Her words had the desired effect. The Thornes relaxed their stances and turned from her to focus on Riley.
* * *
“Pa, what are you doing here?” Riley looked from his father, to his brothers ranged behind the old man, and then back at Ben. And watched his white-haired father search the room with his disapproving gaze.
Finally, he settled his black-eyed seriousness on his oldest son. “Where’s your ma, boy?”
Riley’s gut tightened. “Ma? I don’t know. I haven’t been home since I rode out with you to sort the cattle days ago. I came straight here yesterday after sending Biddy on to our place. You saw me do that.” Then, even though he knew the answer, he had to ask. “She’s not at home?”
Ben raised an eyebrow, ducked his chin. “Would I step foot on Lawless dirt if your mother was at home?”
Riley heard Glory’s gasping intake of breath. And knew in his heart that trouble had found them. Had found them all. He forced air past his constricted lungs and said, “Give me a minute. I’ll get dressed and—”
An abrupt gesture from Henry caught Riley’s attention, cut off his words. “I told you, Pa, that he’d be here playin’ house with a Lawless while his own mother was bein’ kidnapped. And probably by someone in her employ.” He stabbed a finger in Glory’s direction.
His hands already curling into fists, Riley took a step toward his younger brother. “If Ma’s missing, Glory had nothing to do with it, Henry. What the hell makes you think—?”
Ben caught Riley by the arm, stopping him. “Look at this.” From out of his coat’s deep pocket he pulled a black-velvet bonnet that Riley recognized as his mother’s favorite, the one she wore when visiting. Only now it was crumpled and torn. “We found it on the way here. Run over by wagon wheels. On Lawless land.” Before Riley could do more than frown over that, his father reached into his coat pocket again and produced a slip of paper. “And this. Yer ma wrote it. I found it at the house. It says she and Miss Biddy was coming here.”
Riley took the note, stared at his mother’s familiar handwriting. In the time it took him to read her words—no more than a few seconds—a thousand details tore through his mind. Among them … when had the note been written? When did Ma and Biddy leave home? Where were they now? Had there been an accident with the wagon? Were they alive? Had they met up with strangers? Or with someone they already knew? Why hadn’t Pa and his brothers seen any other evidence of them, like the wagon, the horses? That they hadn’t meant someone was holding them, most likely against their will. But who? And why?
Realizing that these same fears drove his family, only they’d had more hours than he’d had seconds to burn with these questions and to worry, Riley forgave all, forgave their pounding and kicking on the door, their abrupt entry, Henry’s accusing Glory. He put aside all else except finding the two women. Handing the note back to his father, he said, “I won’t be but two minutes.”
When his father nodded his consent to wait, Riley turned, sought Glory, and saw she hadn’t moved from in front of the couch. Her white-knuckled hands were fisted around the delicate fabric of her morning gown. Her stare was the wide-eyed one of shock … too much shock in one lifetime. Sure he could read her mind, that she believed she’d now lost Biddy—the last of her loved ones, Riley ignored his family’s disapproving presence and went to her.
Taking her by her arms, holding her close, he looked down into her scared and pinched little face, so heart-wrenchingly beautiful and, right now, so pale. “She’s fine, Glory. Whoever did this didn’t mean her or my mother any harm. Or Pa and my brothers would have … found them. And the wagon. I’ll bet there’s some simple explanation for all this. Like they ended up at the Sutfields’ or the Nettlesons’ place.”
But Glory shook her head and spoke just above a whisper, as if she didn’t want his family to hear her. “No, Riley. It’s the tracker. I just know it is.”
Confusion knit Riley’s brow. “Tracker? What are you talking about?”
“In their letters—Hannah’s and Jacey’s. Someone in Arizona hired some men to track us down. I don’t know why. But I think he’s the one who attacked me on the verandah. Oh, dear God, Riley, if he has Biddy and your—”
Riley’s grip on her tightened with his reaction to her words. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me about this sooner? Never mind—just listen to me. We’ll find them, no matter who has them, and they’ll be fine.”
Glory’s chin quivered. “You don’t believe that at all, do you? Don’t lie to me, Riley.”
Riley looked down at her, heard the shifting of weight amongst the men ranged behind him, felt the outside cold air blowing on the grate’s fire, and exhaled. “No, I don’t believe that at all. But I do know we’ll find them. And we’ll find that tracker. Or whoever’s responsible. And he’ll pay.”
Riley saw her sudden grimace, felt her flinch, and realized he’d tightened his grip until it must be painful on her slender arms. He instantly relaxed his hold and hugged her to him, over the surprised sniffs and intakes of breath coming from the other men in the room—Lawless hands and Thornes alike. “I want you to stay put and lock the doors until I get back. And keep a gun on you at all times.”
Glory pulled back, flattened her palms on his chest. Her upturned face, especially her eyes, took on the sheen of guilty panic. “Could this have anything to do with”—she cut her gaze over to his family and then looked back up at him—“me not being … who I thought I was? Riley, what if it is the tracker? And he’s using Biddy and your mother to draw me out? I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to them because of me.”
Her words seemed to grip his chest as surely as her hands did, so painful was the sudden lurch of his heartbeat. Behind him, he heard the further stirrings and mutterings of his family, but again he ignored them for Glory. “Listen to me. Even if that’s his plan—or their plan—it won’t work. Because we know about it. And we’ll get Biddy and my mother back, I swear it to you. Glory, look in my eyes and tell me you believe me.”
As Glory stared up at him, her mouth thinned into a straight line, her grass-green eyes lit with a fierce light from within. “Look at me, Riley, and tell me you believe that.”
All around them was quiet, as if Glory’s words had brought a pause in individual heartbeats, had forced the evil plottings of others out into the open. As well as between him and Glory—to forge their new bond, to forge their new trust. To test their love. And that being the case, what could he say? What promises could he make? Riley smoothed his hands down her arms, captured her small, cold hands, and squeezed them, saying, “I can’t.”
He then turned away, heading for the stairs.
* * *
For long moments after Riley’s footsteps on the stairs no longer echoed dully in the great room, Glory stared quietly at the Thorne men over by the still-open front door. She wished Riley would hurry up, and for more than one reason. It was bad enough she was in her night clothes. It was bad enough they were men and she was a lone woman. It was bad enough they were enemies.
But it was worse that they all knew what she and Riley had been doing … together. But even beyond that, she wanted them all gone because she fully intended to search for Biddy and Louise herself. Because whoever had them wanted her. She knew that as surely as she knew her real name was Beatrice Parker. She hoped this tracker was ready for her. Because she was coming. Alone. She’d not endanger any other lives—Riley’s chief among them—for what she knew in her gut was her trouble. And hers alone.
As the Thornes formed a cluster and spoke together in quiet tones, in essence ignoring her and excluding her in her own home, Glory realized that here it was—her chance to keep her part of the blood oath with her sisters. A frown captured her features, but firmed into a grimace. Yes. My sisters—no matter the difference in our blood. Having thought it, she paused to mentally poke and prod at that truth with the sharpened stick of please-let-it-be, and realized what she felt was just that—the truth. She was a Lawless.
A sudden warmth spread through Glory and freed her heart, but weakened her knees. She locked them, forcing herself to remain stiffly aloof, and explored this new feeling inside her. She’d been raised as a sister to Hannah and Jacey, and she would remain one. The three of them had vowed they wouldn’t rest until the murderers were found and were made to pay with their lives. Like Hannah and Jacey, she hadn’t been here to help Mama and Papa and Old Pete that awful September day. But she was here in November to help Biddy. And nothing and no one was going to stop her.
But she’d learned her lesson the other night when she’d pitched such a fit with Riley to join the search for her attacker. She knew better than to do that again. No one was locking her in her room. This time, she’d say nothing of her intentions, wait for Riley and his family to ride out, and then she’d get dressed—
“I’m … sorry for yer recent losses, Miss Glory.”
Glory jerked back to the moment. Ben Thorne’s voice had broken the weighty silence in the room. Not sure she’d heard him correctly, she sought the other men’s reactions. Judging by the surprised expressions on all their faces as they too stared at the older man, she knew she was right—she’d just lived long enough to hear Ben Thorne express his condolences to her, a Lawless. She narrowed her eyes. Did he know she wasn’t really a Lawless?
Ben made a half gesture, cleared his throat, and added, “I mean yer folks an’ all. I didn’t hold no warm feelin’s for yer pa. You know that. And I can’t say I didn’t wish him harm a time or two myself. But I didn’t—we didn’t”—he nodded to indicate his sons—“there weren’t no Thornes responsible. I’m just real sorry. And especially for Old Pete and yer ma.”
Glory clamped her teeth together against the mixed message in Ben Thorne’s words. Knowing how he felt about Papa, knowing how he’d stirred up the other ranchers since the murders, the last thing she needed or wanted right now was this man’s pity. But he was Riley’s father, after all, and she loved Riley. So, fisting and unfisting her hands, she made ready to thank him for his … kind words.
But apparently Ben wasn’t done. He thinned his lips together and ducked his head, twisting the crushed bonnet he held in his hands. Momentarily, he looked back up at her and exhaled heavily. “I just felt I needed to say that.”
Seeing the pinched expression on the man’s face, his worried fondling of his wife’s hat, and despite her own wariness of him, Glory’s chest tightened with locked-away fears. She and this man could very soon have a shared loss to grieve … if their search for Biddy and Mrs. Thorne ended badly. So, keeping her steadily blurring vision centered on Riley’s father, Glory relented, softened. “Thank you, Mr. Thorne. I appreciate that. I’ll pass along your condolences to Hannah and Jacey when they come home.”
He gave a nodding jerk of his head and made a vague but benign gesture toward her, as if to say he recognized the peace offering she extended. He rushed on with, “Have you heard from yer … sisters?”
He knows. From just the way he hesitated before he said “sisters,” Glory knew he knew that she was sister to no one. She also knew that what this man chose to do with that knowledge could determine the course of the rest of her life. But binding him, just as it did her, was his love for Riley. How ironic that the truth of her birth could align her with Papa’s enemy. And make them both somehow responsible for the other one’s happiness. With all that crowding her consciousness, Glory still managed to nod and to get her words out. “Yes I’ve heard from them. I’ve gotten letters.”
Ben Thorne nodded his big, white-haired head, scrubbed a finger under his nose. “I hope they’re doin’ fine.”
Do you? It was a mean thought, she knew, but this sharing of … pleasantries with Ben Thorne was still new to her. “They are.”
Ben nodded, cut his gaze away from her, half turned to his sons, exchanged a look with them that she couldn’t see, and then fell quiet. Thus, they all waited. Until the cold air swirling about her feet and legs reminded her that the door was open and her armed men were standing behind the Thornes. “Heck, you and Pops can go on back to your posts. But first tell Mr. Rankin what’s happened and send him to me.”
She waited. But Heck and Pops stayed where they were—stayed staunchly, loyally where they were. Glory bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at their blatant behavior. When she felt more in control of her facial muscles, she assured them, “I’ll be fine here with the Thornes.”
She looked to the Thorne men for confirmation of her trust, saw Ben nod, and then focused again on her hired hands. Seeing Heck’s mouth opening, no doubt to protest, Glory spoke with command in her voice. “Close the door after you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Heck grumbled as he jerked his thumb to indicate for Pops to precede him outside. “But I don’t like it none,” was the man’s parting comment. He closed the door just shy of a slam.
In the resounding silence, Glory raised an eyebrow at the congregated Thornes, hoping she’d just conveyed to them, by sending her men away, that she wasn’t afraid of them. Not when she was fully dressed and armed—like a few days ago at their place. And not now—alone, in her nightclothes, and weaponless. But, oh, she wished Riley would hurry up.
Just when the silence in the crowded room stretched out with her last nerve, Riley’s hurrying footsteps upstairs in the hallway turned a grateful Glory in that direction. Within seconds, he clambered down the steps, crossed the room and, leaning over her, encircled her waist with one incredibly strong arm as he pulled her to his chest and kissed her. When he pulled back, Glory gasped, put her fingers to her mouth, and stared up at him.
Riley’s expression revealed he knew exactly what he was doing. Holding her gaze, his black eyes lit with determination, he whispered, “They need to get used to that sight.” Then he released her and turned to his family, leaving Glory openmouthed and watching him cross the room with long-legged strides, his saddle coat billowing in his wake.
Shouldering through his family’s midst, angling his Stetson on his head, and every bit in charge as his father and brothers stepped aside for him, he said, “I want go back over the ground where you found Ma’s bonnet. From there, we’ll search the surrounding hills and fan out from there. I’ll just saddle my horse, and then we’ll ride.”
In a slightly dazed silence, brought on by his claiming her publicly, Glory watched him go. And bided her time. And plotted out her own search for the two women.
Chapter 17
Of all the things that could take her breath this day, Glory never thought it could be the punch of frigid air that rocked her back against the front door, which she struggled to close behind her. Firming her stance on the verandah, and gripping the knob with both hands, she finally banged the door shut. Turning around, she stiffened in surprise when Heck Thompson stepped around from the far side of the verandah to confront her.
“You’re to stay inside, Miss Glory—Mr. Rankin’s orders.”
Frowning as much from the blue cold that shocked her unsuspecting body, even under the heavy fabric of her split riding skirt and Papa’s sheepskin coat, as she did from Heck’s near-command, Glory raised her chin a determined notch. “Mr. Rankin takes his orders from me, Heck. Not the other way around.”
Looking momentarily taken aback, Heck nodded his head but persisted, “Yes, ma’am, I know. But not in this instance.”
This was the last thing she needed. A wall of resistance from her own men. Glory narrowed her eyes at her hired and loyal hand. “In this and every instance—make no mistake.” She stalked across the wood-plank floor of the verandah, heading for the wide steps there. “Don’t try to stop me.”
Booted footsteps echoed hollowly behind her as Heck trailed her. “No, ma’am. But, umm, can I ask where you’re going?”
“To the barn.”
“You’re not thinking to follow after them Thornes, are you?”
Realizing that at least she could answer this truthfully, and already down the steps, standing on the hard-packed ear
th, Glory looked back over her shoulder. “No, I’m not.”
Heck puffed out a breath which, coupled with his widened eyes, signaled his relief on that score. “Then perhaps I can just follow you out to the barn?”
Sucking in a stunted breath, which all but froze her lungs, Glory hunkered inside her clothes and wrapped her arms around her middle as she stared up at the man and tried to come up with a good reason why he couldn’t. And frustratingly couldn’t think of one. So, she shrugged her shoulders and turned around, heading for the barn. “Suit yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am. It suits me to go with you.”
The man’s pigheadedness made her want to stomp her foot. “Where is Mr. Rankin, anyway? He never did come to the main house. Did you tell him I wanted to speak with him?”
Suddenly Heck didn’t seem to be able to look her in the eye. Instead, he focused—innocently enough—on her chest. “Well, I tried to tell him. But I didn’t git no further’n saying Miss Biddy was missin’ afore he yelled for some of the men, and they all lit out, close on the heels of them Thornes.”
Glory’s breath puffed out in a distressed, white-cloud vapor. This was awful news. And good news all at the same time. Good for her chances of getting away by herself. But awful for them all, if her men caught up with the Thornes. Feeling time slipping away, Glory suddenly broke into a sprint, heading for the barn, for her horse.
Right behind her came the labored breathing and heavy footsteps that told her Heck dogged her every step. Maybe when she got inside she could come up with a sidetracking task for the big man that would allow her to saddle Daisy and to get away without having to conk him on the head or threaten him with her gun. She wasn’t sure she could do that. Not to Heck, at any rate. But to whoever awaited her out there? Well, that was another story.
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