Falling for the Teacher

She stared at the closed door, aching with the need to have her grandmother and grandfather well, to have everything the way it was. “I remember, now that you’ve mentioned it, how much you like storms, Poppa. It used to frighten me when you would stand out here on the porch with the lightning flashing and the thunder crashing.” She turned from the door and forced a smile onto her face. “I was usually huddled up on the settee with Nanna.”

He tugged her closer, laid his cheek against her hand. “I...miss her...too.”

“Oh, Poppa...” She sank to her knees, placed her head against his knee and snagged her lip with her teeth to keep from crying. “Is there nothing Dr. Palmer can do to help Nanna get better? Can’t he give her some sort of medicine, or—” Her throat constricted, closed off the flow of words.

Her grandfather shook his head, his mouth working. “Some...thing in her...mind shuts...off...now and then. Doc can’t...stop it. Sorry, Sa...die.” He rested his big, work-worn hand on her hair, and she closed her eyes and imaged him whole and well and for a moment her world righted itself.

The wind gusted, snatching at her skirts. A door banged. Banged again. Her grandfather tensed. She looked up.

“Stable...door.” A frown knit his gray brows together. “Wind break...it.”

“I’ll go close it, Poppa.” She rose and shook out her long skirts.

“Lightning...”

She pushed out a small laugh and shook her head. “I’m not afraid of thunderstorms anymore.” It isn’t nature that hurts you, it’s men. “I’ll be right back.” She lifted her hems and ran down the steps, veered left onto the path that led to the stable. The wind blew her skirts against her legs. Raindrops spattered on her hair and shoulders, chilled her bowed neck.

She grabbed hold of the stable door with both hands and tugged with all of her strength to pull it closed against the rising force of the wind. It moved after a momentary lull, and she planted her feet and backed toward the gaping stable doorway, hauling the big, heavy door with her.

Lightning snapped, sizzling to the earth in a yellow streak. Sulfur stung her nose. Thunder clapped and the rain came—a wild, stinging deluge driven by the wind that snatched the door from her grasp. “Oh!” She ducked her head and jumped inside.

Raindrops drummed on the shakes overhead. The wind whistled across the open doorway and banged the door back against the building again. She stared in dismay at the heavy fall of water pouring off the roof to splash against the ground and tried to work up enough courage to go out and try again to drag that heavy door closed. And then it didn’t matter.

A large figure loomed in the opening, then pulled the door closed, shutting out the splashing curtain of water. Lightning flashed through the windows in a watery shimmer, shone on the rain-slick rubber jacket and glittered on the wet, black beard and dark gray eyes of Cole Aylward.

Chapter Four

Ice spilled down her spine, flowed into her arms and legs and froze her in place. Sadie stared at Cole Aylward, saw the image that haunted her nights. His black beard bobbed and his lips moved, but no words penetrated the glacial wall of fear.

“Did you hear me, Miss Spencer? Your poppa sent me to bring you to the house.”

His raised voice crumbled the ice, broke through her numbed senses. Poppa? How dare he use her pet name for her grandfather! A quaking took her, so strong, so furious in intensity her long skirts shook. “Don’t you call him that!”

“Look, Miss Spencer—” He took a step toward her. A towering shadow in the dim light.

She gasped and jerked back, her spurt of defiance dead.

He jolted to a halt and a heavy breath escaped him.

Light flashed on something in his hand. She caught a glimpse of a knob on the object he held before he turned and leaned it against the wall, shrugged out of his rubber jacket and tossed it on top of a nearby feed chest.

No, Almighty God, no! Not again. Her heart thudded. She stared at his hands, raised hers to cover her arms where his brother’s hard fingers had dug into her flesh as he threw her to the ground. Memory froze her lungs. A prickly warmth flooded her body, and the room swam in a slow, sickening circle, the edges turning dark, closing in.

Lightning snapped, startled her from the encroaching darkness. Thunder shook the building and rattled the windowpanes. She shook her head to clear away the fuzziness, forced strength into her quivering legs and edged backward, not daring to take her gaze off Cole.

“I came back because the storm worsened and I wanted to get Manning inside before he got soaked by the driving rain. He sent me after you—told me to tell you your poppa had sent me so you wouldn’t be frightened. That was his word, not mine.”

Did he think her a fool? If that were true, why would he remove his rain jacket? She needed a weapon. Something. Anything! She stretched her right hand backward, groped through the space behind her.

“Obviously, that didn’t work.” He turned toward her, lifted his hands.

She whirled to run, spotted a hay fork and snatched it from its place in the corner then spun back, the wooden tines extended toward him. Rain beat on the roof. Lightning flickered, and thunder rumbled. The horse in the stall behind her snorted and pawed at the floor.

Tension quivered on the air. Cole stared at her, silent and still, slowly tugged his shirt collar up around his neck and lowered his hands. “I’ve told you, I am not my brother, Miss Spencer. I abhor what he did to you. But I am at a loss as to how to convince you of that. Perhaps time is the only answer.” His voice, deep and quiet, blended with the drumming overhead. He turned, gestured toward his rain jacket. “That should keep you dry. Please hurry back to the house. Your grandmother is worried about you.”

She watched, wary and disbelieving, as he shoved open the door, ducked his head and stepped out into the gray deluge. What was he doing? She stared at the door, waited. It remained closed. The heavy thudding of her heart eased. Her racing pulse slowed. She dropped the hay rake, moved forward on shaky legs and stared down at the object he’d left behind. A furled umbrella with a brass knob in the form of a drake’s head.

Your grandfather sent me after you.

Was it true? She picked up her grandfather’s umbrella, held it against her chest and sagged back against the wall. Why would her grandfather do such a thing when he knew what had happened to her? Why would he send Cole Aylward, of all people, to come after her when she was alone and defenseless? Had her grandfather’s reason, also, been affected by his seizure? Or was Cole lying?

She closed her eyes, fought the clinging fog of weariness and fear. What could she do? She was helpless against Cole Aylward’s strength and unequal to an Aylward’s cunning ways. She tightened her grip on the umbrella and wrapped her arms around herself in a futile effort to stop the inward quivering, the outward shivering. “Heavenly Father, You know I’m not strong enough or brave enough to fight him. I can’t do this. Give me strength and courage and wisdom, I pray.”

Her choked, whispered plea was swallowed by the sound of the rain that pounded on the shakes overhead and slapped against the outside of the wall behind her. She opened her eyes and stared down at the rainwater that seeped under the door and trickled across the thick puncheons into the dark interior, trying to understand, to grasp what Cole was after. He had to have a reason for the care he was giving her grandfather. Was it money? Payne had stolen the money from her grandfather’s desk at the mill before he had—

A shudder passed through her. She shoved the memory away and thought about the conversation she’d overheard. Cole wanted her grandfather to buy something. It had to be Poppa’s money he wanted. That would explain why he was working to gain her grandfather’s trust—or knowledge of where he kept his money.

Her face tightened. The thought of her grandfather being duped because of his weakened state brought strength. She shoved away from the wall, partially opened the umbrella and waited for another lull in the wind, then slipped outside and slammed the door closed again, leaving Cole’s raincoat lying on the chest. She would rather be soaked to the bone than touch a garment that belonged to him.

* * *

The stable door banged.

At last. Cole pressed back into the darkness against the wall and watched Sadie run for the house, the umbrella she held bucking and flapping in the buffeting wind, the pouring rain soaking into her dress, turning the fabric black in the dim, stormy light.

No rain jacket. He needn’t have bothered leaving it for her. He should have simply left her the umbrella and gone home. He scowled and drew back as she gained the porch. There was no need; she didn’t even glance toward the end where he stood, merely hurried inside.

He pulled his wet collar tight against the back of his neck, crossed the porch and trotted down the steps. The wind plastered his wet pants to his legs, blew his shirt flat against his chest and fluttered and slapped the sides of it against his ribs. Rain soaked through the fabric and chilled his skin. He shivered and sprinted to the stable, water splashing from beneath his boots.

The wind wrestled him for the door. He forced it open, stepped through and eased it closed, then stood just inside to catch his breath. The smells of grain, hay and dust mingled on the moist air he drew in. A cold drop of water slid down his neck. He snatched his hat from his head, twisted the knit fabric and watched the water flow off his knuckles and splash on the floor.

The horse sniffed, extended its neck over the stall door and whickered.

“Later, girl. It’s not time for your feed.” White light flickered through the windows, gleaming on the garment draped across the feed chest. His jaw clenched. For a frightened, fragile-appearing woman, Sadie Spencer had a strong defiant streak.

He looked down at his hands twisting the knitted cap, eased their grip, tugged the hat back on his head and lifted his raincoat off the chest, his fingers digging into the rubber cloth. His mother had also been defiant and strong—in her own way. And that defiance had cost her her life at his father’s hands. Would Sadie have died by Payne’s hands if that logger hadn’t heard her scream and come running to her aid?

His stomach clenched at a sudden roll of nausea. The look of stark terror on Sadie’s face when he’d stepped through the door and turned toward her was chilling. And the anger of injured innocence, of a person who has had her sense of peace and security torn from her, lurked in the depths of her brown eyes. It was heartrending. How could he ever hope to make that up to her?

A lightning bolt crackled through the rain. Thunder clapped. He stared down at the rubber fabric dangling from his clenched hands and wished it were Payne in his grip.

* * *

They should be asleep by now. Sadie took a firm hold on the oil lamp and walked to the top of the stairs, listened but heard no sound. She thrust the lamp behind her, leaned around the corner and peeked over the railing. The trimmed lamp on the center table spread dim light through the empty entrance hall. The way was clear.

She gripped the railing and eased down the four steps to the landing, turned and started down the longer flight, glanced to her left. The morning-room door was closed, her grandfather’s snoring coming muted through its wood panels. Good. She could check the money box without interruption or explanation.

The soft tap of her slippers blended with the whispered brush of her dressing-gown hem against the polished oak steps as she descended. A loud snort from the morning room froze her at the bottom of the staircase. She held her breath, waited until the snoring resumed, then hurried across the hall into the library. The light from the lamp fell in a golden circle onto the braided rag rug her grandmother had made as a bride. A lump formed in her throat, swelled as she lifted her gaze. This was her favorite room. Poppa’s room.