Wendy Lindstrom

by Kissing in the Dark

  Six weeks ago on a chilly Sunday morning Judge Stone had shown up at the brothel and demanded the deed to the property. Her mother had argued fiercely and tried to push him out of her home, but that had caused her own fall over the second floor railing. Stone had walked out, leaving them to get a doctor, but they hadn’t known any doctors. So Faith and Dahlia had rushed into a church several blocks away, their cries for help buried in the blast of the church organ and impassioned singing. When the song ended and their pleas could be heard, a kind doctor in the congregation had gone to the brothel with them, but the fall had injured her mother’s head too severely, and she died twelve hours later.

  Faith had known few acts of kindness from strangers, and she would forever remember the bespectacled doctor and his sincere sorrow that he couldn’t save her mother.

  Thinking back, she’d assumed she would now hate the sound of the organ, but the vibrating pipes filled the church with such majesty, her lips parted on a sigh. Awestruck, Faith listened, captivated by the impassioned people around her lifting and blending their voices in song. The glorious music flooded her with a sense of rightness. They would come to church on Sunday mornings just like the other respectable residents of Fredonia. And someday, she might even have a husband who would love her, who would stand at the back of the church with their sons, waiting to escort her to their safe, love-filled home.

  When the song ended, Faith sat in the pew with Cora on her lap, vowing she wouldn’t be weak like her mother, a woman condemned for her tawdry profession. Her mother had provided food and a dry place to sleep for Faith and the children, but precious little of her time. She’d dreamed of a better life, of marrying a man she loved, of giving her children a real home, but she’d spent thirty years as a prostitute and died in her brothel.

  The sad truth was that Faith’s mother could have moved to a new town and kept her past a secret like Faith was doing. Men would have lined up to propose marriage to the unequaled beauty. But Rose had lacked the courage, or the desire, to change her life. And that’s why Faith hated her.

  But she loved her for so many other reasons, it wrung her heart.

  That conflict gnawed at Faith’s conscience each day of her life, feeding her anger, increasing her guilt. Some days she wanted to forget everything—the brothel, Jarvis, even her mother. Other days she ached for one of her mother’s hard, apologetic hugs.

  Cora’s breathing slowed, and Faith held her close as the little girl fell asleep. They would build a good life here, she vowed. They would plant their dreams in this rich farming soil of upstate New York and nourish them with firm conviction, courage, and love. Here, in the ashes of her mother’s life, she would plant her dreams and they would bloom like fireweed.

  Certainty swept through her, and the church no longer felt dim and airless. The space felt sacred, the pastor’s words inspiring and uplifting. Faith listened with her eyes closed and her heart open, drinking in the nourishing words she’d been so long denied.

  When the service ended, her heart overflowed with hope as she followed the Graysons outside into the bright June sunshine. She wanted to linger in the Common, to deepen her acquaintance with the people who would become part of her garden, but an outraged shout from across the park drew everyone’s attention toward Main Street.

  “That man’s stealing my horse!”

  Before Faith could understand what was happening, Sheriff Grayson sprinted past her, jaw set, suit coat flapping as he raced across the small park, followed by his brothers and several other men.

  The accused man leapt onto the horse and dug his spurred heels into its flanks. A collective gasp burst from the crowd as he wheeled the horse toward the sheriff and tried to run him down. Instead, the sheriff side-stepped the mare, reached up with one hand, and hauled the rider off the horse. The man hit the ground hard and rolled away from the rearing animal.

  Faith held her breath, fearing those sharp hooves would crash down on the thief, or worse yet, slash the sheriff’s head and shoulders. But one of the sheriff’s brothers caught the reins and led the frightened horse away from the tussle.

  As the man on the ground pushed to his knees, the sheriff planted his boot against the seat of thief’s pants and shoved him facedown on the grass. And before the man could push himself to his elbows, Sheriff Grayson pinned him to the ground with a knee to his back.

  “Stay put, Covey.”

  “Go to hell.”

  The man called Covey struggled and cursed, but the sheriff braced one hand on the back of Covey’s head and pressed his face into the spring grass. “You’re under arrest,” he said.

  With his free hand, the sheriff fumbled beneath his suit coat, but Covey surprised him, slamming his elbow into the sheriff’s ribs.

  A husky man pushed through the crowd and headed toward the scuffle, and Faith willed him to hurry.

  “Archer!” Another of the sheriff’s brothers stepped forward and blocked the man’s way. “Stay out of it.”

  Faith gaped in disbelief. Covey was thrashing like a rabid dog, kicking his boot heels up and using his spurs like small knives. She couldn’t tell if he was hitting his mark, but the sheriff’s suit coat was ripped in several places and he’d lost his hold on the man.

  Covey leapt to his feet and bolted into the crowd. Several women screamed as the sheriff tore after the thief.

  Archer pushed forward, but the sheriff’s brother grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Duke will handle this.”

  “Damn it, Boyd, unhand me!” Archer struggled against Boyd Grayson’s unrelenting grip. “That thief is getting away!”

  The sheriff tackled Covey near the huge water fountain. Boyd grinned. “No, he’s not.”

  The sheriff and Covey were so tangled up that Faith couldn’t tell who was winning the fight, but she was on Archer’s side; somebody needed to step in and lend a hand.

  Covey reared up and slammed his elbow into the sheriff’s sore shoulder. The sheriff’s pain-filled grunt could be heard across the Common, but unbelievably, no one moved to help him. Faith’s jaw dropped. What was wrong with these people? Why on earth weren’t his brothers helping? There had to be forty men in the park, but they were just standing there watching while that horrid thief swung his elbows and fists like hammers.

  With a low growl, the sheriff grabbed Covey’s wrist and wrenched the man’s arm behind his back. Covey cursed and struggled, but the sheriff out-muscled the horse thief and bound his hands with a pair of black suspenders he’d pulled from beneath his coat. Only then did Faith realize the sheriff was without his gun and handcuffs.

  When he finally pulled the man to his feet, the sheriff was breathing hard and dripping sweat. Faith knew the extent of his shoulder injury and could imagine the wrenching pain he must be in. But he kept his jaw clenched and propelled the horse thief through the crowd. Nobody said a word until the sheriff pushed Covey inside the brick building on the corner of Temple Street.

  “He’s taking him to jail,” Adam said, his face lit with excitement as he pointed to the building that Faith hoped to never visit. “Did you see the sheriff pull that man off that horse?”

  She sure had seen it, and it scared her sideways. Even injured, the sheriff wasn’t a man to cross.

  Everyone began speaking at once, filling the Common with enough noise to startle the birds out of the maple trees.

  “He did it with one hand,” Adam continued with awe. “Those men didn’t even have to help him.”

  Faith was trembling so badly she couldn’t bear Cora’s weight another moment. She set the child down on the bright green lawn, then led her and Adam to where their aunts and the sheriff’s sisters-in-law were gathered around Nancy.

  “Of course these things terrify me,” Nancy was saying. “Duke says it’s senseless for me to worry about him, but a mother will worry to her grave.”

  “Surely his brothers or one of those other men could have helped him,” Tansy insisted, apparently as appalled over their lack of action as Faith was. />
  “They know Duke can do his job, and they respected him by not getting in his way.”

  “But that man was beating him!” Faith said, her outrage revealing two things she did not want to know: The sheriff’s job was too dangerous, and she was far too concerned about him for her own good.

  “I know,” Nancy said, the tremor in her voice belying her brave front. “Believe me, if the situation had turned ugly, his brothers were right there ready to step in.”

  If it turned ugly? Faith’s heart was still banging in her chest. How much uglier would it need to get before the man’s own brothers would step in and help?

  Chapter 9

  It took Duke two hours to get Covey settled and the horse owner calmed down, and by the time his deputy Sam Wade arrived to guard the prisoner, Duke’s shoulder hurt like hell, the pain almost beyond bearing. And doubt tormented him.

  If he hadn’t yanked Covey to the ground and stunned the man, Covey would have thrown him off like a bothersome blanket. When he’d broken loose and bolted into the crowd, Duke feared his brothers and the townsmen would have to bring down the horse thief. This was his responsibility, damn it. He’d taken an oath to protect the area residents, and he couldn’t do that with only one healthy arm.

  Sick with worry and pain, he struggled to greet people cordially as he made his way to Faith’s greenhouse. When he found the door unlocked and Faith inside alone, he sagged with relief.

  “I know it’s Sunday, and that you’re obviously closed for business,” he said, startling a gasp from her, “but I’m prepared to pay any price you ask if you’ll fix my shoulder.”

  She pressed her hand to her chest and leaned against a flat of leafy green plants. “Why didn’t those men help you in that fight?” she asked, her face pale. “Your own brother kept a man from helping.”

  “I didn’t need help,” he said. Thank God. But next time . . .

  “Surely they could have saved you from getting kicked and . . . and oh Lord, did Covey cut you with his spurs? You must be in terrible pain.”

  “I’m not cut, but I was hoping for a massage with some of that balm you gave me.”

  “It should give you some relief,” she agreed. She crossed to the shelves and retrieved a jar of balm.

  “Where is everybody?” Duke asked, joining her at the counter.

  “Adam’s playing out back. Cora’s napping, and my aunts are in the house. I just came in to pick some herbs to make soup for lunch.”

  “Should I come back later?” he asked, praying she wouldn’t ask him to. His back was cramping, and his neck muscles were growing so tight he could barely turn his head.

  “I’d rather do it now while Cora is sleeping.”

  “Thank you,” he said, then clamped his teeth against another back spasm.

  She eyed him closely. “I think you need more than a massage, Sheriff.” She gathered an armful of linens and headed toward the back of the greenhouse. “I have a bold suggestion, but you have to promise not to arrest me for making it.”

  He smiled, appreciating a bit of lightness in an otherwise dark morning. “I promise not to arrest you.”

  “All right, then. I’m going to mix a tea that will relax you.”

  “I can’t see why I would arrest you unless you add some of those poisonous herbs you grow.”

  “If I did that, you’d be dead, and I’d get off scot-free,” she said with an easy laugh that soothed him.

  He lowered his aching shoulders and followed her to the small stone room at the back of the greenhouse where he’d hooked up the gas line for her tub. She set the linens on a chair beside the tub which was large enough for six adults. Then she uncapped a jar and poured purplish liquid into the tub. The scent of lavender wafted through the room.

  She capped the jar and set it on a nearby stand. “While I’m brewing your tea, you can remove your clothes and settle yourself in the bath.”

  She couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d kissed him.

  “Tie one of the linens around your hips before you get in, so I can bring in your tea.”

  Maybe Covey’s hard elbow to the temple had jarred his brain.

  “A warm soak in an herbal bath will soothe your muscles, Sheriff,” she continued. “The tea will relax you and help reduce inflammation. If you’d rather just have a massage, I’m happy to accommodate you, although it won’t be as effective without the herbal bath.”

  “You want me to get into that tub of perfume water?”

  “And submerge yourself to your chin for fifteen minutes. I’ll be back in a little while with your tea.” She left the room and pulled the door closed behind her.

  The thought of dousing himself with lavender appalled him, but the muscle spasm wrenching his back made the decision for him. He struggled out of his soiled suit, scuffed shoes, and sweaty undergarments, then tied a long strip of linen around his hips.

  An overturned crate and an old wooden trunk sat on the floor, forming steps beside the tub. Duke climbed them gingerly, testing his weight on them, then stepped into the water— and realized too late it was deeper than it looked. And hot. He went under face first and came up like a roaring geyser.

  “Geeawwwd!”

  He stood on his toes on some sort of metal grate, trying to keep his already toasted privates from burning to cinders.

  “Are you in the bath?” Faith called from the other side of the door.

  “Bath? Ha! It’s a damned soup pot.”

  She opened the door, but her beautiful smile froze when she saw him standing in the middle of the tub. “Is it that hot?” she asked, rushing forward to dip her hand in the water. She swished her fingers through the scented liquid and sighed. “Why, it can’t be much warmer than you are.”

  “Believe me, it’s a lot hotter than the boys appreciate.”

  Her face flushed and she turned away. “I’ll cool it some.” She set his tea on the table, then lifted the long iron pump handle. She pumped it twice and cold water gushed from a fat spigot into the tub.

  “You’ll need to sit to benefit from the bath.”

  “And blister my behind? No thank you.” Despite the metal grate that kept his feet several inches above the bottom of the tub, the water was much warmer near the burner.

  “For someone who can pull a man off his horse and wrestle him into submission one-handed, you’re ridiculously sensitive to a little warm water.”

  “Why don’t you step in here and see how it feels?”

  Her lips parted, and he thought he heard her gasp. She was flustered. Did his bold talk offend her? Was it his bare chest that had her acting so shaky? Or did she feel his attraction to her? Heat flushed through him. He’d come here out of desperation, so he could relieve his shoulder pain and get his mind back on his job, but his head filled with thoughts of Faith.

  “I spent twenty minutes in the bath before church,” she said, her bodice straining to contain her breasts as she worked the pump handle. “It felt perfectly lovely to me.”

  A vivid image of her glistening wet body caused his own to react. Sergeant and the boys might be poached, but they were wide awake and ready for action. The linen toweling did a poor job of concealing his lust, so he clasped his hands in front of his hips while she worked the pump handle and drove him crazy.

  She stopped pumping and unbuttoned her cuffs. “Will you treat Covey like you did Adam, and have him work for the horse owner to right his wrong?”

  “No. This is his third offense.”

  She pushed her sleeves to her elbows and submerged her hands in the bath water, moving slowly around the tub, swishing her hands around. “This ought to make the temperature more comfortable.”

  The temperature of the water, maybe, but her swirling hands and jiggling breasts were bringing his desire to a slow simmer. Duke tried to distract her by pointing to a linen bag floating near the spigot. “What’s in that sack?” he asked.

  “Chamomile, lavender, agrimony and mugwort, with a liberal dose of almond oil. Th
e herbs relieve stiff muscles and aching joints. The oil softens and soothes the skin. The warm water relaxes you. The oils also help keep the tub from rusting.” She lifted her hands out of the water. “That should be more than comfortable, Sheriff. Please sit down.”

  Good idea. His aroused body was too exposed in the clinging wet linen. He lowered himself cautiously until he was submerged to his neck.

  “Are you sitting or floating?” she asked.

  “Floating.” And aching in every way possible.

  She leaned down and picked up a short-legged metal step stool, causing the fabric of her shirtwaist to pull tight across her breasts. Long-limbed and lithe, her movements were as graceful as a dancer’s, and he couldn’t look away. Her slender fingers circled one of the sturdy round legs of the stool, and his mind went crazy remembering the feel of her fingers massaging his back and sliding over his skin, and he couldn’t help imagining her hands touching him in other places.

  “Sit on this. I’ll get your tea and a towel to put behind your neck.” She dropped the stool into the water and turned away.

  Getting splashed in the face was startling but deserved. He grabbed the submerged stool and dragged it under his bare bottom, feeling both excited and ridiculous in her big steamy bath.

  “Pull it away from the edge so you’re forced to lean back,” she said, placing the cup of tea on the stand near him. “You need to keep your shoulders submerged.”

  He scooted the stool out several inches and leaned back against the side of the tub. She rolled one of the linens and tucked it behind his head. “It must have taken you a week to fill this tub.”

  “Six days. Now drink your tea and relax. I’ll come back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Stay.” He caught her hand to keep her from leaving. “If you can, that is. If you’re not too busy.”

  “I think you’d be the first to note that it’s improper for me to be in here with you.”