Free Whispers of Moonlight by Lori Wick

Harwell, or any other man?
    His eyes suddenly roamed the room he'd been given. It was spacious and comfortable, the bed wide and the floor covered with a thick carpet. Lavena had already put his things in the fine wood dresser, and his few shirts now hung in the builtin closet. On the wall by the door hung a mirror. Travis walked to it. He fingered his jaw as he realized he'd lost weight while in that Denver jail. Since he'd had so little activity, he was surprised. He'd felt it in his clothes, but he'd been so driven to return he'd given little notice. He was still studying his reflection when someone knocked on the door.
    "Who is it?"
    "Rebecca," came the voice from without. "Lavena said she's putting dinner on."
    Travis stood, his hands clenched at his side. Just the sound of her voice was like a knife in his side. He had wondered what he would do if she had forgotten him, but not until he'd heard Lucky's voice did he admit to himself he never really believed he could lose her.
    "Travis?"
    "I'll be down," he told her curtly, and stood still when he heard her move back down the hall. He knew then that he would stay. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't walk away from her just yet. In the weeks to come he'd see her with Lucky, and it would work like a purge. He would be more than ready to leave when spring
finally arrived.

    "Happy birthday," Lavena said with a measure of pride, placing the frosted cake on the table. Travis, who had been back a week, turned wide eyes to her when he realized she was talking to him.
    "What day is this?"
    "February 9," Andrew told him. "Happy birthday."
    Travis' mouth opened and shut, and then he turned to Lavena. "How did you know?"
    "Grady had some records on you. Biscuit keeps track of the men, so I keep track of the foreman."
    With that little bit of news she turned and left them. Travis watched as Rebecca reached for the cake and knife. He thanked her when she passed him the first piece, as always, a picture of gentle politeness. Indeed, Travis was so civil that it chilled her to the bone.
    Andrew began to talk business again as soon as he had his cake. Rebecca sat quietly and listened- Her father knew that things had changed between his daughter and the now-permanent foreman. He had already talked with her about it and informed her that it was all her fault. He hadn't been cruel or unreasonably harsh, but he never did countenance her having Harwell in on Sundays. It had crushed Rebecca when he'd taken Travis' side. That conversation took place the day after Travis returned, and the wound in her heart was still raw. However, she had not given up on the angry foreman. They finished their cake just a few minutes later, and Rebecca did something she hadn't tried before.
    "Travis, would you like to join us in the living room for coffee?"
    Travis looked at her, his face expressionless. She'd asked before—she'd asked every night but never in front of her father. And indeed, her plan worked.
    "Oh, certainly, Travis," Andrew declared. "Join us. I just have to get some papers from my desk, and I'll be in."
    Travis was as tense as a eat. He walked into the living room ahead of Rebecca but did not take a
seat. He was moving around the room, nearly stalking it, when he realized Rebecca stood inside the door watching him.
    "Aren't you worried that Lucky might come in and find me here?" The polite mask had fallen away.
    Rebecca shook her head. "Lucky came only on Sundays, and anyway, I told him I thought I'd be busy from now on."
    "Oh, really," Travis sounded bored. "What will you be doing?" His voice told her he didn't care.
    Rebecca shrugged, her eyes miserable. It was almost more than Travis could take, but he kept the wall shored up around his heart.
    "I just thought I might be busy." She said the words so softly that Travis almost missed them. He had to turn away from the pain in her eyes. Why had she been seeing Lucky at all if she felt that way? Both of them felt relieved when