Jodi Thomas - Northern Star

He ran toward the shadow. But when he reached the fence, the shadow had vanished. And when he returned to the barn, so had his angel.

Molly's restaurant opened as Molly's Place during a downpour that should have spelled disaster for a first night, but the dining rooms were packed with the curious. The rumors that Molly was a reformed lady of the streets might have drawn some in, but the fine cooking kept them through course after course.

The room had been freshly polished and cleaned until the candlelight glowed off the wood and silver. The furnishings were simple, almost elegant, in design and the prices were fair. Each bolt of lightning from the storm seemed to bring yet another carriage up the drive.

Luke, now wearing a white shirt and dark suit, stood proudly as doorman. He opened the door and seated each guest with a silent dignity while keeping a sharp eye out for any ruffians.

At midnight, with the last guest departed, Molly, Luke, and Perry finally collapsed over a final cup of coffee in Perry's small office. After paying for the food and salaries of the cooks and waiters, there was still a tidy sum stacked atop the desk.

Luke beamed with pride. "It was a good night. Most folks could barely waddle to their carriages."

"Reminds me of my working days." Laughter bubbled from Molly's tired body. "No one left without being satisfied."

The old woman never ceased to amaze Perry. "But in this work you have less trouble with the law," Perry added.

Molly winked. "You're right. Plus, it did make me feel good to make a lot of folks happy instead of a few delirious."

Luke's full-blown laughter blended with Molly's chuckles as Perry fought a blush. She busied herself putting bills in a leather-lined box she'd found when cleaning one of the rooms. Deciding it safest to change the subject, she added, "I'll put the money here for tonight, but if we make this much every night, we will need a strongbox."

"There's one in the cellar," Molly said, yawning. "It's a big old rusty box I've been pushing out of my way ever' time I store food."

"We'll bring it up tomorrow and find a place for it," Perry answered.

"There's a drawer in Old Henry's room with several keys. In the morning I'll see if one fits the box, but right now I'm taking these tired bones to bed. This honest work's hard on a body." Molly stood and moved toward the door connecting her bedroom with the office. Though she'd moved her things into the room over a week ago, she still called it Old Henry's Room, as if he might return from the dead and have need of it. Molly talked about Old Henry so much, Perry sometimes felt he was a third partner.

Luke also stood. "I'll check around and lock everything up before I go for a little walk. "He paused at the door before nodding respectfully. " 'Night, Miss Perry."

Perry smiled up at Luke as he withdrew. He'd proven far better help than she'd ever hoped. He was a large, gentle sort of man with a big heart that overflowed when he was shown any kindness. He'd never asked any questions about their meeting during the war, but Perry knew he'd pieced most of the puzzle together. Luke was always near, except when he would ask to go out walking for a few hours. She could smell liquor on his breath when he returned, but true to his word, he was never drunk.

Closing her ledger book, she walked to her bedroom. She was glad she'd been so busy, for she'd had little time to think of Hunter today. As she undressed, she let her mind wander to him and the way he'd touched her in the darkness of the barn. What would have happened if she hadn't been frightened by the man outside? Why had Hunter's words of need melted her heart so completely? He was a man who had everything-money, power, adventure. Why would he cling to her like a dying man to one last hope?

"Tomorrow he'll be married," she said aloud as she circled the room. "All my life I'll think of him, and he doesn't even know who I am."

She undressed slowly, staring at the impersonal room that had become her home. The cold rain pounded against her windows, pressing a chill into the room that not even the mahogany furniture could dispel. In front of the warm fire sat a small tub, half filled with water. Since she'd moved upstairs, Molly and Luke had seen she had a fresh bath every night. Though they both worried that so much bathing might weaken her health, they'd given into her wishes; both pampering her like two maiden aunts. A huge kettle bubbled on the hearth. She poured the steaming water into the tub, letting the hot moisture caress her face with its warmth.

As she sank into the steamy water her muscles relaxed for the first time since the doors downstairs had opened for business. Reaching, she wound a small music box Molly had found while cleaning. As the charming lullaby drifted around the room she closed her eyes, remembering another cold, rainy night a month ago. Hunter's arms had encircled her as they waited beneath a tree for Abram to return. She could almost feel his hard frame molded along her back. From the depth of her being she knew he was thinking of her at this moment, just as she was dreaming of him.

Hunter spent a sleepless night thinking of the woman he'd held in the darkness. She'd been heaven in his arms and exactly what he'd needed after witnessing Jennifer's betrayal. But her appearance reinforced the worry inside him that he might be going mad. How could a woman feel so wonderful and only be a dream, an imaginary lover he'd pasted together from the memory of all the good traits he'd seen in every woman he'd ever met?

When he finally rolled out of bed, he was greeted by a day as gloomy as his mood. The icy wind of midnight had brought in a cold rain that drizzled so slowly, it seemed to hang in the air, as heavy as a milk cloth full of cream.

A nagging logic kept tapping at his mind. Someone had wanted him to find Jennifer and her lover last night. The same person must have left the note, then followed him. But why? How could anyone profit from his knowledge of Jennifer having an affair? Was the person who'd been hiding in the shadows his friend or foe? A friend might want to save him from a bad marriage. But an enemy, knowing his sense of honor, might hope he'd react violently. If he'd killed Jennifer or Richard, Hunter probably would have hanged for murder. There was also the chance Richard would kill him in a fight. Hunter could think of only one person who hated him enough to wish him dead… Wade.

Evening brought with it heavier rains and the realization that he had to deal with Jennifer. Hunter waited until Abram retired, then rode over to her house with little thought of the weather. A carriage would have been more comfortable, but he wanted to see if the shadowy figure would follow again.

Within a block Hunter had his answer. One lean rider on a black stallion stayed well behind, convincing Hunter the man meant harm. He disappeared as Hunter knocked on Jennifer's door, but an hour later, when Hunter returned, the man was waiting half a block away.

The argument with Jennifer had left a bitter taste in Hunter's mouth. He stopped at a small tavern, wanting to settle his raw nerves with a strong drink and hoping his pursuer would come close enough to be identified.

But the tavern was as poorly lit as the street, with layered clouds of smoke blurring his vision. Hunter found a table facing the door and sat waiting. He paid little heed to the filthy tables or the rough language that surrounded him. The stranger who'd tailed him was about to feel the wrath of his bottled-up anger.

The tavern door opened with a gust of damp air just as a barmaid blocked Hunter's view. He heard the voices of several men entering, but they mixed with the crowd before he could study them.

"What'll it be, mister?" the barmaid's rough voice bellowed as she leaned over the table toward Hunter, displaying her cleavage like a peddler showing his wares.

"Whiskey." Hunter raised one sandy eyebrow. "And see that my glass is never empty.'' He felt a chill all the way to his bones that had nothing to do with the weather. Jennifer had taken the time to inform him of his every shortcoming. She'd reminded him repeatedly of his cold manner. In the end she'd even thanked him for saving her from having to share a bed with such a heartless man as himself. Hunter downed the drink and waited for the girl to pour him another. Maybe Jennifer was right. Maybe the only woman who could put passion in his soul was a figment of his imagination, a dream who fired all the warmth within him just by her nearness.

"Be you wantin' some company in your drinkin'?" the barmaid asked as she smiled, revealing yellowed, stubby teeth. Her breasts swung in her loose blouse like two overripe melons and her rounded stomach rose to meet the bottom of her chest.

"Thanks, but I've some thinking to do," Hunter answered as he handed her a coin. How different she was from his angel.

He swore under his breath and downed another glass. Must he compare every woman to her? His arms ached to hold her. There could be no substitute. Not Jennifer, not the barmaid. He would hold his angel or he would hold no woman. She had stolen all passion, all need, and left him a lonely hull of a man. Maybe he was destined to live the rest of his life unmarried, with only his dreams to give reason to living.

Hunter scanned the room for the shadowy figure he'd seen following him. Half of the men in the bar would have qualified, for most wore dark, wet coats.

He downed his third glass of whiskey, angry at the world and not really knowing why. He should be happy. He'd lived through the war, his father had left him enough money to do whatever he wanted in life, and he'd just been saved from marriage to a leech. Then why did he find it so hard to smile? Why was he so lonely?