It had taken the detective he'd hired nearly four years to track her last time, and she'd only gone as far as Cincinnati. This time she was older, cleverer, and she had more to hide.
God. Dear God, please don't let it be true. Please, I can't take it again.
Someone jostled him, and Rand looked up, surprised to find he was still in the train station. People were staring at him, and he realized suddenly how strange he must look—hatless, sweating, his wet shirt clinging to his chest.
Slowly he left the station. Duke was waiting patiently, but the bay's sides still heaved from exertion, and sweat was drying, foamy and white, on his sides.
"Sorry, boy," Rand murmured, running a hand over the gelding's muzzle. He should let the horse rest awhile, he knew, but he couldn't. Rand clenched his fist on Duke's mane and forced himself to uncurl his fingers, to step away. His gaze traveled down the busy Lancaster street, noting the people milling about, hearing the sounds of the wagons and horses and voices before he mounted the horse again and started down the road. He had to think, had to work out a plan. Something that would cover the most ground in the shortest time. Something that would find them before they had the chance to disappear. Maybe he should round up all the neighbors—tell them some suitable lie about how urgent it was to find Belle and Sarah. It would be hard to pull them away from work—they were all readying to cut corn, none of them could spare the time. But he could come up with some crisis, he was sure, some worry that would spur them all into action. . . .
He could get Kenny Alspaugh and Paul Miller to help, Rand was sure of it. Maybe even Jack Dumont. They could each head in a separate direction. Hell, by the end of the day surely one of them would find something.
Hopefully. Rand closed the distance to the house as quickly as he could. Please let them be back, he prayed as he approached it. Please, God, I'll never ask you for anything again. Just let Sarah be here. Please, please let her be here.
He was barely to the drive before he was off Duke, leaving the horse standing in the yard while he ran to the porch, up the stairs, and yanked open the door. "Lillian?"
She came running from the kitchen, Dorothy Alspaugh close behind. Lillian's face was pale with worry. "Did you find them?"
His hope died in his chest. "They aren't here."
"No." She shook her head, winding her hands in her skirt, and he saw her struggling for control. "You didn't find them."
"No." He glanced at Dorothy. The older woman was watching them with an expression too worried to be curious. "Hello, Dorothy."
"Rand." She nodded a greeting. "I just came over to help. We've looked all over." She flashed a concerned look at Lillian. "I've been tryin' to tell Lil not to worry —it's early yet."
Dorothy's words seemed to stiffen Lillian's spine. "I told Dorothy we were expecting Belle and Sarah back for dinner." Her eyes warned Rand to watch his tongue. "After all, Belle did say they would only be going for a short walk."
"I'm sure they'll be back soon," Dorothy said soothingly. "They probably just lost track of time."
Rand forced a smile. "You're probably right. Is Kenny home?"
"Y-yes." Dorothy frowned. "He's in the fields."
"I'll be right back, then. I thought I'd just go over there for a minute—just a minute." Rand threw as reassuring a glance to Lillian as he could muster, and then he was out the door, running for Duke.
Belle absently swatted away a horsefly and pulled her skirt up farther over her legs, kicking her bare feet in the cool, murky water. The day had turned warm in spite of the frost this morning, and she leaned back on her elbows, lifting her face to the sun, feeling good, too lazy to wipe away the sticky melon juice still staining her skin.
"Mmmmm," she murmured, closing her eyes. "This is the life."
She heard the splashing of little feet in the water, and Belle opened her eyes again to see Sarah scoot closer to the edge and lean over to watch the water churn around her toes.
"Careful," Belle said lightly. "It's deep."
"I'm lookin' for fishes." Sarah turned to look at her, the half-eaten melon still in her hands. Her face was shiny and orange with juice.
Belle laughed. "I don't think you'll find many fish here. Got to go to the river for that. We'll do that sometime."
Sarah turned back to the water. "I never been fishin' before."
"You've never been fishin'?"
"Nope." Sarah paused. "Papa said I couldn't by myself."
"Well, you wouldn't be by yourself. You'd be with me.”
Sarah nodded, putting aside her melon to stare at another barge coming up the canal. "Is that Bandit?" she asked, pointing a chubby finger at the mules tugging on the long ropes.
Belle squinted into the sun, pretending to study the mule across the water. It was true there had been a Bandit, along with a Boggs, but the rest was pure fiction, a story she'd made up for Rand one day long ago when they were still friends and they'd been sitting by the canal just like this.
For a moment Belle heard his laughter again, just as it had been that day, loud and rumbling, filling the air until she had laughed right along with him.
Much too long ago. Belle frowned. It was another memory she'd tried hard to forget.
"What's wrong?" Sarah asked. "Are you mad?"
Belle shook her head, forced a smile. "No, just thinkin'."
" 'Bout Bandit?"
"Yeah."
"I wish I could see him." Sarah rested her chin in her hands and looked wistfully out onto the water. "D'you s'pose he'd do tricks for me?"
"He might."
"I wish we could jump from the bridge today." Sarah sighed.
The sound was strange coming from such a small child, and it pulled at Belle's heart. She reached out, tentatively pushing a short blond hair from where it stuck to Sarah's face, and Belle felt embarrassingly happy when Sarah didn't flinch at all.
"We will someday," Belle said, glancing at the bridge, though she knew neither she nor Sarah would be jumping anytime soon. The bridge, like many of the other things on the canal, showed signs of wear. Though it looked the same from a distance, there were boards missing from one side, and the wooden railing was rotting away. It would probably fall apart before they even got across it.
"Promise?"
Belle hesitated. "Oh, Sarah, I—"
"Please, Belle?" Sarah's brown eyes were wide and pleading.
Don't lie to her, said the voice in Belle's mind. You hated lies when you were a child. But Sarah was looking at her so hopefully, and Belle felt her conviction waver. Why ruin such a wonderful day? It couldn't hurt to tell Sarah what she wanted to hear. Just this once. After all, she was just a little girl. She would forget it soon enough.
Belle sighed. "All right," she said. "I promise."
Sarah's smile was worth the lie.
"There are six of us," Rand said, looking around the table. "That's enough to cover quite a piece. We should at least be able to find out if anyone's seen them."
Jack Dumont put down his cup of coffee and rubbed his eyes. "I'll go out toward the river. I gotta pay a visit to Jenkins out there anyhow."
"Fine. Kenny, you head to Green Castle, and Paul, you can go on out to Amanda. I'll head toward Carroll. That way, I can check the canal. . . ." He let his words trail off when he saw Lillian blanch. She set the coffeepot on the stove with shaking hands. Rand finished lamely, "Then we'll all meet back here."
"We'll find 'em, Lil, don't you fret about it," Paul Miller rose and crammed his hat on his head. "They'll be safe and sound, you'll see. Prob'ly just lost."
Lillian nodded, but her slight smile was forced. "I'm sure you're right, Paul."
"Let's go." Rand couldn't keep the urgency from his voice. "We've only got a few hours till dark." Not that it mattered, he thought, but for Lillian's sake he had to pretend Sarah and Belle were in danger. It furthered his purpose anyway. He wanted to get going. Every hour they spent in planning gave Belle another hour to get farther away. Another hour to escape.
"Fine." Rand bit off the word. He got to his feet. "And then we'll—"
Laughter—light, childish laughter—floated from the yard, through the open back door. He froze, his order caught in his throat. Sarah. He was afraid to turn around and look, afraid to believe. It's only your imagination, he warned himself. Only because you want so badly for it to be her. . . .
"Yes, we did! We used to catch salamanders all the time down by the river." Belle's voice came from the back porch.
Rand spun around, his breathing suddenly tight and painful. He heard steps on the stair.
"I tried. I ain't never caught one."
"You aren't quick enough—" Belle said, stepping into the doorway. She looked up at the crowd gathered in the kitchen and stopped so quickly, Sarah bumped into the back of her legs.
"Belle, don't stop!" Sarah laughed.
"Sarah." Rand heard his voice, but it didn't sound like his. It sounded harsh and scared and unbelieving, and it was the only thing in this whole weird scene that didn't feel like a dream. "Christ, Sarah." He lunged forward, hearing Lillian's screech of relief behind him as he pushed past Belle and clutched at Sarah, holding her so tightly in his arms, she squealed.
He buried his face in her neck, pressed his cheek against her hair, smelling her little-girl scent: dirt and water and the musky-sweet odor of melon. He felt Lillian at his back, felt her hand on his arm, and he knew he should put Sarah down, knew he was embarrassing his neighbors, but he couldn't release her, could no more put her down than he could stop breathing, and he didn't care. Oh, God, he had truly believed he would never see her again, had believed it with every part of himself, and no one else in this room could understand what that meant.
"Papa. Put me down!" Sarah was squirming now, and reluctantly Rand lifted his head and bent until her little feet touched the floor and she scrambled away from him.
It was only then that he saw—really saw—Belle. It was only then that his worry and fear faded away, leaving in its place a suffocating, unbearable anger. He jerked up again. Belle was staring at him, and there was a look on her face he couldn't decipher, a dawning awareness that only made him angrier. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" He snapped. "Where the hell were you?"
She frowned, glanced at the men gathered around the table before she looked at him again. "We were at the canal," she said slowly, carefully.
"The canal."
"That's what I said." She licked her lips and glanced down at Sarah, who was gathered against Lillian's skirts. "We went to visit Shenky."
"Shenky."
"Yeah."
"I see." He struggled to maintain calm, acutely aware of the men standing silently behind him, of Lillian's censure. It took everything he had to keep from strangling Belle with his bare hands. "You didn't tell us where you were going."
Her chin jerked up then, her eyes flashed. "I didn't think you and Mama would approve." She looked past him to the men. "I guess I was right about that. Looks like you were gettin' a posse up. Hey there, boys."
He heard the murmur of nervous, uncertain hellos behind him.
Kenny Alspaugh cleared his throat. "Well, I guess ev'ryone's safe and sound, eh? Looks like we'll just be headin' on home, Rand."
Rand nodded. He didn't turn around, kept his eyes fastened on Belle's face. "Thanks. I appreciate the help."
"No problem at all."
"See you later."
He heard them shuffle out, heard the hasty steps down the hallway and the opening and closing of the front door. And then there was nothing but silence.
But before he could say anything, Belle lifted a brow, gave him that look he was beginning to hate—that infuriating mix of sarcasm and indifference. "Quite a search party you had goin' there," she said insolently. "I didn't know you cared so much."
"We didn't know what had happened," Lillian said softly. "Your clothes were gone."
"My clothes?" Belle said in surprise. "I didn't take them. They're upstairs, under the bed. I haven't unpacked yet, Mama."
"Well, you can imagine how worried we were."
Belle snorted in disbelief.
The sound shattered Rand's control. He slammed his hand against the door. It crashed to the wall, shivering on its hinges. Lillian and Sarah jumped, but Belle only flinched, and she didn't move away.
"Papa?" Sarah said in a small, frightened voice.
Frightened. Of him. The knowledge only made him angrier. Rand twisted around. "You listen to me, Sarah. You are not to go anywhere alone with Belle. I mean ever. Do you understand me? Nowhere."
He heard Belle's catch of breath behind him, Lillian's breathless "Rand." Rand ignored them both. He kept his eyes focused on his daughter. "Do you understand?"
Sarah frowned. She glanced at Belle and then back to Rand. "But, Papa—"
"Do you understand?"
She nodded, wide-eyed.
"Good." The sight of her wary expression made Rand hesitate, but only for a second. He thought of his promise to himself earlier, to put the fear of God into Sarah if he had to. Well, it was there now. He wondered why the thought didn't fill him with satisfaction, why it just seemed to sit there on top of his rage.
He jerked his head at Lillian. "Go on," he said tersely. "Get out of here."
"Rand—"
"Take Sarah and get out."
Lillian's mouth tightened, but she grabbed Sarah's hand and left the room. He waited until he heard them go upstairs, until he heard the quiet latching of a door, and then he spun around to face Belle.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he exploded. "Christ, don't you ever consider other people? Are you that damned selfish? You disappear without a goddamned word to anyone—" He broke off, too angry to think, even to breathe. "What the hell were we supposed to think?"
He expected her to retreat, expected her to back down, but she didn't. Her brown eyes glittered as she faced him, and her expression was hard and angry. "How about that Sarah and I were havin' a good time?" she asked. "Hell, she was with me, Rand. It wasn't like she was goin' to get hurt."
He didn't bother to contradict her. "I went into town. I checked the train."
Her eyes widened; she stared at him in disbelief. "The train?" She crossed her arms over her chest, laughed bitterly. "You thought I was takin' her away."
"Weren't you?"
She looked away; he saw the working of her jaw, the clenching of her fingers on her arms. "I told you I wouldn't take her. I told you I was stayin'."
"And I was supposed to believe you?"
"Yeah," she said. "You were s'posed to believe me. But I guess I should have known you wouldn't. I guess you've changed too much for that, haven't you?"
He glared at her, ignoring her comment—along with the urge to flinch at the truth in it. "Why the hell should I believe you?"
She looked surprised and—hurt. But only for a second, and then that sarcastic look was in her eyes again, and her words were quiet and condemning. "Why shouldn't you? When have I ever lied to you?"
They startled him, those words, shocked him into silence—an indictment he couldn't fight or deny. He told himself it didn't matter, that she had taught him not to believe her, but when he tried to remember how, he couldn't, and he was struck with the notion that he'd wronged her again, felt the nudge of guilt.
Don't let her do this to you. Don't let her change your mind. The voice rang in his head, and he tried to listen to it, tried to hold on to his anger, to tell her to pack her damn bags and leave.
He opened his mouth, meaning to say the words, wanting to, but before he could, Belle looked up at him, and that strange mix of things in her expression, that half-defiant, half-defenseless way she stood, made him think of the other day, when he'd asked her to keep their secret from Sarah, when he'd stumbled upon Belle standing at the top of the stairs. It made him think of a time six years ago, when he'd seen that same wounded look in her
eyes, when he'd felt her pain and hadn't been able to stop himself from destroying what was left of their friendship.
class=Section2> It's your imagination, he told himself. But it wasn't, and he knew it. He knew that look in her face, had seen it a hundred times in his nightmares.
The last of his anger melted away, replaced by horrible, hot guilt that closed his throat, by voices screaming blame in his ear. He wanted to say he was sorry, wanted to do something—anything—to get rid of the memories. But when he opened his mouth to say the words, all he heard was, incredibly, "I—I was worried."
"You shouldn't have been," Belle said slowly. She took a deep breath, and suddenly that vulnerability he'd seen was gone, replaced by a gaze so measuring and
cool, it made him feel instantly small. "She was with me.”
Then she turned away from him, and when he thought she would walk out the door, she paused and looked over her shoulder at him, still with those cold, cold eyes. Eyes that showed him unexpectedly and completely that she was her mother's daughter, that perhaps she had inherited something from Lillian after all.
Her chilly voice only emphasized it. "I'm goin' back over to Hooker's Station," she said. "I guess I could use a smile tonight."
And before he could say anything more, she was gone.
Chapter 16
The evening air was cool. The setting sun had stolen the summerlike warmth of the day, but in return it drenched the sky in color: blood-red against the dark hills, then orange and yellow and green and violet, a rainbow rising to dark blue just overhead. The sight left Belle cold. There couldn't be a sky beautiful enough to make her feel welcome here, no rainbow of color could take away the harsh chill of Rand's words.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling hot despite the cold evening air. He thought she was a liar—the knowledge infuriated her. Even after she'd given her word, he hadn't believed her. She'd said she wasn't taking Sarah away, and yet he thought she had done just that. God, he'd even checked the train. Her hands clenched at her sides; she felt the harsh heat of anger in her cheeks. She was no liar, and Rand knew it; knew her word was good. Once, he never would have doubted that.
After the frost f Page 16
