She fought the urge to turn around in the surging throng of people, go find him and demand he give it back. But she knew she couldn’t do that for fear of being arrested. Or worse. So much for the bracelet bringing her luck, she thought, heart heavy. She had no choice but to continue moving as she was swept up in the flowing crowd. Maybe she could find a high spot where she could spot her mark. And then what?
Mariah figured she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. Pulling off her scarf, she shoved it into her pocket. It was a great device for misdirection—normally—but now it would be a dead giveaway.
Ahead, she spotted stairs and quickly climbed half a dozen steps at the front of a bank to stop and look back.
The street was a sea of cowboy hats. One cowboy looked like another to her. How would she ever be able to find him—let alone get her bracelet back given that by now he would know what she’d been up to? She hadn’t even gotten a good look at him. Shaken and disheartened, she told herself she would do whatever it took. She desperately needed that bracelet back—and not just for luck or sentimental reasons. It was her ace in the hole.
Two teenagers passed, arguing over which one of them got the free T-shirt they’d scored. She thought of the cowboy she’d seen earlier up on the stage, the one throwing the T-shirts. He’d looked right at her. Their gazes had met and she’d felt as if he had seen into her dark heart—if not her soul.
No wonder she’d blown a simple pick. She was rusty at this, clearly, but there had been a time when she could recall each of her marks with clarity. She closed her eyes. Nothing. Squeezing them tighter, she concentrated.
With a start, she recalled that his cowboy hat had been a light gray. She focused on her mark’s other physical attributes. Long legs clad in denim, slim hips, muscular thighs, broad shoulders. A very nice behind. She shook off that image. A jean jacket over a pale blue checked shirt. Her pickpocketing might not be up to par, but at least there was nothing wrong with her memory, she thought as she opened her eyes and again scanned the crowd. Her uncle had taught her well.
But she needed more. She closed her eyes again. She’d gotten only a glimpse of his face when he’d grabbed first her scarf and then her arm. Her eyes flew open as she had a thought. He must have been on to to her immediately. Had she botched the pick that badly? She really was out of practice.
She closed her eyes again and tried to concentrate over the sound of the two teens still arguing over the T-shirt. Yes, she’d seen his face. A handsome, rugged face and pale eyes. Not blue. No. Gray? Yes. With a start she realized where she’d seen him before. It was the man from the bandstand, the one who’d thrown the T-shirt and hit her. She was sure of it.
“Excuse me, I’ll buy that T-shirt from you,” she said, catching up to the two teens as they took their squabble off toward a burger stand.
They both turned to look at her in surprise. “It’s not for sale,” said one.
The other asked, “How much?”
“Ten bucks.”
“No way.”
“You got it for free,” Mariah pointed out, only to have both girls’ faces freeze in stubborn determination.
“Fine, twenty.”
“Make it thirty,” the greedier of the two said.
She shook her head as she dug out the money. Her grandmother would have given them the evil eye. Or threatened to put some kind of curse on them. “You’re thieves, you know that?” she said as she grabbed the T-shirt before they could take off with it and her money.
Escaping down one of the side streets, she finally got a good look at what was printed across the front of the T-shirt. Stagecoach Saloon, Gilt Edge, Montana.
* * *
LILLIE CAHILL HESITATED at the back door of the Stagecoach Saloon. It had been a stagecoach stop back in the 1800s when gold had been coming out of the mine at Gilt Edge. Each stone in the saloon’s walls, like each of the old wooden floorboards inside, had a story. She’d often wished the building could talk.
When the old stagecoach stop had come on the market, she had jumped at purchasing it, determined to save the historical two-story stone building. It had been her twin’s idea to open a bar and café. She’d been skeptical at first, but trusted Darby’s instincts. The place had taken off.
Lately, she felt sad just looking at the place.
Until recently, she’d lived upstairs in the remodeled apartment. She’d moved in when they bought the old building and had made it hers by collecting a mix of furnishings from garage sales and junk shops. This had not just been her home. It was her heart, she thought, eyes misting as she remembered the day she’d moved out.
Since her engagement to Trask Beaumont and the completion of their home on the ranch, she’d given up her apartment to her twin, Darby. He had been living in a cabin not far from the bar, but he’d jumped at the chance to live upstairs.
Now she glanced toward the back window. The curtains were some she’d left when she’d moved out. One of them flapped in the wind. Darby must have left the window open. She hadn’t been up there to see what he’d done with the place. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, since she’d moved most everything out, leaving it pretty much a blank slate. She thought it might still be a blank slate, knowing her brother.
Pushing open the back door into the bar kitchen, she was met with the most wonderful of familiar scents. Fortunately, not everything had changed in her life, she thought, her mood picking up some as she entered the warm café kitchen.
“Tell me those are your famous enchiladas,” she said to Billie Dee, their heavyset, fiftysomething Texas cook.
“You know it, sugar,” the cook said with a laugh. “You want me to dish you up a plate? I’ve got homemade pinto beans and some Spanish rice like you’ve never tasted.”
“You mean hotter than I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh, you Montanans. I’ll toughen you up yet.”
Lillie laughed. “I’d love a plate.” She pulled out a chair at the table where the help usually ate in the kitchen and watched Billie Dee fill two plates.
“So how are the wedding plans coming along?” the cook asked as she joined her at the table.
“I thought a simple wedding here with family and friends would be a cinch,” Lillie said as she took a bite of the enchilada. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sweet and then hot bite of peppers before all the other flavors hit her. She groaned softly. “These are the best you’ve ever made.”
“Bless your heart,” Billie Dee said, smiling. “I take it the wedding has gotten more complicated?”
“I can’t get married without my father and who knows when he’ll be coming out of the mountains.” Their father, Ely Cahill, was a true mountain man now who spent most of the year up in the mountains either panning for gold or living off the land. He’d given up ranching after their mother had died and had turned the business over to her brothers Hawk and Cyrus.
Their oldest brother, Tucker, had taken off at eighteen. They hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Their father was the only one who wasn’t worried about him.
Tuck needs space. He’s gone off to find himself. He’ll come home when he’s ready, Ely had said.
The rest of the family hadn’t been so convinced. But if Tuck was anything like their father, they would have heard something from the cops. Ely had a bad habit of coming out of the mountains thirsty for whiskey—and ending up in their brother Sheriff Flint Cahill’s jail. Who knew where Tuck was. Lillie didn’t worry about him. She had four other brothers to deal with right here in Gilt Edge.
“I can see somethin’s botherin’ you,” Billie Dee said now.
Lillie nodded. “Trask insists we wait to get married since he hopes to have the finishing touches on the house so we can have the reception there.”
Trask, the only man she’d ever loved, had come back into her life a
fter so many years that she’d thought she’d never see him again. But they’d found their way back together and now he was building a house for them on the ranch he’d bought not far from the bar.
“Waitin’ sounds reasonable,” the cook said between bites.
“I wish we’d eloped.”
“Something tells me the wedding isn’t the problem,” Billie Dee said, using her fork to punctuate her words.
“I’ll admit it’s been hard giving up my apartment upstairs. I put so much love into it.”
“Darby will take good care of it.”
Don’t miss
OUTLAW’S HONOR,
available June 2017 wherever
HQN Books and ebooks are sold.
www.Harlequin.com
Copyright © 2017 by Barbara Heinlein
“I know your secret. I’m going to tell.”
As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose—a gorgeous husband, a beautiful baby, and a picture-perfect house in the Hamptons. And now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one...
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the first episode of
TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Prologue
The clouds gather thick and furious, shutting out the sun.
The smell of ozone is intense, warning me more effectively than the grumbling thunder. A storm is coming—a big one, perhaps the worst we’ve had in years.
The thought of Elliot gets me moving.
Elliot, with his soft skin and plump cheeks, the darling dimples at his elbows. Just four months old.
An image of another baby, another time, creeps into my mind, but I push it away, stumbling on the damp sand. The nightgown my husband is enamored with twists and turns in the growing wind, tangling between my thighs. I long to tear off the slick fabric, but I don’t dare take the time. I have to find my child.
“Elliot!” I scream his name even though he is too young to answer.
The thunder makes a mockery of my cries, stealing my breath before I can try again.
It’s no use, anyway.
The beach is empty.
Waves throw themselves at the shore again and again, churning themselves into foam.
The ocean fizzes around my ankles and I climb farther up the shore to keep from getting dragged into the angry water. My foot comes down on a broken shell, but I ignore the pain as it cuts through the skin. The agony that swells in my chest at the thought of losing my son is far worse than the throb of my wounded heel.
I can’t lose him—he’s everything.
Please don’t hurt him. Not Elliot. He’s so innocent...
But all babies are innocent, aren’t they?
The rain, when it comes, is as enraged as the ocean, and I’m soaked through in an instant. I can’t bear the thought of my sweet little boy in this downpour. He doesn’t have his jacket. The image of Elliot, shivering and turning blue in his little sleeper, drives me forward. My eyes strain to see in the dim light, every breath I take ending in a cry for my missing child.
I can’t leave him out here; I can’t.
Then I realize the beach isn’t empty.
There is someone standing by the rocks, watching me.
Waiting for me...
“Elliot!”
My scream travels farther this time, echoing through the storm. Strength I didn’t know I had floods my legs, and I run faster.
As I picture my missing son and how wonderful it will feel to wrap my arms around him again, I give no thought to my own safety.
I run toward the dark figure on the beach.
Sarah
I tilt my head and let the sun caress my face, resisting the urge to close my eyes. Elliot burbles on my chest, and I stroke the soft blond down on his head.
“Lucky baby,” I whisper. “Look what a handsome man your father is.”
Sometimes it’s difficult to believe how lucky we both are. Warwick is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—it’s still hard to believe he’s my husband. He grins at me now, flashing the kind of teeth most people will never achieve without hours in a dentist’s chair. His father catches Warwick smiling at me and gives him a friendly nudge.
“Pay attention, son. We don’t want to burn the steaks.” My husband returns his attention to the grill. It’s a gorgeous day, perfect for relaxing on the veranda of our East Hamptons home.
Edward Taylor-Cox winks at me and the good-natured jostling between father and son continues. Though Edward’s hair is silver and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles, he is still movie-star handsome. Warwick is destined to age well. I am a lucky woman indeed.
Lucky, lucky, lucky...
One of our maids breaks my reverie. “More iced tea, miss?”
I hadn’t noticed my glass was empty. This is the first truly nice weather we’ve had in weeks. Too bad House Beautiful couldn’t have come today, instead of last Thursday when it was raining. “Yes, please.” I hand Emily my sweating glass.
“She’ll have plain water,” Warwick’s mother says with a frown. “Too much caffeine is bad for the baby.”
“But I’m not—”
I was about to admit I’m not nursing, but close my mouth with a snap, nearly biting my tongue. Eleanor would remind me that breastfeeding is the best gift I could give my child, and while that may be true, she isn’t the one who has to fight with Elliot. I’m still trying, but if he prefers a bottle, what’s the harm?
Emily hesitates, holding my glass steady on her tray, as her eyes flick from Eleanor’s to mine. Feeling sorry for her, I decide to end the impasse. “Water would be lovely. Thank you.”
“And not too much ice, either. Cold water is bad for the system,” my mother-in-law adds, tucking her pristine platinum bob behind an ear.
Emily nods, anxious to leave the patio. “Yes, ma’am.” She performs an awkward little bow-curtsy combo before scurrying away, something she only does in deference to my mother-in-law.
The annoyance must have shown on my face, for Eleanor widens her eyes, the picture of innocence. “What? I’m only trying to help. You have to take care of yourself, Sarah. You’re a mother now.” She touches my baby’s head. “What a darling boy. He’s beginning to resemble Warwick more every day, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he is.” Privately, I think Elliot resembles me, especially around the lips and eyes. His coloring could have come from either of us. I’m blonde, as well, though my hair is a shade darker than my husband’s. Only time will tell whom Elliot takes after.
Be nice. She’s trying, and she’s been good to you—and your son.
“So we’ve agreed. Elliot’s christening party will be included as part of our summer gathering this year.” Eleanor plucks invisible lint from her white linen suit. She’s the only person I know who wears a suit in this heat, but I’ve never seen her perspire. My son has more visible pores than she does. “The guest lists should be compatible, so I don’t foresee any difficulties.”
The Taylor-Coxes are American royalty. Their East Hamptons home is even more luxurious than ours, and it’s close enough that it will be easy to shuttle Elliot back and forth during the party. Eleanor’s offer is meant to be generous, and certainly our friends will be impressed.
“If you’re sure...it’s a lot of trouble for you.” I hope my tone conveys the proper gratitude.
It could have been left at that. We could have enjoyed the gorgeous day, eating the glorious food Edward and Warwick grilled for us, and then stretched out for a nice long nap.
But of course Eleanor has to go too far.
“Your family must attend this time, Sarah—I insist.” Her lips purse in
to a moue of displeasure. Seeing her expression, Emily hurriedly hands me a glass of tepid water before vanishing into the house again. “It’s getting ridiculous. Why do they have such an aversion to us? People will talk.”
I shoot a pleading look at Warwick and his father, but they’re studiously ignoring us, piling steaming steaks on a platter. Once again, I’m left to fight my own battle.
“It’s not that. They’d love to meet you.” Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to be patient. It’s not Eleanor’s fault—my family situation must seem strange to outsiders. “They’re just very busy. I don’t even know where my sister is half the time. She’s always out of the country.”
“It’s not right we haven’t gotten a chance to meet them,” Eleanor says, her brow furrowing with a disapproving expression I am all too familiar with. “They weren’t even at the wedding, for God’s sake. What kind of people miss their own daughter’s wedding? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hiding something.”
I choke on a mouthful of water, soaking the collar of my sundress and narrowly missing my son, who gurgles in his sleep. “Hiding something? What on earth would I be hiding?”
Warwick stops joking around with his father. Their little haven by the barbecue falls silent. I can feel their eyes burn into me as they watch the show.
“Well, I certainly don’t know, do I?” Eleanor hands me a napkin. “You’ve always been so mysterious, Sarah.”
My cheeks grow hot. “I’m not mysterious. It’s just—”
“All right, all right, that’s enough.” Warwick comes over and plants a kiss on the top of his mother’s head. “At ease, Mother.”
She swats at him, but I can tell she’s flattered by his attention. Her Ice Queen exterior softens. Only her darling son gets away with mussing her hair.
Good. Maybe now she’ll lay off, let me get some rest. Maybe Warwick will have a heart and tell her I’m exhausted, that Elliot has been waking up every hour on the hour and when I try to breastfeed it takes him forever to latch on.
No such luck.
Cavanaugh Standoff Page 23