Yesterday's Roses (27 page)

She felt her cheeks grow warm at the intimacy of his conversation. It was all so improper—and new—this talk of messed trousers. She flushed again.

After dropping a kiss on the top of her head, Jake rested his cheek on her shoulder. Gently nuzzling her neck, he murmured, “Don't you know what you do to a man, sweetheart? Surely you've had admirers before?”

“No.”

His head jerked up in disbelief. “You're teasing me.”

“Of course not.” Gesturing at her face and body, she retorted, “Just look at me!”

“I am.” The warm timbre of his. voice left little doubt as to the meaning of his words.

“Then if you don't see why, I'd suggest you look into getting some spectacles.”

“Nothing's wrong with my vision, Mission Lady. It's you who needs glasses if you can't see the reflection in your own mirror.” He cupped her chin in his palm and frowned. “What makes you think you're not beautiful?”

She gave a brittle laugh. “I look like my mother. Everyone in Philadelphia said so. My father always said he'd never seen a more whey-faced pair than my mother and me.”

“Then your father is either a blind fool or a bastard who deserves to be on the receiving end of a discharging pistol.”

Hallie shrugged and tried to turn her head away.

But Jake tightened his grip on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You've never told me much about your family.”

She sighed. “There's not much to tell. I'm an only child. My mother died of yellow fever last year, and my father still lives in Philadelphia.”

“What kind of a man is your father, letting you come all the way to San Francisco with no friends or money?”

Hallie jerked her chin out of his hand and looked away. “Well, of the two types you mentioned, he isn't of the blind fool variety. He was glad to be rid of me.” Though she tried to keep her voice neutral, Hallie couldn't stop a note of grief from shrouding her words. “You see, my mother contracted the fever during a heat wave in the summer of '64. Many of our friends and neighbors came down with it. I was fresh out of medical school, and I honestly believed I could save them all. I—I thought I could play God.”

As if defeated by some inner battle, she sagged back against Jake's chest. Hearing the raw anguish in her voice, Jake hugged her close with one arm while stroking her hair with his other hand.

Hallie closed her eyes and let his nearness soothe her for a moment before continuing, “It was awful … so many people died. And then I contracted the disease. I was told my mother died alone.” She let out a jagged sob. “That's the worst part. I should have been there. Nobody should have to die alone.”

It hurt to remember her mother's death. So much so that this was the first time she had spoken of it to anyone. Yet, lying here in Jake's arms, with his heart beating strongly beneath her cheek, she found the strength to speak of her pain. Somehow she knew he would understand exactly how she felt.

Jake's arm tightened around Hallie. “Your mother must have been a remarkable woman to have a daughter like you,” he remarked quietly.

“She was.” Hallie sniffed, groping in her pocket for the handkerchief Jake had given her. “Not only was she a popular hostess in society, she was an astute business woman. Why, if—” she paused to blow her nose. “—it hadn't have been for her good sense, my father would have bankrupted the Sinclair Mines and foundries years ago.”

“Sinclair?” Jake tipped his head down to study her profile. “Then your mother was Georgianna Gardiner? I'm surprised that I didn't see the resemblance right away.”

Hallie sniffled loudly with surprise. “You knew my mother?”

“I met her once. It was ten years ago, right after I'd lost both my parents in a fire. I was young and frightened, finding myself suddenly responsible for the vast Parrish empire, as well as for Penelope's upbringing. I'd gone to Philadelphia to contract for iron to use in the new line of steamships my father had planned to build. Everyone knows that Sinclair iron is the finest in the country, so your mother was the first person I contacted. When she heard of my parents' deaths, she took me under her wing and fussed over me like a mother hen. Rather like you have the tendency to do.”

With a noise that was halfway between a chuckle and a sob, Hallie retorted, “That's because she was as much of a fool for a pretty face as I.”

“She did call me pretty,” Jake teased roguishly, pleased to see Hallie smile at last. “Then she invited me to dinner and proceeded to brag about her wonderful daughter. Her eyes positively glowed when she spoke of you. Rather like yours do when you're discussing probing a wound.”

“Or stitching,” she snickered back, then laughed when he gave a groan of mock pain.

“They didn't glow quite
that
much,” he chuckled. “Anyway, as she spoke, I remember envying your father. I found myself wishing that she wasn't a married woman so I could court her. She was everything a man could want: intelligent, sensitive, kind … and beautiful. So it seems that your father was right in one respect: you are like your incredible mother.”

Hallie pivoted in Jake's embrace until she faced him. Twining her arms around his neck, she pulled his face close. “You know something, Mr. Parrish? I really do love you.”

He suddenly choked. “Good God, Hallie! You smell worse than the wharf on a hot day. What is that smell?”

Her? Stink? Hallie was stunned. She was about to inform him that there was nothing wrong with the way she smelled and point out his rudeness at suggesting such a thing, when she remembered falling into the pile of rotten fish entrails. Looking down at herself, she saw that the repulsively stained section of her hem had twisted up to her waist. She sniffed and then frowned. After inhaling the foul scent all day, she must have become inured to it.

Struggling to pull herself out of his embrace, she grumbled, “You try getting knocked into a pile of rotten fish guts and being deprived of washing facilities. Then let's see how sweet you smell.” Watching as Jake took several gulping breaths of air, she mumbled beneath her breath, “Of course he's sensitive to smells. Bet the man doesn't even sweat.”

Jake tightened his grip on Hallie's waist, drawing her near again. “I seem to remember sweating quite profusely this morning. Or have you already forgotten our encounter in the parlor?”

“Of course not,” she groaned. “Neither, I imagine, has Lavinia Donahue or, by this time, the rest of San Francisco.”

“The wagging tongues will stop soon enough when Davinia leaks the rumor that you're my fiancée. She's almost as bad as that sister of hers when it comes to a piece of juicy gossip.”

“Sister?”

“Lavinia. Not that either woman makes any claim to the relationship. Bad blood.”

Hallie shook her head. “Can't say I blame Davinia.” Then she slanted Jake an uneasy look. “But Jake, what are people going to say when we tell them that we're not getting married?”

“Why would we tell them that?”

Her heart missed a beat. “You can't mean that you really want to marry me?”

He shrugged and gave her a lazy smile. She couldn't resist caressing his dimple. If only it were true. How she would love to marry him and see his smile every day for the rest of her life!

Giving her lower lip a quick bite, she ventured, “I can't imagine why you would want to marry me. You don't have to, you know.”

“I know I don't, sweet Mission Lady,” he purred, bending close and giving her full lower lip a nibble of his own. “But it just so happens that I like a woman who can make me sweat.”

Chapter 16

Boom!
An angry clap of thunder rumbled through the night, vibrating the Parrish house to its very foundations.

Hallie clutched at the satin coverlet uneasily. It wasn't that she was afraid of storms; she'd conquered that particular fear when she was nine years old. No, she wasn't precisely
afraid,
she was …

She flinched as the wind pounded against her windows with a force that made the glass rattle in their frames. Startled. Yes, that was it. She had been startled out of her sound sleep by all the hellish commotion.

Tell yourself that enough times, and you might start to believe it,
taunted a voice from somewhere deep within the recesses of her mind.

I do believe it!
But her fragile inner argument crumbled as lightning flashed through the windows and illuminated the room with an eerie blue glow.

“Oh, Lord!” she gasped. Had she seen something moving in the corner just now? She squinted into the gloom but could see nothing through the mask of darkness.

In the space of a heartbeat, the lightning was followed by a violent crack of thunder. Hallie jumped what felt like a mile into the air and, with a whimper, clapped her hands over her ears. In the stillness of the mansion the noise amplified and then resonated through the cavernous hallways.

It's the sound of the gates of hell bursting open!

Hallie shrank deeper into the soft mattress. It was on nights like this that her father's tale came back to haunt her.

She had been five at the time, and if she lived to be a hundred and one, she would never forget the fierceness of the storm that night. The wind had torn at the roof and the windows, shrieking its fury at earsplitting volume. Wild streaks of lightning bolted across the pitch black midnight sky, and
the thunder—oh, Lord!—the thunder had rumbled so loudly that she'd been certain the world was coming to an end.

Terrified by nature's violence, she had run sobbing from room to room, frantically searching for her mother. But it was to no avail. Her mother was nowhere to be found.

Finally, in an act of desperation, she burst into her father's study, a room which she had been strictly forbidden to enter. There she found her father alone, sitting in the semidarkness, surrounded by his astounding collection of antiquities and relics. With a tenderness he had never shown his only child, he was cradling a large wooden crucifix in his arms, an artifact which Hallie later learned was a rare prize from the Spanish Inquisition.

Just the sight of his daughter, barefooted and clad in a thick flannel nightgown, was enough to make Ambrose's handsome face contort with distaste. Eloquently his glare conveyed his wrath, silently vowing punishment for her unwelcome intrusion into his domain.

When he opened his mouth to vent his rage, there was another peal of thunder, a particularly bombastic one, and Hallie clapped her hands over her ears, crying out in alarm.

Her father smiled then, in a twisted caricature of goodwill that intimidated her far more than his scowl ever could. Beckoning her nearer, he whispered, Do you hear them?

Even in the dimness of the room and from a distance, Hallie saw the peculiar light glowing in his amber-colored eyes. His strange expression frightened her, and for a moment she was sorely tempted to run away. But she knew better than to disobey him. It was with trepidation that she crept nearer, daring to stop only when he motioned for her to do so.

As she stood trembling before him, he trapped her panicked gaze with his malevolent one and hissed again, Do you hear them?

Hallie swallowed hard and forced herself to listen to the storm outside. I hear wind and thunder, she finally ventured. And rain. N-nothing more.

Ambrose shook his head, his upper lip curled into a snarl.
It's the fury of the devil's disciples you're hearing. Ungodly creatures who ride the wings of the storm and prey on the souls of the unwary. Especially those of foolish children.

There was a crash of thunder then, one that sounded as if the earth was being torn asunder. Hallie whimpered aloud in terror.

Ambrose laughed, feeding
off
her fear. Gently caressing the crucifix, he growled, Do you know what that sound is?

Hallie bit her lip to keep from crying out again and shook her head.

It's the sound of the gates of hell bursting open!

As if in response to his words, the wind clawed at the study windows like hobgoblins intent on mischief.

Pray, Hallie Gardiner!
he keened, thrusting the crucifix just inches from her face.
Pray hard and well this night, lest one of the demons whose name we daren't speak sets its evil sights on you.

Hallie stared at the crudely wrought crucifix. There was a nightmarish quality about the carved face of the corpus Christ which frightened her almost as much as her father's macabre tale.

Mesmerized by the sheer grotesqueness of the thing, she was unable to tear her gaze away from the sight of those pupilless eyes cast beseechingly toward the heavens and the horror of that mouth distorted in a scream of eternal agony. Most gruesome of all were the rivulets of painted blood flowing from beneath the crown of thorns, made all the more livid by their vermilion contrast against the otherwise plain wood surface.

Pray before your soul is lost forever …

Hallie sank deeper into the protective cocoon of her blankets. Suddenly the years seemed to roll away, and she felt five years old again. Shuddering, she peered into the shadows.

Gargoyles. With wings like bats and eyes glowing blood-red … Hurtling out of the darkness to suck out her soul. She could almost feel the pain as the monsters grasped her in their razor-sharp claws …

Stop it this instant, Hallie! Such nonsense! There's no such thing as monsters,
she scolded herself. Then a flash of lightning blazed across the sky, followed by a deafening peal of thunder. With a gasp, she ducked her head beneath the blankets.
Not afraid
. Well, maybe she was feeling just the tiniest bit
anxious
after all.

Think about something else. Anything. Something comforting. Something that makes you feel safe.

Jake. She would think of Jake. Being held by Jake made her feel safer than if she had been sheltered by a whole army of guardian angels, and the sound of his whispers as he urged her to sleep was more comforting than any heavenly lullaby.

Hallie poked her head out from under the covers and glanced sharply toward the hearth. Exactly when had Jake left her side? When she'd drifted off to sleep, the fire was blazing cheerfully in the hearth and Jake was perched on the chair next to the bed.

But now the flames were little more than a pile of gleaming embers … and the chair was empty. She sighed with longing. She would gladly trade her new thermometers, all twelve of them, just to feel the reassuring warmth of Jake's nearness. He had made her feel a way she'd never felt before. Special. Cherished.
Loved.

When they had arrived from the jail that evening, he'd taken charge of everything, barking orders which had sent the servants scurrying to do his bidding. When it appeared that all was being done to his satisfaction, Jake personally escorted her up to a luxurious suite of rooms and turned her over to Celine's kindly ministrations.

From that point on, she was waited on hand and foot. She had felt like a princess, relaxing in a tub of hot water while a servant brushed the tangles from her freshly washed hair. Scrubbed clean within an inch of her life and smelling of lavender, with her damp hair neatly braided, she was slipped into what looked to be one of Jake's nightshirts.

Just as she was being tucked into bed with hot bricks warming her feet, Jake had reappeared. He watched for a moment while Celine prepared to cleanse Hallie's battered face; then he took the cloth from the woman's hand and dismissed her with a nod.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tended her himself. His hands were gentle as he soothed her bruises with cool water, his handsome face filled with such tenderness that it made Hallie breathless just to remember it. As he had treated each injury, he paused to give it a soft kiss before turning his attention to the next one. His kisses were more soothing than any balm in Hallie's black bag. And though his brand of doctoring was alien to anything found in the pages of a medical journal, she had felt much restored when he had finished.

Shortly thereafter, Celine returned, bearing a tray of savory-smelling food. Hallie squealed in protest and Celine chuckled with amusement when Jake tucked the napkin around Hallie's neck and insisted on feeding her as if she were no older than Ariel. With a sigh of surrender, Hallie relaxed against her pillows, obediently eating whatever he put in her mouth. She had no idea what she'd eaten, so preoccupied had she been with Jake's coaxing smiles.

When Celine had at last removed the tray, Jake settled in the chair close to the bed and sat stroking her hair and urging her to sleep in a low, hypnotic voice. Almost immediately, she complied. She probably would've slept the whole night through had it not been for the thunder. Speaking of which …

Hallie clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the fiendish roar. It didn't work. Lord! This was the worst squall she'd seen in years! She could remember huddling in her crib during such a storm, her terrified screams drowned out by the thunder. She had been three at the time, little more than a baby.

Like Ariel.

Ariel!
Hallie bolted to a sitting position. Was Ariel terrified, too? Did she he sobbing in her crib, her cries unheard above the noise, with no one there to soothe her? The thought of the poor babe alone in her nursery was too much for Hallie to bear.

Snatching up the dressing gown Jake had left at the foot of the bed, she bounded out from the security of her blankets. For a moment she imagined, as she had when she was a child, that there was a monster under the bed waiting to grab her ankle and pull her into its lair.

Then she laughed. What was it about a storm that made her feel like a five-year-old again? As she slipped her arms into Jake's robe, the same one she had wrapped him in on the day he was shot, she could smell traces of his clean, masculine scent lingering in the velvet folds. The familiarity of the fragrance was reassuring, giving her the much-needed courage to brave the darkened corridors.

Which she did with an aplomb that made her want to give herself a pat on the back. When she finally reached the nursery, Hallie found the door slightly ajar and heard not the screams of a frantic child but the soothing sounds of a murmuring voice. Sighing her relief, she eased the door open and peeked in.

Sitting in a rocking chair close to the fireplace, with his left leg propped up on a low stool, was Jake. And lying contentedly in his arms was Ariel.

“So you see, Sprite, the angels have a particular fondness for bowling.” Jake paused to point out the window where a bolt of lightning was cutting across the midnight sky. “See that streak of silver light? That's the trail left by the angel's ball as it rolls across the sky. He's trying to knock down that line of stars just over the horizon.” He shifted Ariel to show her the stars, but she was far more interested in staring at the colorfully patterned silk of his dressing gown.

Then there was the inevitable roll of thunder, and Hallie, caught up in Jake's fanciful story, let out a cry of surprise. His head jerked up at the sound.

When he saw Hallie standing in the doorway, nervously balling up a section of her robe in her hand, he smiled. She who had fearlessly attacked Cyrus King with a parasol and who had kicked Nick Connelly in his private parts was apparently afraid of storms. He found his Mission Lady's childish foible thoroughly endearing, just as he did everything else about her. If his arms hadn't been occupied at that moment, he would have wrapped her in his embrace and promised to protect her from storm monsters.

Still smiling, he beckoned to her.

Hallie practically flew to his side. As she knelt on the rug at his feet, he reached down and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He could feel her trembling beneath his hand.

Gently he cupped her chin in his palm and lifted her face so that her features were lit by the warm glow of the fire. Staring hypnotically into her frightened eyes, he continued his tale.

“Two points for the angel,” he whispered, nodding at the storm outside yet never once letting his gaze stray from hers. “Don't you know that thunder is the sound of an angel's ball striking the stars?”

“And the rain?” Hallie asked, leaning forward to rest against his knee, basking in the sanctuary of his presence. “What causes the rain?”

Jake chuckled and let his hand drop from her face. “It's tears, sweet Mission Lady. Angels are notoriously poor losers.”

Ariel's only response to that bit of whimsy was a yawn. Emitting a little squeak, she burrowed deeper against Jake's chest, where she lay sucking on her chubby fist and staring at Hallie with drowsy eyes.

“She looks like Serena,” Hallie commented, tearing her gaze from Jake's tip-tilted green eyes to study the baby in his arms. From her wide blue eyes and the silvery down crowning her head to the dainty toes peeking out from a fold of the pink silk quilt, Ariel was the very picture of her beautiful mother.

Jake stared down at the bundle in his arms. “Thank God for small favors,” he whispered, more to himself than to Hallie.

Yes.
Thank God,
Hallie repeated to herself. She could only imagine how awful it would have been for Jake if the baby had resembled her unknown father. Awful to have spent his days scanning the faces of friends and strangers, wondering, looking for some minute similarity. Awful to have looked into the child's unfamiliar face and be painfully reminded that some unknown man had given Serena what he couldn't.

Propping her elbows up on the arm of the chair, Hallie noted the way Jake caressed Ariel's cheek with his thumb. She smiled at his apparent fondness for the child.