Memory's Embrace by Linda Lael Miller

herself traveling with Roderick, keeping his costumes in order,helping him to learn his lines and the lyrics to new songs.
    “Tess is gone,” she said, watching Roderick’s instant reaction with a sort of bitter satisfaction. “She and that peddler are eloping tonight, you know.”
    Roderick was as white as the alabaster urn Emma’s mother kept on the parlor piano. “No,” he choked out. “No, I didn’t know.”
    Emma smiled. Tess was going to kill her for this, but that would be tomorrow or the next day, wouldn’t it? “In the family way,” she confided, in a stage whisper, warming to the lie because it was so deliciously outrageous. “There was simply no time to spare!”
    “She didn’t look—”
    “Oh, but she is, you know,” said Emma sagely.
    “My God,” said the actor. And then he visibly reassembled himself; it was a fascinating process to watch. He stood straighter. He smiled. And the color flowed back into his handsome face. “What was your name again?” he asked, attentive now.
    Emma was pleased to tell him.
    Toward dawn, they stopped. Still far from Portland—it would take another two days to reach that city, by Keith’s calculations—they were also a good, safe distance from Simpkinsville.
    Tess was sound asleep. She stirred slightly but did not awaken when Keith lifted her down from the wagon seat and carried her around to the back. There, he put her in the bunk, struggled with the tangled blankets, and finally tucked them in around her.
    Looking down at her now, he found it almost impossible to believe that this was a woman who practicedfree love. She seemed so innocent, so small. So vulnerable.
    Keith left the wagon abruptly. Making love to Tess Bishop was inevitable; he knew that he would, and soon. But, for now, he wanted to let her sleep. Wanted to go on pretending she was all that she seemed.
    He built a fire, unhitched the mule, and tethered it where there was grass to graze upon, brought it water from the nearby creek and a ration of feed from the wagon.
    He was brewing coffee and reflecting on life in general when Tess appeared, looking sleepy and flushed and more like a child than ever. Her calico dress was wrinkled; her hair fell in gleaming tumbles to her waist.
    I love you, he thought. And then he caught himself. I don’t. I loved Amelie. I will always love Amelie.
    “Good morning,” she yawned, putting one hand over her mouth. “Where are we?”
    His mouth quirked, he knew he gave the appearance of idle amusement. Which was odd because inside he felt a sort of happy hysteria. “Oregon,” he retorted.
    Apparently she was one of those people who do not feel agreeable upon awakening. “I know that!” she snapped, sitting down on the upended chunk of wood he had set out for her, near the fire. “I meant, how far are we from Portland?”
    “Two days.” Some wicked part of his nature made him add, “And two nights.”
    She blushed and lowered her eyes, giving no answer.
    “Do you really practice free love, Tess?” What made him ask that? Keith could have kicked himself.
    Tess met his gaze; the color in her cheeks was metered by her heartbeat. “Yes,” she said stubbornly.
    “I think you’re lying.” He was grasping at straws. He knew that. Why had he brought this subject up in the first place?
    Her lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly. She knew what was going to happen between them as well as he did, and it seemed to him that she was frightened by the prospect. Or was it merely that she found him wanting in some way, found him less appealing than previous lovers?
    The idea was annoying.
    “Well?” Keith prompted.
    She looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m hungry.”
    He got up, glad for something to do, and brought back hard bread and a couple of withered apples from the wagon.
    Tess’s delightful, annoying nose crinkled.
    “You expected bacon and eggs?” he drawled, mad at her. “Welcome to the open road.”
    She made a face at him, but