“Do I get the chance to defend myself?” she dared ask.
“No,” they replied in unison.
“Not until we reach the house,” Lewis added, bringing his horse around. “The rest of your sisters deserve an explanation, and I doubt you’ll want to go through it twice.”
He was right about that—and besides, this gave her time to work out an excuse. She’d been so caught up in relief that she’d escaped, fear that she hadn’t truly escaped and Rance was hot on her heels, and absolutely fury at the way the night had turned out that she hadn’t thought to put a suitable excuse together.
She couldn’t very well admit she’d spent part of the evening in jail before spending the rest of it locked in a bedroom of a stranger’s home. She couldn’t regale them with a recounting of how she’d lowered herself from the bedroom window with a rope made of bedsheets.
That part, she would’ve liked to tell. She still hardly believed it.
They rode up to the house, and by the time they’d reached it, the door was open, and the girls were pouring out. What a fuss, though she supposed she would’ve behaved in a similar manner were the situation reversed, and it was Rachel or Cate who’d gone missing for the night.
“I’m sorry!” she insisted, again and again, rumpled and exhausted and wanting nothing more than a few hours’ sleep after her unhappy adventure. “I truly am. I would have avoided it if possible, I promise you.”
“You could very well have avoided it!” Molly shouted over the others, which of course was exactly what Phoebe knew she would do. “You could have stayed home yesterday, as I told you to do!”
“You told me to,” Phoebe agreed. “Which was why I did the opposite. Did you ever stop to think that we might grow tired of you telling us what to do? All of us? Perhaps I drove to town just to show you that I could.”
“And look what happened,” Molly sneered. “You were caught there overnight, and you nearly scared us to death. Did you know Lewis was on the verge of gathering a team of men to look for you? Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? What would have happened if the men went out and one or more of the horses were injured? What if a man was thrown from the saddle? All because you have some childish need to prove yourself.”
Cate put an arm around her waist, cleverly holding her back before she could throw herself at Molly and claw her to pieces. “We were all so worried about you,” she murmured, kissing her cheek. “We’re so glad you’re home safe.”
“Where did you spend the night?” Rachel asked, taking up her other side, standing close and speaking more loudly that she might have needed to for the sake of distracting Phoebe from fighting with Molly.
“In the hotel,” she replied without much thought. What would they do? Check to find whether she told the truth? Too much trouble. And what reason would she have to lie?
She had a very good reason, naturally, but they were unaware of this. As far as she was concerned, they would always be unaware of it.
“You hardly look like you spent the night sleeping at the hotel,” Holly observed. So keen, that Holly.
“I was too worried to sleep.” She sat in the parlor, her sisters surrounding her. All but Molly, who lingered in the doorway and watched the scene unfold.
“Worried? You were worried?” she scoffed, shaking her head. “You had any reason to worry?”
Phoebe glared at her. “I was worried for all of you. I knew what my absence meant.”
“What inspired you to spend the night?” Rachel asked. “The horse looks well enough—the buggy, too.”
“It grew darker by the minute, and I did not wish to risk driving in darkness.”
“The way Lewis’s men were about to do,” Molly pointed out, her tone sour.
“Yes. The way they were about to do. You see how dangerous it would have been for me.”
“If you had only stayed home, you might have driven out today.”
“I know that, and I cursed myself through the night. Is that what you want to hear?” she demanded, standing on shaking legs. “Do you want to see me cry? Do you want to hear of the torment I put myself through, knowing it was my fault for being stubborn? You know not how difficult the evening was for me.”
Molly yawned behind one hand, her gold wedding band sparkling. “Staying the night in a hotel. Very difficult, I’m sure.”
Lewis approached from behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “All’s well that ends well. She’s home, and safe, and no one is any the worse for it. I think you should get some rest now—all of you,” he added, looking over the room. “You all spent the entire night worrying, and that isn’t to make Phoebe feel worse than she already does. It’s just a fact. You’ll all feel better after sleeping for a while.”
For once, Phoebe was glad Lewis had a tendency to act like a father figure to all of them. It fit, she supposed, since his wife insisted on behaving like their mother.
“I would like to freshen up, perhaps rest,” Phoebe agreed.
“By all means,” he encouraged, likely for the sake of getting rid of her.
He hoped, she was certain, as she did, that everything would blow over once sleep was enjoyed by all. They could start again on waking.
It wasn’t until supper that they all got together again. Only extreme hunger could compel Phoebe to leave her room. She’d slept the day away, and her sleep had hardly been restful.
Who could rest when the image of Rance Connelly refused to leave their mind? She imagined him riding to the ranch, pushing his horse to greater speed and then greater still. Faster, faster, for he had to catch her, did he not? Yes, he had to catch and punish her for her crime…
The hand she rested on the banister as she descended the stairs trembled when the memory of his hard eyes, his strong jaw, the pistol in his holster. It all came back to haunt her. Especially the pistol.
Upon reaching the dining room, she was relieved to find her sisters smiling and welcoming her. Even Molly seemed more subdued than she’d been earlier in the day. She kissed Phoebe’s cheek and patted her shoulder before handing her a plate, that she might serve herself from the dishes on the buffet table.
That small gesture went a long way toward easing Phoebe’s conscience. All would be well. They could forget this ever happened, and she would forget all about Rance Connelly.
That sunny thought lasted for all of three seconds before Molly turned to Lewis, who’d just sat down with an overflowing plate. His fresh-scrubbed face and damp hair told Phoebe he’d just washed up before coming in to eat. “How was the ride to town? Did the supplies make it in?”
He’d gone to town? Phoebe no longer felt so hungry.
“They did, so it’s a good thing I brought the wagon. Though I could hardly make my way through the gossiping crowds up and down the street. There’s quite a lot of excitement in town at the moment,” Lewis explained, looking grim. “Seems a wallet was stolen at the saloon last night, and the girl who stole it—probably one of the gals who works there, if you get my meaning—disappeared. Sheriff Connelly is just about beside himself looking for her.”
Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t possibly be happening. Why couldn’t he let her go? Why couldn’t he let bygones be bygones? No. His foolish pride wouldn’t allow for it.
“Looking for a saloon girl? Seems he wouldn’t need to go further than the saloon,” Cate quipped.
“It would appear that he’s questioning all of the girls who work there—in fact, there’s talk of him wanting to close the saloon until this matter’s cleared up. He’s quite determined, they say, though I’m sure some of what I heard is nothing more than idle gossip.”
Close the saloon? What about the people who earned their living there? Not to mention the fact that he was questioning the girls, more than likely bullying them as he’d tried to bully her. She’d already heard the disgust in his voice when he referred to them—when he thought she was one of them.
This was all her fault. What could
she do for them?
“Did anyone describe the girl?” Molly asked as she sat down to eat. “It seems that even in a town as large as Carson City, someone would know this girl if they heard her described.”
Oh, no. This was getting worse by the minute.
She turned from the buffet in time to see Lewis shake his head. “Not that I heard. I only heard her name. Must be a nickname, for I’ve never heard anyone with such a given name before.”
It was what she imagined watching a train wreck would feel like. Seeing the train speeding in the direction of a wall, or another train. Knowing certain destruction was the only outcome. Knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Nothing at all.
“What is it?” Holly asked.
A sheepish smile touched the corners of Lewis’s mouth. Yes, he would feel silly saying it. It was a very silly name, after all. The name Cate had given her when “Phoebe” was too much for her toddler’s mouth to manage. The rest of the family had adopted it, and then her closest friends. It was only in recent years that she’d begun to demand they call her by her proper name.
She was no longer a child.
Though at this very moment, she wished she could crawl behind her mother’s skirts and hide from the world. From the wrath which was sure to come.
Lewis said a single word. “Peepsy.”
And the world came crashing down.
10
At first, there was nothing but stony silence. The silence of utter shock.
And in that silence, in that brief moment, Phoebe could fool herself into thinking they would not explode. They wouldn’t react at all. Perhaps they would remain silent to spare her—Lewis didn’t know her nickname. In his estimation, she was still completely blameless.
Perhaps they wanted to protect that blamelessness.
Then.
Four voices erupted all at once.
“Peepsy!”
“No!”
“It can’t be!”
“How is this possible?”
“Allow me to explain!” Her voice was lost among the rest. No one wanted an explanation. Not at that moment, anyway. Not yet. They first had to react.
Loudly.
She looked at Lewis, shrugging in silent apology. The poor man looked as though he’d stepped in a pile of cattle excrement and didn’t know how to get it off his boot.
“What’s this all about?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the cacophony.
“Peepsy!” Molly stood, thrusting an arm in Phoebe’s direction. At the end of that arm was a pointing finger. “Phoebe is Peepsy! We called her that for years!”
Cate burst into tears. “What’s happening?” she wept. “This can’t be so!”
“Phoebe, what did you do?” Holly asked, her face twisted in grief.
“That’s why you were in town all night!” Rachel realized. “How did you get away?”
Lewis stood, slapping his hands on the table to silence the others. He stared at her, uncomprehending. “Is this true? Are you the Peepsy the sheriff is looking for?”
She swallowed over the growing lump in her throat. Then, she nodded.
“Oh, no.” He sank back into his chair.
“What did you do?” Molly whispered, still standing. Her hands shook as she pressed them to her breast as if in prayer.
“Sit, please.”
“Phoebe—”
“I said, sit!” Not only did this shock Molly into falling into her chair, but it silenced the chatter which still went on. Even Lewis sat bolt upright. She had never taken this tone in front of him before.
She had rarely even shouted at her sisters, but this was not the usual situation.
“Now that you have our attention,” Molly murmured through clenched teeth, “perhaps you’d like to tell us what happened yesterday. How the sheriff came to mistake you for a saloon girl. How you came to be accused of stealing a wallet. And just where you spent the night.”
Phoebe told the story. All of it. None of them so much as touched a bite of food throughout the entire tale. She spoke of the girl, how young and frightened she’d been. “Like a child who did wrong without knowing just how wrong it was,” she explained, hoping they would understand. Perhaps they wouldn’t, because they hadn’t been there. They hadn’t seen her.
She spoke of the man whose wallet was stolen and how angry he’d been. How she’d felt compelled to protect the thief, even knowing she was a thief and knowing how much easier her life would be if she placed the blame where it belonged. “I could only imagine what they would do to her. How tough they would be. I imagined she only wanted to find a way out of there. The man has plenty of money—the wallet was all but bursting with it.”
“I can second that,” Lewis murmured. “I’ve met the man. I know how free he is with his money, and how nasty he can be.”
“She thought he was a likely target, and that it wouldn’t hurt him much,” Phoebe concluded.
“She told you this?” Molly asked.
“No. There was no time. I can imagine, however.”
Molly scowled.
“I simply didn’t feel right, getting her into trouble. If the sheriff finds her, that would be out of my control. This, I could control.”
“But he won’t find her,” Molly pointed out. “He’s looking for you, Peepsy. Not for the girl who worked at the saloon. You are the girl who escaped his house. You are the girl who wouldn’t say a word in your own defense. I know you felt like you were doing the right thing, but imagine this from his side. He has a job to do.”
“I should have known.”
“Excuse me?”
“I should have known you would take his side.”
Lewis tried to intervene, which also did not come as a surprise. “That isn’t fair.”
“He did not have to bring me to the jail just because that man thought he should,” she insisted. “He was a bully, just as your sheriff is a bully.”
“He’s your sheriff, too,” Lewis reminded her. “For now, at any rate. And he will be until the year is up, at least.”
She waved a hand at this. Words, nothing more. She’d had enough of them to last her a lifetime. The explanation for why they had to stay at the ranch. The terms of the will. Promises, promises.
“I stand by what I said. He was a terrible bully, and the sheriff bent to his will. And then he had the nerve to be angry with me. To insult me. I’ve never been spoken to that way.”
“Maybe you should have been,” Molly whispered.
“Seeing as how Phoebe was the one who spent the night in jail for something she had no part in, you ought to refrain from insulting her so.” Cate’s fists were clenched tight enough that her knuckles stood out bone-white. “We were only just this morning, before dawn, fretting and crying and pacing the floor, and now you insult her because she only tried to help a poor girl.”
“I believe we all need to settle down,” Holly decided. “And we need to come up with a way out of this mess.”
“We don’t need to do anything,” Phoebe was quick to say. She waved her hands, shaking her head. “No. Not we. I. I will do something to fix this. You need be no part of it.”
Cate, Rachel, and Holly disagreed vehemently.
Molly did not. “She’s right.”
Even Lewis looked surprised.
“You can’t mean it,” Cate gasped.
“I do,” Molly insisted. “I have to think of the future of this family. Do you recall all of you being so intent on finding eligible men to marry? I seem to recall us speaking about it as recently as a few days ago. Do you think any of them will have you if your name is entangled with a situation such as this?”
Phoebe offered no argument, because there was none to be offered. This was what she, too, had in mind. No decent family would align themselves with the Reeds if word got out of their involvement. Frankly, their social standing was tenuous enough simply based upon who their father was and how difficult he’d been to get along with.
People tended to remember past slights, no matter how old, and Richard Reed had never been known for his charm.
Even in a place like Carson City, nearly as far removed from Baltimore society as was humanly possible—both in terms of location and lifestyle—the rules applied. Unspoken for the most part, but ever present. Like smoke always hanging in the air. A girl might not even be aware at the moment of breaking a rule, and those around her might ignore it and carry on as though nothing was amiss.
It would only be later, when social invitations stopped arriving, and she was no longer acknowledged in public that the offending girl might come to understand her folly. By then it would be too late. Time might smooth things over, of course, especially if one was careful to stay within the narrow lanes of etiquette.
But people never forgot. Some of Phoebe’s earliest memories of their settling in Baltimore—some of her earliest memories since she was no more than five years of age at the time—were of listening at the top of the stairs while Mama enjoyed tea or played whist with her friends. They would murmur to each other of old family scandals, of missteps taken generations earlier. “You remember Cordelia,” they would whisper. “Her mother was of the Philadelphia Drexels. She fell in love with a banker from Boston just after her debut and ran away to be married. Her father chased their carriage with a shotgun beneath one arm, swearing his daughter would never marry a man who earned his living in a bank…”
Inevitably, the story would end with Cordelia’s mother—or whoever happened to be the topic of gossip—being nearly ruined socially for a scandal which had taken place thirty years earlier.
Such would be the fate of her sisters if word got around that they were involved in scandal. She would not take such a chance.
“I am the one who took this responsibility on myself. I, and I, alone,” she announced, taking time to look at each of them in turn. “I ought to be the one to bear the brunt of the blame. I admit, I didn’t think much about all of you at the moment. Everything happened so fast. I felt sorry for that poor girl, and I still do. She might have been any of us.” Why just a week after they’d arrived, Cate had run away and fallen ill. If she had managed to escape, what would have become of her?
A Sheriff's Fugitive Bride Page 6