Silver Mist

by Raine Cantrell

  “Matt?”

  “Are you prone to fainting?”

  “What have you done to my brother?” she demanded, hands clenched at her sides.

  Chapter Three

  Dara didn’t wait for an answer. She hurried down the aisle toward him. He stood blocking the doorway. “Let me by.”

  Sure she would panic and bolt, Eden said, “First let me talk to you.”

  “What did you do to him?” Dara shoved past him and he grabbed her arm.

  “I’ve brought him home for a start.” His gray eyes narrowed. Her fingers clawed at his hand and he shook her arm. “Just calm down your ruffled feathers. Do you have a strong stomach?”

  “If I can survive your manhandling, I can manage anything.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when I decide to handle you.” His grip tightened on her upper arm, eyes blazing down at her. “Matt needs you. Not your anger, or your lectures. He needs a little soft, womanly warmth and compassion, if you have any. And then … then he needs some doctoring.”

  “Where is he?” she managed to whisper, feeling she was about to shatter. She wanted to lash out at him, but where he held her arm, the heat of his hand seeped through cloth to bum her skin. There was strength in his fingers molding around her upper arm, but for some strange reason Dara had no fear of his using that strength against her. The fear came from her own reaction to his touch. A light quiver tremored her body as she felt her blood thicken warmly.

  “Please, let me go … to him.”

  He couldn’t deny her pleading look, which asked for more than immediate release. His hand slipped from her arm, but he gave no other indication that he was aware of what she asked. “Matt’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, ignoring for now her accusation that he had harmed her brother.

  Dara brushed passed him, running over the moss­laden river stones marking the path to the house. Running up the two wide porch steps, she nearly tripped on her skirt hem, her heels tapping against the uneven boards deeply shadowed by the twisted jasmine vines entwined with drooping pine branches.

  Her hesitation was slight before she opened the glass-topped front door. Knowing he was behind her, she wanted to deny him access to her home, deny him any part of her life his coming inside would reveal, but no sane reason to stop him came to mind. The thought of Matt hurt sent her hurrying down the hall toward the kitchen.

  She grabbed the doorframe for support. Her brother sat hunched over the large square oak table. Nausea rose and she spared no thought for the warm comfort of a hand on her shoulder, or the whispered assurances that Matt looked worse than he was. Her eyes had locked upon the basin filled with pink-tinged water and the cloth her brother held to one side of his face. She shrugged off Eden’s hold.

  “Matt?” she murmured, stepping closer. He didn’t turn but slumped farther into the straight-backed chair. Rushing to his side, she begged, “Let me see.” Matt lowered the cloth as Dara gently cupped his chin, raising it toward the light of the back windows. Swallowing, she slid her hand away. Dara didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “There’s nothing broken so far as I could tell,” Eden said from where he still stood in the doorway.

  Dara looked at him, unsure what part he played in her brother being beaten, but she nodded, accepting what he said.

  She appeared suddenly fragile to Eden, standing as she was, leaning over Matt, hands clasped together. He gave her a moment, watched her slender throat working as she swallowed repeatedly, and found himself admiring the effort she made to regain her control.

  “What can I do to help you? I didn’t want to poke around in your pantry, and Matt, well, he wasn’t sure where anything is.”

  “I’ll tend him.” Dara didn’t consider her refusal curt. She drew strength from all the times Matt and Pierce had gotten into scrapes growing up. They always looked worse until bruises and wounds were washed clean, but this … Walking around Matt to the big steel range, she fitted the special handle to lift the front burner plate. Adding enough kindling from the wood box to revive the coals, she watched them flame and calmed herself. At last she replaced the lid, took the empty kettle, and turned.

  “Da-ra … I’m be-holden to … Silver.”

  If she hadn’t been at Matt’s side, the mumbled words wouldn’t have made sense. Giving his shoulder a reassuring pat, she didn’t hide her bitterness.

  “I hope you won’t regret it.”

  Eden reached the hand pump beneath the windows before Dara. “See to him,” he ordered, grabbing the kettle. “I’ll get the water. And if you have any spirits, give him a glass or two. He’s hurting.”

  With her tenuous hold on her emotions, Dara didn’t want to fathom the way his concern for Matt touched her. She regretted her words of a moment before, but couldn’t bring herself to look at him or to apologize.

  “The pump handle tends to stick,” she warned, stepping away from his overpowering presence.

  Matt mumbled again and she snapped, “Don’t try to talk. You’re bleeding.” She hadn’t meant to sound so condemning, but the sight of his bruised and battered face, his tom shirt, and his obvious pain had her wishing that just once there was someone else to deal with him. Retreating into the large pantry, she held tight to one of the wooden shelves. What had Matt gotten involved in? What did this man Silver have to do with it? Questions pounded inside her head, and her brow beaded with cold sweat. She wiped it off, knowing Matt needed her first, and later, always later, she’d have time for herself.

  Quickly she took down a stack of clean linen cloths, the tin of powdered sulphur, and a bottle of witch hazel, then managed to grab a jug of Abner Colly’s home brew and brought it all to the table.

  The basin was clean. Dara didn’t notice it until she filled a glass and pushed it across the table to Matt. It was his trembling grip on the glass that made her cry out.

  “What have you done to your hands? Oh, Matt…”

  “Just don’t blame … him,” he grated from between clenched teeth, raising the glass to his lips.

  “Can’t your questions wait?” Eden demanded. “The water’s heating, but let him get the whiskey down first.”

  Dara heard him sit down at the table, but she paced to the windows. Staring outside at the wooded sloped land, she wondered how Matt had met him and come to trust him so quickly. She tugged one comer of the yellow cotton curtain into place. Not a breath of air stirred, but that wasn’t the only heat she felt closing in on her. She could feel that man Silver’s eyes staring at her back.

  “May I trouble you for another glass? I could do with a drink myself.” He glanced away from her rigid spine as she moved to the far comer cabinet. The room was sun-warmed; small green herb plants filled colorful pottery on the windowsills and counter, scenting the humid air. There was a gaily woven rag rug on the highly polished wood floor, and neatly stitched samplers arrayed the pale yellow walls. Eden noted each detail. All that was missing was the aroma of fine cooking, but the room bespoke a homey welcome. It seeped into him, bone deep and peaceful, until he focused on one of the samplers. A soft chuckle escaped him. He was sure that Dara had worked it, for the words typified her. Silently he read “The Honey is Sweet, but the Bee has a Sting.”

  Dara heard him and almost dropped the glass. She bit back the demand to know why, angry as she was that he needed a drink. His clothing wasn’t tom, it was barely soiled, and he certainly showed no visible sign of having been involved in whatever resulted in Matt being hurt. Abruptly she set the glass in front of him. Matt didn’t notice her thinned lips or her quick move toward the stove, for he was staring into the dark amber depths of his whiskey. Dara watched the simmering water and felt safer with distance between them. But why did that man need to stare at her?

  For stare he did. Hot as it was, she appeared as fresh and cool-looking now as she did when he first saw her this morning. The prim Miss Dara’s manner seemed as fully starched as her petticoats. He smiled and poured h
imself a drink. Her reserve offered more enticement than another woman’s blatancy. And that only reminded him of the charming sprite that had appeared in his room last night to gather up his laundry. Miss Lara Saunders might be a few years younger than Dara, but she was certainly more worldly wise. He lifted his glass and swallowed a mouthful of the liquor.

  “Potent?” Matt managed to ask, taking another sip of his own.

  “Firewater,” he said, grinning. “Colly will make himself a fortune selling this liquor uncut.” He didn’t miss the defensive tightening of Dara’s shoulders.

  Dara didn’t care if the water was fully boiled or not. She wanted this man out of her kitchen, out of her life, and knew he wouldn’t leave until she had attended to her brother.

  “Matt told me your folks were some of the first to settle here.”

  Dara banged the kettle back down on the burner. “That’s right.” Noting the late afternoon shadows filling the room, she took one of the long wooden matches from the china wall holder, struck it against the rough pad below, and carefully cupped the flame. Standing between the man and her brother, she leaned over the table to light the coal-oil fixture hanging over its center. She froze in the act of lighting it.

  The back of Eden’s hand brushed against her ribcage when he raised his glass.

  “Pardon my carelessness,” he said, mouth twitching with amusement.

  She took a deep breath, exhaled, and adjusted her smile before toying with the idea of dropping the burning match into his glass.

  He smiled benignly, as if reading her intent and warning her he would retaliate.

  Dara lit the fixture.

  He took a long and most satisfying pull of his drink.

  Matt, bewildered by what he sensed, tried to smile.

  When she set the filled basin on the table, Eden tried to draw her into conversation to relieve Matt of her intense frowning concentration.

  “Did the town take its name from the Rainbow River?”

  “No.” Standing with her back deliberately toward him, Dara lifted Matt’s chin.

  “Did the name have some special significance for the ex-Confederate soldiers who settled around here?” he asked, wincing right along with Matt, even if her touch appeared to be light.

  “Some say Miss Loretta’s mother complained that it rained nearly every day when they first settled here and that’s how Rainly got its name.”

  Eden refilled Matt’s glass, silently urging him to keep drinking. To distract Dara, he persisted in engaging her in conversation. “Most of the people I’ve met in town seem excited by the discovery of phosphate and what revenue it will bring. Jesse mentioned that people had about given up hope of expanding the town after the land company failed.”

  Dara wrung out another clean cloth with jerky moves. “That land company,” she replied curtly, “was formed to bring people who farmed and wanted to develop a good, safe town where others of their kind would also come to settle. Rainly doesn’t want or need drifters.” She bit her lip, hurting for Matt as she dabbed his cuts with witch hazel, wiped off the excess, and then powdered them with sulphur.

  Eden set his glass down in a deliberate manner. “Not all men intend to drift, Miss Owens. For your clarification, most men think of moving from place to place as a way of searching for the perfect one that will feed a hunger inside them. And most,” he stressed with an edged annoyance that she could easily ruffle his control, “would take offense for both your tone and your holier-than-thou attitude.”

  His rebuke stung, as she was sure he meant it to do. Yet it wasn’t words of apology she spoke. “If you have taken personal offense, I’ll remind you that women may not have the right to vote, but we do have freedom of speech.” She had never insulted anyone the way this man seemed to incite her to do. Studying the gash over her brother’s eye, she knew it would need stitches.

  “Matt, I’ll need to get Sophy to tend this one.”

  “No. You.” Shakily he wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “I can’t sew it.”

  Matt insisted, his look pleading toward Silver.

  “Don’t ask this of me, Matt,” Dara said. “I can’t.”

  Grabbing her hands, ignoring his pain, Matt pulled her near. “Won’t move. Please.”

  Eden hadn’t intended to interfere. She would only resent him further, but he could see she was drawing upon last reserves of strength staring down at Matt’s skinned knuckles. And Matt, pride aside, turned begging eyes toward him. Eden slugged down the last of his drink and pushed the glass aside.

  “I’ll sew it, if you’ll hold Matt’s head steady.”

  “You!” She pulled free from Matt, rounding on him.

  He shoved the chair back and stood towering over her. “Me.” He grinned, hoping to allay her fear. “Knowing how has come in handy a few times.”

  “It seems you’re a man of many talents,” she snapped, belatedly shocked at how easily she came to mock him.

  “Dara,” Matt pleaded.

  “It’s all right,” Eden soothed. “She’s been through enough.” But holding her flaring dark eyes with his, he accepted her unwittingly given challenge. “Perhaps, Miss Owens, that’s something else you’ll find out.”

  Dara retreated. “I’ll get a needle and thread.” But as she left the room, she couldn’t help thinking he was no stranger to violence, even if he was making her become a stranger to herself.

  The strength of his long fingers showed surprising gentleness as he carefully sewed Matt’s gash. He joked with him, keeping Matt’s mind from the pain, and to Dara’s contention, invoked a respect bordering on hero worship from her brother. She wasn’t immune when he turned his concern toward her, softly telling her to go outside while he settled Matt into bed. Dara didn’t argue. She simply didn’t have the strength.

  Stepping out into the twilight, the river called to her, and she walked slowly down the sloping path.

  Spanish moss, dewed and dream-draped from the rising river mist, cloaked gnarled live oaks. Ancient secrets whispered to the pungent pine boughs from these majestic older sisters. In the air lingered the coy, thick perfume of vine-twisted jasmine. The soft breeze wafted the scent toward her from the star-shaped blooms. Dara breathed deeply, sighing, envying them. The night’s wooing call came like a lover to tease open scented secrets. She had never known a lover’s sweet coaxing, but she dreamed of the day she would. Ducking beneath the trailing silver-draped moss, she listened to the river spirits lap the thick black mud bank with its soft insistent call to join its play. Fish suspended themselves below the dark waters of the Withlacoochee River, and water plants with closed graceful heads eddied in the flow.

  Dara halted before a stately pine tree, its full dripping branches offering her a hidden place all her own. Leaning against the rough-barked trunk, she felt drained. Only in her mind was there fixed a picture of stormy gray eyes, hot with promise, threatening her with a challenge she could never dare claim.

  How long she stood there, she didn’t know. But long before she heard a sound, her senses came alive. She didn’t want to admit that she knew he would seek her out, but denying it would not make the truth go away.

  “Matt’s sleeping,” Eden said before she could speak, pushing aside the overhanging boughs.

  He made no move to come closer to her, and Dara found she was nervous, but she had to know what had happened. “Will you tell me how he was hurt?” She didn’t want to look at him, but his silence, his utter stillness, seemed to force her to do just that. The shadows hid his face, but he stood merely an arm’s width away from her. How did he manage to move so silently on the thick carpet of pine needles?

  Choosing his words carefully, he finally answered, “Matt was with me.”

  “And? What happened? Where was he? What was he doing?”

  He had to remember his promise to Matt and not allow her soft pleading voice to distract him. She appeared suddenly chilled, rubbing her hands over her arms, and
he thought about holding her. Emotionally she was defenseless, if he judged the shaky tremor of her voice correctly. He didn’t move and glanced away toward the river.

  “Tell me.”

  “He was out at one of my claims with me, and two men jumped him thinking he was alone.”

  “No! No one here would hurt my brother. There was no reason for anyone to beat him up.” Low and intense, she accused, “You’re lying to me.”

  “I may be many things, Miss Owens, but a liar isn’t one of them,” he stated with harsh emphasis. Reaching up, he fingered the long, silky pine needles. She wasn’t going to be satisfied until he told her more, and he resigned himself to that. “Matt didn’t know who the men were, and I was too far away to help him at first.”

  Dara dragged air into her lungs, understanding what he said. “And what did you do? Order them off your claim with arrogance for your weapon while they beat up my brother? Is that what you and your kind will bring to Rainly? Men like you thrive on fear, don’t you? Fear and violence! You said Matt didn’t know them. Did you? Were they your kind?”

  Rising hysteria punctuated every word. He released the pine branch, slowly turning to face her. “Like I told Matt, you’ve been through enough today.”

  “I have, haven’t I? And whose fault is that?” His calm incited her to fury. “Is that all you have to say for yourself? Why don’t you try telling me the truth? Why don’t you tell me this is just the beginning? And it is, isn’t it?”

  “Is that where all these questions have been leading?” His laugh was as smooth as his move to close the distance between them. “It can be whatever you want,” he softly assured her. “For you and for everyone else in this town. Men are already here and more are coming, and yes, I won’t deny that violence will be a part of their arrival. Matt got hurt, and other men will, too, because they’re dreaming of getting rich. It’s most men’s nature to become greedy and not count the cost. But then, you don’t know much about men or their natures.” His body backed hers against the tree. “Lovely Miss Dara, so good and pious. I know you’ll understand my saying the strong will devour the weak. Nothing is going to stop it from happening. Be aware of that and stay frightened of it, Dara. It might protect you when no one can.