Chapter 25
Dark had fallen by the time Devon strode across the ground between the stables and the house. A chorus of coyotes sang in the distance. Dinner would be over, and that suited him just fine. His thoughts were too jumbled to sit across from Morning Fawn at a table after everything that had happened.
Images flooded his mind. Her tear-streaked face. Her hair tumbling out from beneath that battered hat. Trousers. Her poor feet. Why had she run from him?
He’d ridden back from Alleyton in a daze. Morning Fawn was beautiful. Unpredictable. More clever and brave and determined than he’d ever imagined. And potentially, unintentionally dangerous. He’d lost his head. How else could he explain why he’d told her everything? Or almost everything.
Of course, Frieda and Dr. Schramm hadn’t understood why he’d done it.
Frieda’s silent brooding and Schramm’s deep worry had echoed across the room.
He couldn’t tell them it was because he couldn’t bear to hurt Morning Fawn or lie to her again.
He’d told them he trusted her with his life, that her not knowing was more dangerous than her knowing.
Otherwise, she’d continue to poke around until she was in the middle of everything, and it’d be safer to give her a minor task where she could be a part of helping but not in a place of consequence.
His stomach rumbled. He should have asked Morning Fawn to meet him in the kitchen after everyone else turned in for the night.
Even one day was too long to leave her stewing over what he’d told her.
Besides, he needed to hear she’d returned safely.
Hopefully, she’d made it back without detection and wasn’t locked in the attic.
At least the house wasn’t lit up in alarm with search parties waiting to be sent out. No, everything was quiet. Almost.
The porch swing creaked. A low light glowed against the columns. Would Morning Fawn have dared wait up for him?
He stepped quickly through the damp grass to the front of the house and stopped dead in his tracks.
Creak. Creak. Back and forth, Nick Moyer pumped the swing with his legs, a brandy snifter in his hand and Morning Fawn at his side, her feet tucked beneath the seat, both hands curled around the scumbag’s arm.
Devon froze, his mind in full stutter.
The couple glanced his way, Moyer looking as if he were a cat who’d swallowed a mouse.
Morning Fawn had acted as if she had no interest in Moyer. Had it all been subterfuge? She wouldn’t dare reveal his secret to Moyer. Would she? He couldn’t have been that wrong about her.
Devon rocked backward on his heels. What if it had all been a ploy to get him to talk?
“Evening, Lieutenant.” She straightened. “You missed supper.”
How in the devil was he to play this? Her syrupy, taunting voice grated against his nerves.
“I’ll scrounge up something in the kitchen.” The words tasted like gravel. For all he knew, they could have men waiting in the house or yard to arrest him.
Morning Fawn swatted at a mosquito. “I figure you were too busy taking care of business. Black wavy curls and sweet-talking type of business. Sugar lips too.”
Devon’s jaw clenched. She’d told Moyer about Frieda. What else?
Moyer’s smirk was so wide, it was a wonder his brandy didn’t drool out of his mouth.
“Cat got your tongue?” Morning Fawn smoothed her hand over her skirt.
“I want you to know, I’ve heard about your double-dealing, and Miss Perfect can have you.
I also wanted to inform you that I’ve accepted Nicholas’s request to court me.
” She cuddled up close to the rat and waved her hand toward Devon.
“That’s all. You can run along now. Unless you want to stay and watch us star gaze. I’ve had enough of your snaky ways.”
He’d be happy to run along after he’d pummeled that popinjay’s face to a pulp. “You’re sitting next to the real snake.” How could this be the same woman he held close today? He ground his teeth.
His feet thundered as he went up the steps and into the house. Should he keep on going down the hall and out the back door? He had no clue what she was up to or how much she’d told. Did she somehow think she could get Frieda in trouble and spare him?
Who was he kidding? She had every reason to strike at him. He’d been the one to steal her from her home and Comanche family. What had he been thinking, trusting her? The safest bet would be to head to the stables, grab his horse, and be shed of this place.
He glanced up the stairs.
Lucy leaned over the banister and put a finger to her lips.
Her purple hand-me-down dress hung limp around her as she crept down a few stairs.
She glanced over her shoulder with every step, a deep frown crinkling her forehead.
“Miss Beth says to meet her later tonight, in the spot you talked about.”
“Did she say anything el—”
A door opened somewhere on the second floor. Lucy flew up the stairs, and Devon moved out of view of the banister.
“What are you doing sneaking around, girl?” Mrs. LeBeau asked.
“Nothing, ma’am. Just going down to see if Miss Beth was coming in soon so I could help her get ready for bed.”
“What was all that stomping about?”
“Lieutenant Reynolds, ma’am.”
A grumble, and the voices faded.
Meet Morning Fawn in the garden. That had to be what the message meant. So she could explain herself, gloat over her revenge, or have him arrested as a Yankee?
Murmurs echoed in from the front porch. What he wouldn’t give to drag that man off that swing and wring his neck.
His muscles hardening like gun barrels, Devon headed for the back door. He’d meet her, all right.
An hour. Devon had paced enough to dig a trench halfway around Vicksburg by now.
Trimmed to green conical shapes, Leland cypress trees lined the center rows of Mrs. LeBeau’s garden, blocking Devon’s view of the discarded leavings in the vegetable plots and hiding him from sight of anyone at the house.
Was Morning Fawn still in that porch swing with Moyer, or had he gone home? Devon didn’t even want to think about how much a man like that would try to get away with in an hour, especially after a brandy or two. Was she letting him?
Devon kicked a fallen stake out of his path.
A sliver of a moon hovered in the sky—all that remained of the globe that lit his path with Morning Fawn a few weeks before.
A Great-Horned owl hooted, who-who-who. Its voice echoed across the garden.
Golden eyes peered at Devon from a gnarled Osage orange tree in a corner.
He had half a mind to head for the stables and —
Leaves crunched behind him.
He swung around, hand on his holster.
Morning Fawn halted beneath a vined arch. A shawl flowed over her shoulders and the bodice of the shimmering gown she’d worn on the porch. Her hair hung loose. A beautiful deceiver.
She tugged her shawl tighter. “Please forgive me for having to say—”
“Should I hold my hands out for the ropes now or later?” He strode toward her.
“What ropes?”
“The ones they’ll tie my hands with after you finish spilling everything I told you to that snake.”
“I didn’t tell him any—”
“He knows about Frieda. And the way you were cozied up to him on the porch, probably couldn’t get a feather between you.” He flexed his hands at his sides. “I trusted you.”
“I’m trying to save your life.”
“By betraying me?” He ground a withered vine beneath his boot. “I hope he comes down here to confront me. I’d like nothing better than to lay into him.”
“Now who has the temper?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what this is about? Revenge.”
“Of course not. I’m trying to throw him off your trail.” She latched onto his arm. “I ran into him when I hurried back to the street, and he recognized me. I had to do something. I had to come up with an excuse for why I was dressed like a man.”
He shrugged off her hold. “What did you tell him?”
“That I was jealous and spying on you. That I thought there was a doctor’s daughter who’d caught your eye. I figured the closer it was to the truth, the better the lie.”
If she’d stayed put on the plantation today, there’d be no need for thinking up lies, but he swallowed the rebuke before it left his lips. “Did he believe you?”
“Yes. But then he said he’d sent an agent to your home county to investigate you. That he was waiting to hear back.” She gestured toward him, palms up. “I had to do something to throw him off track.”
He stilled, almost afraid to ask. “And what was that?”
Her voice sank. “I didn’t know what to say.” She fiddled with the fringe on her shawl. “All I wanted to do was to protect you, keep you safe. I remembered what you’d said about a backup lie. I told him you were here from Confederate headquarters and that you were investigating him.”
Devon blew out his cheeks and slid his hand down his face. “That wasn’t yours to tell.” Leave it to Morning Fawn to turn this mission into a wild horse with no reins. Maybe they’d win the race, or maybe they’d fall off and get trampled.
“You’re upset with me?”
“Not exactly.”
“I was afraid for you.” Her voice wobbled.
“You’ve upended so many parts of the plan, I don’t even know where to start.”
“I’m sorry.” Big, wet eyes gazed into his, penetrating his defenses.
His heart rolled over. He gulped a steadying breath and exhaled. “You did help.” In a wild horse type of way that would probably give him gray hairs before she was finished. “Hopefully, your story will divert his attention from the worst possibility and buy us time.”
“You don’t sound certain.” She swished her hand against her skirt folds.