by Craig, Emma
“Prince Albert! Prince Albert!” Edgar’s voice was squeaky, too. Jed’s disgust was complete.
However, since the fellow had finally arrived to take possession of his pet, Jed turned his attention to Tacita. Very carefully, as he didn’t fancy that pointy toe of hers connecting with his own shin, he went behind her and put an arm around her middle. Gently, he tugged her away from the miserable Picinisco.
“Come on, darlin’. Leave the poor man be now. We’ve got him and he ain’t—er—he isn’t going anywhere.”
It took Tacita a moment to comply with Jed’s wishes. When she did, she whirled in his arm and flung the arm not holding Rosamunda around his neck.
“Oh, Jed! Oh, Jed! That horrid man tried to steal Rosamunda! Again!”
He patted her back. “I know, sweetheart, but everything’s going to be all right now.”
Wrenching sobs from the creature at Jed’s feet belied his words. Jed harbored no sympathy for Picinisco, though, and he did not amend his statement.
He did, however, spare a smile for Rosamunda, who managed to wriggle herself out from between Tacita and Jed’s chest at that moment. She emerged in a fluff, popping up past Tacita’s shoulder and gasping for breath.
“Good girl, Rosie. You did good today.”
Rosamunda stared at Jed, wide-eyed.
So did Tacita, pushing herself away from him as if she needed to see his lips move in order to be sure he’d said what she’d heard.
Both mistress and pet wore expressions of absolute shock, and Jed was embarrassed. He shrugged and muttered, “Well, she did.”
Suddenly, his hand was grabbed. He spun around to find Edgar Jevington Reeve pumping it as if Jed were a spigot. He frowned.
“Oh, sir, how can I ever thank you for rescuing my darling Prince Albert?”
You can start by leaving go my hand, Jed thought sourly. He refrained from saying so aloud, out of deference for Tacita. He did, however, pry his hand out of Edgar’s grip.
“Seemed to me your dog was doing pretty well on its own, mister.”
He heard Tacita come up behind him and felt her little hand on his shoulder. It made him feel better.
A miserable groan from the floor recalled the three humans and two dogs to their reason for being gathered together this way. They all looked down at Cesare Cacciatore Picinisco, trussed up like a calf for the branding.
“Please, sirs and madam,” the wretched Picinisco said. “Please forgive me.”
“What in the name of God did you want to take and grab these two dogs for, Mr. Pickerslicky? Both of ‘em together aren’t big enough to make a meal.”
Prince Albert growled. Rosamunda lunged for Jed’s throat, but Tacita held her back. Jed lifted a brow, surprised that Rosie had turned on him again. And here he’d been harboring almost tender feelings for her.
Picinisco turned over onto his back so that he could more fully view Jed. The position thrust his hands and feet into the air, since he was hog-tied, and Jed might have been amused if he’d been in any mood for humor. He wasn’t, so he maintained his stony glare and shook a fist at Picinisco for good measure.
“Oh, Mr. Hardcastle, I know I violated your hospitality in the forest when I stole Miss Grantham’s dog—”
“You drugged us, too,” Jed reminded him unsympathetically. The humiliation of having allowed himself to be fed drugged brandy still nagged at him.
Picinisco’s eyes closed and a spasm passed over his features. The spasm might have been accounted for by all the little doggie wounds which he had recently sustained, the tightness of his bonds, or the large carpet burn on his chin, but Jed suspected shame.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Tacita gave a haughty sniff. So did Rosamunda. Prince Albert snarled. Jed shook his head and wondered how he’d ever survive two of these animals. Then he remembered that he wouldn’t have to, as Tacita was self-destined for the Englishman, and he got mad again.
“Sorry don’t—doesn’t pay any tolls, Picklefickle. Why’d you take the dogs?”
“For the money,” crept from the floor, sounding as miserable as Picinisco looked.
“Figured as much.” Jed was thoroughly disgusted.
“You stole my dog for the money?”
Tacita sounded incredulous. Exasperated, Jed suppressed the “I told you so” that battered against his teeth to get out. He did exchange a glance with her, but since she looked quite huffy and still wore those pointy-toed boots, he decided not to press his luck, and remained silent.
“Y-yes,” lifted to their ears.
“But both dogs together wouldn’t bring three hundred pounds,” Edgar said, plainly puzzled.
“Three hundred pounds?” If Edgar had sounded surprised, Jed was staggered. “The damned animals can’t weigh six pounds each!” He shifted his angry look to Edgar, who blinked back at him.
“Er, he’s talking about pounds sterling, Jed,” Tacita told him, eliciting a frown for her efforts. “It’s what the British call their money.”
The furrows already wrinkling Jed’s frown deepened. He felt silly not to have known that. “It’s a stupid way to talk about money,” he muttered.
Tacita murmured something soothing and patted his arm. Then she turned to stare down at Picinisco, her own brow wrinkling in thought.
“Mr. Picinisco, Rosamunda and Prince Albert are wonderful examples of the Yorkshire terrier breed and are worth a good deal of money for that reason. In order to sell them, however, you’d have to show them to other people who are interested in the breed. One does that primarily by entering his or her dog in a show put on specifically for the purpose. Where on earth did you expect to find a Yorkshire terrier show out there in the middle of New Mexico Territory? Or here in San Francisco, for that matter? The only Yorkshire terrier shows I know about thus far are in England. Perhaps New York.”
Picinisco stared up at her, his eyes wide, unhappiness radiating from his every pore. Several seconds ticked by before he admitted, “I—I didn’t think about it.”
Tacita said, “I see.”
Jed snorted.
Rosamunda and Prince Albert both yipped.
Edgar said nothing, but continued to hold Prince Albert tightly. Jed suspected he was deriving more comfort from the dog than the dog was from him. The prince had already demonstrated that he could take care of himself a hell of a lot better than that fancy-pants dandy could.
Nobody said a word for several moments. Jed didn’t know what to say. Anyway, he didn’t suppose there was much left to say. He’d as soon let the police deal with this Pisklefisky varmint. The muffled tattoo of Tacita’s toe tapping against the carpet was the only sound in the place.
At last Tacita said, “Well, I think you behaved very badly, Mr. Picinisco.”
Huge tears filled Picinisco’s eyes. “I know I did,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry, all right,” Jed muttered. Tacita smacked his arm. He scowled at her.
“However,” she continued, ignoring Jed’s black expression, “I hope you have now learned your lesson.”
Picinisco nodded as fervently as he could in his present state. “I have, Miss Grantham. Oh, yes indeed, I surely have.”
Jed snorted again. Tacita ignored his snort as effectively as she had his scowl. “Well, then, if you truly repent your dastardly deeds, I believe we should let you go.”
“What?”
Jed’s roar precipitated Picinisco into a little ball on the floor. He tried to roll away from them. Tacita covered her ears. Edgar Jevington Reeve trembled. Rosamunda barked. Prince Albert howled.
“Really, Jed, I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Tacita sounded like a schoolteacher admonishing a rowdy student.
Jed hardly noticed. “You can’t let this man go, Tacita. He’s caused us no end of trouble.”
“I know that, Jed, but he repents his sins. He said so. Anyway, I believe Mr. Picinisco's primary sin is misguided money-lust. Until he learned that Rosamunda was so valuabl
e, he’d seemed rather friendly and benevolent. He shared his food with us, don’t forget.”
Jet uttered something inarticulate and said, “He shared his damned brandy with us, too. Don’t you forget that.”
Tacita’s expression went sour for a second. “Yes, yes, I’ve not forgotten. But that was afterwards.”
“Afterwards, shmafterwards! He did it!”
“Of course, he did it. But at least he didn’t try to hold us up at gunpoint or anything like those other terrible men did.” She glanced down at Picinisco and offered him a faint smile. “I believe Mr. Picinisco is merely misguided.”
“Misguided? Oh, for—” Jed was too overcome by disgust to finish his observation. He turned around as if he couldn’t bear to watch.
“So, Mr. Picinisco, do you promise not to kidnap any other sweet doggies in the future?”
“Grrrrrr,” leaked from Jed’s throat. Tacita paid him no mind.
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, Miss Grantham. You’re a kind and gracious lady. A kind and gracious and wonderful lady. A kind and—”
Jed whirled around again. “Oh, shut up!” He bent over Picinisco, his hunting knife in his hand.
“Really, Jed!” Tacita exclaimed.
Picinisco squeaked and tried to roll away.
“Really, my hind leg,” Jed muttered. More sharply, he said, “Stop it, damn your eyes. I’m trying to cut the rope.”
“Oh.” Picinisco sagged in relief.
Once Jed had removed his bonds, Picinisco had to flex his fingers and wiggle his feet to get his circulation going again. He kept his gaze firmly on Jed, as though poised for escape should it prove necessary. At last he managed to crawl up onto his hands and knees.
“Honestly, Jed, I don’t think you should have tied that rope so tightly. The poor man’s been punished enough.”
Jed said nothing. He even kept his lips together when Tacita balanced Rosamunda on one hip and dug into her little pocketbook. He did, however, exchange a disgruntled look with Rosamunda.
“Here, Mr. Picinisco, I’m going to give you some money—”
“What?”
Tacita turned her head to scowl up at Jed. “Must you shout so loudly, Jed? I believe that’s quite enough of that.”
Jed gave up and lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat and distaste. This was more than his mortal soul could stand. He wasn’t going to utter a single ‘nother word, not even if the varmint snatched the pocketbook out of Tacita’s hands. Jed wouldn’t put it past him.
Picinisco quivered like a hound on the scent.
“As I was saying,” Tacita resumed, “I shall give you some money. I want you to go away and never bother us again. Use this money to establish yourself in a legitimate business somewhere. Turn away from the dark path, Mr. Picinisco. Seek the light. Pursue goodness and right. You won’t be sorry.”
A stifled noise crawled from Jed’s throat. Tacita shot him a look.
“Th-thank you, Miss Grantham. Thank you.” Picinisco grabbed her hand in both of his, much to her surprise. “I’ll never forget you. You’re the greatest lady who ever lived.”
“Please, Mr. Picinisco,” Tacita said repressively. She tried to regain control of her hand, but Picinisco wouldn’t release it until Jed took a menacing step towards him. Then he scuttled out of Jed’s reach.
“I’ll never forget you.” As Picinisco ran for the door, limping and bleeding, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll never forget you!”
Tacita lifted her hand in a gesture of farewell. “And I’ll never forget you, either, Mr. Picinisco.”
Rosamunda’s teeth snapped together. Jed could imagine what she was feeling because he felt the same way himself. Then he shook himself. This trip must have been even rougher than he thought if he was beginning to think like a dog. Especially that dog. Even if he had come to admire her. Sort of.
Tacita had a big smile on her face when she turned around. She looked like somebody who knows she’s done a good deed and is proud of it. Jed thought she’d been a big fool, but he knew she’d just argue with him if he said so, so he didn’t. Instead he turned on Edgar Jevington Reeve, who shrank back clutching Prince Albert.
It did not escape Jed’s notice that, while Jeeves seemed afraid, Prince Albert bared his teeth. He guessed these Yorkies had guts, even if guts were all they had.
At the moment, however, that didn’t matter. Jed had other matters to take care of, and he intended to take care of them right this second. He pinned Edgar with a glacial look in preparation for asking him something of vital importance to Tacita and, therefore, to Jed.
“All right, Jeeves, I want to know what your intentions are.”
Tacita tugged his sleeve. He shook her off.
Edgar gulped audibly. “M-m-my intentions?”
Prince Albert uttered a horrible growl.
Rosamunda looked curious.
“Your intentions,” Jed repeated, his voice hard. He barely glanced at the furious Yorkie in Edgar’s arms.
“I-I’m not sure I understand you, Mr. Hardcastle.”
“Intentions,” Jed repeated. “In-ten-tions. Intentions! What’s not to understand? I want to know what your intentions are towards Miss Grantham, damn it, and I want to know ‘em now!”
Edgar seemed to become smaller and smaller as Jed’s fury increased.
Tacita tried again. “Jed—”
“Later,” he growled down at her. To Edgar, he snarled, “Well? Spit it out, Jeeves.”
“I—I—”
“Jed—”
Jed roared, “Damn it, Tacita, shut up for a minute!”
“Well, really!”
“Now, tell me, damn it, Jeeves! What are your intentions towards Miss Grantham?”
Edgar’s terrified glance darted between Jed and Tacita. He looked nearly hysterical. Prince Albert had taken to barking out a shrill warning at Jed, who refused to pay attention. His focus was strictly on Edgar Jevington Reeve.
“P-please, Mr. Hardcastle, calm yourself. My intentions are strictly honorable.”
“And they are?” Jed’s hands had bunched into fists. He lifted them now, ready to strike if Edgar gave any indication of having intended to trifle with Tacita’s affections.
Tacita, red-faced with frustration and embarrassment, tugged Jed’s sleeve again. “Jed—”
He shook her off, still glaring at Edgar. “Well?”
“I—”
“Jed—”
“Well?”
Edgar seemed to collect himself. He squared his shoulders and stood up straight. “Well, really, I should think it’s perfectly obvious what my intentions are. The only reason I came to this heathen city in this heathen country was to mate!”
Jed’s bellow of rage rattled the crystal chandelier in the Palace hotel’s lobby.
Chapter 20
“It’s not what you think!”
Forsaking dignity and almost everything else in her panic, Tacita threw herself onto Jed’s back, dog and all. This was all her fault, and she had to prevent Jed from murdering Edgar Jevington Reeve.
“I’m going to kill you!”
Edgar Jevington Reeve was too terrified for words. Short shrill, high-pitched shrieks issued from his throat as Jed bore down on him. Prince Albert, hackles high, went into full-fledged attack mode, barking out a terrible warning as he poised to strike.
Tacita shrieked into Jed’s ear, “It’s the dogs, Jed! It’s the dogs! We’re going to mate the dogs!”
Rosamunda, finding herself flung against Jed’s back, bounced to the floor. Immediately, she attacked his foot, hanging on to his trouser cuff much as she’d done that very first day in Powder Gulch. Only today, she didn’t plan on being thwarted. She was going to deal with Jed Hardcastle once and for all.
“Stop it! Stop it!”
Tacita’s fear for Edgar’s safety was almost too great and she failed to perceive that Jed had at last heard her. Gradually, though, she sensed her words had finally penetrated his blind rage.
Her thr
oat scraped raw from screaming, she repeated more softly, “It’s the dogs we plan to mate, Jed.”
Jed had been bent nearly double as he reached for Edgar. Now he stood up suddenly, almost tumbling Tacita to the floor. She clung to his back so she wouldn’t topple into a heap. Rosamunda still tugged furiously at his trouser cuff.
He said, “The dogs?”
Tacita sighed. Edgar whimpered. Prince Albert’s grotesque yapping faded into a menacing growl. Rosamunda remained undeterred. Tearing sounds lifted to their ears. They ignored them as unimportant.
She said, “Yes.”
Jed lifted his hands and pried Tacita’s away from his neck. He turned around, still holding onto her arms. She didn’t like the look on his face.
“You made me bring you all the way from Powder Gulch to San Francisco so you could mate your dogs?”
She considered fibbing, but knew in her heart that he wouldn’t believe her. Besides, she guessed she’d fibbed enough already. This was all her fault. Since she didn’t quite trust her vocal chords, she nodded.
“You—wanted—to—mate—your—dogs.” Jed shook his head, as if to clear it of cobwebs.
Tacita nodded again.
“The dogs.”
Another nod.
“Not you.”
A shake.
Still holding her by the shoulders, Jed looked hard into her eyes. Tacita held his gaze, but with difficulty. She wanted to cry and beg his forgiveness for deceiving him for a whole thousand miles and entirely too many adventures.
Dreadfully worried, she finally found her voice and started to babble with it. “You see, I knew that if you suspected the reason I wanted to get to San Francisco was to mate Rosamunda to Prince Albert, you wouldn’t undertake the job because you wouldn’t realize how important it was because you didn’t like Rosamunda at first. I knew you didn’t. There’s no need to dispute me.” She forced a rather sickly smile. “But now I’m sure you understand the importance of the trip. Now that you’ve come to understand how noble and wonderful a goal it is to breed these two perfect examples of Yorkshire terrier-hood. Now that you’ve seen them in action and—”