Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5)

by Caroline Fyffe

  She actually blushed.

  “You’re very right. There’s a time and place for everything. I shouldn’t have attacked you as I did. I’m just very passionate about the subject.” She glanced at the chair behind him. “Please sit back down and get comfortable.”

  He stood looking at her, thinking it best if he came back later. Now he was mad. No telling how his mission would turn out.

  She raised her brows. “Sit, please.”

  He did. Looked at the page. “Can you help with this word?” He pointed to the first long word that he saw. “Can’t figure it out. Soon as I do, I’ll take myself out of your company.”

  She circled behind the chair and leaned over his shoulder. Her clean lavender scent, mixed with the cinnamon in the air, fogged his mind.

  “Which word, Mr. Wade?” she asked stiffly.

  There would be no first-name basis anymore, he was sure. “Right there.”

  “Oh, yes. Fra-fra . . .” She sounded out the first part for him. When he didn’t respond, she turned her head to look into his face, only a few inches from hers.

  My Lord! Can eyes be that green? He swallowed.

  “Any ideas?”

  Her breath caressed his cheek.

  “Read the last four words.”

  He forced his gaze back to the sentence his finger still marked. “B-Blossoms filled the a-air,” he read haltingly.

  “Does that give you a hint on what the difficult word might be? Blossoms in the air?”

  “Nope.”

  Her lashes fluttered at his ignorance, and her cheeks blossomed as well. This is quite entertaining.

  “Begin the sentence again, please, and read it through.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Canterbury.” He forced his smile away. “The locust t-trees were in bloom . . . and . . . and the fra-fra—”

  He shook his head. “I can’t get it.”

  “Finish the sentence.”

  “. . . the something of the blossoms filled the air.”

  He looked over at her, distracted again by the proximity of her face and other womanly parts so close to his shoulder.

  She took a deep breath, enhancing her other womanly parts, bringing them all the nearer.

  She leaned closer, tracing the sentence with her finger. “The locust trees were in bloom and the blank of the blossoms filled the air,” she read, then gazed at him expectantly. “Fra? Fra?”

  Maybe this wasn’t the smartest way to banish her . . .

  “What could the word possibly be?”

  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He might have found a way to pay her back after all. “I know!” he barked.

  Her smile bloomed.

  “Frustration! The locust trees were in bloom and the frustration of the blossoms filled the air.” He paused for a good long moment. “That’s awfully strange,” he added, keeping the laughter from his voice. “I don’t know what that means. This reading is more difficult than I’d wagered on.”

  A small, agonized sound slipped from her throat.

  Brenna Hutton, the seamstress, opened the door, making the tiny bells above ring out. Relief passed over Tabitha’s face.

  “Keep at this, Mr. Wade,” Tabitha said to him softly. “Read forward, and I’ll be back to help in a moment.”

  After watching her speed away, Hunter dropped his gaze to the word, thinking Miss Canterbury’s fragrance had filled his heart. No! That wasn’t true. She was just a challenge because she was holding back. She thought him below her. That’s what was troubling him, not her pretty smile, expressive green eyes, or her well-put-together womanly parts. It was most certainly not her quick mind. He had to stick with his plan if he ever wanted to be free of her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Thank the Lord for small favors—and for sending Brenna into her shop when she needed her most. Tabitha hurried forward, ushering her friend over to her desk, to put space between herself and Hunter. His inability to sound out the frustrating word wasn’t what had her almost shaking. It was the nearness of his attractive mouth, his gold-flecked blue eyes that were playing havoc with her insides. He was pure man, and spoke to every womanly cell in her body. After he’d made his intentions about the saloon known last night, she shouldn’t let him get to her in this way. It was madness!

  “Tabitha, is everything all right?” Brenna asked, setting the rented copy of Moby-Dick on her desk. She glanced over to where Hunter sat quietly reading, and then reached out and took Tabitha by one shoulder. “Your face is extremely red.”

  Tabitha quieted her tapping toe. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Brenna placed the back of her hand on Tabitha’s forehead. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”

  Agitated, Tabitha marched over to the door and opened it a couple of inches, letting in a cool breeze, then returned to her desk. “It’s just warm in here. I’ve already had one customer today, and now Mr. Wade is taking advantage of the quiet of my shop for a little spare reading.”

  Brenna’s brows scrunched together.

  “I offered the place to him. We were just talking. Everything is fine.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Brenna whispered behind her hand. “He’s not making a pest of himself, is he?”

  “Not at all.”

  Brenna would find it more believable if the wagon-train master were here for help with his reading, not just relaxing in her shop, but Tabitha was bound to keep his handicap a secret. His large form did look rather silly in her flowered chintz chair next to the tiny Queen Anne side table.

  “If you say so.” Brenna glanced at the returned book. “I’m dropping this off. It was so exciting! I could smell the ocean and feel the salty spray on my face.” She gave a small laugh. “I even got seasick a time or two. The book is one of Gregory’s favorites and he’s read it many times. I did feel quite bad for all the sailors in the end, though.” She extracted a quarter from her pocket and placed it on top of the book.

  “That’s too much. You know the rental fee is one-fifth of that.”

  “I’ve kept it much longer than I should have. Now don’t argue. I insist.”

  Her friends were worried about her. She didn’t want them to be.

  “Please.”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha said with as much ease as she could muster. She didn’t like to be on the receiving end of charity, but to be gracious, and because she could use the money, she accepted.

  “Gregory also wanted me to ask you about your schedule. He’s very keen on getting you into the class to read.”

  Seriously? She’d thought he was just being nice. “I guess any day that he’d like. I can close up for an hour. No one will miss me.”

  Mr. Wade cleared his throat.

  When she glanced over, his head was buried in his book. Was that a coincidence?

  Brenna smiled. “I’ll tell him that and let him choose. I believe he’s thinking sometime next week. Is that too soon?”

  “That will be perfectly fine. You just let me know.”

  “Wonderful. I guess I better get back to my mending, because this is the evening I bake for the Silky Hen. My life feels fuller than full, and I’m loving every second of it.”

  Brenna stepped forward and gave her a hug. A moment later, she breezed out the door.

  Tabitha took her time adding the quarter to her money sack, which she kept in the back of the desk drawer. Once a week, she walked her earnings down to the bank to deposit into her savings. She wasn’t making much headway on her loan to Uncle Frank. Still, she wasn’t going to worry—yet. She’d not let anxiety ruin her days. She needed to give the shop some time to prove itself, as she did all she could to keep her clientele growing. Add events like the Tuesday-night readings, and help people become better readers, as she was doing with Mr. Wade—she’d turn more people into readers and perhaps might eventually start charging for her tutoring. Even though her days here in Wyoming were uncertain, the time was much more productive than when she’d
lived at home. And much more pleasant.

  She glanced at Mr. Wade. Things here were proving to be quite exciting compared to living under her parents’ restrictive thumbs. She could never go back. She’d never want to.

  Noiselessly she closed the desk drawer, then ventured back to Hunter. She hoped he’d figured out the word. And that he’d forged ahead.

  “Well, how’s it going? Did you figure it out?”

  His look was quizzical. “It’s not frustration? I thought it was, so I read ahead, but got stuck on the first word of the next sentence, so I’ve just been waiting until you were finished.”

  “All this time?”

  He nodded, closed the book, and set it on the table. “I don’t mind.” With palms to the armrests, he pushed himself to his feet. “I need to stretch my legs a little. I’m not used to sitting around with my nose in a book for any length of time. Not like some people I know.”

  She bristled.

  He ambled through the room looking at things. He seemed different today. She followed a few steps behind, curious.

  “Where was—” He turned. Pulled up when he found her so close. “You’re very light on your feet.”

  All of a sudden, everything grew so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat. Even the street outside seemed deserted. When he took a step forward, she held her ground. If she wasn’t mistaken, he meant to kiss her. With a determined tilt to his brows, he wrapped her in his arms and lowered his lips to hers.

  Her world tumbled forward as she gripped the front of his butter-soft shirt. After all her wondering about what his lips would feel like, here they were, warm and firm on her own. His annoyance with her came through, though. His grip was strong, and she could hardly breathe. Her mind said she should pull away, but her heart screamed this might be her only chance. His head slanted and he pulled her closer, sending a rush of warmth through her body.

  A moment later, he pulled away, their ragged breathing the only sound in the shop.

  The amusement she’d expected to see in his eyes, on his lips, wasn’t there.

  His eyes narrowed. He took a tiny step forward, backing her up to a bookshelf, and then took her face between his large palms, his lips again only inches from her own.

  With the most perplexing expression, he silently searched her eyes so long she thought she might faint. Or die of want of another kiss just like the one before.

  He closed the distance, but this time the kiss was different. Where the other was aggravated, this one cherished her. With a mind of its own, her hand stole up his chest and gently caressed his cheek.

  She’d felt horrible last night, pulling her hand from his arm as if she’d be caught doing something dirty. The action had haunted her sleep, and robbed her of any rest at all. She’d been sure her betrayal of his trust had cost his friendship. That she’d seen the last of him. But today, he’d surprised her, venturing into her shop.

  And now this. What was she supposed to think? Her heart felt like a sparrow with a broken wing. She had no idea how to proceed, or even if she should. Should she wait to hear what he’d say first?

  He pulled back just far enough to gaze into her eyes. “Your fragrance is mighty nice.”

  It took a moment for her to realize he’d been teasing her when he couldn’t get the word in the story. He’d known the difficult word all along . . .

  “Tabitha!”

  Aunt Roberta! Not again!

  Ripping away from the warmth of Hunter’s chest, Tabitha pulled back, and without thinking of the consequence, in a reaction born of the disdain she felt coming from her aunt, reared back and slapped him across the face.

  He blinked, looked at her for several long moments, and then . . . smiled?

  “You’ve gone too far this time, Tabitha!” Roberta cried, turning back to the door. In a quick move, she ripped down the shade, which did little good at all because the large window at the front of the shop was still uncovered. “What if someone else were to walk in on you behaving like a floozy? And with someone like him!” She pointed a finger at Hunter. “He’s a wagon-train guide no-account at best and a killer at worst! Please—use your good sense. What would your mother think? Or your father? They’d be scandalized is what. A saloon owner! Once he’s gotten what he wants, he’ll leave you in the dust.” She slowly shook her head. “I-I’m totally speechless, to say the least . . .”

  Hunter’s anger was easy to feel. “It was just a little kiss,” he said slowly.

  “A little kiss? I think not!” She drilled him with a hot stare.

  “Aunt Roberta, let me explain . . .”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, niece of mine! Last night’s impropriety is what I came to speak with you about. Walking out and making a public show. I just thank the stars I came in today. Before something much more shameful could happen.” Her gaze cut to Tabitha’s second-story bedroom. “What on earth has been going on between the two of you? Don’t you know I’m responsible for you? What befalls you lies on my shoulders.”

  “Since you’ve thrown out a mouthful, I’d say you’re anything but speechless, Mrs. Brown,” Hunter said on a growl of irritation. He stepped away from Tabitha, toward his hat on the table. Four perfect finger marks were outlined on his cheek. “But just so you know,” he said to her aunt as he looked at Tabitha, “Miss Canterbury had nothing to do with what you witnessed. She was an innocent bystander.”

  He pulled on his hat and then tapped the rim in salute. He strode out the door, leaving his book on the table.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Leaving the mercantile with the supplies she needed to bake a cake for Tabitha’s surprise birthday party tomorrow evening, Violet halted on the edge of the boardwalk. She glanced both ways. She’d learned her lesson last Saturday, when she’d been daydreaming. Because of Mr. Wade, she hadn’t been severely hurt when Clementine charged down Main Street in a slingshot-induced frenzy. Repositioning the basket on her arm, she realized that the next time, she might not be as lucky. Little Nate Preston, with a shaky voice and downcast eyes, had confessed his transgressions, and she’d put him to work cleaning her henhouse. That lad warmed her heart. Reminded her of her boy, Tommy, when he’d been that age. A familiar burn pushed at her heart. “Hurry home, Tommy, if ya want ta see yer ol’ ma again,” she muttered to herself. “My time’s about run out . . .”

  Across the street, Dr. Thorn exited his office beside Ling’s laundry house. When he saw her about to step off the porch, he hurried to her side and took ahold of her free arm. “How’re you feeling today, Violet?” he asked, walking slowly beside her.

  She felt his evaluating gaze. The thirty-something whippersnapper was always thinking she was on her last leg. Most likely he’d be glad when she did pass, considering she was his main competition in Logan Meadows.

  “Jist fine. And you?” Turning her head, she gave an exaggerated gander at his person, slowly looking him up and down.

  His face blossomed pink.

  “You look a might paltry fer someone yer age.” Successfully crossing the street, then stepping up onto the boardwalk, she cocked her brow. “You been gettin’ enough iron in your feed? I suggest ya boil a couple of rusty nails in a cup of water. Add a splash of vinegar and drink it morning and night.”

  At his mollifying smile she lifted a shoulder.

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. I was just asking because of your fall the other day.” His tone was a bit self-justifying. “You having any dizzy spells?”

  “I’m fit as a fiddle in the fiddle player’s hands. I don’t know why you keep askin’. I’d tell ya if somethin’ was wrong.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Mr. Harrell came out of his clothing store and waved him over.

  The doctor smiled, seeming relieved to hurry away. “See you later, Violet.”

  “That you will,” she muttered under her breath. “For a good long time, too.”

  Big words, but I can’t deny, no matter how much I’d
like ta, that Ol’ Violet Hollyhock is slowin’ down. She swallowed, and gazed down the street. I love this place. These people. Best keep moving if I don’t want to stop for good.

  Reaching out, she grasped the doorknob of the laundry house and struggled with the door, concerned about keeping the items in her basket from jiggling around too much.

  Warm mist enveloped her. Not waiting to be helped, she went directly into the back work area in search of Marlene. She spotted Jake’s ma bent over a washtub in the back of the room, and Bao working the water pump into a hefty bucket. The small, sweet-natured woman brought a smile to her lips, even though Violet still worried over the long hours she worked.

  “There ya be, missy. How’s the tadpole?” She pointed at the large protrusion under Bao’s apron.

  Bao hadn’t heard her approach, and looked up in surprise.

  “Mrs. Hollyhock!” She placed her hand on her growing belly.

  Marlene straightened, dragged her sleeve over her wet brow, and stood there.

  “Well?” Violet looked expectantly at Bao.

  “I feel well. And strong.”

  “I better not catch you overdoin’, ya hear?”

  Bao nodded. “I not work too hard. I take easy.” Mr. Ling, busy at the iron, looked over, smiled, and kept working.

  Violet glanced around in search of their child. “Where’s Lan?”

  “Napping,” Bao said. “Soon wake up.”

  Things looked as if they were working out well with Marlene’s help. Hopefully, Bao was getting a little more rest because of her. “Why don’t you jist go lie down fer a few minutes yerself. The work will wait.”

  Longing passed over Bao’s weary face. She rolled her shoulder, then glanced at Tap. He nodded.

  “Five minutes, is all,” Bao said. “I won’t be longer.”

  “You stay as long as you like. That’s what Marlene is here fer. You need ta depend on her.”