The Last Runaway Read Online Free PDF Page B

Donovan, may I have my key back, please?”
    “Only if you call me Donovan. Can’t stand Mister.”
    “All right—Donovan. I would like my key back, please.”
    “Sure, darlin’.” Donovan moved his hand, but then stopped. “Aw, sorry, Honor Bright, I lost it on the road.” He held her eyes so that she would know he was lying but could not accuse him. His expression was no longer guarded, but intent, and interested. Her stomach twisted with a mixture of fear and something else: excitement. It was such an unsuitable sensation that she flushed.
    Donovan smiled. Then he lifted his hat to the room and turned to go. As he reached the door Honor saw around the back of his neck a thin line of dark green ribbon.
    The second he was gone the women began chattering like chickens riled by the sight of a fox.
    “Well, Honor Bright, looks like you’ve already made a conquest,” Belle remarked. “Not one you’d ever want to take up with, though, I can guarantee that. Now, you must be starved. You didn’t eat nothin’ last night, and little on the road, I bet. Ladies”—she raised her voice—“you all go on home and get dinner on the table. I got to feed this weary traveler. You want to buy something, come back in an hour or two. Mrs. Bradley, I’ll have your bonnet ready tomorrow. Yours too, Miss Adams. Now I got a good sewer with me I can catch up.”
    Honor watched the women obediently filing out, and confusion threatened to overwhelm her. Her life seemed to be in the hands of strangers—where she was going and where she stayed and for how long, what she ate and even what she sewed. It seemed now she was to make bonnets for a woman she had just met. Her eyes pricked with tears.
    Belle Mills must have seen them, but said nothing, simply hung a CLOSED sign on the door and went back to the kitchen, where she heaped a ham steak and several eggs into a skillet. “Come and eat,” she commanded a few minutes later, setting two plates on the table. Clearly cooking was not something she spent much time on. “Look, there’s corn bread there, and butter. Help yourself.”
    Honor gazed at the greasy ham, the eggs flecked with fat, the stodgy corn bread she’d had at every meal in America. She did not think she could face eating any of it, but since Belle was watching her, she cut a tiny triangle of ham and popped it in her mouth. The sweet and salt together surprised her, and opened a door in her belly. She began to eat steadily, even the corn bread she was so tired of.
    Belle nodded. “Thought so. You were looking mighty pale. When did you leave England?”
    “Eight weeks ago.”
    “When did your sister die?”
    Honor had to think. “Four days ago.” Already it felt like months and miles away. Those forty miles between Hudson and Wellington had taken her deeper into a different world than any of the rest of the journey.
    “Honey, no wonder you’re peaky. Thomas told me you’re going on to Faithwell, to your sister’s fiancé.”
    Honor nodded.
    “Well, I sent him word you’re here. Told him to come Sunday afternoon to pick you up. I figured you need a few days to recover. You can help me with some sewing if you want. Earn your keep.”
    Honor could not remember what day it was. “All right,” she agreed blindly, relieved to let Belle take charge.
    “Now, let’s see what you can do with a needle. You got your own sewing things or you want to use some of mine?”
    “I have a sewing box. But it is locked in the trunk.”
    “Damn that Donovan. Well, I can probably get it open with a hammer and chisel as long as you don’t mind me breakin’ the lock. All right? We don’t have much choice.”
    Honor nodded.
    “You do the dishes and I’ll work on the trunk.” Belle surveyed the table, Honor’s clean plate and her own, almost untouched. Picking up the latter, she set it on the sideboard with a napkin over it. Then she disappeared upstairs. A few minutes later, as Honor was scrubbing the pan, she heard