Full Steam Ahead

by Karen Witemeyer

  Jake nodded. “Just two. Fletcher and Will they called each other. Will tried to grab Miss Nicole from behind when she came looking for me in the trees, but she fought him off. Smashed him good with the back of her head. Clanged into his mouth hard enough to draw blood and send him staggerin’ sideways like a bowlegged drunk.”

  The boy’s lips curved into an almost-grin at that, and Darius couldn’t deny a certain satisfaction at the knowledge that Nicole had inflicted her fair share of damage. His fists itched to finish the job.

  “She stood up to ’em,” Jake continued, pride lacing his tone. “Made Fletcher so mad he pointed his gun at her instead of me. I thought about reaching for my knife then, jabbin’ it into his leg and making a run for it, but I was afraid he might shoot her. Then, before she left to fetch the dagger, he pointed the gun back at my head, and I was too scared to try for the blade.”

  And thank God for that, Darius thought. He didn’t want to contemplate what could have happened to the youngster if he had tried to stop the Jenkins brothers on his own. “What happened next?”

  “He gave her five minutes to fetch the dagger,” Jacob recounted, “and warned her not to call Wellborn for help. Said he’d start breaking my fingers if she took longer.”

  Just like her mother. Darius clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ached. Blast that Jenkins scum. Nicole must have been beside herself.

  “She made it back in four,” Jacob boasted. “I knew she would. She’s nearly as fast as me.”

  Yes, she was, but even so, Darius didn’t feel good about the two-to-one odds she faced. The fact that she wasn’t here now meant something had gone wrong. Had Fletcher and Will taken her hostage? Surely Wellborn would have searched the area when Jacob escaped to ascertain if she’d been shot or wounded. But why would the Jenkins boys take her hostage if she turned over the dagger? They’d have no use for her. Unless they were afraid she’d go to the law. How far would they go to silence her?

  Icy chills crawled up Darius’s arms and nested in his heart, wrapping freezing tendrils about it until even drawing a breath became a painful endeavor. His head dropped forward and his eyes slid closed. He’d get her back somehow. He had to. She was his life.

  “Fletcher told her to give him the dagger,” Jacob continued, his voice bringing Darius’s head back up. “She told him to let me go first. Then Fletcher told Will to just grab her and take the dagger away. Told him to hit her if he needed to.”

  Darius forced a shaky breath into his lungs. He had to ask. “Did Will hurt her?”

  “Nope.” Jacob crossed his arms over his chest as he shook his head. “She was too fast for him. She ran right at Fletcher and threw the little bag high into the air. It sailed over his head. They both went after it like trouts going after a worm.”

  Thank God.

  “So why isn’t she here?” Darius glanced about the room, as if she might be hiding behind the sofa or the curtains. “Did they catch her before she could make it back to the house with you?”

  “No, sir. She never ran for the house. She ran for the horses.”

  Darius scowled. “What horses?”

  “Must’ve belonged to Fletcher and Will.” Jacob gave a small shrug. “All I know is that she sent me to the house while she ran for the horses. I slipped her my knife before I left, so she’s got some protection. You should probably still go after her, though.” Jacob’s mouth pulled into a disconcerted line. “I heard a gunshot as I ran. Wellborn didn’t find anything, so she’s probably all right, but Fletcher’ll be real mad when he catches up with her.”

  That was stating it mildly.

  Darius placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’ll find her, Jake. I just need to grab a few things”—like his hunting rifle, pistol, and sailor’s knife—“and then I’ll go after her.”

  “Pardon me, Mr. Thornton,” a feminine voice cut in, “but that’s not what Miss Renard wishes you to do.”

  Darius pushed to his feet and turned to frown at his housekeeper. “Of course she’d want me to go after her. Do you think she’d prefer I leave her at the mercy of those villains chasing her?” There wasn’t a chance in the world he’d be doing that, even if Nicole was crazy enough to wish it of him.

  Mrs. Wellborn stepped closer, her hands trembling as she held out what looked like a wadded towel. “She told me I was to give you this as soon as you arrived home.” A sick certainty churned in his belly as he stared at the toweling. He could swear it changed shape before his eyes, from an ambiguous wad to something more elongated and defined. The housekeeper pushed the object into his hands. The metallic weight of it dragged on his soul like an anchor.

  The muscle in his jaw throbbed as he tore open the wrapping. A fine-tooled silver scabbard slightly tarnished with age lay in his palm, taunting him. The jewels encrusted in the handle winked up at him like a gambler who’d just revealed his winning hand.

  Blast it, Nicole! When would the woman get it through that thick skull of hers that safeguarding her life was more important than safeguarding that troublesome dagger? He closed his fist over the Lafitte blade until the metal gouged his hand through the toweling. He wanted to hurl the infernal thing against the wall, then pull it from its sheath and smash it against the stone hearth until the blade snapped off and all the gems turned to dust.

  “She said it was essential that you take it to Galveston, to her father. Those were her very words,” the housekeeper prodded. “Essential. Said she’d meet you there.”

  If she survived the Jenkins brothers. Which was doubtful. If they hadn’t caught her already, they’d be hot on her trail. Her tricking them out of the dagger would only make them more vengeful and relentless. If they were willing to break fingers before, what would they do once truly provoked?

  Darius shuddered.

  “I don’t care what she said,” he bit out. “I’m not taking the blasted thing to Galveston. I’m taking it with me and chasing down that headstrong, too-brave-for-her-own-good fiancée of mine before she gets herself killed.” He waved the blade under Mrs. Wellborn’s nose, her startled expression stoking his ire. “And if I have to forfeit her precious pirate dagger to ransom her back, by all that’s holy, that’s exactly what I’ll do. Nothing you or she can say about it will change my mind. Do I make myself clear?”

  Instead of nodding obsequiously and scurrying away like a sensible servant, his housekeeper placed one hand on her ample hip and, with the other, pushed the decorative dagger out of her face and back toward him. “Well, thank heaven one of you has the sense God gave a goose. I agreed to pass on her message, but I gave no promise to endorse it. That child is so concerned with protecting everyone else, she gives no heed to protecting herself.”

  Mrs. Wellborn clasped Darius’s forearm and looked up at him as if fully confident in his ability to rectify the situation. “Bring her back to us, Mr. Thornton. She’s family.”

  Yes, she was, and he wasn’t about to let the Jenkins boys take her away from him.

  “Jacob.” He pivoted around to the boy, who stood watching him with wide eyes. “Meet me at the woodshed in five minutes. I’ll need you to show me where to look for tracks.”

  Mrs. Wellborn scuttled out of his way as he marched toward the study door. “I’ve got a bag of food and another of medical supplies packed and ready to go,” she called to his back. “I’ll have Jacob bring those out to you, sir.”

  He flung a thank-you over his shoulder and kept moving, trying not to think of the need Nicole might have for the medical supplies, or the gunshot Jake reported, or the cruelty of the men pursuing her. To contemplate the possibilities would only drive him mad, so he focused solely on the immediate problem—finding her trail and tracking her down. He’d deal with the rest when it presented itself. For now he would hunt.

  And pray.

  CHAPTER 31

  Nicole glanced behind her for what must have been the hundredth time as she rode into Liberty. Still no sign of the Jenkins brothers. She knew they were out there, could
feel them gradually closing the gap. Her best chance was to procure immediate transportation out of Liberty and away from Galveston, clearing the path for Darius.

  Had Mrs. Wellborn given him the dagger yet? The sooner he made his way to Galveston the better. She didn’t know how long she could hold off Will and Fletcher. Hopefully long enough.

  As she passed the buildings at the outskirts of town, Nicole slowed the gray to a trot, not wanting to attract undue attention. A woman riding astride was enough to draw comment on its own should someone happen to note her arrival. A woman galloping recklessly through the streets would turn every head in town.

  The gray shook his head and snorted as he adjusted to the new pace, pricking his ears when he realized Nicole was directing him toward the livery. “Almost there,” she cooed, reaching down to pat his slightly lathered neck. “You did well, my friend.”

  A man in worn trousers met her at the livery doors, a straw dangling from between his teeth at the side of his mouth. He raised an eyebrow at her as he came forward to take the reins. “You ain’t the feller I rented this horse to. Whatcha doin’ with ol’ Sam?”

  Nicole shifted in the saddle to slide her left foot into the stirrup before swinging down to the ground. There was no use hoping the man hadn’t noticed the ill-adjusted tack. His sharp eyes seemed to take in everything about her.

  “I borrowed this fine creature from a Mr. Fletcher Jenkins after running into him up near Oakhaven.” She flashed her most brilliant smile, gratified when the grizzled man blinked up at her and lost his toothy grip on the straw. “I’m sure Mr. Jenkins will be along shortly to settle his account. Your Sam’s a real goer,” she said as she brushed past the stableman. “He deserves a good rubdown after our little excursion.” Then, with a wave of her hand, she escaped across the street before the man’s suspicious nature reasserted itself. The fewer questions she had to answer the better.

  Reaching into her skirt pocket, Nicole felt for the small woven bag she’d stashed there earlier. Her fingers brushed against a metal clasp. It had survived the wild ride to town. Her coin purse was woefully thin—she’d never collected her wages from Darius, after all—but she’d grabbed it from her trunk while switching out the daggers, knowing she’d need every resource she could gather if she was to have any chance at escaping the Jenkins brothers. She wouldn’t be able to travel far, but if she could find a place to hide, she could send a message to Darius down in Galveston, and he or Wellborn could come after her.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, she admitted to herself as she ducked into the stage office, but it was all she had at the moment.

  “Hello, miss.” A jovial young man jumped up from where he’d been sitting behind a desk and hurried to meet her at the counter. She appreciated his ready grin even though it made little headway in soothing her frazzled nerves. “How can I help you today?”

  “I need to purchase a ticket.” She pulled out her purse and dumped the contents onto the counter, cupping her hands around the coins to keep any from rolling onto the floor. She quickly tallied the amount. Four dollars and thirty-two cents. At a dime a mile she’d not have enough to get to Beaumont or Houston, but surely there were smaller communities along the way.

  The clerk’s smile slipped a bit as he eyed the paltry assortment of silver on the counter. “And where are you . . . ah . . . hoping to travel?”

  Nicole met his gaze without flinching. “The where isn’t important. What matters is the when. What time does your next stage leave?”

  “Not until morning, miss.”

  Morning? The tiny piece of calm she’d managed to grasp ripped from her like a bandage from a wound, leaving blood to flow freely. Fletcher would run her to ground for sure. She couldn’t allow that, for not only would she be caught, but Darius could be compromised, as well. No, she had to lead the Jenkins brothers away from Liberty. Now.

  “You don’t understand,” she said, trying to sound firm yet hearing a hysterical edge creep into her voice. “I have to leave today. Within the hour at the very latest.” She could rent a horse, but the livery would be the first place Fletcher went once he arrived in town. If she ran into him there, it’d be all over. “Do you have horses to let here?”

  The clerk’s eyes softened in sympathy. “I’m afraid not. They’re for company use only. The livery has—”

  She cut him off with an impatient shake of her head. There had to be something else. She didn’t have enough funds for steamboat passage upriver, but what if . . .

  “What about a freight company?” She grabbed the clerk’s arm, desperation surging through her. “Do you know of any wagons making afternoon runs today?”

  The clerk gently disengaged his arm from her grip and straightened his sleeve. “Holsten usually makes a run up to the logging camp fifteen miles northeast of here on Fridays, but that’s no place for a lady to . . .”

  Nicole stopped listening and started stuffing coins back into her purse. Right now she wasn’t a lady—she was a decoy. And if a logging camp was her only destination option, she’d take it and thank God for his provision.

  “Thank you for your help.” She shot him a quick smile and hurried away.

  “But, miss! I don’t think you should—”

  Nicole closed the door, cutting off the man’s well-meaning warning. No time to second-guess. She had to find the freight office.

  Checking over her shoulder toward the edge of town and praising God when she found the road empty of irate Jenkinses, she turned down the street that led to the river. Too much urgency pumped through her veins to keep her steps modulated, so she half walked, half trotted toward the wharf and ignored the curious stares of those milling about the market square. Let them notice. She needed to leave a few bread crumbs for Fletcher to follow anyway. Just as long as he didn’t find them before she got good and away.

  She recalled seeing a sign for Holsten’s Freight Service when she’d first arrived in town, so she headed directly for the rough-hewn log building situated near the ferry landing. A bearded man in a fringed, buckskin jacket was tying down a canvas tarpaulin over a wagon bed. Sharp corners and flat edges creased the canvas where crates had been loaded at the front of the wagon, but the canvas hung relaxed near the back.

  Did she dare?

  Nicole swept her gaze up and down the street. No one seemed to be paying her any mind. She could make it if she timed it right. But what if the driver caught her? How could she possibly explain? Biting her lip, she debated, watching as the freighter walked around his wagon for a final inspection. When his back was toward her, she crept closer, moving into position. Then, when he climbed up onto the bench and reached for the reins, she sprinted forward, hoisted herself over the closed tailgate, and ducked beneath the tarpaulin just as the wheels began to roll.

  The wagon lurched forward before she had a chance to anchor herself. The motion flattened her and threw her roughly against the side of the wagon bed. She threw out her hands to brace herself, and her elbow collided with one of the crates. Burning pain shot up her right arm. Only then did she remember the sting she’d felt as she rode away from Oakhaven. Curling onto her left side in a protective ball, she reached around and gently probed the sore place on her arm. The fabric of her sleeve felt ragged, torn. Steeling herself, she ran her fingers over the flesh exposed by the hole in her sleeve. When her fingertips made contact, her breath hissed, and her eyes squeezed shut.

  Cakes of dried blood flaked away as she explored. Fletcher’s bullet must have grazed her. The crease in her upper arm ached like the very devil now that she was aware of it, but it didn’t seem too serious, thank the Lord. She eased her hand away and forced a few deep breaths in order to calm her racing heart. She was safe. For now. Hidden beneath the canvas, she’d not have to worry about Fletcher spotting her should they pass him on the road. And once they reached the logging camp, she would gladly pay the freighter for his transport. Surely he wouldn’t be too upset as long as none of his goods were damaged. Right?

 
Pillowing her head with her good arm, Nicole settled into the rocking rhythm of the wagon and prayed that Darius would meet with much less excitement on his journey.

  “Why is everyone so all-fired interested in that brown-haired gal? Females is nothin’ but trouble, and that one’s no different. Mark my words.”

  Darius trailed after the liveryman as he paced from the barn entrance to the hay wagon that had just arrived. The fellow snatched up a straw from the mound of fresh hay in the wagon bed, jabbed it into his mouth, and took up the hayfork.

  “So someone else asked after the young lady?” Darius prodded. He’d been pretty sure two sets of tracks had left Oakhaven land, the second set pressed deeper into the earth, as if the horse was carrying a greater weight. No footprints had been in evidence more than fifty yards outside the ambush site, so Darius concluded the Jenkins brothers had ridden double in their pursuit of Nicole, giving her the advantage. But once the tracks hit the road, there were too many other hoofprints to decipher anything specific. He’d simply had to assume they’d all come to town. Realizing that they’d need to acquire a second horse, he’d made the livery his first stop.

  The stable hand pushed past Darius, moved to the back of the hay wagon, and began to unlatch the tailgate. “Look, mister. I got work to do. I can’t stand around jawin’ all day.”

  The man’s callous attitude ignited Darius’s already simmering temper. He marched over to the man in three angry strides, yanked the hayfork out of his hand, and tossed it aside. “That woman you so casually dismissed is my affianced bride,” he ground out between clenched teeth, his face thrust so close to the other man’s he could see individual whiskers poking from the fellow’s chin. “The men following her mean her harm. If you don’t tell me everything you know about the situation this very moment, I’m liable to loosen your tongue with my fist. Now start talking.”

  The man glared up at him in defiance, not intimidated in the slightest. Yet he reached up and slowly pulled the straw from his mouth. “You sure the gal’s in trouble?” His mouth turned down in a frown. “She was all smiles when she rode in. Course ol’ Sam was lathered like he’d been ridden hard, and the stirrups were dangling far too long for a gal her size. I thought something was off about that.”