The Stranger's Secrets Page 21

  Of course, in her heart, she knew there would never be another man besides Whitman. She rolled over and stared at the curtains in the window. The guest room was at the top of the stairs in the enormous mansion.

  Micah had told her softly that his friend Madeline had given it to them as a wedding gift. For a moment, Sarah wished she had a friend like that. Then she thought better of it. Rich friends usually expected too much from a person.

  Sarah preferred her ragtag, poor friends, who only had their love and affection to give and receive. She hoped Lorenzo was all right in Denver, and Vickie and the girls in Virginia.

  As Sarah drifted off to sleep, she thought of Whitman and how he looked when he was above her, making love to her. Her body thrummed with arousal almost immediately and she cursed aloud.

  It seemed Whitman would haunt her mind, heart, and body. He had become part of her. Goddamn, but she loved him.

  She’d never be able to let him go.

  Whitman could hardly wait to ride to Plum Creek. It was still dark when he went to the livery in Denver to buy a horse. The young man working there looked at him as if he were crazy.

  “You want to buy a horse now?” The boy had sandy-blond sleep-tousled hair and wore a pair of overalls with no shirt.

  “Yes, I want to buy one now. Are all of these for sale or are they boarded?” He started walking down the stalls looking for a sturdy mount.

  “Um, some of them is owned, and others is what we rent to folks.” The boy rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Mr. Foster will be here at six. You got to wait til he gets here to buy a horse.”

  Whitman glanced at his pocket watch. That was an hour away and he could hardly stand the wait. “Can I rent one then?”

  “I suppose. I do that all the time for Mr. Foster. Where you headed?” The boy yawned again and scratched his head.

  “Plum Creek, and I need directions too.”

  “That’s about three hours from here, due north.”

  Whit was dismayed to find there were no good horses in the barn. Half of them were swaybacks, the others too small or old to ride. What did he expect in a livery? He was pleased to find a nice-looking buckskin in the last stall. “Is this gelding for rent?”

  “That there is Mr. Foster’s personal horse. He ain’t never for rent.”

  “Hell’s bells. Where does Mr. Foster live?” Whitman couldn’t wait even one more minute to be on his way. Knowing Sarah was only a few hours away made him nearly crazy.

  He had to find her, to apologize and grovel at her feet. Whit had to tell her he loved her. He’d never done that and he’d regretted that fact ever since he’d left her train compartment.

  However, Whit refused to live with regrets anymore.

  “Up the hill a ways at number forty-two.” The boy pointed. “He ain’t gonna be happy if you wake him up, though.”

  Whit grinned. “He will be when I pay him twice what his horse is worth. Saddle this one up—I’ll be back.”

  With an energy he hadn’t felt in years, Whitman ran up the hill to number forty-two and Mr. Foster.

  Whit wasn’t going to wait for his new life to begin.

  A man emerged from the shadows and stepped toward Jeremy. The boy shrank back, afraid of the man, as he hadn’t been by the stranger who wanted to buy Mr. Foster’s buckskin.

  “Boy, where is that man going?” the man’s voice was harsh and rough.

  “P-plum Creek.” Jeremy swallowed, but his mouth was so dry it made his tongue stick to the roof.

  “Where’s that?” The stranger came closer, revealing himself. He was hairy, with a beard and crazy, cold eyes.

  “Th-three hours n-north.” Jeremy began to shake and prayed he wasn’t about to piss his britches. The stranger scared him like a bogeyman.

  “You got a horse for rent?” The stranger peered into old Tink’s stall.

  “That one there is. He’s an old bay, not too fast but he’s s-sturdy.” Jeremy wanted to run, but he had no idea why. The stranger hadn’t threatened him or even hit him.

  But he was afraid. Damn afraid.

  “How much?”

  “T-two dollars a day.”

  “For that you’d better suck my dick, boy.” Two dollars fluttered in the air in front of Jeremy’s face. “Saddle him.”

  As he ran to do the man’s bidding, Jeremy focused on not getting attacked or worse.

  After he had the horse saddled, the stranger took hold of Jeremy’s jaw and squeezed. Nasty onion breath gushed out of the man’s bearded face.

  “If’n you tell the other man I was here or I’m headed to Plum Creek, I’ll come back and gut you. Understand, boy?” Jeremy nodded, too frightened to speak. It wasn’t until after the stranger rode off that he realized he had pissed his britches after all.

  But he was alive and he planned to keep it that way.

  Mr. Foster was more than glad to get a hundred dollars for his buckskin. Whitman walked back with the man as he chattered away, pleased with his early morning sale.

  When they arrived back at the livery, the buckskin was saddled and ready, but the boy was nowhere to be found.

  “Well, you just be on your way then, Mr. Kendrick. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Foster.” Whitman led the buckskin out of the barn. “What’s his name?”

  “I called him Horse, but you can call him whatever you want.”

  “How do I get to Plum Creek?” It would be a shame to get lost on the way to propose marriage.

  “Take the road north out of town. Follow it until you reach the fork by the big mossy rock. Can’t miss it. Take the right fork, and Plum Creek is about ten miles from there.”

  “Thank you again.” Whit turned to leave.

  “Good luck, Kendrick. I hope your lady is worth it.” Mr. Foster, a big barrel-chested man with a balding head, went in search of his errant stable boy.

  “Oh, she’s more than worth it. She’s worth everything.”

  Whit mounted with the ease born of a man who spent many years in the saddle. When he was astride the gelding, the horse whickered and tossed his head.

  “Me too, boy. I’m ready to ride. I’m going to let Sarah name you. Then I’ll buy her a carriage and you can be her wedding gift.” Whitman smiled as he kneed the horse into motion.

  Within hours, he’d see Sarah again. His stomach jumped right along with the rest of his body. The anticipation was enough to make him light-headed.

  Was this what love did to normal men?

  No wonder he’d shied away from it most of his life. If it hadn’t been for a sarcastic sharp-tongued Southern belle, he’d never have discovered the joys and sorrows of love.

  Then again, he’d never have found love, and that would have been a real tragedy.

  It was a beautiful spring day, perfect for a ride into the Colorado countryside. Tall evergreens towered over the ground from the mountains. The views were absolutely breathtaking.

  Whit could understand why Sarah’s brother decided to make his home there. Of course, in the winter, there was probably quite a bit of snow.

  He could feel the thinness of the air as he rode and was doubly glad he’d been smart enough to carry water with him. But he’d forgotten the food, so within an hour, his stomach began to rumble.

  None of it mattered, though. He was close enough to Plum Creek that he could almost smell her rose-scented skin. Or maybe that was the flowers on the side of the road.

  For the most part, his journey was uneventful. However, every once in a while, Whitman thought he heard hoofbeats, but they were faint. It sounded as if someone else was on the road with him on the way to Plum Creek.

  When he got to the fork in the road by the big mossy rock, Whit went right, as Mr. Foster had instructed. His heart beat a steady rhythm as he rode the last ten miles to Sarah.

  To his heart, his soul, his woman.

  Sarah sipped at the strong coffee and moaned as it slid down her throat. “This is the best coffee I’ve had in
a long, long time. Delicious.”

  Eppie, Micah’s fiancée, smiled at her. She had the most beautiful brown eyes set in a flawless light cocoa skin. Their daughter, Miracle, was a blend of both of them, but she had her mama’s chocolate brown eyes.

  The little girl was eating a biscuit and staring at Sarah over the breakfast table. “You’re the sad lady.”

  Startled by the girl’s insight, Sarah could only nod. “Yes, I am sad, but I’m happy to be here with you and your daddy and mommy.”

  “Daddy used to be sad, but Mommy fixed him.”

  Sarah smiled at the girl’s precociousness. “Mommy is very talented.”

  Eppie hid a grin behind her hand. “Go take care of Daisy now, Miracle. She’s probably hungry too.”

  Miracle popped the last of the biscuit into her mouth, then jumped up from the table. She hugged Eppie around the middle, then whispered at her mother’s belly.

  When she turned to Sarah, Miracle launched herself into her arms and hugged her neck. “Love you, Aunt Sarah.”

  Sarah was overwhelmed by the child’s sweet honesty and open, loving behavior. The sweet innocence of a child’s love was as refreshing as it was welcome. Sarah needed it. She hugged her niece back and kissed her forehead. “I love you too, Miracle.”

  “Gotta take care of my doggie.” With that the girl skipped out of the kitchen, her braids swinging.

  Sarah met Eppie’s gaze, which was full of motherly pride. “She’s amazing.”

  “I know, and I thank God every day for her.” Eppie shook her head. “Someday I’ll tell you the story of how she came to be and why she’s called Miracle. Micah tells me it’s my story to tell, but it’s really his.”

  Sarah was more than curious to hear that story, but she understood how hard it was to open up to someone, especially when they’d really just met.

  “Why did she whisper at your belly?”

  Eppie smiled. “She tells me there’s a little brother growing in there and she has to tell him secrets.”

  Sarah could hardly believe a girl of three could be so smart and so insightful. Then again, she could believe it—Miracle was Micah’s child.

  “Good morning.” Micah walked into the kitchen, freshly shaven and looking more content than Sarah could ever hope to be. He kissed Eppie and patted her belly. “My son okay this morning?”

  “Micah, you foolish man, you’re as bad as your daughter.” Eppie rolled her eyes.

  He laughed and kissed her again. Sarah sighed quietly with envy over the closeness they shared. She’d turned into a complete sap after meeting Whitman. Her hard edges had softened and even her cursing had lessened. Damn, he’d ruined her for good.

  Micah turned to Sarah. “Do you know a man named Whitman Kendrick?”

  Sarah’s heart slammed into her ribs. Her entire body began to shake. “Yes, I do.”

  Her voice was rough with emotion.

  Micah gestured with his head. “Well, he’s at the door with a hangdog look on his face and asking for you. Do you want me to send him packing?”

  Sarah rose to her feet as quickly as she could, what with all the shaking and the crippled leg and all. “No, don’t send him packing.”

  As she limped out of the kitchen and into the hallway, Sarah thought of a million reasons why Whitman was in Plum Creek, then dismissed all of them.

  The only one that mattered was what was in her heart and what she hoped was in his.

  When she got to the door, her palms were so sweaty she could hardly turn the knob. As the door opened, Sarah’s stomach dropped when there was no one there.

  “Whitman?” she whispered.

  He stepped in her view from the left and somehow Sarah threw herself into his arms. Whitman caught her and murmured her name over and over against her neck.

  He smelled so good, felt even better, and he was there. Thank God, he was there.

  Sarah found herself crying—again, for pity’s sake—as her heart beat against his. The thumping vibrated through her, making her realize anything that happened before she met Whitman meant nothing at all.

  It didn’t matter that he was a Yankee and she was a Southerner.

  It didn’t matter that he had been in the army.

  It didn’t matter that she hated Yankee army men.

  What mattered was that she loved him and he was there in her arms.

  “Sarah, sweetheart.” He held her so tightly she could hardly get a breath.

  “What are you doing here, Whit?” She finally got hold of her runaway brain and extricated herself from the embrace.

  His green gaze locked with hers. “I came here because somewhere between Virginia and Kentucky I fell in love with a sharp-tongued Southern belle. She turned me on my head, beat me with her cane, and taught me what it meant to live again.”

  He got down on one knee and looked up at her. “I came here to tell her that I love her with all my heart and to ask her to marry me.”

  Sarah pressed a hand to her chest. She’d wished for a man who would love her, and here he was, on his knees, asking her to marry him. Her mother had been so wrong. There was someone for her.

  “Well, I’ve already had practice at being Mrs. Kendrick.” She smiled and cupped his chin. “I think I’ll say yes.”

  He whooped and picked her up, whirling her around the porch until she thought she would show Kendrick just how strong the coffee had been that morning.

  “Something I should know, sister?” Micah’s voice stopped the mad spinning, thank goodness.

  Whitman set Sarah gently on her feet and held out his hand to Micah. “I’ve just asked your sister to marry me. With or without your permission, but I think I’d prefer with, of course.”

  Micah raised his brow and met Sarah’s gaze. “A Yankee?”

  Sarah shrugged. “We can’t always choose who we fall in love with, Micah.”

  He smiled. “Well then, you have my blessing.” Micah finally shook Whitman’s hand. “But you’ll have to get used to Southern cooking, because we make real food to eat.”

  Sarah swatted at her brother even as the men laughed. She’d never felt so happy, so amazingly delirious in her life. Joy sang through her veins as she slipped her hand into Whitman’s.

  Yes, this was it. She was finally home.

  Chapter Twenty

  Whitman sat cross-legged on the floor with Miracle as she introduced him to her dolls. He’d never played with children, but Sarah’s niece was an amazing little girl who hugged him immediately upon meeting him.

  Sarah watched him from the settee, her silver eyes calm for the first time since they’d met. Whitman still couldn’t believe she had said yes to his marriage proposal.

  Of course, she hadn’t told him she loved him, but that was okay. He was patient enough to wait.

  She wouldn’t have agreed to marry him if she hadn’t loved him. Sarah had no fondness for Yankees, after all, so she had to have true feelings for him to want to be his wife in earnest.

  “Picnic with me?” Miracle was looking up at him with those fathomless brown eyes.

  “You want to go on a picnic?”

  “Uh-huh. Mama and Daddy goin’ to town and I don’t wanna go.” She climbed into his lap. “Picnic with me?”

  He glanced up in time to see Sarah hiding a grin.

  “As long as Aunt Sarah comes on the picnic with us.”

  “I can’t go traipsing around to a picnic site. For pity’s sake, Kendrick, I can barely hobble to the necessary.” She hadn’t changed, thank God, and Whitman loved her all the more.

  “Then let’s do it in the yard. We can lay out a blanket under the trees and have a picnic.”

  “Yay!” Miracle stood up and danced around him. Her childish joy was infectious and soon Whit was dancing with her, much to Sarah’s delight.

  Eppie poked her head in the parlor and stared at them with a grin playing around her mouth. “She’s convincing, isn’t she?”

  “Amazingly convincing.” Whit laughed a bit sheepishly, th
en held out his hand. “Picnic, Miss Spalding.”

  Sarah frowned but accepted his help standing. Miracle picked up her cane and handed it to her aunt.

  “You need magic.” Miracle touched Sarah’s right leg. “Make you all better.”

  With that the girl went skipping off singing about picnics. Sarah met Whit’s gaze and he was surprised to feel a tremble in her hands.

  “She’s a very special child.”

  Whitman had already come to that conclusion and was glad to hear he wasn’t crazy. “She’d have to be, considering how special her aunt is.”

  Sarah swatted at his shoulder. “You’re just trying to get in my drawers.”

  Whit threw back his head and laughed. He felt so free, so alive, and so blessed.

  Nothing would stand in the way of their new life.

  The picnic spot was chosen after careful consideration by Miracle and her dog, Daisy. Apparently the pooch had a special sense about picnics.

  Whitman and Sarah watched from the kitchen as the girl and dog wandered around the yard examining grass, rocks, and sniffing at everything. Of course, Daisy did most of the sniffing.

  “What do you suppose they’re looking for?” Sarah asked.

  Whitman shrugged. “I don’t know, but maybe she’ll tell us when she finds it.”

  Sarah chuckled. “I would’ve expected her to be special and love being outside. I always did.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed into her. “Mmm, maybe later we’ll find our own special spot.”

  Sarah’s pulse picked up and her nipples peaked at the nearness of his body. It had been a week—too long—since they’d been together.

  She missed him in every way possible, but especially in her arms. They made their own magic then.

  “You’d best be careful, Kendrick, or you’ll light a fire you might not be able to douse.”

  He laughed against her neck. “I sure as hell would have fun trying, though.”

  Sarah turned her head and captured his lips in a quick, but hot kiss. “Me too.”

  The back door banged open and Miracle came running in with Daisy at her heels, startling Sarah and Whitman.