His Wicked Dream (Velvet Lies, Book 2)

by Adrienne deWolfe

  "Ain't my fault the brat ran out under my Barney's nose," Gunther flung back. He was a grizzled, unkempt, stork of a man with little left in the way of hair or teeth. "And I paid you a sight more'n fifty cents fer those peaches, Claudia Ann Collier. You ain't running no charity in that store of your'n, and neither am I!"

  The crowd's rumble of disapproval was all but drowned out by Claudia's expletives. As she waded back into the fray, yelling at the bystanders to be about their business, Eden chanced a glance at Michael, who rested his chin on Jamie's curls. He rocked the boy, crooning soft assurances, but Eden caught those inky-blue eyes sweeping down her traveling outfit.

  Suddenly she wished she were a bit less egg-splattered and a great deal more fashionable. Michael didn't dismiss her with the disdain that Bonnie had, though. Indeed, as his gaze lingered on the unruly red tendrils the wind had liberated from her chignon, her insides heated, as if a match had been struck at her core. She was just deciding whether she liked the sensation, when something dusky, like remorse, clouded his features. Ducking his head, he focused on Jamie. She felt unaccountably deflated.

  Fortunately, Claudia returned to distract them. "Either of you two got smelling salts? Much as I hate the idea of the earache it'll cause, I reckon someone's gotta bring Bonnie out of her swoon."

  "Oh. Um... yes," Eden stammered, still disconcerted by her disappointment. Did Michael remember her, too? If he'd been part of the crowd during one of Papa's medicine shows, chances were he would recall her more clearly than she recalled him. Of all the rotten luck. She'd never set foot in Blue Thunder Valley in all her twenty-five years. Where had Michael seen her? And in what context?

  Somehow she managed to regain the use of her wits and her cramped legs. Stumbling back through the wreckage, she grabbed a satchel from her luggage and fell on her knees beside Bonnie. Thanking God when she found a steady pulse and no head injuries, Eden screwed open the bottle of salts, only to have steely fingers snatch it out of her hand.

  Michael grimaced at the odor.

  "Spirits of Hartshorn," she assured him hastily. "Mixed with lavender. I didn't find any bruises, but she could have a concussion—"

  "Move aside. Please."

  Eden winced. The platitude had done little to soften the iron in his tone. Much like her father, Michael considered himself the medical authority. Swallowing the little pride her succession of failures had left her, she pulled her skirts out of his way. She had to remind herself she'd given up the medicine-show life and moved to Blue Thunder to put her past behind her.

  She noticed Jamie, standing fretfully in the circle of Aunt Claudia's arms, her coonskin askew on his head.

  "Is Mama dead?" he whispered, a tear rolling to his chin.

  "No, honey," Eden said quickly. "Your mama fainted, that's all. She was frightened when she saw you fall under the wagon. Look."

  Bonnie was already groaning.

  "Your mama's going to be just fine."

  Bonnie's glassy eyes flickered open. "M-Michael?"

  In the accompanying flash of light, his features looked chiseled, dissected by leafy shadows that slanted across the hard, square plane of his jaw. In that moment, he resembled a brooding thunder god more than the shining knight of some schoolgirl's fantasy.

  "You fainted, Mrs. Harragan." Immune to the straining bodice at his knee, he probed Bonnie's head with deft, professional movements. "There's nothing to fear. Jamie's not hurt. Do you think you can sit?"

  Bonnie frowned, raising a shaking hand to the hair he had mussed. "J-Jamie?"

  The boy ran to her side.

  "Jamie," she gasped, propping herself on an elbow, "that was a stupid, stupid thing for you to do. You could have been killed. Not to mention how you almost killed me!"

  The boy hung his head. Claudia shook hers.

  "Bonnie Harragan, are you hurt or aren't you?" she snapped.

  "Well, I..." She hesitated, glanced at Michael, then groaned, oozing back to earth. "I'm not sure. I feel so... dizzy."

  Claudia rolled her eyes. "Give her another whiff of smelling salts, Michael. Or better yet, let me do it. You see to Jamie. He's the one with the real hurt."

  Bonnie scowled. "Michael said Jamie was all right."

  "Jamie's grieving," Eden interceded.

  "Well, that's silly. As my son can see, Michael has matters well in hand. In a couple of days, with proper medical care, I'm sure I'm going to be—"

  "Not you," Claudia snapped. "His hoppy toad. And a fine hoppy toad it was, too. The kind any boy would be proud to own." She draped her arm over Jamie's quivering shoulders. "I reckon any toad as fine as Charlie must have a strapping brood somewhere. How 'bout you and me taking another look-see under my porch?"

  Bonnie grew distinctly paler. "Auntie, don't you dare! You know I don't allow pets."

  "Bonnie Harragan, you ain't allergic to any dang toads."

  "I am too! Besides, they breed warts."

  Michael chuckled. A resonant rumble to rival the deepest strains of a cello, it caught Eden's attention as nothing else about the man had. She was rewarded to glimpse straight white teeth and the heart-stealing flash of dimples.

  He climbed to his feet. "Mrs. Harragan," he said, offering her a hand, "if that were true about toads, then we'd have an epidemic among the boys in this town."

  Bonnie blushed, wobbling as Michael gripped her elbow. When Jamie ran forward, burying his face in her stomach, she sighed, hugging him closer. Michael stepped discreetly to the side.

  Claudia harrumphed in approval. "Well, Michael," she said briskly, "I reckon I needn't fuss with introductions now. Still, this here's my niece, Eden. Andy Mallory's girl."

  Michael, who'd been rolling down his cuffs, paused a moment to gaze fully into her face. "Eden," he repeated, as if tasting the word for nuances of flavor.

  The warmth rekindled in his eyes, and she drew a shaky breath. Suddenly she was aware of how close and sweltering the air had become. She liked to think the storm was to blame, until he released her from his gaze.

  "Miss Mallory." He nodded. "Whatever possessed you to charge a rearing horse? You could have been seriously injured."

  "Uh... I suppose I didn't stop to think," she stammered. "About myself, I mean."

  "Hmm." He seemed to concentrate on buttoning his cuffs, but she sensed he was still watching her behind that veil of inky lashes. "A bit foolhardy, wouldn't you say?"

  Eden's cheeks heated.

  "I was the closest," she answered simply.

  A single eyebrow shot up, held.

  "You would put the Good Samaritan to shame, Miss Mallory."

  His smile, as fleeting as it was, struck her strangely. Perhaps it was a trick of the lightning, but she could have sworn she'd seen something cloud the indigo depths of his eyes.

  "Any splinters? Cuts? Sprains?" he quizzed her crisply.

  She swallowed, shaking her head.

  "Pain of any kind?"

  "Nothing I can't treat myself, thank you."

  "Indeed?"

  She wanted to kick herself for that slip of the tongue. Before she could stammer some explanation, however, Berthold Gunther started cursing at the top of his lungs. Eden spied a scrawny youth with matted blond hair running in a near crouch away from the wagon. His arms were laden with canned goods; an apple spilled out of his trouser pockets. Gunther, who'd been scouring the gutters to salvage his precious groceries, went apoplectic.

  "Hey! Hey, you plaguey white trash bastard! That ain't your'n! Bring it back!"

  Claudia pressed her lips together, watching Gunther drop his sack of grain and give chase.

  "Collie's back," she grunted.

  Michael's expression darkened as the young thief dashed on bared feet down an alley. "Looks that way."

  Bonnie sniffed. "That awful, awful boy."

  She tightened her arms around Jamie, who stood now with his spine pressed to her waist. When Jamie tilted his head back to observe his mother's disapproval, Eden's heart twisted. She could almost see J
amie filing the experience away, learning contempt rather than compassion.

  Michael broke the mood. Brusque and businesslike once more, he turned to Bonnie. "Mrs. Harragan, I suggest you bring Jamie to my office for a more thorough examination."

  "Of course, Michael. Right away. And... well, I hope you won't mind taking a look at me, too," she cooed, probing her crown for emphasis. "My head does hurt."

  Michael's jaw twitched at this none too subtle ploy. Nodding his farewell to Claudia, he swept his arm forward, motioning Bonnie and Jamie before him on the sidewalk. Then he passed Eden. For an instant, his stride faltered. Even without the elemental fireworks in the sky behind him, he crackled with intensity, a primal magnetism that was as alluring as it was disconcerting. She'd always considered herself immune to dark temptations, and yet when his gaze collided with hers, a tiny frisson of sensation danced along her spine.

  "I almost forgot." He retrieved the smelling salts from his trouser pocket. "I daresay you'll never need them, but I hear they're requisite among Good Samaritans."

  Eden blinked. She was uncertain what to make of his guarded tone... or the warm, calloused hand that took hers, gently but insistently closing her fingers around the bottle.

  "Michael," Bonnie called. Her pout was thinly disguised. "You are coming, aren't you?"

  Michael withdrew, and Claudia chuckled, watching Bonnie march her reluctant quarry down the street.

  "Well, niece," she said, her cagey eyes bright with mischief, "looks like you and me have a heap of fun ahead."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Oh, nuthin'." Claudia smiled like a certain Cheshire feline. "I was just thinking about the alley cats in this town. And yours is still up in that tree, ain't it?"

  Chapter 2

  Bonnie Harragan was going to be the final nail in his coffin.

  Gritting his teeth as thunder bludgeoned his brain, Michael hurried his horse away from the widow's driveway. Bonnie had insisted that she was too weak to make the trip home by herself. He'd suspected her only real ailment was a twisted imagination, and the minute she'd ordered Jamie away from her bedside, her roaming hands had proven Michael right.

  Unfortunately, he hadn't dared to ignore her head complaints for fear she might have suffered a concussion. And Bonnie knew that, damn her. She knew Gabriel's death made him feel personally responsible for every fever, ache, and chill in this town. It wasn't the first time she'd cried wolf to try to lure him back into her arms. He suspected it wouldn't be the last, even though he'd told her in no uncertain terms he would never court her again, not after she'd jilted him for a wealthier beau. Instead, Bonnie chose to believe she was competing with another lover, and she needed to ply her charms harder.

  Michael groaned, turning up his coat collar against the first pellets of rain.

  Hell, he wished he did have a secret lover to make him forget the forbidden fantasies he still suffered over a certain red-haired healer. He wished his mysterious illness would let him muster enough lust to rid his memory of that innocent's touch. But he couldn't allow his thoughts to dwell on a lost moment. He had bigger problems to deal with now, namely: What was he going to do with Sera when he became an invalid?

  Because Michael was sure his central nervous system was failing. He knew enough about electrochemical pathways to realize the recurring numbness in his limbs hinted at some grave disorder.

  At first, when the tingling began in his feet, he'd thought he'd been standing too much, chopping wood, treating patients, repairing Claudia's store roof. But then, during routine exertions like stair climbing, he'd noticed he'd grow uncommonly fatigued. And lately, he'd been experiencing vertigo.

  The worst part, though, was having to lie to Sera. Michael didn't want his kid sister to start worrying she would lose him, like she'd lost everyone else: Mama, Gabriel, Papa—even Rafe.

  Of course, Michael's half-brother wasn't really dead—at least, Rafe hadn't been dead six months ago, Michael thought grimly, recalling the letter he'd caught Sera sneaking upstairs to her bedroom. If any member of the Jones clan deserved to be dead, that member was Rafe, but Michael wasn't the kind of man who went looking for vengeance. He figured Rafe would eventually suffer his due punishment for all the heartache he'd caused the family, and that punishment would be far more thorough than anything Michael could dole out.

  No, he refused to waste one precious second of his ebbing life on the wastrel who called him "brother." Michael's first concern was Sera. He wanted his kid sister to be safe and happily married before his illness took its toll. It frightened him to think he was losing ground, battling an enemy he had no way of overcoming. And yet for Sera's sake, he had to hold on.

  He rode to the stable at the side of his house—or rather, the renovated slave-quarters-turned-cottage that Michael had been renting on Claudia's property. Somehow, Michael managed not to slump to his knees while fumbling with the bridle. He gave Brutus a cursory rub and a pitchfork of hay and then, heedless of the mud and the drizzle, stumbled gratefully toward the bed that awaited him in the modest, two-story house that his kid-sister-turned-ward had been sharing with him, ever since their father's death.

  "Michael, is that you?"

  His eighteen-year-old sister's voice, pitched above the clatter of rain on the tin roof, made him wince, and he turned reluctantly from the hall stairs. His sodden shirt and trousers were forming rivulets that snaked through the dust on the pinewood floor.

  He knew that Sera wouldn't care, though. In fact, he suspected Sera wouldn't notice. She'd renounced mops and brooms shortly after Papa's death two years before, and he doubted whether she even knew what beeswax was used for.

  "Were you expecting someone else?" he asked wearily, hearing her approach from the kitchen.

  Her eager footsteps missed a beat, and when she appeared around the corner, he noticed her peaches-and-cream complexion had tinged a shade of rose.

  "Of course not," she answered quickly, too quickly for his peace of mind. Like a shadow flitting behind the pain, he vaguely recalled a stranger, with a Tennessee accent, and the hillKit's predatory smile. Michael wondered if Sera had planned a meeting with the reprobate, but before he could challenge her, she threw a gauntlet of her own.

  "Why are you home so early? What's wrong?"

  He stiffened. "Nothing."

  "Then how come you look madder than a rooster in an empty henhouse?"

  He avoided her eyes. "I'm just tired, that's all."

  Sera blew out her breath. Her exasperation suggested she suspected his lie. The idea worried him, so he retreated behind sternness. The Reverend Jedidiah Jones had often preached that discipline was the only way to curb a child's natural tendency toward rebellion, and Sera was more rebellious than most. Thanks to the nearly twelve years that separated them, Michael had never been close to his sister, but he knew his duty by her.

  More than that, he loved her. Lying about his illness was putting a strain on their already tense relationship, but he had no choice. The truth of his condition would be too hard for her to bear.

  He made an attempt to gentle his voice. "You know I prefer you not to pry into my private affairs."

  "For heaven's sake, Michael, I wasn't pry—" She stopped herself. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. "Fine. Whatever you say. Dinner's almost ready. I baked some cornpone and—"

  "Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

  "You're always hungry."

  She sounded suspicious again, and he cursed himself for his mistake. It was too blasted hard to think when his head felt like an anvil.

  "I ate some biscuits and gravy at Aunt Claudia's," he lied a second time.

  "I didn't think Aunt Claudia and that long-lost niece of hers had come home yet."

  "Look." The pounding in his head accelerated to near ramming speed at the mention of their neighbor's house guest. "I'll eat the cornpone later."

  "Well, excuse me for caring. I thought you looked a little peaked, but obviously, you're just in another one of y
our black moods."

  "My clothes are wet, Sera. I want to dry off."

  "Well, you don't have to bite my head off." Her chin jutted, and she planted her hands on her hips. "If this is the way you're going to act all night long, I'm going next door for some friendly conversation."

  Michael's foot froze on the bottom stair. Next door? Eden might be next door by now.

  A new worry seized him, one that had nothing to do with the secret of his illness. No, his longing for Eden Mallory was a secret of an entirely different nature.

  "Sera," he blustered, "there's lightning outside."

  "You didn't seem to mind it when you drove home."

  "That's different. Besides, I don't want you catching your death of cold."

  She tossed her blue-black curls, which were slightly damp and more than a little wayward after her afternoon of baking. "I declare, Michael, you see catarrh in every drop of rain. I'm hardly the invalid Mama was, or that Gabriel was, for that matter. I've been cooped up in that kitchen all day long, plucking feathers, grinding cornmeal, and baking pies. It's high time I had a little fun. I'm not married to you, you know."

  He winced. The child had a point. On the other hand, she had to learn how to run a household if he was to find her a decent husband.

  "It was never my intention to make you a prisoner in our kitchen, Sera. As for being married—"

  "Never mind," she interrupted. Her indifference to her most respectable suitor, Preacher Prescott, was another bone of contention between them. "I'm sorry I brought it up. Tell me what happened back in town. With the rain and all, Bonnie didn't stop by this afternoon. I feel like I'm the last person on earth to hear the news."

  Michael sighed. If his head weren't doing its level best to split, he wouldn't have let Sera weasel out of the marriage topic so easily.

  "What news are you referring to?"

  "Honestly, Michael. What has everyone in this town been talking about for the last three weeks? Eden Mallory. Bonnie can't bear the fact that Claudia might add Eden to her will, especially at this late date."