by Pam Crooks
She smiled, but was still pale, still shaken by his return. “Yes. I have a baby. A girl.”
“Congratulations.” He knew she’d always wanted a family. Respectability. A decent job. He was happy for her.
Questions about Manny skittered across his mind, but he refrained from asking them. She seemed in a hurry, and she still had shopping to do for Hannah. He didn’t want to keep her from her baby any longer than he had to.
After she left, he found Hannah admiring the brocaded panel on a Japanese screen situated near the dressing table. She turned wide eyes on him.
“Everything in this hotel is so lovely Quinn. And expensive.” Her expression turned worried. “I don’t think Elliott will be happy you’re making him pay for this.”
“Every dime Elliott has is one he’s stolen from me. He can afford it. The Landry coffers are full.” He frowned. “At least they used to be.”
She appeared doubtful. “I can’t imagine anyone having money like this. The Landrys or otherwise.”
He grunted. She had a lot to learn.
“You were bossy with Loretta,” she said.
His mouth curved. “Was I?”
“But I think she’d have given you all of Texas if you asked her for it.” She trailed her finger along the polished table top. Her mouth hinted at a pout. He wondered if she was jealous.
“We’ve been friends a long time,” he said.
“I noticed.”
He let her stew on it. A little jealousy could be a good thing.
She cocked her head. “Where will you be while I have my bath?”
“Getting that shave I’ve been hankering for. And a haircut. And a new suit.”
“Will Elliott pay for all that, too?”
He grinned. “Yes.”
The worry in her expression returned.
She halted at the bed, a massive four-poster affair with too many pillows and ruffles to make a man comfortable.
But, then, if he were in it with Hannah, he wouldn’t care. Or even notice.
And he’d be damned comfortable.
His loins stirred; his yearning for her fired up again.
“I’d best be going,” he said, moving toward her despite his words to the contrary.
“When will you return?”
She backed into the mattress. With him at the front of her, she had nowhere to go.
But down.
The yearning flamed higher.
“I’ll be back at four,” he murmured.
“Okay.” She held herself very still, and her gaze had dropped to his mouth. He remembered what had happened the last time she looked at him that way. “Four o’clock.”
Her voice sounded husky. Breathless.
“Stay here,” he said, his head lowering a little. “Don’t let anyone in.”
“I won’t.”
He lowered even more. “No one except Loretta.”
“Loretta.”
She was whispering now. And trembling. And she kept looking at his mouth.
“Keep the door locked.” He was almost there, could already feel the softness of her luscious lips moving under his.
“I will.” She swallowed. Her eyelids drifted shut. Her chin tilted up just enough to meet him.
“I’ll lock it now, darlin’.” A plea crept into his voice. A pitiful, pathetic plea from a man aching to make love to his wife. “I don’t have to get that shave--.”
A knock sounded on the door.
“Hannah? This is Loretta. Your bath is ready.”
Quinn swore and drew back.
Hannah emitted a tiny squeak and twisted from him, like a delicate butterfly evading the net.
He raked a hand through his hair. The door opened, and Loretta, smiling, stepped in.
He snatched his Stetson from the bed.
“Four o’clock,” he snapped to Hannah. “And not a minute later.”
With that, he strode through the door and left both women gaping after him.
How in blazes was he supposed to keep his hands off her when she looked so damned beautiful?
Quinn kept asking himself that question as they walked down Polk Street. She sorely tested his restraints, fouled his mood, distracted him from his well-laid plans, and made him want to bed her right here on the boardwalk.
“Just look at us, Quinn.” From the crook of his elbow, Hannah’s gloved fingers tugged him to a stop. “The change in us is so . . . amazing.”
They paused in front of the large glass window of a millinery shop and stared at their reflections.
He grunted his agreement. They were a couple who turned heads and drew admiring glances, bringing them attention he’d rather not have.
Not yet, anyway.
The top of her head reached his shoulder, but her new hat, adorned with satin ribbons, flowers and a froth of feathers, made her appear taller. The edge of an Ottoman mantle brushed the flair of her hips and matched the striped silk of her gown, rich with the jewel tones of sapphire blue and emerald green.
Loretta couldn’t have picked a finer gown for Hannah. Its hues embellished the colors of her eyes, accented her skin; the cut of the dress fit her body to perfection.
Nothing could have made Hannah prettier--unless she was wearing nothing at all. Desire flickered anew within him.
Her fingers slid beneath the lapel of his jacket, tracing its shape, then smoothed it flat again.
“Have I told you how handsome you are, Mr. Landry?” she asked. “Black broadcloth suits and string ties become you.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he said gruffly.
He pulled her away from the window. She peered up at him and quickened her pace to match his.
“You’re cross with me,” she said. “Why?”
“If I thought you’d be agreeable to all I’m thinking, I’d tell you. Since you won’t be, there’s no point in discussing it.”
“Agreeable?” She appeared perplexed by his sour mood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if this has something to do with Loretta spending a sinful amount of money on my clothes--.”
“It doesn’t,’ he said. “I gave Loretta full rein to outfit you with all you needed. She did a damned fine job of it.”
“You are far too loose with Elliott’s money,” she sniffed.
“My money,” he said, annoyed. “And get used to it. I’ll be spending a lot more on you in the future.”
She clamped her mouth shut, her disapproval obvious.
He steered her around the corner, down one more block and across the street to a white frame building with clapboard siding. By the time they climbed the porch steps, Hannah’s breathing revealed her exertions to keep up.
She held back just enough to read the sign hanging from little hooks next to the door--Joseph Daniel Hartman, Attorney-at-Law--before Quinn opened it and nudged her inside. His tension eased as he stepped into his old friend’s office.
Jody. Thank God he was still here.
Jody’s longtime secretary sat at the desk Quinn doubted had ever been used by anyone else. Bernard made notations in a ledger, his hawk-like nose bent to the paper, his plain gray suit hanging, as ever, on his gaunt frame.
Quinn pulled his Stetson lower over his forehead. He had no intention of explaining his presence to the crotchety old man, not before he’d explained it to Jody first.
“Is Mr. Hartman in?” he asked, his tone crisp. Impatient to see his boyhood friend, Quinn kept walking toward his office.
“Yes, sir.” Bernard didn’t look up, his concentration snared on the last flourish of the word he was writing. “But he’s not to be disturbed.”
Quinn grasped the doorknob and turned. Before Bernard could push back his chair and protest, Quinn ushered Hannah inside, following close behind and latching the door after himself.
“What is it, Bernard?” Engrossed in work of his own, Jody’s blond head lifted with obvious irritation. He aimed his pen toward the inkwell.
And froze.
“Jesu
s.” The blood drained from his face. He blinked at Quinn once, twice.
The pen slipped from his fingers and upset the inkwell. Ink spread in a dark pool over the paper he’d been working on.
Jody swore. Viciously. He bolted to his feet and reached for more paper to dab up the mess, grabbed the nearest pile and plopped the entire sheaf on top to stop the flow.
He stared at Quinn, his jaw agape.
“Hope you didn’t ruin anything important,” Quinn drawled.
The door burst open.
“Mr. Hartman, I’m sorry. This gentleman had no right to simply barge in here--.”
Jody scrambled from his desk and grabbed the older man’s shoulders.
“Never mind, Bernard. I’ll talk to him,” he said shoving him out the door and slamming it shut. On an afterthought, he opened it again. “And I do not want to be disturbed. In fact, Bernard, take the rest of the afternoon off. I won’t be needing you any longer. Lock the office up when you leave. That’s a good boy. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He slammed the door shut a second time, grabbed a nearby chair and wedged it beneath the doorknob.
He whirled, his gaze fastening on Quinn.
“Christ, I thought you were dead,” he choked.
The last four years fell away then, and they clasped each other in a tight embrace. Emotion pushed up into Quinn’s throat, and he swallowed hard to contain it. After long moments, they separated.
“You have a helluva lot of explaining to do, Landry,” Jody said roughly. He’d lost none of his handsome looks nor his lean, muscular build and sharp, assessing eyes. “You lousy sonovabitch. And it better be a damned good story to make up for what you put me through.”
“Watch your language, Jody. There’s a woman present.”
Jody pivoted, his surprise at seeing Hannah obvious. He’d been so engrossed in Quinn he hadn’t noticed her until now.
A slow smile curved his lips. “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”
Jody always had a weakness for beautiful women. Quinn scowled at his appreciation of this one. “She’s my wife.”
“You’re lying.” He moved to Hannah, took her hand and kissed it, gallant as ever. “Tell me he’s lying, sweetheart.”
She smiled, charmed. “It’s true.”
She’d removed her gloves, Quinn noticed. Jody’s gaze dropped to the gold band she wore, and he sighed dramatically.
“Damn.” A reckless grin chased his disappointment. “But if you ever need a divorce, I am a lawyer, you know.”
Quinn rolled his eyes.
“Oh, my.” She appeared taken aback at the offer. “I--I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Please do.” His tawny eyes remained riveted on her like a smitten calf. “Do you have a name, pretty lady?”
“Of course.” She withdrew her hand and smiled. “It’s Hannah. And I assume you are--.”
He bowed low, then straightened. “Joseph Daniel Hartman. Joe D. Jody.” He grinned wide. “Get it?”
Her laughter tinkled in the room. “Very clever.”
“I have Elliott to thank for the appellation. He’s two years older than Quinn and me and ever since we were mere tots, he considered himself superior. Never liked my name, and so he simply changed it. Unfortunately, it stuck.” He grew serious. “Speaking of Elliott--.” He halted, glanced at Quinn. “Would either of you like a drink? Whiskey? Brandy?”
“Whiskey, thanks,” Quinn said, removing his new black felt Stetson and setting it on the corner of the desk.
“Brandy, please,” Hannah said.
“Good enough. Have a seat, and I’ll be right with you.”
Quinn pulled a pair of tapestry-covered arm chairs forward and arranged them in front of Jody’s desk. He held one out for Hannah, and after she settled in, he couldn’t resist stealing a quick kiss.
“No smooching between you two lovebirds,” Jody scolded, handing them each a crystal glass of their preference.
Hannah’s cheeks pinkened from her fluster. Quinn frowned.
Lovebirds? Hardly.
He took the whiskey and threw back a healthy swallow. After sitting in the chair next to Hannah, he took another and relished the burn sliding down his throat.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a drink this good.” He swirled the amber liquid and watched it spin against the crystal. “A helluva long time.”
From across his desk, Jody fastened his grim attention onto Quinn. And waited.
Quinn’s eyes lifted. “I thought you’d come for me, Jody. I counted on you.”
Slowly, Jody leaned forward.
“What?” he gasped.
“Of everyone--every damned friend, acquaintance and business associate I’d ever known, I thought you’d be the one to bail me out.”
“Of prison? Jesus!” Jody exploded. “I tried! Don’t you dare think I didn’t!”
Quinn remained unmoved.
“I was in Chicago for my cousin’s wedding, remember? I was gone two weeks. When I came back, Sarah had been dead and buried, you’d been tried, convicted and shipped out to God knew where.”
Yes, Quinn thought. It happened that fast.
Within hours.
“Elliott left right after you did. Took off to Mexico. To grieve, he said.” Jody sneered. “To grieve and spend Star L money on cheap tequila and even cheaper women, that’s what he did.”
Suddenly, he jumped up and strode to a wooden cabinet. Flinging open the doors, he withdrew a sheaf of papers.
“I wrote letters,” he said, tossing a copy of one on the desk. “Dozens of them.” He tossed another and another toward Quinn. “I wrote every goddamned jail in this state trying to find out where they’d taken you. The authorities all claimed you’d never been sent to them.”
Quinn didn’t glance at the letters. He didn’t have to. Jody had never lied to him.
Jody halted, his eyes narrowing. “Where did they send you?”
“New Mexico. To the territorial prison there.”
“New Mex--.” His cheeks paled, then flamed with fury. “I went there!”
“You what?” Quinn demanded, stunned.
Jody began to pace in agitation. “I took Bernard with me. If you want proof, just ask him. The New Mexico Territorial is the closest prison outside of Texas state lines. It was a wild shot. They never should have hauled you out of Texas, but I was checking every angle. Damn, damn, damn!”
Quinn leaned forward. “When did you go?”
“About five months after your arrest. It took that long to hear back from--.”
“And what happened when you got there? Who did you talk to?”
Jody raked a hand through his hair and started pacing again. “Some guard answered our knock. I demanded to talk to the warden, to ask him some questions. He finally met with us. His name was”--he squeezed his eyes closed, remembering--“Frank Briggs. Warden Frank Briggs.”
Quinn swore.
Hannah’s fingers flew to her mouth in dismay.
Jody’s gaze darted between the two of them. “He denied ever hearing of you. But you were there the whole time, weren’t you?”
Grimly, Quinn nodded.
“I tried to get past the warden’s office to check out the prison for myself, but the place was crawling with guards. A scar-faced one ended up throwing us out.”
Quinn exchanged a glance with Hannah.
“Titus,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Titus.”
Quinn finished off his whiskey in one gulp.
“It gave me the willies to be there,” Jody said, his tone horror-stricken. “The conditions were despicable, the people were appalling, and the smells . . ..” His pity clearly ran deep. “I was there only a few hours, and I had nightmares afterward. God, Quinn. You were there for four years.”
“Yeah, well, I lived to tell about it. That’s the main thing, isn’t it?” He rose, went to the liquor cabinet and refilled his glass.
Jody sat back down in his cha
ir. He steepled his fingers and regarded Hannah.
“How did you figure into all this, pretty lady?” he asked finally.
Her mouth curved. “In my husband’s desperation to escape the penitentiary, he took me hostage. Quite against my will, I might add.”
“Hostage!” Jody exclaimed, his brows arched high. He emitted a burst of quick laughter. “Brazen and downright ruthless!” He stared at her. “But what were you doing there?”
“I am--was--a novitiate at the convent located a few miles from the penitentiary. We went there to bring holiday baskets for the inmates, but also because graves were being dug, and Father Donovan was quite concerned--.”
“Wait a minute. Whoa.” Jody rubbed his forehead. “You’re a nun?”
“A novitiate,” Hannah corrected patiently.
“She took temporary vows,” Quinn added.
Jody stared at him in disbelief. “You stole a nun, and then you married her?” He threw back his head and laughed heartily. “That is too rich. Too rich.”
“And just what is so funny?” Quinn demanded.
“Half of the women in Amarillo were panting after you because you were the most eligible bachelor in the state, and then you’re convicted of murder and come back married to a nun!”
“Ours was not a normal courtship,” Hannah said hastily.
“And if you’d quit snickering long enough to hear the whole story, you’d know the truth of it.” Quinn scowled.
“Sorry.” Jody hid his broad smile behind his hand. “I’ll listen. I promise. Go on.”
They told him everything: Roger Fenwick’s drug experiments; Frank Briggs’ plan to blame Hannah for Sister Evangeline and Father Donovan’s deaths; Hannah and Quinn’s capture by Sophia Huerta; blowing up the pass; their marriage; and all the details in between.
By the time they finished, darkness had fallen and all traces of Jody’s humor had disappeared.
He sighed heavily. “And now you’re both running for your lives. What a mess.”
“It’s a mess, all right,” Quinn agreed.
“Damn Elliott for putting you through this,” said Jody, his features suddenly harsh. “He denied ever knowing where you were. He completely disowned you.” His fist pounded the desk top. “We’ll find a way to make things right again. I swear it. If it’s the last thing I do.”