Dorothy Clark Read Free Page A

morning room, then lifted her hems and hurried up the stairs to the landing. She didn’t want to be down there when he came out of that room alone. She could reach her bedroom and lock him out from here should he come after her.
    Such strength in his arms. Like his brother.
    Shivers coursed through her, stole her strength. She leaned against the wall, stared at the candle sconce across from her and waited for the memory to pass. She’d given up hoping it would go away.
    “...in the morning.”
    Cole. She held her breath and listened to the sound of his footfalls in the downstairs hallway. The door to the morning room closed. She gathered her courage and moved to grasp the top of the banister to lend strength to her shaking knees. “May I have a word with you, Mr. Aylward?”
    He paused, turned and looked up at her. “In the sitting room?”
    “This is fine.”
    The dim light outlined his tall form at the bottom of the stairs. “I am not my brother, Miss Spencer. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”
    How easily he discerned her thoughts. She tightened her grip on the banister and braced herself against the memories, the quivering that took her. “We will not speak of that, Mr. Aylward. I only wanted to express my appreciation for the care you have given my grandfather. And to tell you, again, that I intend to free you from that...service, as soon as possible.”
    “You are going to hire someone to care for Manning?”
    “I am going to hire someone to help with the physical labor involved. I will care for Poppa.”
    “I see.” Lamplight flickered over the knit hat he pulled from his pocket. “I misjudged you, Miss Spencer. I didn’t think you were the sort of woman who would condemn a man who has done no wrong, nor go against her grandfather’s wishes.” His head dipped in a small bow and he stepped back from the stairs. “I will be here in the morning...and for as long as Manning wishes my help. Good evening.” He tugged his hat on his head and strode down the hall toward the dining room. The back door opened and closed.
    How dare he make her the guilty one! She caught up her hems and ran to her bedroom, crossed to the window and watched Cole Aylward striding down the garden path toward the woods, the rising moon casting silver epaulets on his broad shoulders. Memories drove her from the window before he neared the trees and the entrance to the wooded path that led to her grandfather’s sawmill.
    * * *
    Cole glanced right and left, aware as never before of how the trees encroached upon the path, of their thick trunks and looming branches. He slowed his steps at the curve where it had happened, took a breath against the sudden clench of his stomach. He’d walked this path at least a hundred times, but now he’d seen her. That made it all different.
    The sylvan depths drew his gaze, halted his steps. How easy it would be to steal silent and unseen from trunk to trunk in order to overtake someone walking along the path. Is that how Payne had done it?
    He raised his arm and scrubbed his hand across his eyes, trying to rid himself of the image of the fear on Sadie’s face as she’d stood on the stairs looking down at him. Payne had caused that fear. Payne, who had been so pleasant and funny and kind. What had changed in his brother that he could do that to someone?
    His gut churned. Bile surged into his throat. He fisted his hands and continued down the path toward Manning Townsend’s sawmill. If only he’d been here when the attack took place. Perhaps he could have prevented it somehow or at least found out what had caused Payne to do such a thing. He knew his brother’s habits, had hunted and fished with him. He could have tracked him down, talked him into staying and facing justice, helped him atone somehow. But Payne had already disappeared when he’d come to Pinewood to tell him their mother and father were dead, and Payne’s trail had been obliterated by the angry men of Pinewood who were searching