "Aunt Claudia," she cooed, dismissing Eden with a shoulder, "whatever are you doing out here in all this lightning? Getting spooked by thunder can't be good for your heart." She linked her arm through Claudia's. "Jamie, we can't allow Auntie to strain her heart, now can we?"

  "I ain't plannin' on kickin' the bucket today," Claudia snapped, "so you can stop panderin' fer the fortune yer uncle left me. Eden, this here's Bonnie."

  Bonnie turned fire-engine red.

  "Pleased to know you," Eden said mildly.

  Bonnie gave her a stiff nod, recovering her dignity and her chilly demeanor. "So you're Eden, Aunt Claudia's great-niece. Really, my dear, you've been the talk of the town. No one even knew you existed until you wired Aunt Claudia out of the blue. Strange how you should show up now, of all times."

  Claudia snorted. Eden darted her aunt an uneasy glance. What had Bonnie meant by that last dig? Was Claudia's heart condition worse than she pretended?

  Meanwhile, thunder rumbled, making the ground tremble. Eden hugged her fluttering hat tighter. The elm's canopy was lashing back and forth so crazily that leaves were starting to rip free. Anastasia, bless her mutinous soul, clung as tenaciously to her limb as a flea does to a dog.

  "Jamie, come along," Bonnie ordered, holding out her hand.

  The boy glanced anxiously over his shoulder, and Bonnie's eyes narrowed.

  "What's that you're hiding behind your back?"

  "Nothing," Jamie lied.

  Clearly suspicious, Bonnie started forward when another clap of thunder made them all jump. Jamie dropped his toad. Bonnie spied the tumbling creature and emitted a strangled gasp.

  "Warts!" Alarmed, she grabbed Jamie's wrists and turned over his hands. "Jamie Harragan, you are going to have—"

  Her words broke off in midsentence, and she made a tiny mew. Her gaze was no longer fastened on Jamie. Instead, it was riveted behind the boy's head, on the yard beside the depot. A tall man in a well-tailored suitcoat was leading a black gelding out of the farrier's shop.

  The blacksmith himself trailed in the gentleman's wake, but Bonnie hardly seemed to notice the stout and soiled smith. Instead, she stared at the gentleman, whose lean waist and narrow hips were accentuated by the dark fabric of his impeccable suit. When the gentleman stooped, running his hands over his horse's rear legs, Bonnie's eyes slitted, and her features took on a predatory expression, one much like Stazzie wore when she was anticipating the epicurean delights of a mouse.

  Suddenly, Jamie was free. He collided with Eden, chirped an apology, then sprinted after his toad, which had made a beeline for the rhododendron bushes near Stazzie's tree.

  Claudia chuckled, a low, throaty sound that hinted as much at mischief as amusement. "That there's Michael," she said, giving Eden a wink.

  Her curiosity piqued, Eden glanced back toward the farrier's yard. Michael had stripped off his coat and now stood rolling up his sleeves. Eden had a moment to notice that the cut and color of the outer garment had been deceiving: the stark contrast of his white shirt against the silky black of his vest proved he was much broader across his chest and shoulders than she'd first imagined. Then he turned his back. When he squatted, exposing taut buttocks to examine his gelding's hocks, Bonnie breathed a dreamy little sigh.

  The sound Eden made was more exasperated.

  She supposed the man was attractive enough, with his form-fitting breeches and Olympian shoulders, but really. Her cat was about to be electrocuted!

  "Aunt Claudia?"

  No answer.

  "Aunt Claudia," she insisted again, raising her voice above the rattle of an oncoming wagon. "Do you know where I can get a saucer of milk? I want to try to lure Stazzie down."

  Claudia didn't answer. Apparently she was too busy oogling at Michael.

  Before Eden could repeat her question, lightning spat, arching earthward in an eerie blue display. It struck the grounding rod on the roof of Claudia's general store. A premonition scuttled down Eden's spine. She watched the horse spook in its harness. The wagon veered off course.

  Suddenly Jamie dashed out from the bushes in pursuit of his toad.

  Dear God.

  It all happened so quickly. The driver cursed; the horse reared; Bonnie screamed a warning. Flailing hooves cleaved the air, and Jamie, his eyes almost as wide as his mouth, staggered backward. But it was too late. The wagon overturned; flour spewed, and apples bounced around the cowering child beneath the wheels.

  Eden was running before Jamie loosed his first howl. She didn't stop to consider how conspicuous she was being; she didn't consider her own danger. Her heart was in command, and she threw her weight on the leads. Just as she had dozens of times, when Valentine had spooked in his own harness, she dragged the horse back to earth before it could pull the vehicle over Jamie's legs.

  The crisis was over as soon as it had begun. The cursing, hillKit driver gained control, the horse wheezed into stillness, and Eden ducked under the reins. Miraculously, a wooden crate had kept the wagon from crushing Jamie's head.

  "Jamie, honey," she panted, wading past splintered barrels, dripping egg yolks, and seeping pickle juice. "Jamie, are you hurt?"

  "Charlie!" he wailed, scrambling beneath his would-be tomb. She heard a frantic scratching as he dug through the wreckage.

  "Move aside, young woman," a gruff voice commanded, "I'm a doctor."

  Eden gasped as two strong hands grabbed her beneath the arms and deposited her in a heap beside a box of nightcrawlers. Michael didn't seem to notice her exposed unmentionables. Like a man possessed, he braced his shoulder against the wagon. Hands as wide as her face grasped the bed, and he grunted, hiking the wood an incredible foot in the air.

  "Jamie," he panted, "can you crawl free?"

  "No! I won't leave Charlie..."

  At this point, a crowd was gathering. Angus rushed to Michael's aid. He heaved his bulk under the wagon's other end. The hillKit driver, working frantically, unbuckled his horse from its twisted harness, all the while barking threats at the spectators not to steal his grub.

  Jamie, meanwhile, sobbed brokenly beside a bloody patch of bone.

  "Oh, Jamie," Eden murmured, "Charlie's in heaven now. You have to let him go."

  With the help of a few more spectators, Michael and Angus managed to right the wagon. Eden, knowing firsthand the ravages of grief, didn't think twice about crawling beneath the wagonbed to comfort Jamie. To her surprise, neither did Blue Thunder's well-tailored doctor. His neck nearly disappeared into his shoulders as he squeezed his mo
untain-sized frame between the wheels.

  "It's all right, son." Michael didn't seem to notice or care that his linen sleeve had been shredded on a nail. "Are you hurt?"

  The boy shook his head. "Charlie," he whimpered again.

  Michael frowned, glancing toward the scarlet smear that had once been Jamie's pet.

  "His toad," Eden explained quietly.

  Midnight blue eyes delved into hers. Intense and strangely haunted, they struck a chord so deep within her that she was nearly bowled over by the intimacy. She'd seen those eyes before. Somewhere along the road, in the endless parade of seekers who'd begged miracles from Talking Raven's herbs, she'd met this Michael Jones. Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember.

  "Come here, son." A curious blend of mountain growl and southern drawl, Michael's voice mimicked the storm's lowest rumble of thunder. It wasn't the sort of thing that inspired comfort in a patient, and yet Jamie, consumed with misery, crawled into Michael's arms. Eden's throat constricted as she watched the man embrace the child.

  "It's not fair, I know," Michael murmured, "but sometimes we lose the ones we love."

  His hands, surprisingly gentle for their size, probed Jamie's limbs and picked splinters out of tousled curls. When the boy buried his face in that paternal shoulder, Eden's own grief welled uncomfortably close to the surface.

  "Dad blast it," snapped a voice beyond their haven. "I said make way. Give the boy some air, fer cryin' out loud."

  A gnomelike face bobbed behind an army of elbows. Eden blinked rapidly, becoming aware of a legion of legs and skirts circling the wagon. They parted reluctantly as Claudia used her coonskin cap to beat a path to the wagon.

  She ducked her head into view, wisps of her gun metal-gray hair sticking straight out with static. "Jamie? You okay, boy?"

  "I'll need to examine him more closely," Michael said. "He's too upset to talk."

  Claudia harrumphed. "Seems to me he's got just cause." She spun around, planting a gnarled fist on her hips. "Berthold Gunther," she hollered at the grousing hillKit, "will you shut up about your dang canned peaches already? I got a whole store full; ain't nobody gonna steal your paltry fifty cents' worth. Show a little blamed compassion for the boy. You could've killed him."