damply parted. She froze, staring at her own image. One hand quivered upward to touch her cheek.
She had almost succeeded in forgetting that she was pretty.
Seized by a sudden wild compulsion, she curved her mouth into a smile, inclining her head, arching the fine, dark wings of her brows. The image in the glass assumed a subtle sensuality, an air of unmistakable invitation.
Lydia.
Sarah’s arms dropped to her sides as the sound of laughter echoed and faded in her mind. Was this what Donovan had wanted when he’d ripped the pins from her hair? Deep inside, without his even knowing, was it really Lydia he had wanted to see?
Driven by dark emotions, she raised her arms again, tightening the fabric of the worn chemise against herbreasts. Her hands lifted and spread the satin wealth of her hair. Her eyelids lowered coquettishly.
“You’re no good, Sarah Jane Parker!” Her minister father’s voice rumbled like a tempest out of the past. “Wasting your time playacting! Prancing and posing like a strumpet! Vanity is the devil’s tool, Sarah! Mark my words! Remember them when you’re burning in hell!”
Sarah spun away from the mirror, hands quivering where they pressed her cold face. She’d gotten word from a cousin after the war that her father had died of apoplexy in New Bedford. In the eight long years since she’d run off with Reginald Buckley, he had not once spoken her name.
Sometimes at night, when the wind howled high in the Colorado pines, his voice echoed in her dreams, its thunder blending with the roar of cannon fire, the screams of horses and the groans of the wounded.
“You can’t hide from the sight of God, Sarah Jane! Wherever you go, his wrath will find you, and in the end, you will burn for your sins! The devil will seize you and carry you down, and burn you forever in hell!”
Sarah blew out the lamp and finished undressing in the dark. She tugged her flannel nightgown over her head and buttoned it to her throat with trembling fingers. Moonlight made a window-square on the patchwork quilt as she crawled between the sheets and lay rigid, eyes wide open in the darkness.
Strange, how some things never seemed to change. As a little girl, she had lain awake at night, listening to the creaks and groans of the old frame house, waiting for the devil to come and snatch her from her bed. Twenty years later, she still jumped at shadows, her fear so deep that it defied every effort to reason it away.
When would it come, the moment of reckoning when the fire would exact its toll?
Impatient, Sarah turned over and punched her pillow. She had problems enough in the here and now, she reminded herself. The devil might be biding his time, butDonovan Cole was not. Donovan was not a patient man. His revenge would be swift and without mercy.
Unless she could think of a way to beat him at his own game.
Restless now, she flopped onto her side, feet jerking at the tightly tucked quilts. There had to be an answer—there was always an answer.
All she had to do was find it.
Sleep was impossible. Sarah rolled out of bed, flung on her robe and strode to the window. The tick of the schoolroom clock echoed in the silence as she gazed through the tattered curtain at the black clusters of pine and the moonlit peaks beyond.
There was always an answer. Maybe not an easy answer. Maybe not the answer one would ask for. But an answer all the same.
She shivered beneath the worn flannel robe, hands clutching her arms as she racked her brain and searched her heart. It was there, she knew, if only-The solution fell into place like a thunderclap.
Sarah’s breath caught as she examined it—an idea so simple that she could scarcely believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner.
Simple. And terrifying. Her hands began to tremble as she weighed the risks, the ramifications. No, she did not have the courage. There had to be a different way, something easier.
She waited, cold and alone in the darkness, but when no other answer
She had almost succeeded in forgetting that she was pretty.
Seized by a sudden wild compulsion, she curved her mouth into a smile, inclining her head, arching the fine, dark wings of her brows. The image in the glass assumed a subtle sensuality, an air of unmistakable invitation.
Lydia.
Sarah’s arms dropped to her sides as the sound of laughter echoed and faded in her mind. Was this what Donovan had wanted when he’d ripped the pins from her hair? Deep inside, without his even knowing, was it really Lydia he had wanted to see?
Driven by dark emotions, she raised her arms again, tightening the fabric of the worn chemise against herbreasts. Her hands lifted and spread the satin wealth of her hair. Her eyelids lowered coquettishly.
“You’re no good, Sarah Jane Parker!” Her minister father’s voice rumbled like a tempest out of the past. “Wasting your time playacting! Prancing and posing like a strumpet! Vanity is the devil’s tool, Sarah! Mark my words! Remember them when you’re burning in hell!”
Sarah spun away from the mirror, hands quivering where they pressed her cold face. She’d gotten word from a cousin after the war that her father had died of apoplexy in New Bedford. In the eight long years since she’d run off with Reginald Buckley, he had not once spoken her name.
Sometimes at night, when the wind howled high in the Colorado pines, his voice echoed in her dreams, its thunder blending with the roar of cannon fire, the screams of horses and the groans of the wounded.
“You can’t hide from the sight of God, Sarah Jane! Wherever you go, his wrath will find you, and in the end, you will burn for your sins! The devil will seize you and carry you down, and burn you forever in hell!”
Sarah blew out the lamp and finished undressing in the dark. She tugged her flannel nightgown over her head and buttoned it to her throat with trembling fingers. Moonlight made a window-square on the patchwork quilt as she crawled between the sheets and lay rigid, eyes wide open in the darkness.
Strange, how some things never seemed to change. As a little girl, she had lain awake at night, listening to the creaks and groans of the old frame house, waiting for the devil to come and snatch her from her bed. Twenty years later, she still jumped at shadows, her fear so deep that it defied every effort to reason it away.
When would it come, the moment of reckoning when the fire would exact its toll?
Impatient, Sarah turned over and punched her pillow. She had problems enough in the here and now, she reminded herself. The devil might be biding his time, butDonovan Cole was not. Donovan was not a patient man. His revenge would be swift and without mercy.
Unless she could think of a way to beat him at his own game.
Restless now, she flopped onto her side, feet jerking at the tightly tucked quilts. There had to be an answer—there was always an answer.
All she had to do was find it.
Sleep was impossible. Sarah rolled out of bed, flung on her robe and strode to the window. The tick of the schoolroom clock echoed in the silence as she gazed through the tattered curtain at the black clusters of pine and the moonlit peaks beyond.
There was always an answer. Maybe not an easy answer. Maybe not the answer one would ask for. But an answer all the same.
She shivered beneath the worn flannel robe, hands clutching her arms as she racked her brain and searched her heart. It was there, she knew, if only-The solution fell into place like a thunderclap.
Sarah’s breath caught as she examined it—an idea so simple that she could scarcely believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner.
Simple. And terrifying. Her hands began to tremble as she weighed the risks, the ramifications. No, she did not have the courage. There had to be a different way, something easier.
She waited, cold and alone in the darkness, but when no other answer
Similar Books
