by Jillian Hart
"Just up the hill. I can go with you if you'd like, when you interview them. You'll need to get all the information you can. I wouldn't want you to have to face five women all by yourself."
"Funny. I think I can manage it." Already dreading it, Zane handed over the empty cup, turning grim. Five women. He'd rather face a stampeding horde of armed outlaws by himself, unarmed and tied to a tree. But a debt was a debt. And if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was men who harmed women.
"Don't worry," he said, grabbing his hat and plopping it on his head. "I'll hunt down Craddock. Nothing on earth is going to stop me."
He opened the door and moseyed out into the rain. Icy cold drops slapped his face as he nodded goodbye to Milo, hiked across the boardwalk and down the steps into the sloppy muddy puddle that had grown around his parked buckboard.
Five women. Well, he really only needed to speak with the one. He glanced down the street at the place where he'd spotted Verbena McPhee. There was only an enormous mud puddle now, but he could still see her standing there, fuming. He winced, both at ruining her dress and at the way she'd berated him while he'd sat there, nearly tongue-tied. This job was going to be...well, interesting wasn't the right word. Maybe it was torture.
* * *
This was just what she needed, Verbena thought. What they all needed. Merry laughter and chatter rang in the air in the fancy dining room in McPhee Manor. She took a sip of milk, finishing off the glass, while beside her Magnolia was re-telling Tyler's proposal to a rapt Elise Hutchinson and Penelope Shalvis. She loved seeing everyone enjoying themselves.
"Wonderful," Elise was saying as she clasped her hands together, leaning back in her chair, beaming sincere happiness. "I had a feeling about the two of you at Sarah Combs's going away party. I'd never seen Tyler look at anyone the way he looked at you."
"I rather despised him then," Magnolia remembered fondly of the man she was now engaged to. "Those were good times."
"I've only met Tyler once." Penelope spoke up softly, shyly, pushing a strand of dark brown hair out of her eyes. "He seemed quite amiable. Like whatever the circumstance, he'd meet it with a smile and a positive attitude."
"That's Tyler. Eventually he won me over." Magnolia's blond locks tumbled into her face as she fidgeted in her chair, perhaps too overjoyed at the good turn in her life to sit still and ladylike. Typical. "Now I have to work on his parents. They don't like me very much."
"I can't think why," Penelope said comfortingly. "You're adorable."
"They just need to get to know you," Elise encouraged, her lovely face crinkling with thought. "Maybe I could help with that."
"That would be so nice of you," Rose leaned in to say and the conversation continued.
Verbena set down her empty glass, drinking in the scene. Nothing was more beautiful than the sight of her sisters merrily chatting away. Troubles forgotten, laughter peppering the air, happiness shining. This was the way she wanted her sisters' lives to be, especially with all the trouble Ernest had cost them. First in Chicago when she'd started having troubles with him and then here, when he'd stalked them.
She truly felt bad about that because she'd been the one who'd let him into the circle of her family. She'd been the one who'd exposed her beloved sisters to a dangerous man. Guilt arrowed deep, hurting worse than any physical pain.
"As soon as Tyler's crew is done with the renovations on the manor," Daisy was saying on the other side of the table, talking easily with Gemma Gunderson as if they'd been friends forever. "They are going to build onto Beckett's cottage down the hill. It should be done before the wedding, not that we've set a date yet."
"How exciting." Gemma leaned in to examine Daisy's left hand. "I love your engagement ring. It's beautiful."
"Let's have tea by the fire," Iris broke in gently, wrapping her arms around herself. "Brr. It's getting chilly. The temperature outside must be dropping."
"Great idea. I'll be happy to get the tea ready," Rose volunteered, bopping up out of her chair, lovely in a light lavender dress. "If everyone would like to huddle around the fire in the parlor, I'll bring out the tea."
"Thank you, it was a delicious lunch." Penelope rose elegantly out of her seat, glancing around the table to smile at each sister. The new schoolteacher was easy to like with her quiet charm and kindness. She began stacking the china plates neatly. "And your home is beautiful."
"We still aren't used to it," Verbena admitted, hopping to her feet to take the plates from their guest. No way should Penelope be cleaning up. "This time last year we were living in a low-rent boardinghouse."
"All in one room," Daisy added, her molasses hair gleaming in the lamplight.
"I had to sleep on the floor," Magnolia chimed in.
"We had a drafty fireplace in that corner room," Iris remembered, gathering up plates on her side of the table. "But it was large enough to fit all of us, even if we had to squeeze."
"That room was ice-cold in the winter," Rose remembered, her voice echoing from the kitchen. "Scorching in summer."
"We didn't mind inheriting a house like this," Verbena summed up, adding another plate to the pile she held. "It still feels like it's someone else's house though, and the real owner will come in any minute and kick us out."
"It does feel like that," Magnolia agreed as she led Elise and Penelope through the open French doors and into the parlor. "Although the exciting part is that for the first time, we will each have our own bedroom. When the construction is finished, that is. Can't wait. Did either of you have to share with a sister?"
"I'm an only child," Elise answered, her voice muffled coming from the adjacent room.
"Let me take those," Iris said, suddenly at Verbena's side. She tugged the plates out of her grip. "Two of our guests are alone with Magnolia. Go rescue them."
"A really good idea," Verbena couldn’t help joking just as a knock banged on the front door.
"Oh," Iris added over her shoulder, marching briskly toward the kitchen. "That would be Maebry. Would you let her in?"
"I'd love to." Verbena adored Maebry. At twenty, Maebry was only a year younger, and they had a lot in common. Feeling lighter, buoyed by the happiness in the room, Verbena hurried down the hall to the front door. Already, she was thinking of the fun yet to come, an afternoon of sewing and talking with friends--totally normal and wonderful things, things that would make it seem as if Ernest wasn't a factor, as if he was no threat at all.
That's what she wanted. To live her life, to have everything go on as normal, so that Ernest and his hatred, or whatever it was that drove him, had no effect. No power. He would be rendered unimportant, insignificant, irrelevant. Determined, she grabbed the ornate doorknob and gave it a turn.
"Maebry--" She greeted, expecting to see the sweet blond newlywed on their front porch, sewing basket in hand. But no, a dark shadow fell across her, the hulking form of a man frowned down at her with a gun strapped on both hips and a rifle in hand. A black Stetson shaded his square, granite face. A day's growth darkened his strong jaw. His gray eyes shuttered the moment she recognized him.
The mud puddle man.
Chapter Four
Her grip tightened on her cane. Irrational, surprising anger rolled up out of nowhere. She'd been happy and relaxed one minute, and now fury gripped her. What was he doing here? Why had he hunted her down? And what if he looked at her with pity again? She set her chin, peering up at him. "What are you doing here? Come to ruin another dress?"
The corner of his mouth hitched up a smidge. "Tempting, but I'm here on business."
"Where's Burton?" She asked, trying to glance around the stranger's intimidating size to the porch behind him. Impossible to do, but she couldn’t help worrying. "He's supposed to be guarding the door."
"He let me by." The well-armed, brawny stranger's baritone came clipped, emotionless, his gaze an inscrutable, remote stare. He had to be more than several inches over six feet. Maybe the biggest man she'd ever seen. Pure muscle, hard as nails.<
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"The sheriff sent me." His chiseled mouth twisted down in one corner. "I'm the bounty hunter. I've come to hunt down Ernest Craddock."
"Oh." She felt punched. Hearing Ernest's name was one thing, it sent up a jitter of emotions, but remembering how she'd treated this man, the one who'd come to help. She'd scolded him, she'd waved her cane at him. Embarrassed, she stared up at him with dread. "You're the bounty hunter?"
"Yeah, I'm not thrilled about it either." The corner of his mouth quirked up this time. "You were expecting me, right?"
"Not for a while." She grabbed the doorframe to steady herself. "Milo said it could be a month or more, depending."
"I was in the area," he said simply, adjusting the rifle he held. He had a hard face, carved granite angles and sculpted high cheekbones. Creases around his cold eyes and expressive mouth added character. In all, an extremely good-looking man.
Not that she was affected by his handsomeness, of course. It was just an objective, casual observation.
"The name's Reed. Zane Reed." He slung the rifle over his shoulder and moved in. "I need to speak to you."
"Me?" She hopped backward into the foyer, needing a little space, a little air. He felt far too close, the mammoth size of him. Muscles shaped the line of his black duster, testifying to his superior physical power.
"You were the one kidnapped, right?" His gruff voice gentled a bit. "The sheriff told me Craddock is an old beau of yours. So we need to talk. I need information."
"Of course." Her hands shook, making it hard to grip her cane properly. She eased back and bumped into the wall. Since she was there, she leaned against it, dragging her gaze to the open French doors and the parlor beyond where her sisters and friends were busily chatting. "But I'm afraid we have company over."
"I can come back, but if you want me to start right away--"
"I do." If he didn't have a gentle, almost understanding lilt to his voice, this would be easier. If he were the kind of man she'd thought he was when she'd blown up at him in the street today, she wouldn't be blushing. She wouldn't feel so off balance. "We could speak in the library."
"I suppose I could survive that." Dry humor rang in those words as he thumped through the doorway, shrinking the size of the foyer. He closed the door behind him and swept off his hat, rainwater dripping. "This won't take long."
"Good." She gestured toward a set of doors farther down the ornate hallway. "Let's get this over with."
"My sentiments exactly." His boots knelled against the red oak floor. He glanced around, taking in the high coved ceilings, the fancy wallpaper, the gloss of red oak floors. A woman with a strong family resemblance to Verbena stepped into the doorway at the left.
"What's going on?" she wanted to know, big blue eyes focused on him. "Oh, you are the guy from the buckboard."
"The bounty hunter," he told her, aware of Verbena ahead of him, waiting in the hallway. She didn't exactly look at him. The lamplight shone on her, emphasizing her bruises.
"The bounty hunter?" yet another woman asked, coming to stare out at him. This one was a strawberry blond and betrayed a hint of fear when she spotted him.
Not unexpected. He shrugged. Feeling like a giant, he towered above the rest of the women coming up to look at him. Much more than the promised five. He blushed, feeling too rough, too uncivilized. Instinct told him to back up, head outside, get some space but he stood his ground.
"Well, this is good news." Even with fear in her eyes, the strawberry blond gave a little sigh, as if with relief. "We are grateful to have you here, Mr. Reed. The sheriff told me all about you. That you will be able to do what he can't."
"Milo's obligations are to the whole town, every citizen," he said, gripping his rifle, needing to defend his friend. "His duty to them has to come first. I have no such restrictions. When I hunt someone, nothing stands in my way. I don't stop until the job is done."
"Just the man we need, then." Verbena's cane tapped against the floor as she opened one of the closed doors. "Excuse us for a moment. Mr. Reed and I need to talk."
"Leave the door open," the strawberry blond ordered, turned on her heal and retreated back down the hall with a swish of her blue skirts.
Zane stood there, his chest all tangled up with knots, making it hard to breath. He didn't like so many women staring up at him, wide-eyed at his guns, taking in his rough appearance. He couldn’t help how he looked, he was who he was. He'd learned to accept that a long time ago.
Thump, thump, thump . Verbena's pink dress ruffle swished behind her as she crossed the room. Slender shoulders, tiny waist, slim flare of her skirt. From behind she looked little and vulnerable. His gut clenched at the strip of purple bruise at the back of her slender neck, just above her dress collar. Little strands of reddish brown hair curled at her nape, wisping over the injury. He'd seen those marks before. Someone had gagged her hard or had half-strangled her to control her. His chest squeezed in sympathy, fueled his determination to protect her and her family. He followed her into the room, where it was only the two of them.
"Well, Mr. Reed, come sit." Verbena reached an overstuffed sofa in the center of an airy, impressive library. "Make yourself comfortable."
"This is a nice home you have here." He felt out of place, like a shadow in a room full of light. Walls of bookcases rose from the carpeted floor to the high coved ceiling. Big windows let in lots of gray daylight and views of the rainy landscape. Mountains and hills, valleys and meadows. He leaned his rifle against the wall by the door and eased deeper into the room.
"Thank you. We inherited it. It feels pretty grand for us, but we're managing to adjust." She settled on the pretty sofa and leaned her cane against the nearby end table. In dainty pink calico, she looked soft and kind, contrite. When she raised her jeweled blue eyes to his, remorse shadowed her gaze. "Again, I'm sorry about how I treated you in town. I don't know what came over me. I'm not usually like that. In fact, I'm never like that."
"I ruined your dress." He shrugged, crossed in front of the window, heading toward the comforting heat radiating from that big river rock fireplace. Lively flames crackled and danced, and it felt good since he'd only had time to half-thaw while in the sheriff's office.
"It was only a dress." She hung her head. Wisps of her rich, lustrous hair fell forward, into her eyes, framing her china-doll face. "Dresses can be cleaned, repaired, replaced. They don't matter, not really. I'm truly sorry. I should give your money back."
"Don't bother." He bit the inside of his mouth because he was in danger of losing the harsh grimace he liked to wear. A bounty hunter had to keep his tough reputation. She really was very cute. "I did the crime, so I'll take the consequences."
"I'm trying not to be stressed by all of this, but unfortunately it's not a mind over matter kind of a thing." She heaved out a troubled sigh. The unhappiness twisting across her face said more than her words ever could. She bit her bottom lip, perhaps not knowing what more to say. "This is affecting me more than I'd like."
"Perfectly natural." He held out his hands to the fire, let the heat wash over him, feeling sorry for the girl. "You took quite a beating judging by the bruises all over your face."
"Right." One hand flew to her face, as if she'd tried to forget about them, block them out. Her fingertips brushed at a particularly bad bruise along the line of her sculpted jawbone. The shadows in her eyes deepened. "That was a bad night."
"I've been filled in." He turned around in front of the fireplace, heating up his back. "I know Craddock and a second man attacked the guards around the house at night, left one for dead, but the other escaped and went for help. Craddock broke in and took you and a sister. You wound up in a line shack just up the mountain from here, where they found you just in time."
She squeezed her eyes shut. The hand at her jawbone began to shake and she let it fall to her lap, seemed to pull herself together. She did a good job, she was steady in spite of what she'd gone through. When she opened her eyes, no sign of tears. "Yes, he would
have raped and killed me. He said that he'd never go anywhere without me unless he sent me there first."
"Milo was right to bring me in." That much was clear. Craddock had followed the sisters all the way to Montana, he'd hid successfully from intense searches, he'd escaped Milo twice--and Milo was a fine lawman. "I promise you, Miss McPhee, I'll catch this Craddock fellow. I won't let him hurt you again."
"That's a relief." Her throat worked, as if she were wrestling with emotions and trying to hold them back. "I'm very grateful."
"Don't be. I hunt criminals. It's what I do," he said gruffly, with an off-hand shrug, because he didn't want anyone to be beholden to him. And, if he let himself admit it, it was the best way to ward off the twist of something deep in his chest--something that felt strangely like softer feelings. He'd given up on those long ago. "No thanks necessary. I'll get this taken care of for you. I have a few questions--"
"You must be cold," she interrupted, standing abruptly, tears glimmered in her eyes but did not fall. She looked like a woman with complicated emotions, so he didn't dare guess why the tears. He just watched her seize her cane and limp around the couch. Her mouth twisted upwards in the corners, an attempt at a polite smile. "I'll be right back."
"Sure." She needed a minute, and he was good with that. He tried to avoid crying women. Nothing made him more uncomfortable and in truth, feel more inadequate, than a lady's tears. He had no notion what to do, no practice in the fine art of comforting. His life was too rough and harsh to have learned anything like that--and always would be.
While she was gone, he took a minute to glean what he could about the family. He'd never seen so many books, lining those walls of shelving, including dime novels and that made him almost grin. He was prone to reading those, too. Frilly little pillows decorated everything--the chairs, the sofas, the window seats. Spotlessly clean. Everything perfectly in place. The ladies' voices from across the hall rang pleasantly--a merry drone of lilting conversations and occasional laughter. Whatever threat the women felt, they weren't cowering in fear. That said something, too.