The Lady Who Drew Me In Page 7

  Jackson stared at her as though she had two heads.

  “He was a very conservative man. I spent a lot of time with children, and he also feared contracting some ailment I might bring home.”

  Jackson had the good grace to keep any comments to himself. The arrangement of separate beds must seem ridiculous to a man whom she suspected seldom slept alone.

  “But you slept well last night?” he asked.

  “Very well.” She smiled, stretching like a lazy cat onto her side. The bed linen fell just enough to expose her breasts, and she watched his expression turn, her heart pounding, as her nipples hardened in the morning chill of the open window.

  “I was about to suggest we return to Misty Lake as soon as possible,” he said in a husky voice that quickened her pulse.

  “And now?” she asked with a sly smile.

  He walked toward the bed. “Now I can’t fathom why.”

  Chapter 7

  They traveled from the city in relative silence. While Daisy was curious about Jackson’s plans for their future, at the moment, she hadn’t the fortitude to hear his answers. Did he expect her to move to his brownstone in Troy? For all she knew, his first order of business when they reached Misty Lake would be to have Kotterman pack up her trunks and ship her and the whole kit-and-caboodle back to the city.

  The mere thought of ever living in Troy again clung to her like the perspiration beneath her wool traveling suit. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t. Brief visits were barely tolerable, and up until two days ago, she hadn’t been to the city in years.

  She had no intention of ever leaving Misty Lake, of ever abandoning her dreams for the day home. Being caught in a scandal with Jackson had veered her off course, but she was back on track now. She’d needed to marry, and she had. She’d deal with any forthcoming problems as they arose.

  She turned from the carriage window and the passing scenery to Jackson on the seat across from her. “I think it’s important we make a public appearance as soon as possible,” she said. “Perhaps we could have supper at the Misty Lake Hotel to announce our nuptials.”

  “Or we could have Cuffy do it for us.” Jackson smiled.

  Daisy rolled her eyes. There was nothing funny about the consequence of their indiscretion, but if he needed to make little jokes to deal with those consequences, so be it.

  Although she wasn’t looking forward to facing people, either, she wanted to get the unpleasant business over as soon as possible. “If the rumor mill that circulated our scandal runs at the same rate, our marriage is already known,” Daisy said. “But an appearance at the Misty Lake Hotel will keep the talk focused on our marriage and not what led to it.”

  “What type of reception are you expecting from the good people of your little community?” he asked.

  Leaning back in her seat, she thought of a widowed acquaintance who’d remarried last year. Charlotte had spent three long years in mourning, and still there’d been talk. Daisy had remarried after only ten months. “The mourning periods of some of the town’s more stringent families last for years beyond what I deem necessary. I can’t control that. I have a new husband now, and people will have to accept our…situation.”

  What did he expect her to say? That she dreaded facing her friends and neighbors? That she was shrinking with every mile of the narrowing road that took them closer to the country?

  She stiffened her spine. The reaction to her second marriage could be no worse than the reaction to her first. Surely she’d be spared the speculation and harsh judgments she’d endured when she’d married Lawry, a wealthy man who was old enough to be her father. Everyone who’d heard about her sordid night with Jackson would know exactly why she’d remarried so suddenly, but at least her motive would be clear.

  She glanced at Jackson. He sat comfortably, one leg bent, the other stretched as far as the cab allowed, staring out at the passing landscape as though he hadn’t a care in the world—let alone a wife he’d known for barely a week.

  The casual pose suited him like a glove. No worries furrowed his brow, and a part of her envied his irritating ability to take everything in stride. Although she and Jackson were close in age, their characters and lives were miles apart. But despite their obvious differences, they shared one thing in common. They both wanted to find the murderer who’d let an innocent man die behind bars.

  The haunting memory of that little boy’s face after she’d forced him to recall the worst moments of his life wouldn’t fade until she knew he was safe. Andy’s life was at stake, which made fretting about her own problems seem petty and trite.

  “What’s being done to find the man who killed Andy’s father?” she asked.

  “Not much.” The frustration in Jackson’s curt answer filled her with a sinking feeling that only intensified as he elaborated. “I’ve reported my findings to the authorities, along with your sketch, but they’re as wary of Morgan’s innocence as they are of me. They question the credibility of the sketch as well. More so, I’m certain there’s a political motive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The chief of police is up for re-election. That doesn’t work in Morgan’s favor. The last thing the city wants is to admit they locked up an innocent man.”

  “It’s all so unfair.”

  “It’s politics. I’ve considered going to the papers. There should be some warning to the public that there’s a murderer at large.”

  “What’s to consider?”

  “Any warning to the public is also a warning to the killer, who’s been resting easy for months. The boy is safe, so long as the killer believes his crime died with Morgan.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “In the meantime, may we pay Andy a visit?”

  He pursed his lips as he considered her request. “I’m concerned for the boy too, but strange visitors attract attention.”

  “Please, Jackson.” The use of his name came to her naturally. The tender shift in his features told her he didn’t mind. “I’m afraid Mrs. Rhodes has her hands full.”

  “It can’t be easy for the old gal to care for the boy alone,” he said. “We’ll take a ride to Barston in a day or so. Since there’s no telling when the authorities will act, she needs to be warned.”

  His expression darkened, and Daisy found herself missing his earlier nonchalance. Not even during the most heated moments of verbal sparring with Dannion had Jackson’s eyes conveyed such intensity. This case had a rare effect on him—one of the few things in his life that truly seemed to matter to him.

  The knot in Daisy’s stomach tightened when they reached Misty Lake. When she stepped into the house, she felt better. In addition to taking care of the house, Kotterman was a master in the kitchen, and the aroma of his specialty chicken stew welcomed her home. Following a brief introduction to her new husband, Kotterman bid them an awkward offering for “much happiness and marital bliss,” then took their baggage up to Daisy’s room. Jackson declined her invitation for a tour of the house, opting instead to disappear into the library with an armful of thick files to review before dinner.

  Daisy decided to take a walk down to the lake. She felt herself relaxing as she meandered down the path of stepping stones toward the water. The smell of wet sand and grass filled her senses. Birds sang overhead. Time passed quickly, and she was surprised to see Jackson’s tall shadow on the grass next to the bench where she sat. Without a word, he sat next to her.

  “It’s so good to be home.” Daisy took a deep breath. “Speaking of home,” she uttered reluctantly, “where are you planning to live?”

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Gallway?”

  She frowned. “I know you’ve no great fondness for the country, but I intend to remain here in Misty Lake.”

  He studied her closely, a blank look on his face. “And I have no intention of dragging you, kicking and screaming, to the city.” He swatted at a horsefly. “I’ll stay in Misty Lake for the summer,” he said. “I can work on the Mo
rgan case here and travel to and from Troy as needed, so long as the roads hold out.”

  Despite her initial relief, a breath of disappointment ached through her. He obviously planned on maintaining separate residences come autumn. She lifted her chin. And that suited her fine.

  She stared out at the water, soothed by the calm lull of the waves. “This is my favorite spot in the world.” She scanned the view of the lake and distant mountains.

  He narrowed his eyes in genuine disbelief. He stood, walked to the water’s edge, gazing out at the lake. “I do not understand this fascination with the country,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s so quiet. And there’s nothing happening. Nothing here.”

  Something rustled in the weeds near the shore. A tall goose charged from the pussy willows, flapping its wings. Jackson jumped back, then froze like a statue. The enormous bird released a menacing squawk guaranteed to keep him that way. A cockeyed line of goslings emerged moments later, scattering around his feet. Releasing another loud squawk, the mother goose summoned her tiny troops, and they waddled into the water.

  “I stand corrected,” Jackson murmured, as the geese swam away. “There are geese here.”

  Daisy laughed. “There’s much more than geese here. You’d see that if you took the time to look.”

  He returned to his seat, his eyes sparkling with mischief in the sunlight. “Oh, I look.” He reached to push a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingertips lingered on her earlobe and the dancing pulse at her throat.

  She inhaled a deep breath. “And what do you see?”

  “I see you. Only you.”

  The words played soft and smooth on his lips, as though they’d been there before. Staring into his handsome face, she saw the long list of his prior conquests, but she didn’t care. Memories of their night together came back in a rush that made her eager for more. “Are you attempting to seduce me?”

  Something splashed in the water, startling them both.

  “Christ Almighty,” Jackson said, looking mildly embarrassed.

  “Just a bass,” she said with a smile. “The fishing is good.”

  He frowned. “I don’t fish.”

  “Never?”

  “Dannion is the fisherman in the family. I never cared to learn.”

  “I will teach you.”

  The offer sparked a full-blown smile. “You want to teach me to fish?”

  “I’d be happy to,” she said. “You might enjoy living here if you engaged in some of the recreational activities the country offers.”

  He grinned devilishly. “Oh, I plan to engage in enjoyable activities.”

  Pretending to ignore his blatant innuendo, she said, “Teaching you to fish would be my pleasure.” She dropped her hand to his thigh.

  He stared down at her hand, swallowing hard.

  It was so easy.

  “Fishing, huh?”

  She nodded. “Among other things.”

  He smiled, bending to nuzzle her neck.

  She tossed back her head, enjoying his wonderful lips on her skin, his breath in her ear. How perplexing that one night in his bed had made her feel so at ease with him in this way. That she might have her cake and eat it too was a sweet consolation for the bitter confines of marriage.

  He kissed her firmly before drawing his mouth away. Lowering his head, he touched his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. He planted a kiss on the top of her head.

  The tender gesture sent a chill down her spine. “So, tell me, Jackson. Where is your favorite place?”

  “It isn’t here.”

  “Be nice,” she scolded. “Or you’ll be bait for the bass.”

  He smiled at her playful threat, looking so charming. “I favor so many places, it’s difficult to narrow it down to just one.”

  She didn’t doubt it for a second. According to Tessa, Jackson had roamed between Saratoga and Albany before taking up residence in Troy. He was a wanderer, and his wanderlust extended far beyond the borders of geography. She couldn’t imagine he’d settle easily in one place. With one woman.

  “But I’d have to say that I favor St. Louis,” he said. “When I was there several years ago, I sat for hours on the hotel balcony overlooking the Boulevard, the longest I’ve ever sat alone, through an entire cigar, just watching the action on the street below.”

  “You bore easily, don’t you?”

  He laughed. “I’ve been accused of that, yes. I take after my mother. She always told me we were a lot alike.”

  “And you agree?”

  He shrugged, tossing a blade of grass. “Dannion sure as hell does.”

  “But it’s your opinion in which I am interested.”

  He looked at her, brows raised, as though this surprised him. His expression turned more thoughtful as he studied her. “I was planning to return to St. Louis—”

  “Congratulations, you two!”

  They both turned toward the path that led to the house and the couple peering over the picket fence.

  “Here we go,” Jackson said.

  “Brace yourself,” Daisy uttered. She waved, forcing a smile. “You’re about to meet the town’s nosiest neighbors.”

  “I’m all aquiver.”

  Suppressing a laugh, Daisy nudged him with her elbow as the fence gate swung open. Tom Wyman strode toward them, his tiny wife practically running to keep up. Daisy took a deep breath. “Jackson Gallway, these are my neighbors, Tom and Nadine Wyman.”

  “Congratulations are in order, we hear.”

  To Daisy’s surprise, Nadine embraced her with the same unbridled enthusiasm in her voice.

  Tom shook Jackson’s hand with a grip so forceful Daisy feared he’d yanked Jackson’s arm from its socket. Jackson turned to Nadine, flashing one of his signature smiles. Bowing to her petite level, he reached for her gloved fingers and gave them a squeeze. The flirtatious gesture proved his arm was intact, and Daisy scoffed at his honeyed routine and Nadine’s schoolgirl reaction to his flattery.

  While Tom bombarded Jackson with questions ranging from law practices to road conditions, Nadine leaned toward Daisy. “I’ve always thought the summer season the best season for scandal. Talk fades quickly when there are other entertaining distractions. The winter months on the other hand…”

  The woman’s observation wasn’t meant as an insult, and Daisy couldn’t help nodding at the truth in her words.

  Nadine patted Daisy’s arm. “Your story is old fodder already. Folks are still chewing on the shocking business with the Shaws. Stories about broken marriages have more meat than stories about new ones.”

  “The Shaws?”

  “How have you not heard?” Nadine’s eyes lit with her eagerness to fill Daisy in on the tale. “They ran a nice little farm up the mountain. A while back, Mary Shaw abandoned Marty and their children and ran off to the city. With a peddler they say. Marty put an ad in the all the papers that she left without his consent, and he wasn’t responsible for her debts. Then he sold the farm, packed up the children, and moved out west.”

  “Oh, my.”

  Nadine nodded. “Barston used to be such a quiet town. And now folks are still reeling from that murder. But at least the scallywag who killed that poor farmer is dead. We heard so this morning. The Good Lord’s justice, if you ask me. Imagine being shot down in your own home.” She shook her head. “Terrible.”

  Daisy stiffened. “Yes. Terrible.”

  “Too many peddlers from the city coming and going,” Tom chimed in.

  The tight line of Jackson’s mouth softened. “With so much peddler traffic, one might wonder if they arrested the right man.” He spoke casually, scrutinizing Tom’s response behind a mask of indifference. In Jackson’s calculating eyes, Daisy glimpsed the lawyer he was. An expert at honing in on reactions. A man trained to seek justice and truth—by any means—and twist accordingly.

  “What do you mean?” Nadine’s eyes widened in alarm. “Are you saying that Mo
rgan didn’t do it?”

  “Of course he’s not,” Tom said. “The man is no fool. You read the papers, Nadine. They all but caught him red-handed.”

  To Daisy’s relief, Tom brought the conversation to a halt.

  “We’ll let you newlyweds settle in,” he said, reaching for his wife’s arm.

  “That’s a good idea.” Nadine gave a pat to Tom’s hand on her arm, and they started away.

  Daisy waited until the couple disappeared into their yard to raise an issue she hadn’t considered before now. “Does anyone in Misty Lake know that you were defending Randal Morgan?”

  Jackson shook his head. “I haven’t made it known, although that may all change.”

  It may change a lot of things, Daisy thought. Jackson had tested the waters with the Wymans, and those waters ran cold. People would be unhappy, to say the least, about Jackson defending a man they believe was a murderer. Despite her best efforts to put her selfish fears aside, Daisy couldn’t help thinking about the impact her husband’s cause might have on her plans for the day home.

  But if Jackson had the conviction to stand by his decision to honor the promise he’d made to Morgan, then she would too.

  Chapter 8

  Later that night, Jackson climbed into bed next to Daisy, anticipating their second night together between the sheets.

  “I hope the open window won’t bother you,” she said as she fluffed at her pillow. “It’s much warmer upstairs than I’m used to.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t your room?”

  “Because of Lawry’s health restrictions, our room was downstairs. I moved into this room after his death.”

  Jackson nodded. At least he wouldn’t have to share his sleeping accommodations with the ghost of a dead man. He inhaled a deep breath to fend off his irritation. His damn jealousy had spread like a rash all day. That Daisy had made love to another man—that she’d unleashed that fierce passion on someone other than him—stung like hell.

  He was jealous of a dead man, and the pathetic fact didn’t bode well with him or his pride. What was it about this woman? He shook off any attempt to answer. Daisy was his wife. Husbands were supposed to be protective and possessive of their wives.