by Kay Hooper
“Victoria?”
“Hmmm?” She was almost asleep, her head pillowed comfortably on his chest.
“You said your brother had to hurry back to his ship that day. What was the ship called?”
She snuggled closer. “The Raven,” she answered drowsily. “Captain Tyrone’s ship. I wanted to talk to him in New York, about Jesse, but I never got the chance.”
A rough sigh lifted his chest, but his voice remained soft.
“What was the date, sweet? Do you remember?”
She started to say no, but then she did remember. “It was—April 14. April 14, 1863.” She felt as well as heard another sigh from him, and was dimly troubled, because he was holding her as if he expected someone to tear her away from him….
—
The storm raged for two days, battering the little house with sharp winds and snow. Outside was a frozen wasteland; inside, a warm, quiet haven.
Victoria knew there was something wrong. He was too quiet, too contained. He made love to her with hunger and told her often that he loved her, but she was aware that he hardly slept at all, aware that he watched her with brooding eyes when he thought she didn’t see. He was restless, on edge. He went out to take care of the horses several times a day, taking over those tasks from her. He ate what she prepared automatically.
Several times she saw him go to his saddlebags and stare down at them only to turn away with an abrupt motion. He asked quiet questions of her childhood and her life with Morgan, and grew more and more silent as she answered honestly.
Victoria knew something was wrong, and she was cold with fear. Even though he held and kissed her, even though she believed that he loved her, he had put a distance between them, as if he were guarding himself. She could only believe that he was ready to move on again, to wander as he had told her it was his nature to—and he didn’t want her with him. She was afraid, and afraid to ask, reminding herself again and again that he had made no promises, after all, had even warned her in New York that he couldn’t offer her a future.
And what had changed since then? Nothing, except that he had admitted to love. Nothing…except that she didn’t know if she could go on without him now.
—
“Storm’s breaking.” He hung up his coat and hat, moving to stare broodingly down at the fire.
Time. Victoria managed to keep her voice calm. “Those men will most likely have taken shelter during the storm. I may have to circle for a few miles, but I’ll pick up their trail easily enough. I can still find them before they make it to Charleston, I think.” He would tell her now, tell her he wouldn’t be going with her.
Falcon sent her a look she couldn’t read, then returned his gaze to the fire. “I want to tell you a story,” he said abruptly.
She braced herself inwardly, going over to the cot and sitting down. “All right.”
“During the war, there was a group of men in Charleston. A group of powerful men.” His voice was level, toneless. “They could see the war was going in favor of the North, and they were determined to save the South. They needed money, a lot of it. So they planned and executed the theft of a gold shipment in the North. A million dollars in gold.”
Victoria was frowning, puzzled. This wasn’t what she had expected. “I don’t—“
“Hear me out.” He drew a deep breath, and then went on in the same toneless voice, staring into the fire. “In that shipment, by mistake, was a chest of specially minted three-dollar gold pieces; they had been ordered melted down, so none were in circulation. Somehow, that one chest wasn’t melted down; it wound up with the rest of the shipment, and was stolen. The shipment was transported to the coast, and then onto a blockade-runner, which made it into Charleston. And then something happened. There was a falling-out, a betrayal. One of the group took the gold and vanished—I don’t know why. I was a major in the Union army then, but I was also a Treasury agent—and I still am.
“I’ve been on the trail of that gold for eight years. Becoming a Ranger was a part of that. We followed leads, but there was nothing to show for the work except a handful of those special coins that had found their way into circulation. I was in New York, waiting for another agent to contact me; we had finally gotten a list of names, the names of those men who’d planned the theft. And one night, while I was at the waterfront, a coin was given to me in change. A three-dollar gold piece. The barkeep pointed out the man who had given the coin to him, and, because it seemed a good lead, I followed him from the bar.”
“To the bookshop?” She felt a prickle of foreboding, an instinctive realization that she wouldn’t like what he had to tell her.
“To the bookshop. You know what happened when I arrived. The man and his partners were gone, and I couldn’t find a trace of them. But I was bothered by what you’d overheard. It seemed I had stumbled into something, ruined their plans, but I had no idea what those plans had been. I never connected any of it with you, because it seemed absurd.”
“With me? But I was just looking for a book.”
“At the waterfront. The last place in the city for a woman alone, especially a lady. Who told you to look there, and when?” He kept his gaze on the fire.
“The desk clerk at my hotel. I’d spoken to him earlier that day about the book, and he said he might know of a place. There was a message from him later.”
“Written?”
“Yes, a bellman brought it to my room.”
After a moment, Falcon said quietly, “I saw that desk clerk several times. Middle-aged, fatherly. Do you really think he would have sent you to a waterfront address alone? With no warning of what you might encounter?”
Victoria hesitated. “I never thought about it.”
“Was there anyone in the lobby when you talked to the desk clerk earlier?”
“A few men, I think. I didn’t really notice.”
Falcon nodded slowly, but still didn’t look at her. “One of them was always around, I’d guess, since they’d somehow spotted you. I don’t know how they spotted you. Maybe they just chanced to hear your name. And Talbot would have remembered you. It would have been enough. It was probably one of the other two watching you at the hotel; you would have recognized Talbot, I think, even after all these years.”
“Talbot? Falcon, what are you talking about?”
“You were lured to the bookshop, Victoria. They meant to grab you there, kidnap you. But I blundered in and spoiled it for them. They didn’t want a witness, and didn’t dare take the chance of killing me.”
“Why would they want me?” she whispered.
Falcon’s shoulders tensed, and his face hardened, went remote. “They could have used you to force your husband to talk. To tell them where he’d hidden the gold years before. It was just an idea, something they decided to try. They’d gotten the address of Fontaine’s ranch, though, probably from your hotel, so when I spoiled their plan, they headed for New Mexico. He’d done a good job of covering his tracks, you see, and they’d had no more luck in finding him and the gold than I’d had. Even though they had known him then, he apparently told them nothing of his background. Anyway, it seems they hadn’t known much about him when he joined their group, since he wasn’t from the South, and when he disappeared, along with the gold, they didn’t even know where to start looking for him. Then they somehow found you in New York. And they knew where he was then. They knew where he was, and they went after him.”
“No.” Her voice was strained, disbelieving.
Falcon flinched. “I didn’t know any of it until I met my contact, after you’d left the city. Then the pieces began falling into place. There were only three men on the list still alive. One of them was the man I followed to the bookshop, the one you never saw in New York—Read Talbot. The second was the man who posed as the shopkeeper when you came in—the tall, thin man. Gus Rawlins.”
Victoria felt cold. “And the third name?”
Harshly now, Falcon said, “If you’ll look in my saddlebags, you’ll find a f
ederal warrant for Morgan Fontaine’s arrest.”
“You’re wrong.” Her voice was quick, anguished. “You have to be wrong. He wasn’t that kind of man, he wouldn’t do something like that!”
Falcon was white, his face strained, and he looked as if every breath he drew hurt. His voice was still harsh, even though it was quiet. “There’s more.”
“I don’t want to hear it!” she said, a little wildly.
“You have to.” He closed his eyes briefly. “It’s the truth, and you have to hear it.”
“No—“
“The shipment was brought into Charleston on the Raven, Victoria. On April 14, 1863. Your brother did something for Tyrone, ran an errand for him, and he was paid for it. I think he delivered the gold to Fontaine that morning, and he was on his way back to Charleston when he stopped at Regret. Remember the coins he gave you? They were odd coins, like none you’d ever seen before, weren’t they? Three-dollar gold pieces. Fontaine must have paid him. And Talbot must have seen or suspected that Jesse had delivered the gold. He attacked Jesse on his way back to Charleston and killed him. Then he backtracked and found his way to Regret. He was after gold, you said, and he had your brother’s purse.”
Victoria’s mind was whirling. “But you said Talbot was the man in New York.”
“He was.” Falcon turned his head, looking at her finally with hot eyes. “You didn’t kill him. He carries the scar you gave him, but you didn’t kill him.”
She met his eyes, her own bewildered, hurting suddenly. “But that means Morgan caused it. Papa and Jesse died because…because of what he did.”
Roughly, Falcon said, “I’m sure he knew that; you said once that he was upset that day. Jesse must have mentioned you, and Fontaine rode to Regret to check on you. When you told him what had happened, and described Talbot, he knew. He knew it was his fault. So he took you away from there and gave you a new home, to replace the one his own actions had destroyed.”
“His fault.” Her voice was soft and anguished. “He lied to me all these years.”
“Maybe he wanted to protect you.” Falcon was looking back at the fire again, his face strained. “He was all you had and you loved him.”
“Papa…Jesse…”
“He paid for it, Victoria. He paid for it all. Talbot finally caught up with him.”
She felt as if she’d been battered, beaten. She was cold, hurting. Morgan. Had he done it out of guilt, raised her, taught her, cared for her? No, not entirely. Even now, confused and hurt, she couldn’t believe that. At first, perhaps. But he had loved her, she knew that. Whatever his original motives, he had loved her.
And Falcon?
She looked at him, stiff and silent by the fire, not looking at her. He didn’t want to tell me. He had listened to her talk of Morgan, and he hadn’t wanted to be the one to destroy her image of that man. Without thought, she went to him, sliding her arms around his waist. “I love you,” she murmured.
His arms closed about her, hard, and he made a rough sound. “I didn’t want to hurt you, sweet,” he said unsteadily. “He was so important to you, and I didn’t want to take that away.”
Victoria drew back far enough to look up at him. “You didn’t,” she said gravely.
“I thought you’d hate me.” He framed her face in his big hands. “I was so afraid you’d hate me.”
The coldness was seeping away, and she smiled slowly. “Never. I love you. I’ll always love you.”
“Always,” he murmured, looking into her soft eyes as if he found his soul there. “That might be long enough.”
Chapter 4
Time. The storm had delayed them, and they could only hope it had also delayed Morgan Fontaine’s killers. They had perhaps three days before they would have to abandon the trail and head quickly for Charleston, and a ship departing for Europe. If Morgan’s killers had managed to learn from him where the gold was hidden—and Falcon thought it likely—then they were most probably engaged in a feverish search of their own.
Both Falcon and Victoria knew that if the men found that gold, and managed to reach the ship and set sail, it was doubtful they could ever be found again.
They found the tracks a day out from their abandoned haven. The storm had passed and the temperature was rising steadily, though it remained cold at night. But by the second day, they had advanced much farther south in following the trail, and they saw snow only in melting patches. They made camp that night in the lee of a hillside, picketing their four horses—they had kept the pinto as a second packhorse—to graze.
Victoria woke first, and lay looking up at the clear, blue sky, feeling loved and secure in his sleeping embrace. She had been struggling to remember that long-ago trip west, trying to think of where the gold could be hidden, but had been unsuccessful.
Her mind had refused to allow those memories to surface. But it came to her now, in the silence of morning, the memory she had not recalled for eight years. The memory of the trip west, and one stop that had lasted longer than the others.
“Falcon?”
He was instantly awake, and she knew it, but only one eye opened to peer at her and then he shut it again, drawing her closer. “It’s barely dawn,” he murmured.
She pushed herself up onto an elbow and gazed down at him. “You have to wake up, love, I’ve thought of something.”
A smile curved his lips. “Must be the drawl.”
“What must be?”
“The feeling I get every time you say ‘love.’ Like a shot of raw brandy.”
She leaned down and kissed him, but drew away quickly when it became obvious he was waking up with a vengeance. “Falcon! I think I know where the gold is.”
He opened his eyes reluctantly. It was a chapter in their lives that had to be finished, but he’d been wishing that gold in hell for weeks now. “Near?”
“A day’s ride, if we start now. I don’t think the other two know where it is, not exactly. I don’t think Morgan would have told them. And they aren’t heading in the right direction.” She sat up and pushed the heavy grizzly pelt away. She had gotten so accustomed to waking up naked at his side that she became aware of it this morning only because a sudden, chill wind struck her bare flesh. Before she could move to find her clothes, Falcon growled and pulled her back down.
“Falcon—“
His mouth was at her breast, nuzzling a nipple that the cold wind had tightened into a hard bud. “You don’t expect me to ignore this, do you, sweet?” he asked hoarsely.
Victoria caught her breath, and her hands lifted to tangle in his thick hair. “No. Oh, no,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t expect you to ignore that at all.”
And they were only an hour late in getting started.
—
“This is more familiar territory to you, isn’t it?” she asked as they mounted the horses.
“Familiar enough, after years.”
Victoria pointed in the direction the tracks led, slightly northeast. “Is there a mission that way?”
Falcon frowned a little. “Two of them, within a few days’ ride.”
“We passed by an old, abandoned mission yesterday, remember? The tracks were all around it.”
He nodded slowly. “So that’s what you thought of—a mission? Did Fontaine stop at one on the way to New Mexico?”
“Yes. I’m pretty certain it’s southeast of here, between San Antonio and the Mexican border. I remember it was the only place we stopped other than a town or out in the middle of nowhere. We spent the night, and I didn’t see much of Morgan. And—“She drew a deep breath. “—we left a wagon behind there.”
Falcon looked at her gravely, and then glanced at the trail leading off. “These tracks are a few days old, at least. If they went on to both the missions, they could just be turning south now, assuming they even know of the other mission. That would put us in the right place a couple of days ahead of Talbot and Rawlins. If they really don’t know where they’re going. But they could be ahead of us.”
> “I know,” she said in a steady voice.
“You don’t have to do this, sweet. We can ride to San Antonio, and I’ll have a cavalry regiment greet those bastards at the mission.”
She looked at him as he sat easily on his big horse, a handsome, tough man with gentle eyes, and she knew he would do that for her. He’d ride away from the end of a years-long search, leaving the gold for someone else to uncover in triumph, to spare her the pain of certainty and the danger of facing the men who had killed Morgan.
Softly, she said, “We both have to finish this, love.”
Their horses were standing side by side, and he didn’t have to lean far to kiss her. “Then we’ll finish it,” he said in a quiet voice.
Their horses moved out in perfect step, the packhorses trailing behind them as they headed southeast.
—
Victoria was looking at the abandoned mission as they topped a rise, but Falcon glanced back over his shoulder with a frown. It was almost sunset, and impossible to see much behind them in the glare, and he swore softly.
“What is it?” she asked, looking at him.
After a moment, he said, “I think we’re being trailed.”
She was startled. “Talbot and Rawlins?”
“I’d say not. The direction’s wrong. They couldn’t have gotten south of us so quickly. Maybe bandits; they could have come up out of Mexico. Indians, even. The packhorses could have convinced them we’re carrying something valuable.” He studied the mission as they approached it, and shook his head a little unconsciously. “This is not a good place to stand off bandits or Indians,” he muttered.
Victoria could see what he meant. Like many of the missions in Texas, this one had been built around a hundred and fifty years before, but it had been abandoned. That the mission was even recognizable was surprising; the roof had fallen in, and only two walls were left standing. An old well was little more than a hole in the ground and a tumble of stones, and a battered stagecoach rotted, cockeyed, on two broken wheels. There was a graveyard off to the east in the wispy shade of a lightning-blasted cottonwood, what had once been a picket fence around it now no more than a few ragged stakes in the ground.