Harper's Bride

by Alexis Harrington

  He smiled at Jenny, showing new toothless gaps in his gums. "She favors you, girl." Melissa bit back a protest when he took Jenny's hand in his own very dirty one. Jenny pulled away from him and started crying.

  "Oh, dear," Melissa said, and jogged her in her arms, "she's not used to strangers."

  Pushing a litter of paper and an empty bottle aside, Jack lowered himself stiffly to a threadbare sofa that leaked its horsehair stuffing. "We're not strangers, we're family, and she damn well better get used to us," he grumped. His lack of compassion or understanding was so familiar to her. Then he fixed her with a stern look. "Where's your man, Lissy?"

  She took a breath. "He died in Dawson. They said it was pneumonia." She supposed she should at least pretend grief for decency's sake, but she couldn't make herself do it.

  "Died!" her brother and father both echoed.

  "It happened earlier this summer."

  After a moment of stunned silence, James spoke. "Well, by God, that's a tragedy." He sounded genuinely sorry. "He was a good man, the best friend I ever had." He slumped down next to his father and looked ready to cry.

  Oh, she was tempted, so tempted, to tell them about the "good man" and how he'd settled his debt with Dylan. But she decided not to. She had the sick, uneasy feeling that they wouldn't find anything wrong with what Coy had done.

  "So you're a widow woman now." Jack glanced at the filthy house and nodded decisively. "A good thing you've come home. You belong here with your family."

  "Say, that's right," James added, the benefits of her return obviously dawning on him.

  Melissa gaped at them both in horror. "Oh, I'm not coming back here!" she blurted.

  Struggling to his feet again, Jack advanced on her and pointed a shaking finger at her, apparently taken aback by her refusal. Melissa had never refused her father or spoken out in her life. "Why, the hell you aren't, Lissy. You aren't so big that I can't still whup you for your sass. You'll do as you're told and that's that. A woman gets into all kinds of trouble without menfolks to protect her."

  Protect her? While threatening to beat her? She wished she could laugh at his ridiculous pronouncement. But fear made her clutch Jenny more tightly, the same gnawing, soul-withering terror that she'd grown up with.

  "James, tell that driver outside to go along now. Girl, where are your belongings? When Billy gets home, he'll go with you to collect them."

  "Well, I gotta put my pants on," James muttered, and climbed to his feet.

  Melissa's heart pounded in her chest with a suffocating sensation. The image came to her of Coy standing at her washtubs in Dawson. I'm giving you five minutes to get your gear . . . or I'll teach you a good lesson for talking back to me. What she needed or wanted was of no consequence. The slow-burning anger that had ignited when she arrived continued to grow within her. Coy, her father, her brothers—none of them had cared about her. They saw her only in terms of the convenience and personal comfort she could provide. It was a startling realization that even her father didn't love her, but looking at him, she at last recognized it was true. With that knowledge came a new kind of freedom, and her paralyzing fear fell away.

  "Don't you do anything of the kind, James," she said in her most commanding tone.

  "Huh?"

  She kept her eyes on her father. "I came back here because I thought you had the right to meet your granddaughter, and that she should know her grandfather. But I was wrong. I don't want her to know a man like you."

  Jack Reed sputtered like a landed trout, but plain astonishment apparently kept him from stringing any words together, and Melissa plunged on, finding courage and growing fury with each passing minute. She'd grown up around men like her father and Coy—she hadn't known she should expect to be treated with more respect. But Dylan, while he offered no quarter to his enemies, had opened her eyes. His kindness to her and Jenny had proved to her that not all men were like the ones she'd known.

  "You bullied me and Mama, and beat both of us—"

  "I never raised a hand to one of you unless you had it coming," he protested indignantly. Jenny, responding to the tension of angry voices, began crying again.

  "Who were you to decide that?" she demanded, her voice climbing in volume. "I know now that you didn't care about any of us. Your first love was the bottle, and you sent Mama off to work because you wouldn't. We would have starved if not for her!" Her breath came in short jerks, and Jenny screamed in earnest, adding to the chaos. "I'm never coming back here. Never." She spun around and strode to the door.

  "By God, we'll see about that!" Jack lurched forward and grabbed Melissa's arm to stop her.

  She looked down at the grimy hand gripping her sleeve, then met her father's eyes dead on. "Take your hand off me. Now."

  Gaping at her with anger and genuine hatred, he released her. So icy and direct was her tone that even James backed up a step.

  Melissa yanked open the door and hurried down the walk with Jenny howling over her shoulder. The cab driver, seeing her approach, jumped down from his seat.

  "If you hadn't been holding that baby, I would have taken my shaving strop to you, you ungrateful bitch!" her father yelled after her.

  "M-ma'am, are you all right?" the driver asked, helping her into the carriage.

  "Yes, please . . . please just take us back to the hotel. Right away." Melissa felt her courage crumbling around her, and hot tears burned her eyes.

  "Yes, ma'am!"

  The break with her family was complete. Now she knew how Dylan had felt when he told her that he didn't want to see his own family again. If the earth opened up tomorrow and swallowed Jack Reed, she knew she wouldn't care a bit.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Allred Kaady straightened from the sack of oats he'd been cutting open. "Why, I can hardly believe my eyes—Dylan Harper! When did you get back into town?"

  Grinning, Dylan stepped into the cool gloom of Kaady's Livery and let the tall, bony man pump his hand. "Early yesterday morning, Red. I'm staying over at the hotel. How are things here at the stable?"

  Red shrugged, grinning back. "I ain't complaining. A couple of folks around here have bought one of those new horseless carriages, but hell, they make so much racket and smoke, their day will pass. Then those people will be on my doorstep to buy a real carriage." He sat down on a vacant hay bale and motioned Dylan to another one. "Tell me, where've you been these past two-three years? We were ready to give you up for dead."

  Dylan sat and glanced at the cool, dark confines of the stable, inhaling the rich, familiar scents of horse and hay. "I knocked around for a while, but I was in Dawson for most of the time."

  "Went up for the gold rush, did you?"

  "I was already there when it got started. I owned a trading store. I bought and sold miners' outfits. I never saw so many men digging in the dirt in my life. You'd be surprised what people will do for the chance to get rich."

  Red looked wistful. "I was tempted to give it a try myself, but then I figured, what would happen to my boys and girls if I went? I couldn't leave 'em with just anybody, and you weren't here to take 'em." A stranger wouldn't realize that he was referring to his horses and not his children.

  Good old Red, Dylan thought. Still here in his baggy overalls and battered straw hat. "That's okay. It's good to see that some things don't change. Anyway, I was trying to decide if I wanted to spend another winter up there when I happened to come across an old copy of the Oregonian. I read about my brother and the old man."

  Red fidgeted a bit. "Say, I'm sure sorry about that. It was a surprise to the town." Dylan thought he was being especially tactful, given that Columbia Bank had nearly foreclosed on him for being one day late with a loan payment, after he'd established a long history of paying on time. Dylan never knew for sure what had happened, but he suspected that Griffin Harper had extorted some kind of bribe from the liveryman that didn't go on the books. A bachelor in his mid-fifties, Red's whole life was tied up in this stable, and he would have done anything to k
eep from losing it to the bank. The old man had probably known that.

  "You know we were always at odds, the three of us. Especially just before I left." Dylan stood and walked over to the stall containing Red's sweet-tempered sorrel mare. Sticking her head out, she bumped her nose against his chest and sniffed at his shirt pockets. He laughed, then to the mare he added, "I swear, Penelope, you'd follow anyone home if you thought you'd get an apple. I don't have anything for you."

  Red laughed. "But she knows a soft touch when she sees one."

  Dylan's smile faded. "Like some women I know."

  The older man pulled a straw out of the bale he was sitting on and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. "She's still living up there, if you're wondering." The whole town had known that Elizabeth and Dylan were engaged, but only Red really knew how much he'd cared about her.

  "I thought she might be."

  "But maybe not for long. It turns out there were a few years' worth of taxes that haven't been paid on that property. The county assessor aims to collect."

  Dylan stared at him. That was startling news. "And if they aren't paid?"

  "Well, I guess the sheriff will put it up for sale. I think they've held off as a courtesy to your brother's widow."

  This put everything in a new light. The plan that Dylan had formulated during the trip over from Portland became more firmly fixed in his mind.

  "Red, can I rent Penelope here for a little ride? I'd like to take a look at the home place."

  Red studied him for a moment, then stood up to get a saddle. "Sure, go ahead and take her. If you don't bring her back tonight, I won't worry."

  *~*~*

  The mare was a sturdy, dependable mount that didn't need much control, so Dylan had time to think as he rode out to the house. Regardless of the circumstances, or how many times his thoughts turned to Melissa, it was good to see these grasslands again. The Yukon had been majestic before the stampeders arrived, but not beautiful like this. The last of the day's sun was warm on his back, and off in the distance he heard the twitter of meadowlarks as they winged toward their nests for the night.

  Remnants of summer's wildflowers edged the road, and to his left the Columbia River stretched out below. Dylan could think of no place else on earth that looked so good in all seasons, even in the gray, rainy spring. He wished Melissa were here to see it.

  "Damn it," he swore aloud, "let's get going, Penelope." He had to stop thinking about her, wondering about her, envisioning her. She and Jenny were part of his past, and he had to try and keep them there.

  But thinking about his impending meeting with Elizabeth was no more comforting. How would he feel about seeing her after all this time? After . . . everything? Would the pain of her betrayal, once exquisitely sharp, spring to life again when he saw her?

  At last, he reached the long, graveled drive that led to the house where he'd grown up. He couldn't think of it as a home—he'd always felt alone and out of place there. Passing the stables, he saw the stall doors hanging open, swinging lazily on the light breeze. The stalls themselves were empty and rundown, and the entire structure needed to be cleaned and painted. Remembering the fine, blooded stock that had occupied the stables before, and how tidy and well kept they were, he felt a flash of white-hot anger. It was as if Griffin Harper had done everything he could to obliterate Dylan's hard work, and his very existence.

  But he got the biggest surprise of all when he rounded the last turn in the drive and saw the house. The stately colonial seemed just as desolate and forsaken, and in little better condition than the stables. What had happened here? he wondered. Red hadn't said anything about the property going to ruin, but it looked as if no one had lived here in months. The lawn had grown into a wild tangle that fell over the flagstone walk, and weeds grew through the gravel. For as long as Dylan could remember, the old man had kept two gardeners busy six months out of the year tending the grounds. No one had touched these in a long time.

  Dylan climbed down from his saddle and led Penelope to the hitching rail by the back door. Tying her up, he walked slowly around the place, looking up at the windows, searching for signs of life. Maybe Elizabeth was away or had moved back to her father's house. But where was the staff?

  Finally, he walked around to the double front doors, turned the knob, and stepped inside. There he found the entry hall and parlor as he remembered them, although he thought a piece or two of furniture were missing

  "Ada, did you forget something?" a familiar female voice called from the dining room.

  His heart began thudding in his chest, and his hands suddenly grew damp. "It's not Ada. It's me, Dylan."

  A moment of silence that seemed to stretch into an hour was followed by soft, hurried footsteps Elizabeth rushed out to the hallway and stared at him. She stood with her hand at her throat, utter surprise and perhaps a little fear stealing the color from her creamy cheeks. Her black wavy hair was swept into a coronet at the back of her head, and wispy tendrils curled in front of her ears. He saw no sign of mourning dress, though. She wore a beautiful white gown made of gauzy organdie, decorated with panels of inset lace. Looking as if she were preparing for a dinner party, she was as breathtaking as ever.

  "Dylan!" She took a step forward, and then another. "Wh-what are you doing here?" Her voice was still sweet and deceptively childlike.

  "I used to live here," he reminded her softly.

  "When did you get back?"

  "This morning. I heard about the accident, and I caught the boat down from Dawson."

  She came closer still. The familiar scent of roses followed her. "You've been in the Yukon? At the gold rush?"

  "For over two years. Look, Elizabeth"—he gestured at her hair and dress—"if I'm interrupting some plans of yours, I'll just get on my horse and ride back to town." Were those tears in her dark eyes? he wondered.

  "Oh, no, please stay! I have no plans at all. None. In fact, I—" She hurled herself into his arms. "Oh, Dylan, I'm so glad you're back! Everything will be fine now."

  *~*~*

  Melissa looked at the scrap of paper in her hand, then at the address on the house. Yes, this was the right place. It was a nice-looking home, with a neat lawn and window boxes, on a quiet tree-lined street.

  She was so nervous about this interview. Was she dressed correctly? What if she made a bad impression? She'd spent an hour or so each day sitting in the hotel lobby with Jenny, watching women pass by, studying their clothes and their manners, hoping to learn the ways of a lady. Certainly, her mother had taught her manners, but etiquette had been in short supply in her old neighborhood, and she hadn't learned much in Dawson.

  Taking a deep breath, she proceeded up the walk and climbed the stairs to the front porch.

  When she rang the bell, from within she heard a clamor of children's voices and a thunder of running feet that reverberated through the floorboards on the porch.

  "I'll get it!"

  "No, you always answer the door, and the telephone, too! Let me."

  "Ma, someone's at the door—"

  "You girls hush now and go back to your schoolwork, or you'll be doing all the cooking every night for a month!"

  "Aw, Ma—"

  "Lordy, don't call me 'Ma' in front of company! It sounds rude. Go on with you—"

  After the sound of more giggling and scampering feet, the front door opened, and Melissa saw a little bird of a woman with high color in her cheeks and smiling brown eyes. She wore her rich chestnut hair in a luxuriant knot on top of her head that added perhaps another three or four inches to her diminutive height. Without knowing anything more about her, Melissa instinctively took a liking to her. Perhaps it was the kindness she saw in the woman's eyes.

  "Mrs. Keller?"

  "Yes, yes," she replied eagerly. "And you're Mrs. Logan?"

  Melissa tried not to cringe, but she knew she couldn't use Dylan's name any longer. After all, Logan was Jenny's name, although nowhere was it recorded as such. Birth certificates had been in short su
pply on the frozen banks of Lake Bennett when Jenny was born.

  "Yes, I'm Melissa Logan."

  "My nephew, Tommy, telephoned about you." Mrs. Keller reached for her hand and shook it, practically pulling her in over the threshold. "Please do come in."

  Inside, the house was as neat as a pin. The furnishings weren't extravagant, but there was such a homey atmosphere, Melissa began to relax a little.

  The bustling little woman ushered her to what appeared to be the nicest chair in the parlor. Then she sat down opposite Melissa and poured coffee from a pot that stood waiting on the side table.

  "Tommy said you want to rent a house." Tommy Keller was a polite young man who worked in the dining room at the Portland Hotel. Melissa had struck up a conversation with him a few times, and he'd told her about his aunt. Only to him had she confided her legal last name.

  Melissa accepted a cup of coffee and nodded. "Well, yes, I've just come back to town from Dawson. My husband died while we were up there, and I didn't want my baby to spend another winter in the Yukon. Now I'm looking for a place to live."

  "Oh, dear, to be widowed so young—" She reached over and patted Melissa's hand. "I know how you must feel. I was young when I lost Mr. Keller. Fortunately, he left me with a little income and some property, or I'd really be in a fix."

  Melissa couldn't very well reveal that Coy's death hadn't devastated her. Her separation from Dylan was a thousand times more painful. But she wanted to make a good impression, so she admitted reluctantly, "It's been hard, but I think Jenny and I will be, fine if we can just settle someplace."

  Mrs. Keller nodded sagely. "A woman's instinct is always to make a nest, and I can well imagine how difficult that would be in a hotel, especially with a child. Um, where is your baby today?"

  "The hotel staff has been very kind to me. When I told the manager about this appointment, he offered to have one of the chambermaids watch her for me. She's such a good-tempered child, I don't think she'll have much trouble with her." Of course, except for Tommy Keller, the staff all believed she was Mrs. Dylan Harper.