“What are you doing?” Jackson murmured.
“I’m sketching you,” she said. Her hand moved between glances at him and the sketch pad.
Jackson turned to the boy, who now stood and was moving closer. Very clever. Instead of approaching the boy directly, Daisy was luring him to her. She worked quickly, her slender wrist gliding the pencil across the page with swift, adept strokes. She used the tips of her fingers to smudge the lines into the desired effect, her lips pursed tight in concentration.
Before long Andy stood at her side, watching the sketch on the page emerge before his eyes.
Daisy held up the pad to the boy. “What do you think? Does it look like him?”
Andy smirked, and Daisy broke out laughing. Jackson watched the pair, wondering what they found so amusing.
“May I see?” he asked, feeling like the butt of some joke.
Daisy leaned toward Andy. “Should we show him?”
Her love for children was evident in her effortless talent for putting the boy at ease. With a nod, Andy smiled broadly, exposing a missing front tooth. She turned the pad toward Jackson. The sketch was a remarkable facsimile to him, except for the gigantic pair of ears protruding from his head.
Daisy and Andy absorbed Jackson’s reaction, giggling harder. “I don’t think he likes it, Andy,” she said playfully.
The boy shook his head in answer.
Jackson leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Bravo, Mrs. Lansing,” he said with a smile. “You’ve captured my likeness to a fault.”
Daisy laughed, dropping the pad to the table as Mrs. Rhodes returned to the room with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of cider.
“Would you like me to sketch you, Andy?” Daisy asked as Mrs. Rhodes placed the tray on the table.
With an eager nod, Andy slid into the chair at Daisy’s side.
Daisy glanced to Jackson. “Perhaps you and Mrs. Rhodes can enjoy your cider on the porch.” She gestured with her eyes toward the door.
Jackson took the hint and rose from the table. “Join me, Mrs. Rhodes?”
The woman glanced to Andy. Seeing the boy was in good hands, she nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ll be right outside, Andy.”
“We’ll let you know when we’re finished,” Daisy assured Mrs. Rhodes. She glanced at Jackson. “Please allow us some privacy until then.”
* * * *
Daisy added a set of large ears to her sketch of Andy, too, enjoying the sound of his laughter when she showed him the finished drawing. The boy seemed completely at ease as he nodded or shook his head in response to her general chatter. While she dreaded causing him any distress, she couldn’t stall any longer. In one last-ditch attempt to avoid using the cursed ability that had cost her so much, she asked, “Can you tell me what happened that day your father was shot?”
Andy’s small shoulders stiffened.
Daisy sighed. “You were there, weren’t you, Andy?”
He nodded, lowering his head.
Daisy drew a sharp breath against the ache in her chest. “Can you tell me about it?”
He shook his head hard.
“Or perhaps you’re too afraid to talk about it?”
She couldn’t blame him, and her heart filled with sorrow for what he had witnessed. A part of her wanted to leave him in peace, but she couldn’t. He was a threat to the killer, and in real danger now. She had to do what she must. “If you don’t want to speak about it, Andy, you don’t have to. But perhaps you could think about it for a few moments instead.”
He glanced up.
“Can you do that for me?” she asked. “Can you close your eyes and think about it?”
He gave a wary nod.
“Good boy.” She smiled. “Now take my hand and close your eyes.” She held Andy’s hand between hers. “I know how difficult this must be for you. And I know it hurts to remember.” She squeezed his small hand in hers. “But you are safe with Mrs. Rhodes. The man who hurt your father can’t hurt you here, so you don’t have to be afraid.”
She slipped her hand from his, then reached for her pad and pencil. Her hands trembled as she prepared to do what she’d sworn never to do again. Closing her eyes, she staved off her own fears. The memory of the last time she’d traveled this path, the horrified faces and the scandal that followed, detoured the way. She focused harder, forging past the shame and regret and into that desolate place where it all opened wide. She emptied her mind to accept the boy’s thoughts. Her fingers twitched on the page. Her tingling hand moved, ceding to the powerful force, as she let the pencil—her ability—take full control.
Andy’s fear flooded through her. Submerged in the current, she plunged deeper and deeper into his memories, into the unstoppable movement of her hand and whatever images she was pulling from his mind.
Her hand finally stilled, and she opened her eyes. She’d no idea how long she’d been drawing, but Andy’s wide-eyed expression told her it had been a while. She glanced down at the sketch pad.
She’d no real recollection of producing the images that had rushed through her mind. The drawing had poured onto the page of its own volition. But now the boy’s horrible memories, each vivid detail of what he’d seen, chased the air from her lungs. She closed the pad quickly. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded.
She gave him a moment, then opened the pad. “Is this the man you saw shoot your father?”
His gaze fixed on the page. Lifting his trembling chin, he gave a firm nod.
She smiled, drawing him into her arms. “You’re a very brave little boy,” she said as she reluctantly released him. “But we mustn’t let anyone know about what you saw, or what occurred here today. Not yet, anyway.” She took hold of his hands. “Understand?”
Andy stared up at her with frightened eyes. His lips quivered. “Will… Will he go to jail?”
Daisy swallowed hard. The hoarse words he had summoned from the depth of his fear spurred her to tears. She stared into his little face. Swelling with a fierce urge to protect him, she offered a promise she hoped Jackson could keep. “Mr. Gallway will see to it.”
* * * *
Jackson sat in one of the spindle-back rocking chairs on the porch, wondering what was happening inside. The sun disappeared behind the thickening clouds in the distance. Tall birch trees swayed in the breeze. The sound of wind bells chimed through the yard.
“She likes you.” Mrs. Rhodes nodded to the cat weaving between his legs.
Jackson watched as the friendly creature brushed against one ankle, then the other, purring loudly. Jackson had known several women whose advances were less subtle, and as usual, he couldn’t resist. “So it seems,” he said, obliging the cat with a slow stroke to its fur.
Mrs. Rhodes began talking, and to his dismay, she didn’t stop. Her rambling gossip about people he didn’t know droned on until his neck cramped from the constant nods he used to conceal his total lack of interest. Even the cat nestling his boot seemed bored.
Jackson couldn’t wait another minute longer. He stood, interrupting Mrs. Rhodes mid-sentence. “I’ll go see if they’re finished,” he said, walking to the door. He slipped inside the house.
He took a few steps on the carpet runner, then stopped, awed by the scene. Amid the stark silence, Daisy sat, vacant eyes open, entranced in some spell. The pencil she held flew over the page, striking this way and that, up and down, side to side.
An eerie chill ran down his spine. The instinct to call out her name and awaken her from the disturbing state was hard to resist. He retreated from the room, wishing he’d heeded Daisy’s advice to remain on the porch.
He stepped outside and returned to his seat next to Mrs. Rhodes, bracing himself against the emotions roiling inside him. Whether Daisy’s attempt with Andy was a success or a failure, in this moment, after witnessing the bizarre scene inside, Jackson couldn’t summon the wits to care.
A few minutes later, Dais
y emerged from the house. Jackson shot to his feet. She looked slightly pale, but otherwise, she seemed no worse for the wear. Jackson shifted his weight from foot to foot, lost for something to say.
“Andy is speaking,” she announced.
Mrs. Rhodes pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “How did you do it?”
“He was ready,” Daisy said. “I merely happened to be present.”
Jackson regarded her closely, admiring her modesty.
“Thank you for allowing us to visit with him, Mrs. Rhodes,” Daisy said. “We’ll be on our way now.”
The woman tossed a nod skyward. “I think it’s best you stay for supper. Those clouds mean business.”
“Thank you, but I must return to the city as soon as possible,” Jackson said.
“I think Mrs. Rhodes is right,” Daisy said. “Perhaps we should wait it out here.”
“We’ll be fine.” Jackson tipped his hat to Mrs. Rhodes. “Thank you, again,” he said as he took Daisy’s arm.
He helped Daisy into the wagon, then hopped up to the driver’s seat. With a snap of the reins, he urged the horse to move, waiting until they were out of view of the house before stopping the wagon and turning to Daisy.
“What did he say? Did he see anything?”
“You were right.” Her blue eyes brimmed with tears. “He saw everything.” She opened her case and pulled out her sketch pad. “The poor child saw everything.”
Jackson took a deep breath.
“This is the man he saw shoot his father.” Daisy handed Jackson the pad.
He glanced at the sketch. The spatter of bold slashes and strokes conveyed the violence of the crime, and his blood turned stone cold in his veins. He focused on the face centered amidst the random images on the page. His heart shot to his throat. He swallowed hard, unable to pull his eyes away from it.
“You’re certain?”
“I am certain,” she said. “What does it mean?”
Her tone dipped with concern for the boy. Jackson swallowed again. “It means my client is innocent,” he said finally. “And a killer walks free.”
Chapter 3
Daisy’s mood grew as dark as the sky. Thick clouds sailed overhead. The wind blew harder. She tightened her shawl around her, cursing their foolishness for declining Mrs. Rhodes’s supper invitation. The mountain trail could be trying in the best of weather conditions, but traveling in the rain would demand more stamina than she could muster after her draining visit with Andy.
She clenched and unclenched her fist to awaken the numbness that still lingered in her hand. Her arm felt like lead.
“We should forgo the logging trail and take the main road down to town,” she advised.
Jackson shook his head. “I need to get back to Troy. We’ll take the shortcut.”
“The rain could make the trail dangerous. And if it rains hard enough—”
“We have plenty of time before the storm hits,” he replied, glancing skyward.
“You don’t know that. You’re not familiar with this territory. These storms—”
“You’re not going soft on me now, are you, Mrs. Lansing?”
She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Why is it you lawyers think you know everything?” she asked. “Is arrogance a requirement for your profession?”
“Absolutely.” He laughed.
But ten minutes later, he wasn’t laughing anymore. Daisy cowered in her seat, holding tight to the bonnet flapping against her ears. Lightning flashed through the trees, and the sound of thunder rumbled closer and closer. Rain blew on a wind so fierce the drops hurt when they hit.
The urge to remind Jackson that she’d told him so clogged in her throat with the fear things might only get worse. Felled branches hindered their pace. Twice already Jackson had had to climb from the wagon to drag the gnarled limbs off the muddy trail.
The horse plodded on, the wagon lunging and bounding behind. The wagon plunged into another deep rut, tipping forward as it lurched to a stop. The horse strained to pull the buried front wheels from the muddy bog, but this time the old rig wouldn’t budge.
Jackson hopped out to inspect the situation. “Damn it!”
The two words said it all. Even without looking, she knew it was hopeless. The wagon was mired in mud, and there was no sense wasting time. They needed shelter. Waiting out the storm beneath the bed of the wagon was no option now.
“Cuffy’s shanty is just up ahead,” Daisy shouted above the wind. “We can make it on foot.”
Jackson helped her down from the driver’s side, then scrambled to unhitch the nervous horse from the wagon. He stuffed Daisy’s case and some other supplies into saddlebags and tossed them over the horse. Daisy trudged behind, cursing Jackson under her breath as he led the mare through the slippery muck.
The foolish man’s rush to return to the city had them ankle deep in mud and neck deep in trouble. They trekked to the shanty, where Jackson tied the horse to a nearby tree. Daisy didn’t bother to wait before pounding on the door. When no one answered, she pushed open the door and stumbled inside.
Yanking off her soggy bonnet, she shook the rain from her head, stomping the mud from her shoes. She spun to face Jackson. “I told you!”
He barged past her, his gaze darting around the dim room. During a flash of lightning, he reached for a lamp.
“I knew we shouldn’t have taken the trail. Why didn’t you listen to me?” she said to his back.
He lit the lamp. The small room came alive with light in the darkness of the storm outside. “We’ll be fine here,” he said. But his voice was filled with more irritation than confidence.
“What about the wagon?” she asked. “How do you propose we get back to town?”
Jackson ignored the question, tossing his hat to a small bench near the fireplace. He bent to start a fire as Daisy paced behind him. “You and your big hurry to get back to Troy,” she said. “You—”
“I want to free an innocent man before he dies!” He stood to face her. His brows slanted above cold blue eyes. She blinked hard at his loss of temper. He took a breath, collecting himself. “Randal Morgan is ill. He doesn’t have much time. I’m trying to clear his name before he dies behind bars. Thanks to your sketch, I may now be able to do that,” he said. “Not to mention aid the authorities in apprehending the man who murdered Andy’s father.”
She lowered her gaze, shamed by her selfishness. It wasn’t as though she’d forgotten about Andy and what he’d witnessed, but she was trying hard not to think about it. Her stomach turned. How she’d hated making the poor boy relive it. While she couldn’t regret using her ability in this instance, the wrenching memory of his pained little face spurred her to tears. She blinked them back. Despite everything, her vexation at Jackson lingered.
“It’s almost dark now; we’ll never make it tonight,” she muttered. “This is a nightmare.”
“Calm yourself and come sit down,” Jackson said. The fire sparked into a nice blaze in no time. Jackson peeled off his coat and hung it over the back of the chair. “Sit.”
Daisy sighed. Hiking up her heavy wet skirts, she strode to the chair, then plopped down in front of the fire. “A nightmare,” she uttered again, crossing her arms to her chest.
He dragged a small chair from the sawbuck table, then sat next to her. The wobbly thing creaked beneath his weight, and she wondered how Cuffy hadn’t yet landed on his rump atop a pile of splinters. “We’ll be safe here until morning,” Jackson said. “We’ll get the wagon at daybreak, then slip back into town as discreetly as we left.”
“What if we can’t get the wagon out?”
Jackson frowned. “Then we walk back.”
She took a deep breath, trying hard to stay calm. “I don’t suppose we have much choice,” she said. Inside, though, her mind was whirling with worries. Her hard-earned reputation was at stake, and although she had no regrets for her actions today, she couldn’t afford troubl
e.
And no matter how persuasive the arrogant attorney was at downplaying the situation, there was no disputing the fact that spending the night in a cabin in the middle of the woods, alone with Jackson Gallway, definitely qualified as trouble.
* * * *
Daisy couldn’t stop shivering. Rain battered the roof. Dripping water splashed into a coffee tin in the corner. Despite the discomfort of sitting in damp skirts, she refused to take off her clothing. Jackson, on the other hand, had no qualms about stripping down. His fine coat and shirt hung, drying by the fire. A small towel covered his bare shoulders as he rummaged around, unabashed by his improper lack of attire.
She shivered again.
“Drink this,” he said, handing her a tin cup. “It will warm you up.”
The scent of whiskey filled her senses as she raised the cup to her lips. She took a deep sip, felt the heat of the whiskey flow through her veins. Hugging the quilt around her, she began to relax. Her feet were soaked. Jackson tossed a pair of wool socks onto her lap.
“Take off your shoes and put those on,” he said. “I’m sure your friend, the giant, won’t mind if you borrow them.”
Daisy turned away from him to remove her shoes and unroll her stockings. She hung the filthy things over the bench by the fireplace and set her muddy shoes on the hearth alongside Jackson’s large boots.
The sight of their footwear, drying side by side in the firelight, seemed so intimate. She stole a glance in his direction. His dark hair was tousled, and there was a wildness about him that she hadn’t noticed when he’d been properly dressed. Below the thin towel draped over his shoulders, muscles flexed as he leaned casually with his elbows on his knees. His lack of modesty in her presence was unnerving. And exciting.
For the briefest of moments, she wondered what life might be like with a man like him. A man near to her age, vital and strong.
The Lady Who Drew Me In Page 3
