The Stranger's Secrets Read online

  “Fine, get on with it.”

  Whit was nearly gleeful with the small victory, for a moment at least, until he realized he’d have to take off her bloomers.

  “Shit.”

  “Careful, your foul language is going to singe my virgin ears.” She hadn’t lost her dry sense of humor at least.

  “I need to lift up your behind so I can pull these down.” Unbelievably, he felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment.

  Sarah laughed. “Oh my God, don’t make me laugh like that. It hurts. You-you can’t possibly be sh-shy now, Kendrick.”

  He made a face at her and put his hands on her bloomers. “Get ready, Spalding.”

  As gently as he could, he held her up with one hand while the other attempted to pull down her bloomers enough to access her thighs. His breath got choppy and uneven as he shook with the strain of trying to keep her as steady as possible.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

  She bared her teeth. “Just get it done.”

  This time Whitman ignored the tempting triangle between her legs in favor of giving her relief from the agony currently gripping her.

  He was surprised actually. Whitman didn’t spend his time considering other people’s comfort, or at least that of women he had sex with two days after meeting them anyway. Sarah should be back in the last town waiting on the train, not before him at his mercy half dressed.

  Yet there he was smearing greasy stuff on his hands and preparing to touch her again. Melissa would hopefully be understanding of his motives. Very understanding.

  When he looked at the tin, he stopped and sniffed. “Horse liniment?”

  “I thought the same thing the first time I saw it, but it works and nothing else the stupid doctors gave me did.” She glanced at his hands. “Your hands are much bigger, so hopefully stronger. Don’t be afraid to rub it in.”

  He put his hands on her right thigh and again wondered how he’d gotten into such an odd situation. The smell of the liniment was odd, something he couldn’t quite identify. He hoped it actually wasn’t made of horse.

  “It smells horrible.”

  She managed a small snort. “You should smell it after two days.”

  Whit didn’t want to think about that. He ignored the stench and focused on her legs. At first he didn’t see the scars, only the pain they caused.

  However, as he started moving his hands, she huffed impatiently. “I told you not to be gentle. You’ve got to unknot the muscles and you can’t do that touching me like my grandmother. You’ve got big hands, nice calloused strong ones. Use them.”

  That’s when he really looked at what he was touching. The creamy skin of her thighs seemed incongruous next to the scars marring the beautiful skin. The shiny whiteness of the shallow ones, next to the deep color of the thicker marks.

  He’d seen the scars in the hotel room, but he hadn’t really looked, because he’d felt embarrassed and sorry for her. Of course, the pity could never be revealed or she’d bite his head clean off.

  Whit put his hands on the right leg, the one with the missing chunk of muscle, and started massaging in the liniment. He was surprised to find her leg as hard as a piece of wood. Apparently her muscles had either atrophied or gotten to the point where they stiffened completely without regular massaging.

  The hardness softened slightly as he worked. He really did have to use his strength. After a few minutes he developed a rhythm moving up one side then down the other. Sarah’s fists began to unclench and Whit felt a smidge of pride.

  She was a hard woman to please and if massaging stinky horse liniment into her knotted muscles was the answer, he was more than glad. He was, for a brief moment, satisfied.

  Whitman almost gasped at the realization. It had been twenty years—more than that—since he’d felt satisfied with anything in his life. And he felt it for an abrasive, scarred woman with a tongue that could cut glass?

  He felt a chuckle threaten at the absurdity of the situation. Yet he continued to massage her pain away. She sighed as he added more of the liniment to his hands and then moved to the other leg.

  “Dare I ask if I’m doing it right?”

  She sighed. “Yes, actually you are. I’ve only had one other person do it and your hands are much stronger.”

  Well, that was good news. Apparently Vic was not much of a man.

  “Is it helping?” His nose began to burn from the combination of sweat, heat, and the liniment.

  “Yep, it is. It’s been a very long time since my legs have felt relaxed enough not to make my ass as tight as a tick.”

  A chuckle erupted out of Whitman; he couldn’t help it. At that moment, the door opened and a tall thin man in a blue cap stepped in. His mouth dropped open at the sight of a half-naked woman with a kneeling man massaging her legs on the bench.

  Sarah howled with laughter and smacked Whitman on the shoulder. “You think he’s gonna let us on the train?”

  Whitman did the only thing he could think of. He laughed with her.

  Chapter Nine

  After Whitman explained in his very Yankee, formal voice why they were in the depot, and why Sarah was half naked, the confused depot clerk finally hesitantly nodded. He said the train was leaving on time and disappeared behind the ticket window.

  Sarah should have been embarrassed by everything—the pain, the fainting, and the depot fiasco—but she wasn’t. The truth was, she was grateful to Whitman for helping her. The pain had been unbearable, and she’d no doubt have lost her mind if he hadn’t been brave enough to do what he did.

  She didn’t think he’d pull her bloomers down or touch her hideous legs. Not to mention the liniment. Vickie had known it had healing abilities for humans. Too bad it smelled like horses.

  Whitman had performed through all of it as if he’d been her companion for years. Most folks would’ve cringed at all of it. Perhaps it was because they’d been intimate twice already, but she knew that wasn’t the entire reason.

  There was a connection between them, a deep connection she didn’t understand. Yet it comforted her, oddly enough. Very few things gave her comfort anymore.

  However, a virtual stranger, a lover, a Yankee did.

  She sat on the bench and watched him pace in front of the window as he looked out at the platform. In ten minutes they’d be allowed to board the train. God help anyone who tried to take their compartment. Sarah would use her cane if she had to.

  Her stomach rumbled and she wondered if they should get food before boarding. However, she didn’t want to take a chance on missing the train again. It sat there like a big iron monster, as if it hadn’t caused them a twenty-hour wild ride from Virginia to Kentucky to catch it.

  Whitman stopped pacing and stared out the window. Sarah’s instincts stood at attention as she waited to see what he’d seen. Then the one person in the world she wanted to find appeared fifteen feet from him.

  Mavis Ledbetter.

  The fury hit her so hard, Sarah didn’t remember getting to her feet or hobbling out the door as fast as she could. She found herself passing Whitman and almost running after the old bitch who’d left them to rot. Mavis knew where Sarah was headed and how important it was to get to Colorado and see her brother.

  Yet the older woman had allowed petty stupidity and a taste for revenge to get in the way of common decency. Sarah intended on making her eat her decision. Bite by spiteful bite.

  A strong arm clamped around her midsection, pushing out her breath and stopping her cold. She tried to suck in air, but Whitman’s hold was too tight. When she tried to kick him, he squeezed harder, and she saw spots in front of her eyes.

  “Let go of the lady.” Whitman’s voice came from somewhere to her right.

  If he hadn’t grabbed her, who did?

  “It’s my job to protect the citizens of this town. I reckon I can spot trouble when I see it.” The stranger’s voice was raspy and smelled like yesterday’s onions.

  Sarah was desperate for air, so she tried clawing at h
is arm. Within moments, she would lose consciousness or maybe even her life. Suddenly the thought of slapping Mavis held no consequence. When death winked at her again, Sarah’s survival instincts took over with a battle cry.

  “If you don’t let her go, you and I are going to have a problem.” Whit sounded angry, a good thing as far as she was concerned. At least someone cared if she was murdered on a train platform by an onion-smelling stranger.

  Sounds echoed as if she were hearing them through glass. She knew she had only a few moments until she would black out completely. With all the strength she could muster, she kicked backward, connecting with a shin. The man loosened his hold just enough for her to suck in air. When he did, she twisted and bit a plaid-covered shoulder as hard as she could.

  Sarah expected the fist, truly she did, but it still rang her head like a bell. The last thing she remembered was a bellow of rage from Whit’s direction. Then her face hit the dusty sidewalk and everything went black.

  Whitman’s fury knew no bounds. When he saw the man holding Sarah against him, he kept his temper in check and tried to reason with the stranger. He wore a red plaid shirt and canvas trousers along with two days of whiskers and a stained, brown flat-brimmed hat.

  Sarah stayed true to character and kicked and bit the man, but when the bastard punched her, Whit lost control. A trained soldier, he knew many ways to kill a man. He chose to let the moron live with a crippling kidney punch and a jab to the throat.

  Sarah landed on the sidewalk with a thud. Whit glanced up to see Mavis’s face drain of color, and then she ran for the train. Good thing too because it seemed her former boss had been intent on giving her a whooping. No doubt Mavis was shocked to see them, particularly considering they looked like hell. Not to mention the fistfight on the platform.

  Whit picked up Sarah again and carried her back into the depot. He left the moaning and choking stranger where he lay. Served the son of a bitch right for grabbing, then punching Sarah. Whit wanted to beat the shit out of him, but Sarah’s well-being came first.

  She came around quickly this time, her eyes unfocused. He hoped she wasn’t about to clock him again. That was truly the last thing he needed. Her cheek was already showing a bruise from where the bastard had hit her.

  “Whit?”

  He didn’t want to recognize how glad he felt she called his name instead of punching him. It was as absurd as it was pleasing.

  “I’m here. Are you all right?” He set her on her feet and she wobbled a bit.

  She winced as she opened her mouth. “Ouch, dammit, somebody hit me.”

  Whit beat down the image of just when she got it. He might have to go back and finish what he started. “Don’t worry, I hit him back.”

  “Good. We ought to call the sheriff on that bastard.” She touched the darkening spot on her jaw.

  “That’s his deputy.” The depot clerk’s voice made Whit’s heart stop for just a moment.

  “That dirty, smelly bastard is a deputy sheriff?” Sarah always knew exactly what to say.

  “Yes’m, it is. Walter don’t take kindly to strangers, and he likes to come down here when the train stops to find folks to fine for whatever he can think up.” The thin old man peered at them. “You two are a bit odd, but you seem to be good people. I’d make a run for the train if I were you. Before he wakes up and arrests you.”

  Whit didn’t need to be told twice. He scooped up all their belongings, then Sarah. He was glad the train was boarding, and by his estimate they had at least ten minutes before it pulled out. If they were lucky the obnoxious fool of a deputy sheriff wouldn’t bother them again.

  They didn’t need to add jail time to their growing list of interesting and crazy things that happened during their trip.

  By the time they made their way to the compartment and settled themselves in, five minutes had passed. He couldn’t see the platform from their seats because it was on the opposite side of the train. Whit was a grown man, a veteran with war experiences that toughened him into someone who could face any situation.

  Of course, that was before he met Sarah Spalding.

  “I plan on finding Mavis, you know. She had no right to do what she did.” Sarah adjusted her position to bring her legs up on the seat. “She has a lot to answer for.”

  Whitman wasn’t much for revenge, although he would like to give Mavis a piece of his mind. “What do you plan on doing?”

  Sarah’s silver gaze was as cold as ice. “Making her pay for what she did. An eye for an eye and all that.”

  “Do you think that’s necessary?” He peered through the window trying to see the platform. Another five minutes and the train would leave.

  “Yes, I do.” She smacked his arm. “What are you doing? You’re as nervous as all get-out.”

  “I am not nervous. The deputy sheriff could be looking for us right now. Do you want to spend the night or possibly longer in his jail?” There was no way Whit would again risk missing his own wedding.

  “But you’re not nervous?” She snorted. “Whit, if I poked you right now, you’d probably screech like a cat.”

  He frowned at her. “I just want to be on my way, to leave behind everything about this town, and that damn carriage. I don’t plan on suffering like that again.”

  Sarah kept quiet from then on, her silence unusual for a woman who always made sure she was heard. Until the train began to lumber from the station, Whit couldn’t relax. He couldn’t. As an ex-soldier, he respected the law and the men who upheld it.

  He kept wondering what he would have done differently if he’d known the man was a deputy sheriff. Sarah had been in trouble, and he had promised to help and protect her. And he couldn’t abide men who took advantage of or hurt women.

  The foolish deputy sheriff was doing both. Could Whit have solved the problem without knocking the man on his ass?

  Whit glanced over at Sarah. She had folded her arms and was currently staring out the window, her expression unreadable.

  “I guess we won’t be going to jail today.” He tried to summon up a smile, but he felt so completely out of control, he just couldn’t manage one.

  Sarah didn’t respond to his statement.

  “Sarah?”

  She flicked her gaze to his and he felt it like a slap. Whitman opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong but recognized that when she was angry, it was best to let her break her own silence.

  As the train picked up speed, he started to doze off. It had been a very long night, or was that an entire day? Waking up in Sarah’s bed had been a hundred years ago, but in reality, it had only been two days.

  In those two days, Whit had gone from being amused and interested in Sarah to being fascinated and a bit obsessed. Why hadn’t he met her before he asked Melissa to marry him?

  Simple. Sarah was a Southern woman who didn’t like Yankees, most particularly soldiers. And he was both. The knowledge of what Booker did, and the possibility it had been Sarah, burned in his gut. There was no future between him and Sarah.

  Then why did he wonder if there was?

  Sarah refused to be hurt. There was no way Whit’s casual remarks about their journey in the carriage would bother her. Not in the least.

  For one, he was a Yankee and her scars both inside and out attested to her near hatred for what he stood for. Thank God he wasn’t a soldier, though. At least he had that in his favor.

  Whitman was also engaged to be married. This thing between them, whatever it was, was no more than a man sowing his oats before settling down. Sarah had been the one to initiate the sex between them, although he had been a willing participant.

  Aside from all that, Sarah was impervious to petty emotional wounds. There was no point in getting upset over the little things in life—too many big things to overcome.

  However, there she sat like a five-year-old with her scowl and her lip practically pooched out over what he’d said about the carriage ride. It hadn’t been important to her, after all, and should not bother her in t
he least.

  All the logic in the world wasn’t going to change the fact they had shared not only their bodies, but their thoughts. Jesus, she’d told him about her mother, for pity’s sake. Not many even knew one iota about that infamous bitch.

  Yet she’d told Whitman.

  As Sarah tried to puzzle out her reaction to the big Yankee, he snored across from her. Obviously their antics on the way over, and the amazingly odd run-in with the deputy sheriff, had worn him out. She wanted to attribute it to their fantastic fuck but knew it wasn’t entirely true.

  Sarah had done so many things wrong in her life, she didn’t know how to do much of anything. If she was honest with herself, she wanted to do more than be a traveling companion and part-time lover to Whitman Kendrick.

  The very thought made her shake, literally, on the seat. Her heart raced at the idea of putting her neck out on the chopping block. Whit could pick up an ax and lop her head off, leaving her bleeding in the dirt.

  Or he might open his arms to her.

  Sarah needed to talk to someone. Her first choice was Vickie, but she was four days behind the train running the boardinghouse. No one knew as many of Sarah’s secrets as Vickie, and she’d stayed a true friend through everything.

  There was the possibility of sending her a wire, but what would Sarah say? I’ve fallen in love with a Yankee and I don’t know what to do. STOP. Help me. STOP.

  Sarah sucked in a breath at the word love. It hadn’t entered her mind before that moment, but she knew it had lurked deep down in the tiny little chamber of her heart she’d locked away so long ago.

  The first problem was his fiancée. The second was the fact he was a Yankee and she came from the right side of that particular fence. Two very large, seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

  One thing was for certain: she had to decide right quick what she wanted. The chance at love, perhaps even a man at her side for good, or continuing her lonely existence as a spinster with an occasional lover.

  Sometimes life just wasn’t fair.