The Moon and the Stars Page 5

  “I am afraid you will have to untangle it,” he remarked with seeming concern. Then his gaze met hers. “You must be Mrs. Richmond.”

  He could not have said anything that would have frightened her more than using her name. The lie she would have uttered, denying who she was, went dry in her throat.

  She ignored the thread he held out to her and bumped into the table piled high with bolts of material, sending several of them scattering and unrolling across the floor.

  “Mrs. Richmond,” he said, stooping to retrieve the bolts of material. “Let me help you.”

  She wanted to run from the danger she sensed in him, but she seemed to be rooted to the spot. She was aware of noises around her—the ticking of the wall clock over the counter, Mr. Liggett talking to a customer, even the sound of a wagon passing by out front.

  She watched him place the bolts back on the table and methodically align them as they had been before.

  “I must go,” she said breathlessly.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his gaze never leaving hers.

  Without answering, she darted around him and hurried out the door. At first she just walked fast, and then she ran, not stopping until she reached her house. Once inside, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.

  When she heard someone coming up the porch steps, she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming in fear. When she heard Mr. Renault’s voice, she cringed.

  “Madame, Mrs. Richmond, may I speak to you?”

  She didn’t move or answer and kept her weight pressed against the door, hoping he would just go away.

  His voice suddenly became mocking and arrogant.

  “I know you are in there because I saw you enter.”

  His high-handed attitude shoved every sane thought out of her mind, and she was left with only anger. How dare he follow her home, and then demand to enter her house? Without hesitation she whisked the door open and glared at him. “You have no right to be here. Why did you follow me?” she demanded.

  There was nothing threatening in his pose at the moment. He seemed genuinely puzzled by her attitude. “I ask your pardon, madame, if I have frightened you. I only wanted to return this.” He held her reticule out to her. “You dropped it when you left in such a hurry.”

  Her anger died and embarrassment took its place; the telltale sign of her humiliation showed on her flushed cheeks.

  “I . . . didn’t realize I had dropped it.” Slowly she raised her gaze to his, and she had the feeling that she was drowning in those penetrating eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

  He handed her the purse. “Madame, I am accustomed to people having an adverse reaction to me. I suppose it’s because of my profession.”

  Nelly had been right, this had to be the most striking man she had ever met. He stood at least six feet two. He was lean, and his shoulders were wide. His hair was so dark that it almost had a blue sheen to it. His eyes, which she had first thought to be brown, were actually an unusual amber color. His face was rugged and handsome, and his demeanor, even while he smiled, was intimidating.

  On first seeing him, she had sensed that he was not a man to trifle with, and that impression was even stronger now. She knew in her heart that he was dangerous and unpredictable. If he had come for her, she would not stand a chance of escaping him.

  As if he sensed her fear, he retreated down the steps. “Are you all right, madame? You seem upset about something.”

  She shook her head because she was having difficulty finding her voice. She gripped the door handle and stepped back inside. “Thank you for bringing me my purse. Please go now.”

  He settled his hat on his head and gave her a nod. “As you wish. If I can be of any assistance to you, my name is Wade Renault, and I’m staying at the boardinghouse for a few days.”

  Her heart was hammering in her ears as she heard the man’s retreating steps. Her short encounter with him had been far more frightening than the incident in Savannah.

  The truth hit her hard. She would not run this time because if he was after her, he would catch her in the end. Nelly had been right; it was better to face him here among friends than to be on her own again. He had given her no reason to suspect him—not by word or deed. It was just a feeling she had deep inside.

  She opened her purse to see if anything was missing. To her surprise, the thread she had dropped in Liggett’s store was there, and it was untangled—she wondered how he had accomplished such a feat in so short a period of time. And had he paid for it? He must have. Otherwise, he could not have just walked out of the store with it.

  Caroline had just taken the last stitch on the gown for Captain Flynn’s wife. She had promised to deliver it to the fort as soon as it was finished because Tessy Flynn was going to wear it for the ball tonight.

  She arranged her straw bonnet on her head and tied the blue velvet ribbons beneath her chin. She carefully picked up the folded gown and draped it over her arm so it would not wrinkle. It was only a mile to the fort, and Caroline enjoyed the walk along the river.

  As she stepped outside, the sun was shining brightly even though there was a bank of storm clouds in the west. She would have to hurry if she was going to get the gown to Mrs. Flynn before it started to rain.

  As she walked through town, a cowhand tipped his hat to her. She paused long enough to hear Mrs. Simmons inquiring about Mrs. Gray’s toothache and to advise the lady to pack it in cinnamon oil.

  She was relieved when the gown was safely delivered without mishap. She stayed with Tessy long enough to take a cup of tea before starting back to town.

  Heavy raindrops had just begun to fall as she reached Main Street. She ducked beneath the overhang of the San Sebastian Gazette, waiting until the shower passed. After a few moments the clouds scattered, and she continued on her way home.

  She heard a rider approaching, and she glanced up just as the man dismounted in front of the post office. He had looped his horse’s reins around the hitching post and climbed the steps toward her.

  It was Wade Renault.

  He casually leaned against a post, his entire attention focused on her. She felt the heat of his gaze, and she realized he was willing her to look at him, but she kept her head lowered

  “Mrs. Richmond,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.

  She started to step around him, but he blocked her path. She raised an angry gaze to him. “Move aside.”

  “I was only going to wish you a good day.”

  She felt an intensity in him that made her step back. Her heart was hammering in her breast like a wild thing, and she felt as if it might burst out of her body at any moment. She was so frightened she could hardly think straight.

  “How do you always manage to find me?” she demanded, finally looking into his eyes.

  He smiled slowly. “You are assuming I came in search of you?”

  Much to her embarrassment, she felt a flush climb up her face. “You always seem to be where I am.”

  He tapped a letter against the palm of his hand. “This is the post office, is it not? I am here to mail this letter.”

  “I . . . yes, I see.”

  “Good day to you, madame.”

  She dashed around him with hurried steps. She wanted to run, but she didn’t want him to think she was afraid of him. No matter what he said or did, she knew in her heart that he had come to San Sebastian to look for her.

  Wade stood by the window, glancing down at Mrs. Duncan’s house. She had been terrified of him again, and that bothered him, although he could not have said why. He seated himself in the overstuffed chair and propped his long legs on a cowhide ottoman.

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew the small tintype and traced the lines of her lips. He had seen those lips tremble in fear today. He had stared into her eyes—he now knew they were a deep blue. The picture did not show the suppleness of her full mouth. For nearly three months he had wondered how her voice would sound. Now he knew
. This afternoon, like the day in Liggett’s store, her voice had trembled in fear, but the trembling did not hide the melodic tone or the fact that she spoke each word distinctly with a delightful Southern accent.

  Brace Duncan had told him about his sister-in-law’s past, and it did not fit with what he had seen of her today. She was the only child of a prominent Charleston family. Her mother had died years ago, and he knew that her father’s health was failing because he had visited Mr. Richmond before coming to San Sebastian. He had introduced himself as one of Michael Duncan’s friends. The father had been more than willing to talk about his daughter, and he did not even realize that Wade had been directing questions at him.

  Mr. Richmond had been out of his mind with worry for his daughter’s safety. He had not seen her since before the marriage. The elderly man had been distressed by Michael Duncan’s death, and he had felt it was somehow his fault—though he did not share with Wade his reason for feeling that way.

  There had been tears in the old man’s eyes when he confessed that he feared his daughter might be dead. He had raved on and on about the evil in the Duncan household, and how no decent woman would go near the place.

  Wade closed his eyes, trying to remember what else Mr. Richmond had told him about his daughter. He had said that he had not heard from her in three years, not a letter, nothing. The man had been pitiful when he swore that if she would return, all would be forgiven. Wade had not had the cruelty to ask him the one question that nagged at him. Did the father suspect that his daughter had killed Michael Duncan?

  He also wondered how a daughter could so blatantly neglect her sick father. Not one letter in the three years since she had left Charleston. That was cold-hearted.

  Wade became fully alert when he heard a squawking sound outside his window. He rolled to his feet, keeping in the shadows and glancing down at a young private who stood on Mrs. Richmond’s doorstep, dangling a chicken by the legs. His jaw clenched as he watched Caroline Richmond invite the soldier inside. Was the price of her favors no more than one scrawny chicken? Did she offer her bounty to every man in uniform who made a trail to her door?

  Something about the whole thing was not right, but he could not find the flaw. Why would she live such a meager existence when she had all that Duncan money?

  He dropped the tintype on the floor and crushed it beneath his boot. Somehow he did not want to believe that Caroline Duncan was a woman of such loose morals. He picked up the bent tintype, and a small ache throbbed inside him because he had crushed it in a moment of anger. He shoved it into his saddlebag. Why should he care if she went to bed with every soldier at the fort?

  He did, though. He cared a lot.

  Her face had haunted him from the time he had opened the package sent by her brother-in-law. And seeing her in person, even knowing what kind of woman she was, had not changed his longing for her.

  His steely gaze pierced the darkness of his room. He had never lost his head over a woman before, and he wasn’t about to lose it over this one. He would carefully set his trap for her, and she would eventually walk right into it.

  Wade swore under his breath as the soldier emerged from her house. This one had not even lingered for half an hour. Disgust grew in his heart. His landlady, who seemed to be a decent woman, befriended Caroline Richmond. She could not know about her promiscuous habits.

  He would feel no guilt for bringing Mrs. Richmond to justice. In fact, it would be a pleasure to see that she got what she deserved.

  Chapter Five

  Caroline was having more trouble than usual falling asleep. Her thoughts were jumbled with the fear that pressed in on her like a swirling tide of darkness. Taking an exasperated breath, she opened her eyes and sat up, clasping her arms around her folded legs. Had those two meetings with Mr. Renault been accidental, or had he somehow contrived them? Was she being overly distrustful? Probably. But she had reason to be cautious.

  Around midnight she was still thinking about the bounty hunter, and what she would do if he came after her. It was hot in her bedroom because it was on the side of the house that caught the setting sun. She pushed her damp hair out of her face.

  How could she fall asleep in this heat?

  A sudden gust of wind stirred in the leaves of the oak tree outside her bedroom window, and the branches scraped against the roof of the house. Cringing inside, she remembered that night in Savannah when she had been forced to flee for her life.

  Mr. Renault had come to town for someone—he certainly wasn’t there for sightseeing. But if he was after her, she was sure he would come at her straight on and not sneak into her house in the middle of the night.

  Realizing that she was not going to fall asleep at all, she decided to make herself a cup of tea; perhaps that would help settle her mind.

  She slid out of bed, pulled on her tattered green robe, and went into the kitchen. Archimedes greeted her with a yawn, and then stretched and hopped out of his basket, rubbing against her leg. She picked him up and held him close, rubbing his fur. It consoled her somewhat to hear his soft purr while he snuggled against her.

  Even though it was hot in the house, Caroline was too afraid to open a window at night. She pushed a tumbled curl away from her neck, wishing the weather would turn cool. She moved out of the kitchen and through the front room. Opening the door, she stepped out on the porch and sat down on the top step, hoping to find some relief from the heat.

  Ordinarily she would not have come outside in her robe, but it was the middle of the night, and she imagined that everyone would be asleep. She glanced up at the full moon that had just emerged from behind a cloud bank, showering its brilliance into the darkened shadows.

  Archimedes seemed willing to lie in her lap as long as she stroked his fur. It was so quiet at this time of night. Somewhere near the Grays’ house she heard a dog barking, and an angry rebuke by Mr. Gray.

  She was overcome with feelings of moroseness. There was no one she could tell her deepest secrets to, as she had with Michael. There was Nelly, but Caroline would not burden her friend with her problems. There was no one to advise her on what she should do now. If only she could talk to her father, he would know what to tell her.

  She had to keep so many emotions locked inside, and sometimes the weight of them was almost more than she could bear.

  She didn’t know what made her glance up at the boardinghouse, her gaze moving to the middle window. Her breath hung in her throat, and she was barely aware that the cat jumped from her arms and ran around the side of the house. Her attention was focused on the silhouette of a man. There was no doubt in her heart that it was Wade Renault, and no doubt in her mind that he wanted her to know he was there, because he stepped closer to the window.

  Nelly had not told her that Mr. Renault’s room overlooked her own house, giving him a good position to watch her every move. He would know every time she left the house, and everyone who came to visit her. Now that she thought about it, he had probably seen her leave the house that day she had gone to Liggett’s store—he must have timed his departure just right so he could meet her there.

  The encounter between them had not been an accident at all.

  She rose quickly to her feet, clutching her robe together where it had gapped open in front. Backing up the steps without taking her gaze off him, she felt for the door handle and fumbled with it until it opened. She stumbled inside, slammed the door, and locked it behind her.

  She slid down to her knees because her trembling legs would no longer bear her weight. After her heart rate slowed, she dashed about the rooms, making sure all the curtains were pulled together so no one could see inside the house.

  After dropping down in the rocking chair and resting her head in her hands, she finally became more rational. But there was no reason to go back to bed, she would never be able to sleep now.

  She picked up the petticoat she had been working on earlier and threaded her needle. She might as well do her sewing—perhaps it would take her mind
off what had happened. Whether her fear was real or imagined, it remained on the edge of her mind until the first streak of sunlight touched the sky.

  After a sleepless night, Caroline wrestled with the notion of staying home and not attending the church picnic. She certainly did not want to take a chance on meeting Mr. Renault again, and he would probably be there.

  She spent the morning making the chocolate cake. When she slid it into the oven, she fried the chicken for Private McCaffrey. The homesick young man was only seventeen years old and away from his family for the first time. He had mentioned to Caroline that he did not enjoy Texas-fried chicken—he liked it cooked with spices the way his mother made it back in Alabama.

  Caroline had taken Private McCaffrey under her wing, along with his friend, Private Foster. Both of them were so young, and neither one of them had been able to read or write until she started teaching them.

  It was actually Mrs. Liggett who had suggested that the young men talk Caroline into teaching them, and she had enjoyed watching them learn. They insisted on paying her two dollars a month, so she used the money to buy books to give back to them. In the last two months several other young recruits had joined the reading group, and she now had twelve students. They were all polite and respectful to her and made her feel as if she had a dozen younger brothers.

  It was almost eleven o’clock by the time she had iced the cake, and a very happy Private McCaffrey had arrived at her front door. After heaping praise on her and thanking her at least five times, he walked away, carrying his fried chicken with him. Caroline stood on the porch, smiling as she watched him reach inside the canvas bag, grab a chicken leg, and take a big bite.

  Going back into the house, she removed her apron and hung it on a peg. She had decided that she would just take the cake to the picnic and then return home. Nelly wouldn’t like it, but she was in no mood to visit with anyone today. Maybe she could come home and nap.

  Tying her bonnet beneath her chin, she lifted the cake and went out the front door. Her gaze was drawn to the boardinghouse window, and she was relieved that no one stared back at her.