The Lady Who Drew Me In Read online

  “We can enjoy public recreation as well as private,” she said in a sultry voice she barely recognized. “I’ll prove it to you today.”

  “But you won’t tell me what you have planned?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s not fern picking in the woods, is it? A butterfly hunt through the fields?”

  She laughed, rising from her chair. “Just promise to keep an open mind.”

  “Now I truly am worried.”

  “I know.” She kissed his cheek in reward for the good sport that he was. The spicy scent of him filled her nose, igniting her senses. “I’m having fun already.”

  * * * *

  An hour later, they were on their way to Logan’s Field for what Jackson suspected was a picnic. Croquet, potato salad, and lemonade. Good, wholesome fun. Suppressing a chuckle, he glanced at Daisy, his mood much improved as Kotterman drove the carriage through the Saturday traffic in town. The bustle of activity outside the carriage window roused his energy and the roguish side of his nature that had been dormant since his arrival in Misty Lake.

  Aside from dinner at the Misty Lake Hotel and a few brief visits to the local taverns, he’d devoted the remainder of his time to the Morgan case. The focus on business was a clear departure from his usual summer slate. If not for Daisy, he was certain he would go mad in his bumbling efforts to solve this case and honor a promise he was unqualified to keep.

  Randal Morgan deserved better. He’d trusted Jackson to protect his children by clearing his name, which only proved how truly desperate the man must have been.

  Fending off his biting insecurities, Jackson returned his focus to Daisy. Although he didn’t expect much from whatever recreational event she had planned today, he’d keep an open mind. He appreciated her attempt to provide some much-needed fun, and he wouldn’t disappoint her by not enjoying the day.

  Besides, just being in her company lifted his spirits. She stimulated his mind as well as his body, diverting his attention to more pleasant matters than the fear he’d fail Randal Morgan. Jackson was homesick for the city, and if anyone could aid in the remedy for everything he was missing in Troy, it was Daisy.

  She sat on the seat across from him, gazing out the open window and wearing a green dress he’d never seen but was fast becoming his favorite. The matching ribbon on her straw bonnet wafted in the breeze; tendrils of blond hair danced around her face. The sight stirred him physically, her soulful blue eyes, so full of warmth and intelligence, her ruby lips, so eager to smile and so sweet to kiss.

  His gaze traced her profile across the line of her jaw, down her throat, to her lace-trimmed bodice, and then lower. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, each jolt of the carriage, and he all but moaned out loud his appreciation—his yearning—for what was heaven-on-earth beneath the green silk.

  From head to toe she was perfect. Like the modest flower for which she’d been named, her soft-spoken beauty flourished naturally and required little care. Resilient and firmly rooted, no matter how brutal the sun or how fierce the storm, the sturdy bloom survived. Just like her.

  Perusing her attributes stirred his blood and the growing hardness between his legs. The uncontrollable and inconvenient effect she had on him came as no surprise. He’d accepted his arresting attraction to Daisy long ago. What he could not understand, though, was why her? He’d seduced dozens of beautiful women out of their skirts, but Daisy seduced him out of his mind, and this reversal, of sorts, was a first.

  Daisy’s eyes met his, and he took a deep breath, his brain grappling for something to say. “You truly enjoy living in the country, don’t you?” he asked.

  “I truly do.”

  Jackson withheld the reflex to ask why. “You never miss the buzz of the city?” he asked instead.

  “I prefer the buzz of the bees. My life in the city left me lost to myself. I wanted a home. When Lawry brought me to Misty Lake, I knew I’d found my place.”

  Jackson nodded, wondering if and when he’d ever find his. Was there one place on this earth he belonged? He thought about the wanderlust he’d inherited from his mother, his plans for St. Louis, and all the cities he’d roamed.

  “What about you, Jackson? How did you land in Troy?”

  He smiled at her apt choice of words. “I attended school there. Actually, I attended two other schools before that, but was expelled from both for abandoning my studies to sneak off to the city.”

  She chided his antics with a tsk-tsk and a grin. “What was your childhood like?”

  He shrugged. “It was…fun.”

  Daisy laughed, and he realized how fond he’d become of the familiar sound.

  “I raised all sorts of trouble, but my parents indulged me.”

  “Dannion too?”

  “Dannion and I were complete opposites growing up.” He smiled. “We still are, in case you haven’t noticed. He was the first born, and my mother was hard on him. Their relationship was strained for as long as I can remember.”

  “But you got on well with her?”

  “I was her favorite. An honor she never let me forget.” He shrugged. “She never let Dannion forget, either. I suppose that explains a lot about my brother.”

  “And you, as well.”

  The simple observation opened a chasm of complex issues into which he’d rather not delve. His mother’s bitter warnings against marriage echoed through his head. He shook off the past by changing the subject. He pointed toward the sparkling lake. “Look at all the boats.”

  Daisy admired the array of vessels and their colorful sails. “It’s a lovely day for boating,” she said. “The locals, and summer guests alike, take full advantage of the many lakes in the area.”

  “I’m not one for boating. Haven’t partaken in years.”

  “What a shame,” she said. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Yes I do. Drowning.”

  She rolled her eyes. “A ride in a boat doesn’t guarantee drowning.”

  “No. But it sure as hell increases the odds.”

  She smiled. “I suppose I must give you that.” She straightened in her seat, adjusting the brim of her bonnet. “Speaking of odds, I’d wager you’re curious to know where we’re going.”

  “And you’d win that bet.”

  Leaning toward the window, she pointed at the approaching intersection and a large wooden arrow pointing left. The placement of the arrow-shaped sign at the side of the road was surely recent. Jackson had traveled this route several times and would have noticed the colorful advertisement that was now impossible to miss. He turned to Daisy, smiling with gratitude for the trip she’d arranged.

  She leaned back in her seat, beaming in satisfaction. He fought the urge to pull her onto his lap and kiss her senseless for knowing him so well. Excitement coursed through his blood as he anticipated a day spent enjoying one of his favorite pastimes.

  “While it’s not Saratoga,” she said, “I’m hoping it will do.”

  He turned back to the sign, his smile growing broader as he recited the display of bold words. “Welcome to Logan’s Field and Opening Day of the Race Track.”

  Chapter 14

  By the time traffic allowed Kotterman to drop them at the gated entrance to the field, the day’s event was well under way. The lively sound of strumming banjoes poured from the gazebo Daisy and Jackson passed as they hurried through the crowd. People stood in clusters at the wooden fence surrounding the crude track. The rows of long benches that served as the grandstand were crammed to capacity. Jackson led Daisy to a shady spot beneath a patch of elm trees, where they were lucky enough to find an empty bench among those occupied in the picnic area.

  The smell of roasting beef and popped corn floated on the light breeze, and the air all but crackled with the anticipation of the first race of the season. For years, Daisy had wanted to attend the summer racing event, but Lawry had always refused her. Despite the numerous women in attendance, accord
ing to Lawry, it was unseemly for proper ladies to partake in such activities, and so he’d attended without her.

  The memory of Lawry’s antiquated ideas magnified the reality of their marriage. The age difference, his dominance, her docility. From her current viewpoint, she could see clearly the relationship that was more like father and daughter than husband and wife, distorting the illusion she’d fostered in her mind for so long—because she’d had no other choice. Like a set of eyes peering out from a portrait, the vivid truth of that union stared back at her now, a truth that had left her bankrupt, mentally, physically, and financially.

  Even from the grave, he’d tried to control her.

  She glanced at Jackson, and words like partnership and equality filled her with warmth. The ache of neglect melted away. She’d never felt so accepted for who she truly was. Even her entranced drawing hadn’t made him look at her differently. Jackson didn’t make her feel ashamed of her ability. Quite the opposite. He encouraged her to use it—and for something that mattered. To help solve crimes.

  The renewed swell to her spirit was a sweet misery. Her marriage to Jackson had given her the chance to be herself, hope for all she wanted and deserved, and the confidence to accept no less. Whether he gave her a child or not, when all was said and done between them, she’d always be grateful for that.

  Shaking away the grim mood that threatened to befall her, she took a deep breath, turning to the man at her side. He looked well within his element, relaxed and comfortable. That she had helped lighten his mood, lightened hers too. He perused the racing program he’d been handed at the gate. Humming softly to the lively music in the distance, he studied the various races and the riders, composed of local hobbyists, assigned to each horse.

  His dark hair fell forward as he read, and she suppressed the urge to push it from his forehead and kiss every inch of his handsome face.

  “Gallway.”

  Daisy glanced up to the middle-aged man peering down at them. He wore his fine suit with a distinguished air and a smile. Despite the jaunty greeting, his gray eyes betrayed a maliciousness that made Daisy uneasy.

  Instead of rising to greet the man, Jackson dropped the program to his lap and leaned back on the bench. “Buchanan,” he murmured in a tone that increased Daisy’s unease.

  Jackson’s rebuff seemed to please Buchanan, whose smile widened beneath his drooping mustache. “I can’t say I’m surprised by your presence,” he said. “You’re not one to pass by a good time.” He glanced at Daisy. “Or a pretty lady.”

  “This is my wife.” The chill in Jackson’s voice grew stronger. “Surely you’ve heard.”

  Buchanan’s knowing smile said he’d heard it all. Every scandalous detail leading up to their marriage and then some. “You’ve been busy.” His face hardened. “In other aspects as well. Since you’ve never been much of a lawyer, earning a favorable reference must prove difficult, indeed. But grasping at straws with this Morgan case? Why you refuse to let the matter drop is beyond my understanding.”

  Jackson blinked against the force of the insult but maintained his usual apathy. “And why you harbor the notion that I give a damn what you think is beyond mine.” He leaned forward. “Like it or not, I am a lawyer—”

  “You’re a blemish on the profession.”

  “That may very well be,” Jackson said. A muscle clenched in his jaw. “But this is my case. My business. And I will do what is right.”

  This garnered a chuckle. “Like you did right with Easterly’s wife? You lack the morals to do what is right.”

  Daisy’s heart lurched in her throat. Fearing the worst, she stole a glance at Jackson. His profile was hard and set like steel. But to her surprise, he remained unflappable. He merely crossed his arms on his chest, as though he’d been expecting the reminder of a topic he’d grown bored with long ago.

  Buchanan seethed with frustration. The bear he poked refused to be riled, and his hostile glare deepened. “You’re no more than a joke. So is this mission to proclaim Morgan’s innocence. Give it up before you’re laughed out of town.” He glanced to Daisy. “Best of luck to you, Mrs. Gallway. You’ll need it.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

  “Buchanan was one of the partners at the firm from which I resigned,” Jackson said before she could ask. “Mr. Easterly is a more forgiving husband than most.”

  Certainly more forgiving than Mr. Taylor had been after Daisy had exposed his wife’s affair so publically.

  “I see.” She fiddled with her hands, wondering what to say next. Jackson’s past was shadier than a forest, but somehow she’d forgotten just how unscrupulously he had behaved. The more time she’d spent with him, the easier it had become to overlook the way he’d lived his life.

  But Buchanan had insulted her husband in her presence, which insulted her as well. Daisy was nothing if not loyal, and the instinct to defend Jackson came naturally. Unfortunately, the words didn’t. “That man has horrible manners,” she uttered.

  Releasing a snort of agreement, Jackson returned his focus to the racing program in his hand. Daisy frowned. That was it? No explanation? No apology?

  Surely, he had to be embarrassed she’d witnessed the ugly encounter. Ashamed, even. And yet, here he sat, his body slack, his face serene, as though he’d already erased from his mind the entire incident and any emotions it stirred—though there appeared to be none.

  “Which horses do you like?” he asked, pointing toward the makeshift paddock.

  She took a deep breath and tried to refocus as he awaited her answer. The regard in his eyes did the trick. She smiled, pleased by his request for her input on selecting a horse on which to place a bet. Her opinions mattered to him, and the remarkable fact was a boon to her pride. She watched in excitement as the horses were led in a line toward the track. “They’re so tall,” she uttered. “I enjoy watching them run, but I can’t help fearing for the riders.”

  “Saddle racing can be dangerous,” he agreed. “Not that sulkies are safer.”

  “There’s just something about being mounted high on a running horse. I can barely manage to stay seated at a trot.”

  He tilted his head. “I thought you country girls were at home in the saddle?”

  She smiled at his teasing tone. “I was raised in Troy, remember? I never had the opportunity to ride growing up. By the time I’d moved to the country, my lack of confidence in the saddle had developed into full-fledged fear.”

  A gunshot rang out, signaling the start of the first race. The crowd broke into cheers. Daisy’s heart pounded in the thrill of it. She jumped to her feet, joining Jackson as they craned their necks to better their view. In the midst of the excitement, though, came obtrusive reminders. Like whiffs of manure on the shifting breeze, Buchanan’s odious words lingered, sporadic assaults she did her best to fend off as she watched the horses race around the track.

  The day brought other offenses, as well. Several residents of Misty Lake were in attendance. Most made a point to confront them with their opinions that Randal Morgan was, indeed, a murderer.

  Apparently, the news that Jackson was attempting to prove otherwise had trickled down the mountain with Curtis, the man who had taken in Andy. Several of Curtis’s cronies were also in attendance.

  It seemed everyone was of the same opinion, and Daisy felt the brunt of their scorn like a physical blow. If Jackson felt the same, he didn’t convey it. Or he simply didn’t care.

  Disappointment prickled inside her. As his wife, she’d pay the price for his sins, but shouldn’t he ante up too? After the debacle at the Taylor party, society had treated her harshly, so she could relate to the stigma Jackson bore. But she’d done everything in her power to improve her reputation and atone for her mistakes. She’d strived to be a proper wife to Lawry, forfeiting parts of herself in the process. Her charity work was appreciated, and eventually, people in Misty Lake had accepted her, though she’d made very few friends.

  She released a long
sigh, remembering that Jackson had warned her of his reputation before the wedding. He’d offered no promise to change, yet she’d married him, anyway. Her spirits plunged lower. Jackson proceeded through the day as usual, ignoring the rude looks and whispers that buzzed around them like flies.

  Despite the possibility of another ugly scene, Daisy insisted she and Jax seek out Curtis to inquire about Andy. There was no telling when they’d get an opportunity to visit the boy in Barston, and Daisy was concerned for his welfare.

  She held Jackson’s arm tightly as they approached the burly man, who was easy to spot in the crowd. He stood with Mrs. Rhodes’s neighbor, Jacob Squires, the man who had discovered Andy after the fire, and three other fellows. All five held mugs of beer, the effects of which Daisy feared might escalate matters if the meeting became heated.

  “Curtis,” Jackson called.

  The man squinted, his eyes widening in surprise as he recognized them. “If it isn’t the lawyer and his artist wife.” He tipped his hat at Daisy, his lips pursed tight.

  “Good afternoon,” Daisy said.

  Jacob and the other men greeted her in kind before she turned back to Curtis. “How is Andy?”

  He studied her intently, as though weighing his answer. “The boy is fine. Safe and sound. I meant it when I said we take care of our own.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she replied.

  Curtis turned to Jackson. “This boogeyman you and your wife conjured up to frighten folks into believing your tale doesn’t exist. I’m seeing to it that everyone knows it’s all hogwash.”

  Jackson nodded. “From what I hear, you’ve done a fine job.”

  Curtis frowned at the smart-aleck response. His eyes narrowed into slits. “Wendell was my friend, Gallway. You’re courting trouble by defending his killer.”

  “I’m no stranger to trouble,” Jackson replied. “Ask anyone.” He took Daisy’s arm and led her away. “Christ, I hate these small towns.”