“Hello,” she said. “Don’t I know you?”
For an instant he thought she remembered who he was. Her next words made it clear she didn’t. “We met in town, I think.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t remember your name.”
“Frank Meade,” he said.
“Yes, that’s right. Come in, Frank.”
Frank looked around for someone to stop him. There wasn’t anybody, so he stepped inside. Trahern’s wealth was even more evident on the inside than the outside.
The house had the standard dogtrot entrance typical in most Texas homes, with a hall down the center and doors leading off to rooms on either side. But there all resemblance to the hovel in which Frank lived ceased.
The walls were paneled with walnut and a chandelier graced the entryway. He saw bits of china and pewter in the dining room on the right. Merielle led him to a parlor on the left where lush green velvet curtains framed the windows. A mahogany piano stood in one corner, with a piece of music on the stand. He wondered if Merielle still played. She had hated her lessons before—
He forced himself to focus again on the room. Two settees faced each other separated by a plush Oriental carpet. One wall held shelves full of leather-bound books. A comfortable reading chair was close by. His jaw dropped when he caught sight of the elaborately carved marble fireplace. It was covered with half-dressed cherubs.
He self-consciously brushed off his trousers before he lowered himself gingerly onto the shiny brocade that covered one of the settees. To his amazement, Merielle sat down right beside him.
“Now, Frank,” she began. “Tell me all about yourself.”
It had been the strangest conversation of his life. He told her things he had never told her before. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there when Trahern entered the room. When he spotted Frank, the man had murder in his eyes.
Frank stood instantly, looked for the way out, and saw that Trahern had it blocked. Since he couldn’t flee, he prepared himself to fight.
Only, Merielle took the fight right out of her father when she said, “Frank has come to ask you for a job, Father. You will give him one, won’t you? Frank could hitch up my buggy and drive me to town, and then you wouldn’t always have to stop what you’re doing to worry about me. And Frank knows all about cattle. Don’t you, Frank?”
The two men were helpless to deny her what she wanted. They both loved her more than their own lives. So Trahern agreed to hire Frank. Oh, he watched him like a hawk. But he hired him. In return, Frank had worked hard to make Trahern respect him. And he had spent every spare moment he could with Merielle. Loving her.
But he had never spoken of the past.
Only, now that Ethan had put the thought in his head, Frank couldn’t wait to get Merielle alone to talk to her about what had happened all those years ago. He was terrified, because he had found something he thought he had lost.
Hope.
Frank was working in the barn, forking hay into a stall when Merielle suddenly appeared.
“Father and I are going to town. Would you hitch up the buggy for us?”
Frank leaned the pitchfork against the side of the empty stall. “Sure.” He pulled a bandanna from his pocket and swiped at his face.
“You missed a spot.” Merielle took the bandanna from him and rose up on tiptoes to dab at a spot on his temple. “There. That’s better.”
When she offered the bandanna back to him, Frank caught her hand in his. “Merielle, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
She looked guilelessly up at him. “What, Frank?”
Frank opened his mouth and closed it again. “Let’s go up into the loft and talk there.” Maybe if they were back in the loft together, it would help spark some memory of the past.
Merielle looked uncertainly up the ladder.
“Don’t be afraid,” Frank said. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”
It was a sign of how much time they had spent together, and of how much she trusted him, that Merielle climbed right up the ladder. Once they were at the top, she headed immediately for the open loft door.
“Oh, you can see everything from here,” she said as she gazed out over the rolling prairie.
Frank came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. It was the first time he had touched more than her hand in seventeen years. His hands were trembling, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Merielle looked over her shoulder at him and smiled.
Encouraged by her lack of fear, he said, “You and I were up in this loft together once before. Do you remember?”
Her brow furrowed. He felt her shoulders tense. She shook her head. “No.”
He turned her around so she faced him. “It was the day before your thirteenth birthday.” Frank’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like he had been running. It was hard to breathe. He felt panic building, but he fought it back.
“When we were here the last time, we kissed each other,” he said.
“We did?”
“We promised to meet the next day, so we could kiss some more.”
Her eyes were a dark chocolate brown. He had lost himself in them more than once, years ago. Now they looked wary.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed,” she said.
“Oh, but you have. I’ve kissed you myself. Would you like me to show you how it’s done?”
He was holding her hands, waiting for her to pull away. Instead, she lifted her face to his and said, “All right, Frank.”
He kissed her. It was the barest touch of lips.
When he lifted his head, she was staring at him strangely. She pulled one hand free and touched her lips in wonder.
Remember! he willed her. Remember what we had together.
“I …” She put her hand to her forehead as though she were dizzy, then looked up at him as though she had never seen him before. “Would you kiss me again?”
His heart thundered. He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers. She made a small sound in her throat, but when he would have ended the kiss, she put a hand on his shoulder to hold him there. He slid his arms around her and pulled her close.
This moment was all his dreams come true. She was in his arms kissing him again, and he was kissing her. He thought he would go crazy when her body arched instinctively toward his.
The instant she came in contact with the hard length of him, she wrenched herself free. He sought her eyes. Instead of the wonder and delight of the past, he found terror and confusion.
“Don’t kiss me anymore, Frank. It … it scares me. I feel … strange inside.”
He reached out to her, and she shrank from him.
“It’s all right, Merielle,” he said. “I just want to hold you.”
“You won’t … you won’t hurt me, will you, Frank?”
“Oh, God, no, Merielle,” he said, horrified that she could even think such a thing.
She threw herself into his embrace. “You’re my best friend, Frank,” she said, her cheek pressed against his chest. “Please don’t be mad at me.”
He slid his hand down her silky hair again and again in a gesture of comfort that brought back the most painful of happy memories. “I’m not mad,” he murmured against her temple.
“You won’t kiss me again, will you? I didn’t like it.”
“I promise I won’t kiss you again.”
Now he knew why he had never spoken with Merielle about that long-ago day. Because before there had always been hope. Hope that she would somehow cast off the childlike demeanor that had protected her from the awful truth and be ready for a life with him as the woman she had become. Now there was nothing to look forward to except endless unfulfilled longing.
“Hey, Frank! You got that buggy hitched up yet?” Trahern called from the front porch of the house.
“Not yet,” Frank called back.
“Get a move on! I’m late for a meeting with the sheriff.”
Frank grabbed Merielle’s hand and head
ed for the ladder down out of the loft. He went first and she followed quickly after him. He had reached the floor of the barn by the time Trahern barked, “Is Merielle out there?”
“She’s here,” Frank called back.
“Send her on into the house. I want to talk to her before we leave.”
Merielle started for the barn door, but Frank caught her hand to stop her. She kept her back to him and said, “Father wants me. I have to go.”
Frank could hear the fear in her voice. He tried to turn her around so he could look at her, but she resisted him.
“No—” She was almost frantic to get away from him.
But he was stronger. When he finally got her turned around, she burst into tears. He drew her into his arms and held her close.
“It’s all right, Merielle. It’s only me. It’s Frank.”
“I’m sorry, Frank. I don’t know why I got so scared,” she confessed.
But he knew.
He could feel her shuddering. “Shhh,” he soothed. “I’m not going to hurt you. No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”
“I … I … my head hurts,” she said. “I think there’s something I should remember, but when I try, it hurts!”
“Then don’t try,” he said in a quiet voice.
Frank cupped Merielle’s face in one hand and caressed her damp cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Smile for me,” he said in a gentle voice.
Merielle managed a wobbly smile. “I’ll always smile for you, Frank.”
He turned her toward the barn door. “Go on, now. And tell your father I’ll be there in a minute.”
The instant she was gone, Frank let out the sob that had been building in his chest. He brushed his eyes roughly with the sleeve of his shirt and tried to get hold of himself. It wasn’t the end of the world. She considered him her friend. She smiled for him. He could still love her.
Only not as a woman.
His throat felt raw, swollen so thick it hurt. “God! Do something! Help me!” he pleaded in a raspy voice. “I don’t know how long I can keep on seeing her every day, wanting her, and knowing I can never have her.”
There was no answering voice. Because he was living in hell. There was no God here.
Patch paused one step beyond the shadowed alley and squinted her eyes against the brilliant sunlight. Ethan was more careful. He stopped and stared out into the sunlight from the safety of the alley until his eyes had adjusted to the differing light. He couldn’t afford to be blinded even for a second. A bullet was faster than chain lightning with a link snapped.
When Ethan stood at her side, Patch said, “I have to make a stop at the post office first and mail a letter to my family. Why don’t you go ahead to the sheriff’s office, and I’ll meet you there.”
“I’m not sure I should let you out of my sight,” Ethan replied with a wry smile. “I might not see you again till suppertime.”
Patch wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m only going across the street.”
“All right. But don’t be long.” Ethan studied the main street of town with narrowed eyes. “And watch your step.”
“I’ll be fine,” Patch assured him. “You’re the one who needs to be careful.” She let her gaze follow the same path as his. “Do you really think there’s someone waiting out there to shoot you?”
“Crowd the fence and someone’s liable to boost you over.”
Patch waited for the dust to settle after a wagon loaded with farm tools passed, then began her trek across the rutted dirt road. When she arrived on the other side, she looked for Ethan over her shoulder, but all she saw was the door to the sheriff’s office closing.
She walked briskly into the Oakville Mercantile, intending to drop off her letter and leave. After all, she had promised Ethan she would join him as soon as she could. She fully intended to keep that promise. Of course, that was before she ran into Merielle Trahern.
Merielle wasn’t alone. Frank was with her. Patch was dying to ask whether Frank had found an opportunity to speak with Merielle about the past, and what the results of that talk might have been. Merielle hadn’t seen her yet, so Patch mouthed to Frank, Have you talked to her?
Frank mouthed back, Yes.
Does she remember anything?
Frank shook his head once, twice. No.
Before Patch had time to register the disappointment she felt, Merielle spied her.
“Patch! My friend, Patch!” Merielle’s face was wreathed in a smile of delight. “Where have you been? I wanted to invite you to come to my house, but I didn’t know how to find you.”
Patch accepted Merielle’s embrace and hugged her back. “I’m staying with a friend of mine, and yours too, once upon a time—Ethan Hawk.”
Patch ignored the frown Frank aimed at her for bringing up Ethan’s name. She was too busy searching Merielle’s face for any sign of recognition.
Merielle’s pretty brow furrowed. “Ethan Hawk? Do I know him?” She placed a gloved fingertip to her temple.
“Is something wrong?” Patch asked.
“I … My head hurts.”
Because she’s trying to remember, Patch thought. But why did remembering hurt? Obviously, the events of that day were simply too horrible to contemplate. Or maybe it was more than that. What if it had been someone close to Merielle who had violated her trust? Like Frank.
Or Ethan.
Patch shoved that second thought aside. She wouldn’t believe that Ethan was capable of such a heinous crime. It occurred to Patch that if it hurt Merielle to try to remember, the memories were there!
Obviously, Frank was too protective of Merielle—or worried about the answers she might give—to force her to recall the past. Patch wasn’t. Somehow, she had to find a way to be alone with Merielle, to provoke the girl’s memory, to force her to confront what had happened and remember.
Frank loomed over Merielle’s shoulder. “We’d better be leaving now. Your pa—”
Merielle shook her head and stood her ground. “I don’t want to leave. I want to talk to Patch.”
To Patch’s surprise, Mr. Felber appeared at Merielle’s other shoulder. “Jefferson Trahern wouldn’t take it kindly if you upset his daughter,” he warned Patch.
“Patch is my friend,” Merielle said to Mr. Felber. “She’s coming to my house for supper.”
“Miz Kendrick probably has other plans,” Frank said. His message to Patch was clear: Don’t come.
“I’m not doing anything that would keep me from joining Merielle for supper,” Patch countered with a beatific smile at Frank.
Frank’s lips pressed flat in disapproval. For some reason, Mr. Felber didn’t look too happy, either.
“When can you come?” Merielle asked.
“When would you like me to come?”
“Today.”
“Your father might have other plans,” Frank cautioned Merielle.
“He won’t mind if I invite Patch. Do you, Father?”
Patch turned and saw that Jefferson Trahern had entered the store. Her first impressions were of power and pride. He was a big man, both broad and tall, with collar-length white hair and a neatly trimmed salt and pepper mustache. He was wearing a black broadcloth suit with a brocade vest that hid a slight paunch at his waist and a string tie that emphasized the sagging flesh at his throat.
This was the Jefferson Trahern she had imagined, a man who wouldn’t hesitate to crush his enemy. This man was easy to hate.
Her second impressions were no less distinct, but gave her a contrary image of Trahern which made her uneasy. Lines of pain and bitterness pinched his nose and bracketed his mouth. When his gaze alighted on his daughter, his dark brown eyes bore a look so sad they made Patch want to weep.
But it would be a cold day in hell before she wept for Jefferson Trahern. This was the man who had hounded Ethan Hawk to hell and back. Trahern had made sure Ethan spent the better part of his youth in prison. Trahern wanted Ethan Hawk dead.
Patch curled her clawed fingers into da
intily gloved fists that she kept hidden in her skirt. She wasn’t about to let Trahern know what she really thought of him. The smile on her face as she turned to greet Merielle’s father was so warm it would have melted butter.
“Why, hello,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Mr. Trahern. I’m Patricia Kendrick.”
Trahern tipped his flat-crowned hat. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Kendrick. Merielle has told me about you.”
Patch was surprised. “She did?”
Trahern gave Patch a look up and down. She was careful to keep her eyes lowered demurely, to look as mild-mannered and gently bred as she possibly could.
Merielle hurried over to her father and looped her arm through his. “Father, I’ve invited Patch to supper tonight. You don’t mind if she comes, do you?”
Trahern pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose it would be all right.”
Merielle stood on her toes and tugged on her father’s arm so he knew to bend down for her kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Father.”
Merielle turned to Patch, her face beaming. “See, I told you he wouldn’t mind.”
“Are you sure it won’t be any trouble?” Patch asked Trahern.
“If my daughter wants you to come to supper, you’ll come.”
Trahern’s statement sounded more like an order than an invitation. Patch bit back a scathing retort, told her neck hairs to settle down, and nodded her acquiescence. “What time?” she asked.
“We eat after the sun sets.”
“I’ll be there,” Patch said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.” She swept past Trahern, dropped her letter on the counter for Mr. Felber to send off in the next day’s mail, and left the mercantile with her chin up and her shoulders squared.
Once outside, Patch crossed beyond the window out of sight, then quickly backed up against the wooden wall of the building. She took several deep breaths. She unballed her fists and realized her hands were trembling.
Patch knew it was unreasonable to despise Jefferson Trahern. He had lost his beautiful daughter on the same day his only son was killed. His grief must have been awful, overwhelming. She couldn’t blame him for wanting justice. She probably would have applauded his efforts, if only he weren’t stalking the man she loved. But Jefferson Trahern had to be stopped. And the best way to do that was to find out the truth.
Outlaw’s Bride Page 10
