Quietly, Leah slipped out of her chair and headed for the door.
Bess grabbed her arm. “It was just a dream, didn’t you realize that?” She paused. “But Wesley has a third gardener that just might be interested in a woman from…from our side of the river.”
Leah didn’t answer, but, still pale, she left the tavern, and the next time she visited, she acted as if she’d never heard that Wesley Stanford was engaged. She asked Bess for more stories about Wesley. This time Bess was reluctant, so she again tried to tell her of the engagement. Leah gave her sister such a chilling look that Bess turned away. For all Leah’s look of frailty, there were times when she could be imposing.
Since then Bess hadn’t tried to argue with her, and every visit she lifelessly recounted Wes’s last time in the tavern. She didn’t mention that he was in there more often now because the tavern was on the road between his house and the Shaws’.
Now Leah leaned back in the chair, slipped her hand into her much-mended pocket, and clutched the gold piece Wesley had given her years ago. Over the years she’d rubbed it so often it was completely smooth. There’d been many nights when the pain from one of her father’s beatings had kept her awake and she’d sat on the straw tick rubbing the coin and remembering every second of the time she’d spent with Wesley Stanford. He’d kissed her cheek, and to her knowledge that was the one and only kiss she’d ever received. Sometimes Bess talked about him as if he thought of himself as a god, better than everyone else, but Leah knew how kind he could be, how he could kiss a skinny, dirty little girl he’d never seen before and reward her lavishly. Vain, arrogant men didn’t do such things. Bess didn’t know him as Leah did. Someday, she thought, she’d see Wesley again and he’d see the love in her eyes and—.
“Leah!” Bess half shouted. “Don’t fall asleep. The old man will miss you before long. You have to get back.”
“I know. It’s just so nice and warm here.”
“You could stay all the time if—.”
Leah stood, cutting off Bess’s words. “Thanks for everything, Bess, and I’ll see you again next month. We wouldn’t be able to make it if it wasn’t for you and your—.”
The heavy front door flew open and a man entered, his body filling the opening, pushing the door shut behind him.
“Oh Lord,” Bess gasped, paralyzed for a moment before grinning and moving toward the man. “Awful wet for anybody to be out, Mr. Stanford. Here, let me help you with that,” she said, taking his coat from his shoulders and glancing toward Leah, who stood stock-still, gaping.
He hasn’t changed much, Leah thought. He was taller, even more muscular than she remembered, and more handsome. His thick dark hair curled damply about his neck and there were drops of water on his lashes, making his eyes look even darker, even more intense. Bess was standing on her toes and using her hand to brush water from his dark green wool jacket. Buckskin pants hugged his big, hard thighs while tall boots encased his feet and calves.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be open. Doesn’t Ben ever give you the night off?” he asked Bess, referring to her boss.
“Only when he’s sure I’ll put the night to good use. Ain’t nobody around to spend this evenin’ with so I might as well tend bar,” she teased. “Now you sit down and let me get you somethin’ hot to drink.”
Bess began ushering Wesley Stanford toward a tall, sided booth, trying to keep his back to Leah, who still stood in the middle of the room, her eyes wide.
With a chuckle, Wes disengaged himself from her pushing hands. “What are you trying to do to me, Bess?” It was then he saw Leah, and Bess saw the brief flicker in his eyes. He was judging her as a man looks at a woman and as to where she belonged on the social ladder. He obviously found her wanting in both aspects. “Who’s your…pretty friend, Bess?”
Manners, Bess thought. Those people must be taught manners from the cradle. “This is my sister, Leah,” Bess said tightly. “Leah, you best be gettin’ home.”
“It’s early yet,” Leah said, stepping forward into the light; Bess looked at her sister as a stranger would and saw poverty and hardship hanging over Leah like a black cloud. But Leah seemed oblivious to her appearance. Her eyes were fixed glassily on Wesley, who was beginning to look at her in speculation.
“Perhaps you two ladies will join me in a glass of ale.”
Bess put herself between Leah and Wes. Leah, in her innocence, was giving Wes looks that usually only a seasoned prostitute could produce. “I got work to do and Leah here has to go home.” She said the last while glaring at her sister.
“Ain’t nothin’ waitin’ for me at home,” Leah said, deftly sidestepping her sister. “I’d love to drink with you, Wesley.” She said the name as if she said it hundreds of times a day—which she did—and didn’t notice the movement of Wes’s eyebrows as she slid into a seat in the booth, looking up at him expectantly.
“The flip is good,” she said.
Wes looked down at her dirty, scratched, bruised face for a second before taking the bench across from her. “A couple of flips,” he said quietly to Bess.
Angrily, Bess flounced away toward the bar.
“You work for Ben now?” Wes asked Leah.
“I still live with my family.” Her eyes were eating him, remembering every angle of his face, memorizing every curve. “Did you ever find your friend’s wife?” she asked, referring to the first time she’d seen Wes.
For a moment he didn’t understand. “Clay’s wife?” he asked, then smiled, astonished. “You couldn’t be that little girl who helped us?”
Silently, reverently, Leah pulled the worn gold coin from her skirt pocket and laid it on the table.
Wonderingly, Wes picked it up and held it toward the light to look at the rough hole drilled in the top of the coin. “How—?” he asked.
“A nail,” she said, smiling. “It took me a while to make that hole but I was afraid I’d lose it if I didn’t tie it to me.”