California Caress

Bentley caught her arm, reeling her back in. For a feeble old woman, she was strong.

“Well, you’re gonna! Seems to me like you’ve shirked talking long enough. I’ll tackle you to the deck and sit on you if I have to, but I want an answer. And while you’re at it, think about how your parents would want you to feel.”

“What do you mean?” She pulled away from the old woman’s biting fingers, but she didn’t give in to the temptation to flee.

“Think they’d want their daughter moping around all the time, pining away for ‘em? Think they’d be p

roud of you running away from people for no good reason but that you’re scared they’ll hurt you? I could be wrong, but most parents I know want better for their kids. I think they’d want you to cut the self-pity and get on with the rest of your life.”

“And Drake Frazier is ‘the rest of my life’?” Hope asked skeptically.

“Could be. Way you’re going, though, you’ll never know.”

Hope turned away, raising her cheeks to the tangy salt spray. “I’m scarred,” she said suddenly. “You saw my back, you know.” She didn’t know why she said it, or why she’d said it to this particular person, but the words were off her tongue before she could stop them. Oddly enough, it felt good to voice the thoughts that constantly nagged at her.

“And I have a club foot,” the old woman huffed. “So what? I had myself four good husbands, and I’m taking applications for the fifth. Men don’t care about those things as much as we women like to think they do—but it does make a convenient excuse to think that way.”

Hope shook her head. Her hand strayed inside the parted cloak and she fingered the flannel, thinking of the man who had once worn it next to his flesh. “You don’t understand. I couldn’t saddle Drake. He’s so handsome, so virile, and I’m... well, I couldn’t even wear a dress that was cut low in the back. And the smell of charred wood sends me into a fit of hysteria—although I’m much better with that now.” She shook her head and the tangled chestnut mane fluttered at her back. “No, it wouldn’t be fair to him. He deserves better.”

“Fair?! Bah! You talking fair to him, or fair to you?”

“Both. I’d always feel like he stayed with me out of pity.” Her dark eyes misted with unshed tears and she quickly dashed them away. “I hate pity. I’ve had enough of it to last a lifetime and I don’t want anymore. Besides, he doesn’t love me, he loves—.

“Her. Right. You go on telling yourself that for as long as you want. Eventually, you’re bound to get as sick of hearing it as I am. Either that, or you’ll start believing it.” Bentley looked around the deck, smiling tightly at the captain as he sauntered past. “I’m tired. I’m going back to the room,” she said finally. Patting Hope on the hand, she added, “Think about what I said, dearie. And when you do, remember that the price love asks may be high, but there’s a dern good reason most people are willing to pay it over and over again.” Her eyes narrowed and quickly became lost in the folds of her wrinkled skin. “The ones who pay will know what they could’ve missed.”

When Hope didn’t reply, Bentley hobbled away. She could hear the clatter of the woman’s cane as it click-clicked on the wooden stairs.

Is she right? Hope wondered, shifting her gaze back to the churning ocean. True, she wouldn’t feel pain at her family’s passing now if she hadn’t known them, but just how much would she have missed if that were so? She couldn’t imagine a childhood without Luke’s gentle grin and boyish escapades. She couldn’t imagine a night without her father’s bedtime stories. Hell, she couldn’t even imagine the state of California without a bulging-eyed Old Joe haunting it.

And what about Drake? Was it possible he had other motives for what he’d done? Motives he hadn’t told her about? If nothing else, Bentley was right about one thing; he had gone to an extraordinary amount of trouble on her behalf. Once, briefly, he’d even confessed to feelings for her.

But he never said he loved you, she reminded herself.

You never aid you loved him, either.

Never had the scar that marred her back obsessed her the way it did lately. She thought of Drake’s finger—warm and rough—running against the puckered flesh and a shiver of heat curled up on her spine. There had been no repulsion in that touch, only tenderness.

Had she misjudged her gunslinger? Would she ever really know?

“Who the hell do you think you’re kidding, Hope Bennett,” she muttered to herself, pushing the hair from her brow as she glanced up at the rigging. “It isn’t your scars, it’s death that frightens you. You’re afraid that if you love Drake Frazier he’s going to die just like everyone else you ever loved.”

There was a crash of waves against the ship’s hull. The impact of her words hit her as hard as if she had climbed over the rail and tossed herself into the icy ocean depths. My God, why hadn’t she ever realized that before?

Hope pushed away from the rail, deciding to take that stroll after all. A little exercise would do her good. But even wandering the spray-slickened deck and drinking in the crisp salt air couldn’t keep her thoughts from straying back to the old woman’s words and her own realizations.

Chapter 21

She’d been home here for four hours, but Hope still couldn’t get over how little had changed in the brick house Bart Bennett had built for his family after the main house had burned down. Two small bedrooms stood off the main room, one on each side. Neither was used for more than sleeping, since the main room held the kitchen table, cupboards, and fireplace. The floor was plain, its unstained planks unrelieved by so much as a scatter rug.

Although not grand on any scale, this small brick cabin beat the rickety shanties of Thirsty Gulch hands down. It might be the same size as the one they’d shared in the Mother Lode, with an extra sleeping room, but at least she didn’t have to worry about a strong wind blowing it down around their heads.

Hope speared another of the “musketballs,” as her mother used to call them, with her fork, dipped it in the spicy sauce, then popped it into her mouth. The flaked, salted cod, mixed with mashed potatoes then rolled into tiny balls that were fried to a crisp, golden brown, melted on her tongue.

Luke smiled at her from his place on the opposite bench. She returned the smile, but it thinned when she saw her father staring at her oddly. The time had come. Swallowing hard, she said, with typical Bennett bluntness, “How’d you manage to escape the fire?” She was careful to keep her voice lowered lest she wake up Bentley, who had foregone supper for a nap on the cot beside the dancing fire.

“Could ask you the same thing, missy,” Bart replied poignantly. “Last time I saw you, you were showing your friend Frazier the henhouse. I thought for sure you came back in the house when you saw the flames.”

“I didn’t see the flames. At least, not right away. By the time I did, it was too late. Drake and I tried to put the fire out, but it spread too fast.”