Where Eagles Fly by Lisa Norato

Author:Lisa Norato [Norato, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lisa Norato
Published: 2012-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Shelby waited for Ruckert until late in the evening. Over the thumping of her heart, she listened for his return between brief dozes, slowly losing her battle with fatigue, until she felt she couldn’t possibly remain conscious a moment longer. Then came a soft tinkling.

Thank goodness for those jingly thingamabobs.

As the tinkling grew more distinct, she slipped from bed and padded across the cold hardwood to her bedroom door.

She hesitated, inhaling a deep breath, then opened the door enough to pop her head out. The hallway was saturated in darkness. She couldn’t make out Ruckert’s form until he was upon her, her sudden appearance stopping him cold in his tracks.

“Do you have a minute?” she whispered softly.

Jorge squeezed past, greeting Ruckert with gleeful writhing. Shelby swung the door open in invitation, then retreated back inside the room. “I’d like to talk to you. Please.”

As Ruckert stepped forward and moved into the lamp light, she noted the weariness on his face.

“I just wanted to, um. . . .” Shelby averted her gaze, rethinking her opening, then started again. “Your mother told me. . . .”

His closed expression lent no encouragement, and she let the thought drop unfinished. How had she believed herself capable of reaching past Ruckert’s defenses?

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Ruckert,” she stated more firmly, “I want you to know, what happened at the table, I didn’t mean—”

His hardened, formidable stare arrested her, but supposedly he must’ve thought better of his annoyance, because his expression relaxed. He closed his eyes, thick black lashes resting on tan cheeks, and when he opened them again, they were beautiful, filled with a deep, haunting sadness. She knew before Ruckert opened his mouth that it would be difficult for him to speak.

“You d-d-don’t need t-t-t-to s-say it. S-serves me right for p-p-p-p-p-pretending to be other than I am.”

It was the first time she’d seen him as a stutterer. To her, Ruckert was always cool, controlled and in charge, but here he stood, mortal and vulnerable. His countenance had changed. His confident veneer had turned to self-consciousness as he wrestled with his words. And Shelby couldn’t help it; she did feel pity and she hated herself for it.

No, she amended. She felt compassion, which was different, but it wouldn’t seem any different to Ruckert. She’d bungled her attempt to apologize.

“You get some s-s-sleep now.” He turned and strode out her door.

Shelby didn’t want to feel sorry for him, but she did. She reached out, but he was gone, already down the hall.

“Wait,” she mouthed after him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t sleep well. She rose earlier than usual and headed for the cookhouse with fresh determination, only to discover the stove lit and the meat already sliced for frying. Coffee was warming to a boil. Any hopes she’d had of meeting up with Ruckert were dashed the moment she spotted the Arbuckle peppermint stick he’d left for her on top of the red-and-white checkered tablecloth.

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