Cecilia And The Stranger

* * *

Pendergast took her hand and gazed deeply into her eyes. Cecilia remembered thinking that his dark eyes had a smoldering quality, and that was the word that came to her now. Lit by fire, they were, and desire for her alone.

They stood by the pond near her house, almost dry now since August. Still, the trees there provided shade, and a very promising privacy. With only a quick glance to confirm that they were alone, perfectly alone, he pulled her into his arms. Before Cecilia could react, his lips covered hers, warm and persuasive...

And then he started singing.

Cecilia bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. Pendergast had kissed her!

No, no, he hadn’t. Fuzzily, as she attempted to gain her bearings in the dark, her mind began to make sense of what had happened. She’d been dreaming—but surely, it had been more like a nightmare! Her labored breathing certainly indicated that something traumatic had occurred.

And yet, as she strained to remember the dream, her recollections were not at all unpleasant. First she’d been captivated by his coal dark eyes, which had drawn her closer to him without his even touching her. But how could that have happened?

Of course, the answer was that it hadn’t happened. But the scene was so vivid—his lips, his voice, singing...she could hear it even now. That truly was strange. She could make out the tune quite clearly. He was singing “Lorena”!

Cecilia pushed back her coverlet and hopped from the bed. Standing on tiptoe, she craned her neck out the window to hear the mournful ballad. Someone was singing down the street, but it didn’t sound like Pendergast. It sounded more like...Buck!

A light breeze brought with it the ripe smell of the side yard, causing Cecilia to duck her head back inside. She groped through the darkened room for her robe, then remembered that it was one of the items she’d sent home. Letting out an exasperated breath as the singing neared the house, she left her room in her nightgown and bare feet to meet the roving minstrel.

The evening was unseasonably warm as she stepped outside through the front door, but she crossed her arms over her chest instinctively as the fresh air made contact with her scantily clothed body. Narrowing her eyes toward the road, she caught sight of Pendergast and Buck, draped over each other so that she could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. They weaved off the main road toward the house.

As they came closer and Cecilia’s eyes adjusted to the moonlight, it became clear who was who. Buck, staggering and singing, was on the left, and Pendergast on the right, was practically dragging him along—cold sober!

She couldn’t believe how miserably Buck had failed her. Her only comfort was that she had had a successful evening. After the boardinghouse residents had gone to bed, Cecilia had sneaked over to the schoolhouse, climbed through a window and tossed out the readers. Unfortunately, she had to toss herself out the window, too, and had done a belly flop in the dust. But in so doing, she had discovered the most ingenious hiding place for the books—on a ledge in the crawl space beneath the schoolhouse steps.

Which only proved that if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

Regardless of her state of dress or who might see her, Cecilia sped off the porch and sprinted across the dry grass of Dolly’s yard to meet Pendergast and Buck. The sharp splintery blades poked at the soft pads of her feet.

“Buck, you idiot!” she said under her breath, coming to a quick stop in front of the pair. “Do you want to wake up the entire town?”

“And the next county.”

Cecilia looked at Pendergast, who seemed none the worse for drink. How had he managed it? In fact, his eyes were clear, almost twinkly, as they regarded her state of undress.

“Buck wanted to see you,” Pendergast said, grinning madly. “Said something about a man named Dooley Hodges and camping out on your porch until his relatives hauled him away.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Cecilia frowned. This was a terrible mess. “You shouldn’t have brought him here.”

“He insisted,” Pendergast explained, and then his gaze again swept her from head to toe, making her feel nearly naked, which of course she was. “Now I can understand why.”

A vision of her dream by the pond flashed through Cecilia’s mind. She felt her face burn and was glad there was only a quarter moon’s worth of light illuminating her embarrassment.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” she asked fretfully.

Seeing her distress, his expression softened. “Honestly, Cecilia, I couldn’t send him off to your father’s ranch. He’ll stay in my room for the night.”

Suddenly, Cecilia relaxed a bit. As much as she hated to admit it, this was her fault, and Pendergast was at least being decent about it. And he was right. She wouldn’t want Buck to have attempted the ride home, or risked her father’s wrath when he got there.

“All right,” she agreed, then bent her head toward his companion. “But Buck, you’ve got to try not to wake up Dolly or Lucinda.” Mrs. Baker slept like a rock.

“Dolly or Lucici—cinda,” Buck slurred loudly.

Cecilia looked doubtfully at Pendergast. “I’ll help you get him upstairs.”

He nodded, and Cecilia ducked underneath Buck’s other armpit. His crazily limp body was terribly unwieldy, and by the time they made it inside and to the stairs, bumping and thumping all the way, Cecilia had lost all hope of not waking the others.

“Shh,” she entreated, and Pendergast nodded.

Backfired. She couldn’t believe her little scheme had blown up in her face. What had she done to deserve this?

Oh, well. At least she had managed to set a trap for Pendergast. Beasley would stroke when those expensive books turned up missing, and Pendergast would bear the brunt of his wrath. She smiled already in anticipation.

“You know,” Pendergast whispered seriously, “the man probably wouldn’t be driven to drink if you didn’t tease him so unmercifully.”

“What?” Cecilia almost shrieked.

He ducked his head and pressed a finger to his mouth in warning. “Shh.”

“Don’t shush me, Pendergast,” Cecilia said, spitting the words over Buck’s practically unconscious head. “How dare you deign to tell me my business after spending all of three days in this town?”

“Fine,” he answered. “I won’t mention it again. I reckon it’s none of my business if you choose to ruin this man’s life.”

Cecilia’s eyebrow shot up in alert. “You reckon? Is that one of your Philadelphia words, Mr. Pendergast?”

“No, actually, I picked it up on the train.”

“I’ll just bet you did,” she replied.

“You know, you ought to consider going to Philadelphia someday. Maybe you’d pick up some manners on the train.”

“Oh!”

“Shh.” This time, a smile touched his lips. “We don’t want to wake the ladies, now, do we?”

If it wouldn’t have meant dropping Buck on his head, she would have slapped the man. “Why Lysander Beasley had to look all the way across the country just to find a schoolteacher, I’ll never know.”

Jake had been wondering that himself. Yet, at this precise moment, he was enjoying teasing Cecilia too much to worry about it. Her honey blond hair appeared almost white in the faint light, and her blue eyes were two dark, flashing pools. For a moment, as his eyes fastened on her full lips, he regretted that they were adversaries.

Nevertheless, that’s what they were.

“I should have thought that was obvious,” he said at last. “Yankees are smarter.”

Her mouth dropped open at his audacity, making Jake unable to hold back a chuckle. The lady wanted to belt him. Fortunately for him, they were approaching his door. Getting Buck in the room was going to take some fancy maneuvering.

Gingerly, he shifted his weight so that Buck was propped on his shoulder, which freed Jake’s hand for the doorknob. The entrance was too narrow for three people abreast, so they shuffled through one at a time, swaying in a jerky little dance.

Finally, the trio arrived at the bed.