Secrets In The Shadows

by Sheridon Smythe

  * * * *

  When the sound of his cheerful whistle died away completely, Lacy scrambled from the tub and dried herself with a towel. For a moment, she'd had the silliest notion that Adam Logan wanted to kiss her. But no, it was just her imagination. He seemed to take a perverse pleasure in embarrassing her, that was all.

  And he had succeeded.

  Lacy raked the clean shift over her head, bemused over the full tenderness in her breasts. The soft cotton fabric felt like wool against her sensitive skin. Adam Logan had done this to her with nothing more than a look. What in thunder would have happened if he had touched her?

  She took a deep, calming breath. The feelings were natural. After all, she had been a married woman. But she didn't want to be again, which meant she had to control her wayward desires. Staying away from Adam Logan would be a good start.

  Lacy reached into the tub and pulled the rag from the drain. Thanks to her grandfather's ingenious thinking, the dirty water traveled through a long series of metal pipes, and into a field beyond the yard. Lacy gathered the wet towel against her chest and cautiously peeped out, relieved to find the yard empty.

  Adam Logan didn't seem like the marrying type anyway, she reflected, scurrying across the short expanse of ground to the back door.

  She stopped just inside the kitchen as another thought struck her, a startling thought. If Adam wasn't the marrying kind, what was she worried about? It wasn't likely the fire would have the opportunity to get out of control—if there was a fire. She knew her body had responded to the heat in his gaze, but what did she really know about men and how they felt?

  She knew they could hit hard.

  Would Adam be like David?

  Lacy raced up the stairs, her earlier fatigue forgotten. She was a fool to think such dangerous thoughts. There was her reputation to consider, and Grandpa, and the children.

  As long as she avoided being alone with Adam, she would be safe. She had her family, people she knew and trusted.

  It was all she needed.

  She was dressed and well into her ironing by the time a pleasing thought occurred to her. Adam had said he didn't like her cooking, but that was because of the pie Takola had ruined. Which meant it wasn't her cooking, not really. She groaned to think of what that pie must have tasted like, filled with salt instead of sugar.

  She should have a stern talk with Takola. If word got around about that blackberry pie, it could mean the end of her pie-baking business. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She admired Takola's spirit, but if she was going to live among them, she would have to learn to be more civilized.

  Lacy sighed. Being civilized wasn't always easy, or fun.

  Chapter Seven

  Adam didn't know whether to laugh or cuss. He held the shirt before him and studied the penciled markings, his dark brows lifted in amazement. “She hates me, she really hates me."

  "That wasn't Lacy's doing, Sheriff,” Ben said, hopping from foot to foot. “Takola did it. She draws all the time."

  "Hmmm.” Adam studied the drawing. There was no mistaking what the picture was about. The soldier had a gruesome look of glee on his face as he fired down at the Indian woman. A small child clung to her leg, its mouth open in a soundless scream. Adam muffled a curse. “My God, did she actually see this happen?"

  Standing next to Ben, Rusty rubbed his whiskered chin and said sadly, “Reckon she must have. Don't see how she could've drawn it otherwise. I'll take the shirt back to Lacy; she'll wash it again for ya."

  Adam moved it out of his reach. “No. I want to keep it. You say she draws others? Are they all the same?"

  Ben shook his head. “No, they're all different, or most of ‘em anyway.” He threw an uneasy glance at Rusty, and Adam caught the exchange.

  "Don't worry, Ben. Dr. Martin told me about Takola. I won't be tellin’ anyone."

  Rusty and Ben sighed collectively. “There now, Ben, see? The sheriff'll keep our little secret.” Rusty seemed to forget he had been as worried as Ben. “Don't know why they'd be concerned no-how. She doesn't talk, just draws. She drew on all four walls of her room, right after she showed up."

  "How did you find out her name?” Adam asked curiously.

  "Appears she can write some. She got tired of us calling her ‘that girl', and wrote her name for us. Drew a picture of a fox to show us what the name meant.” Rusty chuckled as he remembered. “That fox looked so real, I kept waitin’ for it to take off running."

  "She's good,” Adam agreed. “But why my shirt?"

  Ben's face was earnest as he answered, “She likes you. If she didn't, she wouldn't've drawn you nothin'. Ain't that right, Grandpa? She gives us pictures all the time, and she likes us."

  "Reckon she might have been tryin’ to apologize, too."

  Adam lifted a brow at Rusty. “Apologize? Oh, you mean the whack she gave my head."

  "No, I mean the ornery stunt she pulled with the pie. Lacy told me about it, how she let Takola mix it up ‘cause she was in an all-fired hurry to get it to ya."

  "Takola made the pie?” Adam nearly shouted.

  Too late, Rusty saw the hole yawning before him. “You didn't know? But I thought Lacy ... I thought she told you ... Ah, hell. Now I'm gonna be in hot water."

  Adam carefully spread the shirt on the desk, his mouth grim. Why hadn't Lacy just told him the truth? What in hell did she think he would do to Takola? Beat her? Shoot her? Throw her in jail? It made him furious to think Lacy might actually believe any of those things about him. Yes, he had teased her about throwing them in jail ... but hell, she had known he was teasing, hadn't she?

  "Ah, hell,” Adam muttered aloud. It seemed he had some additional talking to do with the tempting widow Ross.

  * * * *

  Lacy stepped carefully into the house, mindful of the half dozen eggs cradled in her apron. She stopped short at the sight of her grandfather and Ben seated at the kitchen table. Her grandfather was bent over his knife, paring at his fingernails. Ben sat with his chin in his hands, watching him. Takola was nowhere in sight. There was nothing unusual about her absence for she often went off by herself to draw, or sit quietly and stare at her heart-wrenching creations, yet Lacy instinctively sensed something was wrong.

  "Where's Takola?” she demanded.

  It was her grandfather who explained, or tried. “Upstairs with Sheriff Logan. She drew him a picture on his clean shirt and—"

  Lacy didn't let him finish. She dropped the eggs, leaped over the broken mess, and raced up the stairs. Oh God, how had Takola managed to do something like this without her seeing it? Her heart pounded against her chest as she reached the landing. If he had laid a hand on Takola's sweet head, she'd kill him. The poor child had suffered enough to last a lifetime, and the last thing she needed was for some cocky sheriff to go hitting her.

  Oh, God. Would Adam hit the child? Not the Adam she knew, but what if there was a darker side, one she didn't know about? Her husband had been a quiet, gentle man, or so she had thought.

  She slowed to a halt outside Takola's room and edged around the corner of the doorway, praying she wasn't too late. She heard Adam's voice, speaking low and gentle, but she couldn't see him or Takola.

  "And this one? Is that Chief Sitting Bull? I thought I recognized him."

  Lacy craned her head, wondering if her ears were playing tricks on her.

  "I believe this is General Custard, right?"

  Lacy flinched at the sound of pure rage that followed his question. The sound had come from Takola. She was further surprised by Adam's reaction.

  "It's all right to be angry, Takola. General Custard let power go to his head, and he should have been stopped. There are lots of people who don't agree with what he did at Wounded Knee Creek—lots of people. You like Lacy, Rusty, and Ben, don't you? That's because you know they had nothing to do with this tragedy, just like a lot of other innocent folks."

  Relaxing a little, Lacy moved into the room, her eyes scanning the artistic drawings on the wall
s. She'd seen them many times before, but they always drew her eyes again and again, their powerful message pulling at her soul.

  They were also the room's only decoration. There was a pallet of blankets in the corner where Takola slept, and a basket filled with her few belongings.

  Other than that, the room was empty.

  Lacy explained softly, “She—she wouldn't leave the furniture in here."

  Adam turned at the sound of her voice.

  Blue eyes burned into hers. A jolt of awareness flashed between them, bringing a flush of heat to her face. The last time he'd seen her, she had been stark naked and that wasn't an easy thing to forget. She wondered if he had. She held his penetrating gaze, trembling inside and so very glad he couldn't see it.

  No, Adam had not forgotten, she decided.

  Finally, he looked at Takola again. He smiled down at the small, upturned face. “I don't blame you. Give me a sky full of stars, and a warm blanket and I'm in hog heaven."

  To Lacy's astonishment, Takola returned his smile. If Big Red had suddenly trotted into the room and began to talk, she wouldn't have been more surprised. So, Adam had managed the impossible. What a wonderful boost to his ego. That only left one person in all of Shadow City for him to charm, and it would take more than a smile to win her over.

  A little respect would go a long way.

  Suddenly, she noticed Takola held something hugged to her chest. “What's that you've got, Takola?"

  Adam answered for her. “I brought paper and pencils, hoping she'll draw more of these for me.” He swept his gaze around the walls again, where every available space was taken with heart-wrenching, intense depictions of the massacre.

  It was gruesome and sad, yet Lacy suspected it helped Takola to be able to express her grief and rage. “That could be dangerous, if anyone sees them—"

  "They won't,” Adam interrupted. “I'll keep them for a long, long time before I show them to anyone. She's making history, Lacy. If she truly is the only survivor of her people, that means only one side is being told. I don't have to tell you which side will get all the blame."

  Lacy bit her lip. Once again, Adam was right. Still ... if the drawings fell into the wrong hands, it could be dangerous for Takola. “What if you get careless?” History be damned, if it meant Takola might die for it.

  "You have a low opinion of me, don't you Miz Ross?"

  For an answer, Lacy kept silent.

  Adam's face hardened. He clenched his jaw, remembering why he had followed Rusty and Ben home in the first place—not only to see more of the drawings, but to get something straight with Lacy Ross. She'd been afraid to tell him that Takola had sabotaged the pie, for fear of what he would do to the little Indian girl.

  That damned pie. He didn't care if he never set eyes on another blackberry pie in his life. Lacy had put an end to his hankering, at least in that direction. And now she was going to discover a thing or two about the man, Adam Logan.

  Recognizing the signs, Lacy edged closer to Takola. She hated the fear, hated the wobbling betrayal of her voice, but could do nothing about it. “Takola, go downstairs so I can talk to the sheriff."

  Takola obeyed instantly, melting away without a sound.

  Lacy buried her trembling hands into the material of her dress and kept her chin level. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide, but she wouldn't. Never again would she cower from a man's anger. This was her grandfather's home, her home, and Adam wasn't her husband.

  When he began walking toward her, she held herself in place by calling on every ounce of courage she possessed. She watched his face, her own frozen with dread, drained of color.

  Adam continued his advance until he stood only inches away. He could see how she trembled, and his anger reached the breaking point. With infinite tenderness, he cupped her chin in his hand. She flinched, but held steady.

  "What the hell did that bastard do to you?"

  His harsh words faded away, leaving a thundering silence echoing in her ears. Dazed, she stared into his eyes, saw compassion and pity mingled there and drew in a sharp breath.

  He knew. Somehow, Adam Logan knew her terrible, humiliating secret. How? A hot wave of shame slammed into her like a physical blow, nearly buckling her knees.

  "Wh—who?” Maybe if she pretended she didn't know what he was talking about, he'd leave her alone.

  She should have known better.

  "You know who.” Adam took a deep breath, softening his words. She was scared to death—of him—and the knowledge twisted his gut. “That bastard you were married to."

  Lacy tried to drop her chin, but he wouldn't let her. She dropped her eyes instead. His grip remained gentle, but firm. “I—I don't want to talk about it. Let me go."

  Adam wouldn't, couldn't. “You thought I was going to hit you, didn't you?” His voice echoed with disbelief. “And you lied about the pie because you were afraid of what I'd do to Takola. Right?” His grip tightened for a brief instant, but still didn't hurt. He could never hurt a woman. He could never hurt Lacy. “Am I right, Lacy?” A lock of hair fell over his forehead and he shoved it back with impatient fingers.

  Lacy didn't believe him. She couldn't let herself believe what she saw in his eyes. To do so would be giving up her freedom, and that was something she could never do. Adam Logan was lying, and she would prove it.

  She knocked his hand away, then drew her arm back and slapped him hard. His head rocked backward; her hand stung, but he didn't raise a hand to hit her back. Not that she had ever hit David. No, his rages had always been unprovoked, out of the blue. Shaking, she waited for his reaction, never doubting there would be one. But she never would have guessed what that reaction would be.

  Adam smiled.

  Lacy caught her breath at the beauty of his smile.

  "It didn't work,” Adam said softly, pulling her close. He nuzzled her nose with his own as if they were old lovers, as if he didn't have a red handprint burning his face. Lacy was too shocked to be outraged by the intimacy. She'd been so sure he would strike back.

  Their mouths met, parted, his in breathless anticipation; hers in disbelief that it was happening. Adam kissed her slowly, thoroughly. She was everything he thought she would be, right down to the soft little sounds of surprised pleasure gurgling in her throat. She tasted of honey, and sweet, creamy butter.

  Lacy felt her bones turn to water. She was weightless, floating in a sea of pleasure. He tasted of peppermint, and with a curious little sigh, she pressed fully against his hard length. For just a moment, she would enjoy this piece of heaven, pretend it was real.

  Adam pulled away slowly, reluctantly. Damn, he didn't want to, but this wasn't the place. There would never be a time or place for them, because in the end, he would leave and she would stay. He tipped her head back and stared down into her face, soft and dazed with passion.

  "Now you know what to expect when you make me mad, Miz Ross,” he said huskily.

  He saw the moment she pulled herself together, the very instant when the fog of passion cleared from her eyes.

  "Then I'll know not to make you mad, won't I?” She had meant to be flippant, to ease the exquisite tension between them, but her voice betrayed her; it was husky, as his had been. She stepped back and it was like stepping into the shade after warm sunshine. Lacy turned away so he wouldn't see how much she preferred the sunshine.

  * * * *

  On Saturday, Adam was on his way to the saloon when Rusty caught up with him. It was a few minutes past noon, and June had sent a cowpoke to the jailhouse to fetch him. Something about a fight over a bet.

  "She say who it was?” Rusty asked when Adam told him what he knew. He lengthened his strides to match the taller man's, but ended up taking two steps to Adam's one.

  "Nope. But I hope it's good. I was about to sink my teeth into a piece of Mary Ann's spice cake."

  "You mean Susan's spice cake,” Rusty corrected, beginning to huff and puff as he hurried to keep up.

  Adam slanted Rusty a
careless smile without slowing his ground-eating strides. He shrugged. “Whatever."

  "Well, if you want to keep gettin’ those vittles, you'd better get it straight. Women put a lot of stock in their cookin’ around here. Mary Ann makes fried apple pies. Susan's the spice cake, and Carrianna's the peach cobbler."

  Adam thought the whole conversation was a bit ridiculous. “Okay.” He struggled to keep a straight face.

  "And Lacy makes apple pie, pecan, blackberry, strawberry ... the best jerky ‘round these parts. Hell, she cooks better than all of ‘em put together, ‘cept maybe Ellen."

  Thank God they had reached the saloon, Adam thought, wondering what had gotten into Rusty. He was singing Lacy's praises as if ... as if he were matchmaking.

  Adam slammed into the doors of the saloon without pause, hoping like hell he was wrong. He'd hate to have to hurt the old man's feelings. But hell, Rusty knew he wasn't planning to stay in Shadow City. In fact, he was the only one who knew.

  The two men June had filed the complaint on were still fighting, and from the looks of things, had already done a lot of damage to the saloon. By unspoken agreement, Adam and Rusty waded in, Adam grabbing one swinging man, while Rusty grabbed the other. The two young men struggled to break loose, panting and cursing at each other.

  "What's this about?” Adam demanded, twisting the man's arm behind his back to hold him in place. Blood streaked from a cut above his eye. The other man didn't look much better. Glass crunched beneath their boots and Adam suspected more than fists had been used—like a whisky bottle or two. The air was heavy with the powerful smell of cheap whisky.

  Despite his age, Rusty held his captive with ease as he introduced them to Adam. “This is Ed Thomas, and that one's Brian Bishop. They work for Clyde Olsen, a big rancher west of Shadow City."

  "Well, boys? What's this about?” Adam repeated, looking from one sullen face to the other. He could hear the saloon owner, June, behind him, setting chairs upright around the tables. A cluster of dusty cowhands at the bar watched them curiously.

  Ed spoke first, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva at Brian's feet. “We had a bet on who'd get here first, and I won. Now he won't pay."