The Gunslinger and the Heiress
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Kathryn Albright
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18.8K
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20
Prologue
San Francisco Bay, 1883
“Look lively, Scrapper. We be dockin’ soon. Need you on deck.”
Caleb opened his eyes, letting in a sliver of light.
In response, Squid squared a hard boot to his side, rocking the rope hammock in a violent arc.
“Back off!” Awake now, Caleb stretched his back against the stiffness that had taken over his body, and then swung his feet to the plank flooring. He rubbed the remaining sleep from his face, wincing when he discovered his bruised and cut bottom lip.
“Gor. Look at you.”
“Trask and Corcoran deserved everything they got,” he muttered. He’d only protected what was his.
“Good thing you’re getting off. Corcoran is fair anxious to have you gone.”
“That makes two of us. I didn’t sign on to dance with him.” All he’d been lookin’ for when he’d boarded the clipper in Windham Bay was to work his way south. It had been the captain who had offered a bonus if he’d stay on. The permanent crew, namely Trask and Corcoran, had taken offense. Last night their petty jealousy had turned on a new tack, bypassed annoying and headed straight to ugly when they’d learned he’d had some luck in the gold fields. It wasn’t information he bandied about, so how they’d come across it was a mystery. Whatever the case, they’d come out of the scuffle in worse shape than he had. Gingerly, he touched his lip again. Scabbed over. He’d heal. He always did.
Squid gave him the once-over, apparently decided he was up and moving and left.
Caleb walked to the porthole and surveyed the shoreline. The ship maneuvered through the deepest channel of the harbor toward the docks. Shipyards and warehouses lined the waterfront in a familiar pattern like every other port he’d ever entered. But this was San Francisco, which made all the difference. It wasn’t home. Not once in his twenty-four years did he remember having a true home, even though his sister, Rachel, had tried her best. He let out a long breath. No, Frisco wasn’t home, but when her letter had finally tracked him down, he’d known he had to come back. He’d read it in the spaces between her words. With her first baby on the way, she was scared—scared things might be the same for her as it had been for their mother the night he was born. Heck, he was worried, too. Rachel had always been there for him. It was time he returned the favor.
* * *
A thick border of red and blue flowers bobbed in the summer breeze, issuing a light scent along the stone path to the front door. Rachel would know their name. She’d planted them on his last visit, talking on and on about how they’d look when he came back in a year.
That had been four years ago.
And that was why he stood before the cottage on Sand Pebble Road with his canvas duffel bag slung over his shoulder, bracing himself for the meeting ahead. A tongue-lashing was to be expected—and not the enjoyable kind with a willing woman. The scolding wouldn’t change a thing, but it would make Rachel feel better, make her feel as if she had done her duty as his stand-in mother.
Either way, a place like this—a place he could hang his hat—just hadn’t been in the cards for him. Too much gunpowder inside, one black-eyed Sitka woman had said. That had been true once, but now...now he might try staying put—for a while or possibly longer. Rachel would be plumb tickled at that prospect.
He pounded on the door, stepped back and listened for sounds from inside. Silence.
Briefly, he considered heading back to the bar he’d passed on the waterfront. He could come back later—when Rachel or Stuart was home. Trouble was, Trask and Corcoran were probably there by now. Better to sit that one out. He tried the door latch, sure it’d be locked tight, only to feel it give under his hand.
Striding inside, he dropped his duffel on the parlor floor. Sunlight through the window turned the sitting room and entryway into a yellow and rust-red kaleidoscope of color, but the house was eerily quiet. He’d expected Rachel to be home. After all, it was near time for the baby to come. Wasn’t she supposed to be sitting in a rocking chair knitting socks or blankets or something? Course, he hadn’t sent word ahead that he was coming. There hadn’t been time.
A scrap of paper, blown from the tea table by the breeze he’d created on entering, floated down to the dark plank flooring. He crouched and picked up the note, his gaze falling on a familiar name. He rose to his feet, smoothing out the crease as he read. Hannah’s birthday. He’d missed the date by a few days, but apparently a party was happening even as he stood waitin’ for company. No doubt he’d find Rachel there.
Hannah. If Rachel had had to take over being his mother, it was Hannah he thought of as his kid sister. She’d been a skinny mite the last time he’d seen her. Rachel had mentioned Hannah didn’t come by anymore, didn’t have much to do with Stuart either, no matter that the man had been a stand-in father and raised her those years at the lighthouse. When her grandfather finally found them, he’d insisted she live in the mansion as her birthright.
Guess he might as well head there and see what she looked like after all these years. It was as good a time as any to give her that trinket he’d been carrying around. Taking a small leather pouch from his duffel bag, he stuffed it into his vest pocket and set off for the Lansing estate.
* * *
The property encompassed the entire crown of a prominent hill. He stopped before entering the wrought iron gate and checked the view of the harbor below. A long, low whistle escaped. Several sailing vessels with their tall masts lined the wharves beside smaller fishing boats. Beyond them, a swath of deep blue water glistened under the setting sun. Hannah must have felt like a queen to see this every day.
He turned and strode up the long cobbled drive. Around a tree-lined bend, the mansion emerged—elegant white stucco surrounded by an expanse of green grass. The place hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen it. Five black carriages were parked in front of the estate, and more conveyances had pulled off under the trees. Gas lanterns spilled light along each side of the marble staircase leading to the front entrance. At the base of the stairs, a large fountain sprayed sparkling water into a shallow pool.
He swallowed, feeling wholly out of his element. At the door, the butler pursed his lips, but reluctantly allowed him in. He stood in the entryway under thick cherrywood beams that crisscrossed the white domed ceiling. Down the wide hallway came the sound of deep voices interspersed with high twittering and the smell of something sweet baking—cookies or maybe a cake. The flash of a dinner jacket at a doorway had him looking down at his leather coat and canvas pants. Guess he was a bit underdressed for the occasion. He wore his Stetson—the only new thing he owned.
When someone finally emerged to meet him, it wasn’t Hannah or even Rachel. It was Dorian Lansing. Leaning slightly on the cane that had always been a statement of his power, he strode down the hall decked out in a stiff new suit. The ruffles at his collar seemed out of place on such a man. His appraisal was quick, but Caleb felt as if he’d been turned inside out and inspected thoroughly for bugs.
Dorian nodded briefly. “Mr. Houston. It’s been a while.”
“I’ve just arrived in town. Thought I’d let my sister know I was here and say hello to Hannah. Don’t mean to interrupt anything.”
Dorian peered at him with those piercing blue eyes. The years might have watered them down some but hadn’t blunted their sharpness. “You’ll understand if I don’t invite you in. This is an exclusive gathering. I will inform my granddaughter you stopped by.” Without waiting for a response, he turned back toward the party.
Caleb hadn’t expected to be treated like royalty, but then he also hadn’t expected to be treated like dirt. He took two steps following Dorian. The butler blocked him from going farther, so he called over the man’s shoulder, “I’ll see Rachel. Just to let her know I’ve arrived safely.”
Dorian paused halfway down the hall. He didn’t look back. “Very well. I’ll send Mrs. Taylor out.”
Caleb tried to corral his retaliatory thoughts. He’d better not be waiting until Christmas.
Sudden movement from a nearby doorway caught his eye. A young woman stood there, frozen like a deer in the woods before it breaks and runs. Recognition hit him like the wallop of finding gold at the bottom of the Indian River. Hannah. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been in braids and wore a pinafore to her shins. Now her fancy white dress hugged curves of a waist he’d never seen before—and her shoulders were bare. Bare! Where had he been while all this came about? She wasn’t quite a woman yet—but she was close, mighty close.
He tipped the brim of his hat and then signed her name. Hannah?
A smile transformed her face, dimples forming on both cheeks. She ran toward him, her arms stretching wide to hug him the way she always had.
“Miss Lansing,” the butler said, and coughed discreetly.
Immediately Hannah slowed, and the smile disappeared into tightly pressed lips as she lowered her arms. The transformation cautioned him. Guess she was a young lady more than a girl now.
She stopped a full three feet from him. Hello, Caleb, she signed. How lovely to see you. She was suddenly so stiff and formal that he half expected her to curtsy. Before he could answer, she wrinkled her small nose. You smell like fish.
He raised a brow. So the imp was still inside her. Reading her sign language came back to him naturally, as if he’d never had a four-year hiatus—a surprise after all he’d lived through in the north country. He looked closer at her, noting the changes. Still the same heart-shaped face, the same big gray eyes, but the young waif was turning into a butterfly. She carried herself as if she was royalty coming to call. A comb sparkled in the upsweep of her pale blond hair. Diamonds? Most likely...
“Miss,” the butler cleared his throat again.
Her hands flew in beautiful rhythmic patterns. I’m fine, Edward. Really. You may go.
Caleb hadn’t expected the way she spoke with her hands to be so elegant, so...so graceful. It was like a dance—mesmerizing.
Edward frowned but did as he was instructed and disappeared into a side room.
“Well, aren’t you all grown up, Miss Hannah?” Caleb emphasized the miss to tease her. He’d never called her anything but Hannah or peanut. She might not be able to speak, but her hearing was just fine. “And looking mighty pretty for your birthday celebration.”
Her cheeks colored. That was new. She’d never blushed before when he teased, and he always teased her. Mostly she’d tease right back or stomp off in a huff.
Laughter filtered in from down the hall, drawing her attention. She turned back to him. Won’t you come join us?
He’d rather drink a gallon of seawater. “I don’t fancy meetin’ a bunch of strangers just now. I’m fresh off the boat and could use a shave and a haircut.” He ran his palm over the four days’ growth of bristles on his face in emphasis. “Just let Rachel know I’ll be at the house.”
But you just got here! I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing.
The warmth of her greeting relieved him. He hadn’t known how she would be—growing up in this huge mansion and after all these years. He’d halfway wondered if she’d forget about him.
She glanced down the hall, pressed her finger to her lips and then grabbed his hand and pulled him the other way—outside. She led him down the front steps and onto a path through a flowering trellis that led to a large rose garden. Their floral scent filled the warm evening air along with something he hadn’t smelled in years—night-blooming jasmine. In the center of the garden, a bronze sundial stood next to a wrought iron swing. She sat down, a conspiratorial smile on her face, and patted the bench seat beside her.
He took care not to crush her fancy party dress as he joined her. “Just what are you up to, Hannah-girl?”
Her eyes shone, drinking him in and making him feel all of ten feet tall. You were gone a very long time. Where have you been?
“Alaska mostly.”
Her eyes widened into saucers. Looking for gold? Did you find any?
He chuckled, enjoying her exuberance. He gave a push with his feet to set the swing in gentle motion. “Some. Bears, too. Big black ones.”
You are lucky to have so many adventures—see so many new places.
“You’re pretty lucky yourself.” He tilted his chin toward the mansion behind her. “This looks like a big adventure in its own way.”
Instead of agreeing, like he thought she would, her shoulders sank, the movement nearly imperceptible.
He hadn’t intended to put a damper on the day. After all, it was her birthday party. “So how have you been, Miss Hannah?”
She blinked and seemed to shake off the mood. Next week I’m going to see a man about my voice.
Apprehension tasted sour in his stomach. “Thought you’d been down that road before.”
She frowned. I thought, of all people, you’d understand best.
Great. He hadn’t been here five minutes and they were arguing. “Understand what? Understand how many times you’ve had your hopes trampled? This isn’t some endurance contest, Hannah. You were all broke up the last time when it didn’t work like you hoped.”
But this is different.
“How so?”
It’s called hypnosis.
Coldness spread through his gut. “Like at a carnival? Some mind reader playing tricks with your brain?”
It won’t be like that. He’d be doing it to help me, not to make fun.
“Sounds crazy to me. Crazy and dangerous.”
She wilted at his words. Must have thought he’d be as enthusiastic as she was. He felt bad—selfish even—for throwin’ cold water on her hope. “I’m sorry I can’t be more excited for you. I just don’t want to see you hurt again. To my way of thinkin’ you’re fine just the way you are.”
That’s because you can read my hands. Not everyone can and... Her hands dropped to her lap.
“And what?” he prodded, knowing his voice was harsh and not caring. The gal would keep at this like a dog worrying a sore paw.
I...I... She squeezed shut her eyes. Never mind. I’m sorry I spoke of it.
Now he really felt like an ass. He just didn’t want to see her hurt. “Go on. I won’t laugh or give you any more grief.”
She took a deep breath. I want to sing.
It was a dream any young girl might have—rich or poor. Taken by surprise, he grinned. “Guess I’d like to hear that myself.”
You’re just scared I’ll talk too much once I learn how.
He smirked. That sounded more like the Hannah he knew—a bit on the sassy side. “Could be. But whatever happens—whether this hypnosis thing works or not—you’re still Hannah to me. Nothing can change that.” He said the words to convince himself. She was changing—right before his eyes, she was growing up.
A coyote howled in the distance, and the sound pulled him from his thoughts. The stars were popping out, too. Guess he best say what he’d come to say so she could get back to her party. He fished in his pocket and pulled out the leather pouch. “I...ah...have a little something for you—for luck.”
Her eyes took on a sparkle. A birthday present?
“Call it that if you want. Been carryin’ it for a while. It’s not much.” He handed her the pouch.
She loosened the drawstring cord and upended the bag. The necklace he’d had made slid into her waiting palm—a swirl of silver and abalone in the warm twilight. He watched for her reaction.
Her eyes opened wide in recognition.
She remembered. Unaccountably pleased, he said, “I’ve had that piece of shell with me ever since we found it on the beach. Been my good-luck piece. Figured it was your turn to have it.”
It...it is lovely. Will you put it on me?
She handed him the necklace and flounced around on the swing, turning her back to him. The movement wafted her flowery perfume up to fill his nose. His gaze slid down the gentle slope of her neck and farther to her shoulders. He’d never seen so much soft, creamy skin. Queer sensations pooled in his stomach as he circled the silver chain around her head. A tendril of hair danced in the breeze where he needed to lock the clasp. He leaned close and blew it out of the way.
She inhaled sharply.
He smiled at her reaction and then leaned in to tease her. “Goose bumps?”
She didn’t indicate she’d heard. In fact, she was mighty quiet. And goose bumps had formed on her upper arms. His fingers stilled in their task. He’d only meant to move the hair out of the way. After all, this was Hannah. He hadn’t given any thought to his actions being more than that. Suddenly they were. Suddenly they seemed...intimate.
He finished locking the silver clasp and pulled back. “Done.”
Hannah fingered the pendant as she turned to him. The gleaming shell rested just above the rose-colored satin neckline of her dress. He liked the way it sat there all shimmery on her smooth skin. “It’s not emeralds...or pearls....”
I have those things. It... She stilled her hands and then started over. This is special. It means a lot to me.
She leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek.
Drawing back, she stopped close enough for her breath to tickle his skin. Gray eyes, large and luminous, blinked up at him. Her nearness set his entire body to thrummin’—not exactly the reaction he’d expected.
“You’re sure sayin’ a lot for someone who can’t talk,” he mumbled, unable to look away. They were friends—practically brother and sister. And she was way too young to be lookin’ at him like that. To give in to the urge forming—the urge to kiss her properly—would change things between them forever. He should get up and walk away right now, put some distance between them before he did something stupid.
Trouble was, his head told him one thing and his heart said another. And the second was drowning out the first. So he sat there like a dang fool, caught betwixt and between. Those pretty gray eyes of hers grew bigger, and she tilted her face up. His heart lurched to a new rhythm in his chest. Apparently the little lady was wantin’ the same thing. A fool he might be, but he didn’t need to be asked twice.
He slid his hat from his head, barely conscious of the motion. Then, leaning forward, he tested the waters—a quick brush of his lips to hers. When she didn’t pull back, he took her by the shoulders and bent down to her mouth—careful to keep the kiss light. A birthday kiss. A sweet-sixteen birthday kiss. Gentle. Chaste. Her lashes swept down, and likewise he let himself enjoy the moment. She had the softest lips he’d ever felt, the smoothest skin he’d ever touched.
And she was an innocent. She trembled under his mouth, stiff and a bit awkward in a way only first kisses can be. That she’d chosen to share her first kiss with him humbled him. It was a gift—the gift of herself.
He broke contact and then brushed her forehead with a parting kiss, murmuring against her skin, “Happy birthday, Hannah.”
When he pulled back, heightened color stained her cheeks, and her gaze was slightly out of focus.
Well, he was right there with her—in as much shock as she. Imagine that.
The tap of metal clicked on the flagstone path. “Hannah!” Dorian’s harsh voice boomed through the garden.
Reluctantly, Caleb released her and stood to face her grandfather.
Dorian made his way toward them until he stopped three feet before them. Quietly, Hannah stood. Dorian took in the pendant she wore, took in her flushed face and cut a barbed look to Caleb before addressing his granddaughter. “You are ignoring your guests. Please, return to the house immediately.”
Caleb glanced toward the front door. The partiers had wandered onto the open marble landing at the top of the steps and stared out over the railing, curiosity splashed across their faces. On the path behind Dorian, Rachel, large and awkward with child, hurried forward, followed by her husband, Stuart.
Rachel rushed up and hugged him fiercely. “You’re here! When did you arrive? Did you stop at the house?”
He squeezed her tentatively, in awe of her changed form. “Hi, sis. Yes, I left my things there.”
“Oh, it’s been too long this time.” She sniffled, and he saw the start of tears forming in her eyes.
Uncomfortable with the display of emotion, he turned to his brother-in-law, reading the dark bent of his expression. Tread carefully, it said. Rachel didn’t need any worries, and an argument between him and Dorian wouldn’t do her any good.
“Don’t mind me. Really,” Rachel said, blinking away her tears. “It’s just something to do with being in a family way. I seem to cry at the drop of a hat.”
He grinned at that. Seemed women could always muster up a good cry—sometimes in honest feeling and sometimes only to manipulate. He’d experienced both. “Guess I interrupted quite a party. I’ll head to the house and you come on back when you’re good and ready.” Turning to Hannah, he resettled his hat on his head and tugged the brim down. “Your grandfather is right. Your guests are waiting.”
Hannah pouted but moved her hands gracefully in answer. Thank you for the gift. You’ll come by tomorrow?
Caleb caught the smoldering anger in Dorian’s eye. “Sure. Tomorrow evening.”
She smiled, reassured, and turned down the stone path to the house.
The moment she was out of earshot, Dorian faced him squarely. “Please don’t make contact with Hannah again.”
“I’d say that’s up to Hannah, Mr. Lansing.”
Rachel’s face blanched.
“You will honor my wishes with my granddaughter.” Dorian didn’t raise his voice, but Caleb heard—no, he felt—the underlying steel. This was a man who got his way. “Hannah is young and impressionable, and she has been brought up to a finer style than one to which you are accustomed. I believe you would agree with me when I say that she deserves better.”
Caleb nearly choked. The man was anything but tactful. “Our friendship goes back way before Hannah came here to live with you. Money doesn’t figure into it.”
Dorian raised his brows. “You’ll find, Mr. Houston, that money has everything to do with her life now, the merchant business and her future.”
Rachel gasped—a strangled, half-swallowed sound—and the corners of her mouth tightened, pale and drawn. Her hand clutched her bulging abdomen. “I...I believe I really must start home.”
The way she said it, more than the words she used, had Caleb moving toward her to catch her by the arm. Stuart did the same, clutching her opposite arm in support. “Rach?”
Her attempt at a reassuring smile faltered. “We should be going.”
“The midwife?” Stuart asked, looking at Caleb over her bowed head.
She shook her head. “It will pass. I need to lie down for a bit. Just overdid things today. That’s all.”
Stuart quirked his head. The look was subtle, but Caleb understood. He was to take Rachel home. Stuart would go for the midwife. It didn’t matter that Rachel thought it unnecessary.
“Thank you for having us, Dorian,” Rachel said. “Give Hannah our love.”
Dorian stood aside to let them pass. Caleb could almost hear the thoughts swirling as the man assessed him one last time. “Mr. Houston. You’d be smart to remember what I said.”
The challenge rang in the damp evening air. Caleb ignored it, but as he stepped away, flanking Rachel’s side, he felt the man’s gaze sear his shoulders. Dorian Lansing was not someone to turn his back on. He’d best remember that.
* * *
The guests were gone, the servants abed, the house quiet. Yet in one room, Hannah’s sitting room, the gas lamp burned steadily. Hannah sat at her writing desk watching Grandfather stride the length of the apartment, his bow tie hanging loose at his collar and his face tight with controlled anger.
“I cannot believe that you left your guests, friends who had traveled considerable distances, to consort with that ne’er-do-well. Have you no pride in yourself? No sense of decency?”
Caleb is a good friend, too— Grandfather turned away before she could finish signing. She dropped her hands into her lap. She wasn’t surprised. He had little patience for the way she communicated. Since the day she’d arrived ten years ago, unable to speak, she had been a disappointment. Each doctor she had seen, each professional opinion, each unsuccessful visit had frustrated him further. Yet she had no control over this wretched solitude. If only she could be the same as everyone else, if only she could force the words out, then everything would be righted. Grandfather would have to listen.
He stopped pacing. “Tonight’s inappropriate behavior must be addressed. In view of what has occurred, I feel I must contain you to your room for the time being.”
But she was supposed to see Caleb! Thoughts of his kiss came back full force. What a flood of sensations had come over her with that kiss. Was that what it was supposed to be like? One thing was certain. She wanted to talk to him about it. And she wanted another one.
But of that, Grandfather would not approve. She did, however, need to keep her appointment with the hypnotist. Opening her secretary, she withdrew a sheet of paper and dashed off the words Appointment. Hypnotist. Ten o’clock.
Grandfather frowned. “I haven’t forgotten, but I regret now giving you leave to go. That man is not a physician. I find it distasteful to visit his establishment, to be seen in his part of town.”
No! Grandfather mustn’t change his mind! She had to see the hypnotist! Quickly she wrote Edward’s name.
“It’s not a matter of who will accompany you. This person is no more than a carnival charlatan—a waste of time. With further consideration, I cannot allow you to keep your appointment.”
The thought flitted through her mind that he sounded much like Caleb had in his assessment of the hypnotist—a similarity she refused to dwell on at the moment. She had to go, had to try, no matter how slight the chance it would work.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow, after you have time to consider your actions and how they’ve disgraced the family.”
Grandfather was nearly to the door. She tugged at his arm.
He looked down at her, his mouth a firm line of disapproval. She’d seen that expression a number of times over the years since coming to live with him and Grandmother Rose. Nothing she did would change his mind.
Then, as she watched, the resolve on his face shifted.
She stepped back, unsure what this might mean.
“Your mother was the same, you know,” he said. “Impulsive. Headstrong. I had hoped you would not take after her in that regard.”
Her mother? He never spoke of her. That he said anything emphasized how upset she’d made him. She’d been three years old when Mother drowned—and she had stopped speaking. At least that was what Stuart had told her when she was old enough to understand. As much as she would have liked to remember her mother, she couldn’t. Her memories started at the lighthouse with Stuart taking care of her.
Grandfather sighed and patted her arm. “I don’t wish to do this, you know—punish you like a young schoolgirl. Not at your age.” He moved back to the window seat and sat, hands on his knees, and stared at the floor—a sign he was deep in thought.
The quiet between them filled with impending heaviness. Her breathing grew shallow, until the air in her lungs ceased entering or leaving. She dared not move. This was too important. Everything seemed to hang in the balance of what he would say next.
Finally, he looked up and narrowed his gaze on her. “Therefore, I have a proposition.”
* * *
Three days later, Caleb knocked on the door of the estate and asked for Hannah.
“Wait here,” the butler instructed. He didn’t bother inviting Caleb inside but shut the door in his face.
Caleb blew out a long breath. Guess he’d worn out his welcome in one fell swoop. Could be that the whales would start their trip south before he’d see Hannah now.
He paced along the top of the marble steps. Twice, he thought about leaving, despite the fact he’d thought of little else but Hannah for the past three days. It was that kiss. Whether he liked it or not, kissin’ her had changed things between them. He felt—different now. A surprise, considering he’d known her all his life. Concerning, too. And he didn’t want to think any further along those lines until he spoke with her.
He viewed the rose garden and lawn twenty feet below the low ornamental railing and resigned himself to waiting as long as it would take. He’d meant to come by sooner—two days ago to be exact—but it couldn’t be helped. Babies come on their own timetable without any consideration for the knots they might tangle in everyone else’s schedules. His nephew, Lawrence, had squalled his way out and demanded every minute of his time while Stuart and the midwife tended Rachel. She’d had a rough go of it. Even now, thinking on it made his stomach clench.
The door hinge creaked and immediately he turned. “Hannah—” She wasn’t alone. Her grandfather stood beside her, creating a chill in the air just by his presence. “Mr. Lansing.”
Dorian didn’t bother to acknowledge him.
“I couldn’t come sooner. Rachel had a boy. She’s fine—they’re both fine.” He stopped talking. Hannah looked as if she might be ill—or exhausted. There was a bruised, fragile look to her eyes, and she had trouble meeting his gaze. His breath left him in a whoosh of disappointment. She wasn’t speaking. That was what the problem was. She’d had her hopes up so high. Too high.
He started toward her—not quite sure what to do, what to say. He wasn’t exactly the “cry on my shoulder” type, but he had to do something.
She stiffened, clearly erecting an invisible barrier between them.
He stopped, curling his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her, whether to hug her or shake her, he wasn’t sure. Hadn’t he told her it was a long shot? Hadn’t he warned her not to get her hopes up? “It didn’t work,” he said flatly.
She looked down to the slab of white marble at her feet.
He’d bet two shiploads of gold that she’d done this because of Dorian. The man steadfastly refused to learn the sign language. Over and over, Hannah put herself through agony because she wanted to communicate with him, and all the while Dorian didn’t even try to understand.
A body couldn’t keep warding off disappointment time after time without growing bitter.
Finally, she met his gaze. I can’t see you anymore, Caleb.
That wasn’t what he expected. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head, a pained expression on her face.
Suddenly worried, he stepped toward her. “Did something happen at the hypnotist? Did he hurt you?”
She moved away until her back flattened against the great oak door. No. I’m fine.
Well, that was a lie. He waited for her to go on.
Things have changed since I saw you last.
It had to be that kiss. He darted a look at Dorian, a few feet away. It wasn’t hard to figure that the ocean would turn red before that man would give them a sliver of privacy.
She twisted a handkerchief in her hand.
“I’ll come back in a few days—when you are feeling better.”
No. Don’t come. I can’t see you anymore, Caleb. Not ever.
He tightened his jaw. “You’re not makin’ sense. If it’s the kiss that’s botherin’ you...”
You shouldn’t have done that.
A slow burn started in his gut. “As I recall, you were the one doing most of the asking.”
No. I’m sure you are wrong.
So that was how things stood. She couldn’t own up to her actions. She was embarrassed about being forward, and instead of admitting it or dealing with it, she was trying to put the blame firmly in his lap.
He glanced at Dorian, wishing the man would disappear so he could talk easier with Hannah. Now, that was a fantasy. He swallowed. “This is how you want it?”
She nodded, not quite meeting his gaze.
He took one last considering look. They both knew she was twisting the facts, but she’d made her choice. He should have been ready for it. People he cared about had been leavin’ him his entire life—first his mother, then his father, and then Rachel. This was just one more time.
“Have it your way, then.” Slow and deliberate, he turned and strode down the front steps. Behind him, he heard the door quietly click shut.
