Wild Dream

by Duncan, Alice

  Charley’d been so sweet to her. He’d kissed her almost desperately, as though he were afraid she’d vanish if he let her go. Addie didn’t mind. She felt cherished in Charley’s arms, and that was not something she’d felt very often before he rode into her life.

  Afterward Charley seemed kind of downhearted. Afterward he always seemed downhearted. Such a circumstance didn’t seem right to Addie, as she always felt fulfilled and delighted.

  He acted as though he really felt he didn’t deserve her. What nonsense!

  Also, he seemed to be forever worrying about not having a job. But that didn’t make any sense to Addie. After all, he worked himself to death nearly every day on the farm. Why, he and Lester had done more work around the place in four weeks than anybody’d done in years. The place was almost fit to live in again. Addie expected they’d even see a profit for the first time. Before Charley came, she and Ivy had grown their own food, but they’d barely broken even.

  A troubling thought struck her and she frowned. Charley said he was a carpenter by trade. Maybe he didn’t want to be a farmer.

  Addie chewed her finger until she remembered she was trying to behave in a ladylike manner and desisted. To keep her nervous fingers occupied, she fretted the chintz ties to her window curtains. He could be a carpenter in Rothwell. There were settlers moving in every day.

  Resolving to explain the carpentry situation to Charley on the morrow, Addie felt relieved for a moment until another dismal thought struck her.

  Maybe he didn’t think Rothwell was big enough for him and his band. They were undoubtedly used to much finer accommodations and audiences than Rothwell could provide.

  She wondered if a grand musician like Charley might object to teaching young boys and Indians, too, although he hadn’t seemed offended by either student. Of course, he was such a gentleman, he’d never say anything to hurt Homer or Sun’s feelings.

  Oh, dear.

  With a pang in her heart, Addie guessed a big city like Albuquerque would afford his band wider recognition.

  Another startling thought hit her so hard she almost fell off the window seat. Her Charley was such a gentleman, he didn’t ever want to hurt anybody’s feelings. And that included her. Had she ever heard him voice his opinion on whether or not he’d like to stay in Rothwell? She couldn’t remember. Gripping the curtain rigidly, Addie tried to remember their various conversations.

  Maybe it was unfair of her to expect Charley to stay in this dinky little place.

  Oh, my land. What if he didn’t want to marry her at all? Addie had to breathe deeply several times before she could continue the dreadful thought.

  What if he had a lady back home in Georgia? Some sweet southern belle he’d had to leave behind? What if he couldn’t forget her? Oh, dear.

  Addie had taken it for granted that he wanted to marry her. Good heavens. What if she was wrong?

  “But we’ve made love,” she whispered to the inky sky.

  At once her conscience laughed cynically—something it had never done before—and reminded her that Charley Wilde was a gallant southern gentleman. Of course he would marry a woman he’d made love to. He’d feel honor-bound to do so, no matter what he felt about her in his heart. Oh, dear. Was she forcing the marriage upon him?

  Addie gripped her hands together and wrung them nearly to death. She couldn’t remember. Maybe she’d just told the preacher they were going to announce their engagement. Had Charley said a word? Had she even given him a chance? Oh, my land.

  Plus, she’d practically forced herself on him. He’d seemed reluctant to get involved.

  He’d never told her he loved her, either. Never, not once. Maybe he didn’t. Addie’s spirits fell like an autumn leaf and landed cold and lifeless on the floor at her feet.

  She couldn’t keep Charley Wilde here against his will. He’d hate her if she did that, and then she’d hate herself. Yet the very idea of letting him go made tears well up in her eyes.

  But if he loved another . . . Wiping away her unhappy tears, she knew she had to give him a choice. Her heart ached when the realization hit her. Oh, dear.

  Even if Charley no longer wanted his Georgia belle, what if he should choose a big-city career over life with her in Rothwell? Would he ask her to go with him? If he did ask her, would she go? Could she? The distressing possibilities nagged at her, prodded her, goaded her, until she felt an ungovernable need to lay them before Charley and ask for his judgment.

  She hadn’t been fair to him and she knew it. Forgetting her determination to be a lady, she gnawed on her knuckle for a full minute, wondering whether or not she should be daring and tiptoe to Charley’s room.

  Then, with a little shrug, she told herself, the moon, and her room, “Well, why not? Aunt Ivy wouldn’t wake up if Indians attacked, and Lester’s still sleepin’ downstairs in the parlor. I don’t expect anybody’ll even know.”

  Stuffing her feet into her slippers and donning her robe along with her courage, Addie stole out of her room and crept down the hall. Surprised to see pale light leaking from under Charley’s door, she paused for a moment, wondering if she should disturb him.

  Charley stared out his window at Addie’s moon, wondering how he would be able to carry out his dastardly plans for robbing the Rothwell Bank and escaping with his band to Albuquerque. Especially since Lester wouldn’t be going with them. Oh, mercy, he’d miss Lester. They’d been together, one way or another, for most of Charley’s almost thirty years.

  And Addie. How could he ever force himself to leave Addie? In spite of the resolution he renewed every morning, he’d made love to her again tonight. He couldn’t seem to help himself. It was as though she were a magnet and he a flimsy pile of steel shavings; the attraction was too strong to deny. What a depraved, predatory fiend he was. And how could he bear never to see or hold her again?

  Yet what could he expect if he stayed here? Certainly somebody would recognize him or one of the boys sooner or later. Or Pansy Blewitt would see one of them. Or one of the boys would talk. He knew very well they’d try to be silent, but he also knew they weren’t used to subterfuge. It was almost a sure thing that one of them would blurt out something incriminating one of these days. Then there would be hell to pay and jail cells for all of them.

  Worse than any of that, Charley would have to watch Addie’s love turn to hate when she realized how wickedly he’d deceived her.

  It was while Charley contemplated the vileness of the choices facing him that Addie’s quiet knock sounded on his door. Thinking it must be Lester, he pulled Addie’s father’s robe more tightly around himself, picked up his stub of candle, and dragged his battle-scarred soul to the door. When he saw Addie standing in the hallway, looking tiny and timid and utterly appealing, he almost dropped his candle.

  “May I come in for a little bit, Charley?”

  He stared at her for a second, his brain numb. “Oh! Of course, Addie. Of course, you can come in.”

  He stepped aside and she fluttered past him, her robe catching errant wind currents and reminding Charley of an angel. She came to rest on the same window seat he’d lately occupied. He wanted to pick her up, carry to his bed and bury himself in her, but held himself back out of respect for this being her father’s room. A shaft of irony pierced him at his misplaced gallantry. Where was his gallantry that day in the meadow? Or this evening beside the river?

  “You look worried, Addie. What’s wrong?”

  Her eyes seemed huge and solemn. “I reckon we ought to talk, Charley.”

  This sounded bad. Charley’s feet felt like lead when he trudged over to sit beside her on the window seat.

  “What do you want to talk about, Addie?”

  Setting the candle down on the night stand, he picked up one of her hands and stroked it. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the feel of her. Or the smell of her. Even now the elusive scent of roses kissed his senses.

  When he was an old, old man, withering away in a prison cell somewhere, he’d r
emember roses and apple blossoms and Addie Blewitt and wish things could have been different for them. Thinking about it almost made him cry.

  She didn’t seem to want to look at him. As soon as he sat down, her gaze dropped and she peered at her hand. It looked small and delicate in his big paw, and he drew it to his lips and kissed it because he couldn’t help himself.

  “Charley, you don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” Addie blurted the words out quickly.

  Dread seeped into Charley’s pores and yanked on his heartstrings. Had she found him out? Already?

  His mouth went dry. “What—what do you mean, Addie?”

  She lifted her head then, and looked at him. Her huge gray eyes swam with tears, but her voice didn’t waver when she said, “I tricked you, Charley. I didn’t even give you a chance. I—I love you, but I don’t reckon that just because I love you, you have to love me back. I can’t stand the thought of marrying you if you don’t want to be here with me. If you’ve got a girl in Georgia, I don’t reckon you’d want to settle for a wild girl from the territory.”

  Apparently, her confession was too much for her to relate and maintain his gaze. Her head drooped again and she made a quick swipe at the tears leaking from her eyes. Charley felt too stunned to respond, and she continued.

  “I know you’re a big-city musician, Charley. It’s not fair of me to trap you into marryin’ me and stayin’ here in this little tiny place, especially with a pretty, delicate, lady waitin’ for you back home. You deserve better than this. You deserve better than me.”

  Stricken to his core, Charley could only stare at her for a moment. “Aw, Addie,” escaped his lips, hoarse and ragged.

  All the problems associated with marrying her ganged up in front of his mind’s eye and pounded on him. As enormous as they were, they seemed almost trivial in the face of Addie’s palpable unhappiness.

  She said, “I’m sorry, Charley,” in the tiniest of voices.

  Suddenly the ropes binding Charley’s burdens to his heart, stretched taut for weeks now, buckled and snapped. His feelings tumbled out, falling over themselves in their rush to gain freedom. He might be a criminal and a fraud; he might have to run away and abandon her, but he couldn’t let her believe he didn’t love her.

  “Sweet heaven, Addie, I love you more than I can say.”

  His brain registered the look of absolute astonishment on her face before he wrapped her in his arms and crushed her to his chest, burying her face in his shoulder.

  Chapter 16

  “You—you really do love me?” Addie sounded flabbergasted.

  “I love you more than anything else on this earth, Addie.”

  “You do?” Joy replaced amazement in Addie’s voice.

  Charley couldn’t talk; he could barely nod.

  They held each other tight for a good two or three minutes, basking in the warmth generated between them. Charley’s heart, severed in half already, ached twice as much as it would have if it had been whole. It was going to kill him to leave her. He knew it.

  Addie sighed into his embrace, feeling better about life than she had since they’d made love on the riverbank earlier in the evening. Mercy sakes, he loved her! She didn’t think she could be happier, not even if she lived in Georgia.

  She stroked his neck, allowing her fingers to feel the strength and warmth of him. They crept into his dark, curly hair.

  He loved her! Snuggling even closer to him, Addie figured she should probably try to remember every single thing about this night, because it would undoubtedly go down in her personal history as the happiest one of her life.

  As Addie’s joy settled, however, something began to nag at her. When she felt capable of easing her grip on his shoulders, she sat back a little and peered into his beautiful, dark-chocolate eyes. Mercy sakes, he was a handsome man. But she saw pain in those beautiful eyes, too, and it hurt her to witness it.

  “But, Charley, I know something’s troubling you. Won’t you tell me what it is?” Immediately, she hugged him again, just in case she needed support when he said what he had to say.

  Charley’s sigh came from the very depths of his being; Addie could tell. She hoped whatever he was worried about was something they could deal with together. If he’d already married that hussy in Georgia, she didn’t know what they could do. She thought she’d better ease into that particular question, so she began with something more palatable.

  “Is it about staying here, Charley? Is it because Rothwell’s too small?” Addie tried to keep her voice strong, but it quivered some.

  She felt him shake his head before she heard, “I like it here, Addie. I’ve liked it since the very first day.”

  The breath she’d been holding gusted out rather noisily. She tried to cover it up by kissing him, a activity Charley responded to immediately. They might have become carried away had not Addie resolved to get to the bottom of Charley’s distress. After a few blissful seconds, she drew away from him again, another dismal possibility having struck her.

  “Is it the countryside, Charley? Do you dislike the desert.” Rather mournfully, she said, “You’re from Georgia, where everything’s green and pretty. It’s dull and flat out here. It must look real ugly to you.”

  His chuckle did a lot to ease her worries. “Oh, Addie, now who’s being silly? This is a grand land. It’s—it’s majestic. I think it’s beautiful.”

  Astonished, Addie gasped, “You do?”

  “I do.” He squeezed her tight.

  Her heart soared momentarily. When her emotions allowed her to speak again, she asked, “Well, then, is it the farm, Charley? If you don’t want to be a farmer, I’m sure there’s plenty of carpentry work for you to do in Rothwell. Why, Mr. Phipps and Mr. Topping and all sorts of people can help you set up a business, if that’s what you want.”

  She hoped he wouldn’t think her pushy. Aunt Ivy had told her time and again that gentlemen preferred to believe good ideas originated within themselves, but Addie felt a little pressured tonight. She reckoned there would be time enough for her to make Charley think her idea was actually his later on.

  His hug gave her comfort.

  “It’s not working on the farm, Addie. I like farms. I grew up on one. There’s plenty of work here to keep me busy.”

  She hugged him back to let him know she appreciated him more than words could ever express. Still, she had to know why he seemed so troubled. “What is it, then, Charley? Please tell me. Maybe I can help. Is—is it a girl? Do you have a girl back home in Georgia?”

  “What?” Charley pulled away and stared at Addie.

  “Well,” she muttered, embarrassed, “I don’t know. Something’s wrong. I figured if you have another girl back home—well . . .”

  Charley’s mouth smothered the end of her sentence. When he pulled away, they were both breathless.

  “I don’t have another girl, Addie. I’ve never loved anybody but you.”

  Smiling, happy, Addie sighed. Then, barely rescuing her purpose from her delight, she asked, “Then what’s wrong, Charley? Please tell me.”

  Charley leaned against the window, bringing Addie with him. His sigh ruffled her hair and she burrowed more deeply into his arms.

  “Oh, Addie, I’m not even sure where to begin.”

  “Just any old where is fine, Charley,” she suggested softly.

  He didn’t speak for several moments, and Addie began to wonder if he intended to keep his troubles to himself. Her aunt Ivy said gentlemen often hesitated to divulge their worries; Addie hoped Charley wouldn’t be one of those silent sufferers, as she so loved to talk.

  At last another sigh rippled through the soft spring evening, and Charley said, “Shoot, Addie, it’s real hard to explain.”

  Addie smothered her frown and a suggestion that he try anyway. Instead, she decided to use feminine guile, ran her fingers through his lovely hair, and turned so that her breasts pressed against his chest.

&
nbsp; “Please tell me, Charley,” she whispered in his ear, making sure she followed up her request with a tracing from her warm tongue.

  Addie wondered if she’d gone too far when Charley growled and crushed her lips under his. Nevertheless, she responded with enthusiasm, having taken another adage of her aunt Ivy’s to heart. Ivy always said you can never love your man too much.

  Rather than carrying her to the bed, though, Charley stopped kissing her abruptly, somewhat to Addie’s disappointment. He sat back and covered his eyes with his hand.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong, Charley,” begged Addie, appalled to see him looking so distressed.

  “I don’t know, Addie. I just don’t know.”

  He sounded genuinely unhappy. Addie swallowed her sigh and suppressed the urge to grab Charley by her father’s lapels and shake the worry out of him. Instead, she opted for gentility, stuck her hand through the opening of his robe, and stroked his chest to give him courage.

  At last Charley said raggedly, “It’s the band, Addie.”

  After a brief pause as she tried to figure out what could be wrong with the band, Addie said, “The band?”

  Charley nodded. “I’m responsible for them. Always have been.”

  This was going to take longer than she’d expected. Wrinkling her brow in thought, Addie guessed shrieking probably wouldn’t hurry him along any. Aunt Ivy said gentlemen invariably retreated into silence when ladies became angry. To encourage him, Addie murmured, “The band is a big responsibility, Charley,” in a lover-like tone. She hoped a little boost to his male pride would shove him into revealing more.

  Another nod, then silence. Addie couldn’t curb her frown, although she did manage to keep it from Charley as her chin rested on his shoulder. Because she was getting frustrated, and because she didn’t figure he’d realize it was deliberate, she elbowed him in a rib, drawing a startled “Whuff,” out of him.

  “Oh, Charley, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Addie.”

  “Are you worried about what will happen to the band if we get married, Charley?” she suggested gently.