by Heidi Betts
Megan gasped and turned around to stare at Rebecca with wide brown eyes. “Why would you want to do something like that?"
Rebecca shrugged and smiled conspiratorially. “Because they're a far cry more comfortable than these blasted things.” She pulled at her pine-green skirt, faded almost gray with wear.
"Well, how would you know that?” Megan asked, placing her hands on her hips, then drawing them back immediately when a sharp point dug into her tender flesh.
"I wore them all the time when I was young."
"Your mother let you?” Megan asked, awe in her voice.
Rebecca breathed deeply for a moment to keep herself from feeling any pain. Imagine Kate giving a damn about her daughter's clothes. Or anything else about the little girl, for that matter. Her own clothes—now, that was another matter. No expense was spared there. She shrugged again. “She didn't pay much attention to what I wore.” That was true enough. Kate had seldom paid attention to Rebecca, except to scold her for being such a burden.
To change the subject, Rebecca tugged at the waist of the yellow dress. “How does it feel?"
"Cool. I can already tell I won't melt inside this material."
"Good,” Rebecca said, happy that she had fulfilled Megan's foremost requirement.
All the dresses fit almost perfectly, needing only minor alterations before they would be finished. Megan loved the three colors—bright yellow, emerald green, and deep plum—each meant to bring out the auburn highlights in her otherwise black hair.
"How did you get them done so quickly? I expected them to take much longer than a week."
"I haven't really had that much business lately,” Rebecca said as she refolded the dresses and set them in her white wicker basket. She removed her spectacles and laid them on top for the long walk home. “I have three or four regular customers—the ladies who were leaving just as you arrived Wednesday.” She looked at Megan to see if the girl remembered. “Thelma, Hariette, and Mary are sweet souls, even if they do sometimes drive me nearly batty,” Rebecca confessed. “They were Octavia Fitzgerald's friends. When she died, I took over her dressmaking business.” Rebecca didn't go into detail about her past or how she had come to know Widow Fitzgerald. “Now they come every Wednesday to make sure I always have something to sew, even if business is slow. There's been more than one lean time when their loyalty was a godsend. But they understood perfectly when I told them I had to work on your dresses right away."
"I didn't mean for you to take time away from your other customers, Rebecca."
"Oh, I didn't.” Rebecca smiled and helped Megan open the drapes. “It's nice to have a chance to work on something brand-new rather than patching the same dresses two dozen times or listening to Mary and her daughter Anabelle arguing about how low I should make a bodice."
Rebecca went back to the wing chair and slipped the handle of the big basket over her arm, ready to go.
"You aren't leaving, are you? I was hoping you would stay for lunch."
Megan sounded almost distraught, and Rebecca's brow wrinkled in a frown. “If I get started on these dresses right away, I can probably have them to you by Saturday or Sunday."
"Oh, what's the hurry?” Megan said in complete contrast to all her earlier statements about wanting some cool dresses for Leavenworth's hot summer days.
"Megan, you said you needed these as soon as possible. Do you want to wear those heavy silk gowns for the rest of the summer?” Rebecca waved a hand at the fancy pink dress Megan had donned again after the fittings.
"Well, they can wait one more day, can't they?"
Rebecca pressed her fists to her waist, the basket thumping against her hip. She was becoming a bit suspicious of Megan's insistence that she stay for the afternoon meal. “I suppose they could wait, but there's no reason I can't go home and fix myself lunch."
Megan went to the parlor door, sliding it open. “Wouldn't you much rather go for a picnic? I've been planning it all week. You must come."
Before Rebecca could protest, Megan threaded their arms together and dragged her through the house to the kitchen, not letting go of her captive even when she picked up the basket Nina had filled. They went out the back door and around the house to the barn.
"Caleb!” Megan called. “Caleb?"
Her handsome brother appeared from behind the barn, his clothes clearly rumpled from outdoor work. “Finished already?” he asked, tucking his thumbs into the front pockets of his pants.
"Oh, yes, the dresses are coming along wonderfully. The best news, though, is that Rebecca has agreed to join us for our picnic. I'll tell Frank to hitch up the wagon.” With that, Megan skipped into the barn, leaving Rebecca and Caleb alone outside.
The heavy basket slid down Rebecca's arm and thudded to the ground, and it took her a moment to catch her breath. She raised her head to see Caleb staring at her. She tried to read his expression but found it impossible. His face revealed nothing.
Clearing her throat, she tried to protest. “I didn't actually say I'd go. Megan just assumed—"
Caleb nodded. “If Megan wants you on her picnic, she'll find a way to get you there. She did the same with me."
He sounded almost amused. His strong baritone tickled down Rebecca's spine, making her shiver involuntarily. Her gaze dropped to the ground. “I don't want to intrude,” she said softly, berating herself for letting this man intimidate her.
"You aren't."
She raised her head and nearly jolted back a step from the sparks she saw dancing in Caleb's dark eyes. Suddenly she wanted to run as fast and as far as her feet could carry her—before she started to feel things for this man that a woman with her background had no business feeling. For in that instant Rebecca somehow knew that she could easily fall in love with a man like Caleb Adams.
She tried to think of something to say to fill the unbearable silence. “I ... uh, expected you to be at the Express today."
Caleb shifted his weight and took a step back to lean against the side of the barn. “I would be, but I promised Megan I would take her on this damn—” He had heard the same word pass from Rebecca's rosy lips, but that didn't give him an excuse to forget his manners in front of a lady. He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. I promised Megan I'd take her on this picnic.” And he was none too pleased about it. “The last stage isn't supposed to arrive until ten, so I'll go in later to relieve Dad and stay the night in town."
"Oh, yes, your father keeps a room at the Wilkes Hotel so he won't have to travel home after a late night, doesn't he?"
"How did you know that?” His eyebrows drew together in a suspicious frown. What was Rebecca, the town snoop?
"Leavenworth is a small town, Mr. Adams. Word gets around,” Rebecca answered. “Besides, Mrs. Wilkes comes to see me weekly and loves to talk about whatever's going on. I've known about your father's room at the hotel for quite some time. Was it supposed to be a secret?” She diplomatically refrained from mentioning the other room kept for an Adams man, which the whole town also knew about.
"No, I guess not."
"Your father is a very personable man. Everyone likes him. He doesn't seem like the kind of person to have a closet full of skeletons."
"Well,” Caleb said, shifting his feet and lowering his voice dramatically, “there might be a few. Like demented Aunt Frances. We have to keep her locked in the attic.” He pointed toward the topmost window of the house. When Rebecca looked in that direction, he gave an eerie howl to frighten her. To Rebecca's credit, she didn't even flinch.
She tilted her head and turned to face him, clucking her tongue. “Thought you could scare me that easily, huh? Shame on you, Mr. Adams."
Caleb crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at the woman before him. Her clothes were drab and made her look older than he suspected her to be. The dark green skirt, though lightened with wear, had probably accentuated her dark hair and eyes at one time. Caleb thought he would like, just once, to see Rebecca dressed in fine clothes. He was sure she
would shine brighter than any star in the heavens.
Rebecca shifted nervously, taking a step away from him. Caleb noticed and fought the urge to close the distance between.
"You've been calling me Mr. Adams ever since we met,” he said, keeping his voice low and friendly. “I keep thinking my father's around. You'd better start calling me Caleb, or I'll get so confused that they'll have to lock me in the attic with Aunt Frances and throw away the key. And it will be all your fault."
"But, Mr. Adams, you don't even have an Aunt Frances."
Caleb drew back, a hand over his heart, acting wounded. “Caleb. Please."
Rebecca sighed and surrendered. “Caleb."
Megan stood just inside the barn, her ear plastered to the rough wood, trying to hear every word of the exchange between her brother and Rebecca. She just knew Caleb was attracted to the seamstress. It hadn't escaped Megan's notice that he had watched Rebecca the entire time they'd been at her house the week before. Nor did Megan misunderstand his disappearance later that night or the gruff humor Caleb had displayed ever since.
If only he could put the past behind him and realize that not all women were like Josephine or that Sabrina Leslie he was keeping at the hotel in town—the one he didn't think she knew about. Rebecca was sweet and kind and would never make a man fall in love with her only to betray him. Rebecca would treasure a man as a husband, companion, and friend—if only she could let down her own protective armor.
"Megan! Is that wagon ready yet?"
Megan jumped at the sound of Caleb's voice, much nearer than she expected, and the sound of his heavy footsteps bringing him closer still. She ran to the other end of the barn, where the horses and buckboard had been standing ready for the past ten minutes. She stopped at the head of one of the matching sorrels, pretending that it was she who had been waiting for them. “All set,” she said, slightly out of breath. “What a lovely day for a picnic."
Chapter Five
Megan scraped the last of the baked beans from her plate with a slice of cornbread. “Mmm, that was delicious,” she said, standing to pat her belly. “Now I think I need a nice, long walk."
"I'll go with you,” Rebecca offered, moving to set her plate down on the blanket.
"No, no. You're not finished eating yet. I'll be fine."
Megan took off toward the tall trees that bordered the daisy-strewn field they had chosen as the spot for their picnic, leaving Rebecca alone with Caleb. Rebecca wanted desperately to go after her, but within seconds Megan had disappeared into the density of the forest.
Rebecca turned to find Caleb looking at her, his lips quirked into a grin while he chewed a bite of chicken. Rebecca's mouth turned suddenly dry, and she pushed the remaining food around on the dish with her fork, unable to bring herself to eat another morsel.
Caleb swallowed, reclining against the trunk of the wide oak they sat beneath, and stretched his long legs out in front of him. As he did, his leg brushed Rebecca's skirt. She inched away, tucking the hem more tightly around her ankles.
"So,” Caleb said, leaning forward to choose another drumstick from the platter of fried chicken. “Tell me a little about yourself."
Rebecca stiffened. Her eyes darted to the spot where Megan had entered the woods, her mind scrambling for a story to pacify his curiosity.
"Any deep, dark family secrets?” he asked.
One or two, Rebecca thought wryly. “I don't have any mad relatives in my attic, if that's what you mean."
"Ah, but you don't have an attic. Perhaps you keep your Aunt Frances in the root cellar."
Caleb wiggled his eyebrows, and Rebecca couldn't help but find his conversation amusing. “I don't have a root cellar, either."
"Well, then, the only remaining possibility is that you're the lunatic in your family."
Rebecca laughed. “You've discovered my secret, sir. Send me off to the asylum.” She set her plate aside and held out her arms as if for him to bind her wrists.
He smiled. “Not quite yet. I still have a few questions for the inmate."
Rebecca lowered her hands to her lap and turned away, wishing her joke had kept him from being so inquisitive.
"Dad told me you've only been in Leavenworth for the past ten years or so. Where did you live before you came here? And where's the rest of your family?"
"I don't have a family,” she answered as honestly as she dared. Besides, it was awfully hard to consider Kate “family” in any conventional way. “I lost both my parents when I was little.” Rebecca kept her eyes averted, hoping that Caleb wouldn't be able to see through her white lie. “I came to Leavenworth when I was thirteen, and Widow Fitzgerald was nice enough to take me in."
"Who took care of you before that? You certainly couldn't fend for yourself at such an early age."
Oh, but I did, Rebecca wanted to tell him. I lived by myself in the back room of a whorehouse. Instead she said, “I don't really remember. Different folks took care of me when they could.” That was true enough. Sometimes, when she was sick, one of the girls or Lilah would look after her a little bit.
A breeze ruffled her skirt and loosened some hair from her bun, blowing it into her eyes. She tucked the strands behind her ear.
"You must have been very lonely,” Caleb offered quietly.
She raised her head and met his gaze, stunned by the understanding she saw there. “It ... wasn't so bad,” she answered, looking away.
"Megan adores you, you know."
Rebecca smiled, thankful for the change of subject. “I like her, too."
"Dad and I blame you for her determination to stay here rather than go back to New York."
"Me? Why blame me?” Rebecca's heart fluttered in her breast. All she needed was one more thing for this man to hold against her. “I didn't tell her not to go back. We never even discussed it. You can't possibly fault me."
Caleb chuckled. “Well, Megan insists that if you can live in Leavenworth by yourself, then she should certainly be allowed to stay here with her father and brother. So you see? It's by your example that you're to blame."
Rebecca gave a relieved sigh. “That may be, but I don't see any reason she can't go where she chooses. And if she chooses to live in Leavenworth with her family, all the better."
"How's that?” Caleb asked.
"Megan is a confident young woman more than capable of making up her own mind. Deciding that she wants to live in Kansas with her family is surely better than deciding she wants to live in the wilds like a mountain man—or with a mountain man, for that matter."
"Praise the Lord for small favors!” Caleb slapped his hand, drumstick and all, against his leg with a hoot of laughter. “I can see her doing something like that, though. The girl is headstrong and sometimes doesn't show the sense God gave a garden slug."
"Unlike you?” Rebecca challenged.
"I know better than to run across the country without telling someone where I'm going or considering the problems that might arise once I get there."
"So does Megan. Obviously she knew you and your father would expect her and would meet her when she stepped off the stage. And evidently if Megan had told anyone what she planned to do, they only would have tried to stop her."
"Did you ever think that maybe she should have been stopped?” Caleb asked.
"Why? Megan obviously needed to come here or she never would have risked so much—your anger, the possibility that you might send her home. And she seems happy. Isn't Megan's happiness the most important thing in this situation?"
"So you're saying I should let her stay for as long as she wants?” Caleb sounded astounded.
Rebecca shook her head. “No. I'm saying you need to let Megan make the decision of where she stays and for how long."
Caleb huffed a bit, but he knew she was right. He'd pretty much come to the same conclusion himself. Besides, he had to admit that he liked having Megan around and didn't really want her to leave. Perhaps she would go back with him when he went, but until then it woul
dn't hurt to let her be a member of the Leavenworth community.
He turned his head and saw Megan appear from behind a clump of fir trees, her arms full of pine cones and leaves and other woodland treasures, gold and fuchsia flowers decorating her hair, her pink gown smudged and wrinkled. “How was your walk?” he asked as she closed the distance between them.
"Just wonderful,” she answered, dropping to her knees and letting the contents of her hands roll onto the blanket. “Look at all of this. I don't even know what half of it is."
"Dad will know.” Caleb pulled a gold watch from a small front pocket of his pants and clicked it open. “Time to go, Megan. I need to get to town so Dad can start home before it gets dark."
"All right.” Megan began repacking the plates and platters with Rebecca's help.
When they finished, Caleb carried the basket to the buckboard. Collecting the odds and ends in the skirt of her gown, Megan followed, stopping every few feet to retrieve something that had dropped.
Caleb helped Megan into the wagon, then turned to assist Rebecca.
"I'll just walk home from here,” she said, backing away when he reached out to grasp her waist. “It's not very far. Could you hand me my sewing basket, please, Megan?"
"It's not here."
"It has to be.” Rebecca whirled around and stood on tiptoe to look over the sideboard. “I could swear I put it in before we left."
"Well, it's not there now,” Caleb said, checking for himself. “You must have left it at the house.” He grasped her waist before she had the chance to resist and lifted her onto the seat, stepping over her skirt as he followed her up. He headed the horses home.
Megan remained surprisingly quiet, busy investigating her treasures, until the wagon started up the long, sloping drive toward the Adams house. “Look!” Megan cried. “There's your basket, Rebecca."
And, indeed, Rebecca's wicker basket sat lopsidedly in the front yard.
Caleb tightened the reins and brought the two sorrel mares to a stop beside the picket fence. He leapt to the ground and went to help Megan down.
