by Nancy Bush
“I’ll explain later. I’m no friend of Montana Gray’s, Mr. Danner,” he said, his voice sounding like watery ripples on a pool as Jesse lost consciousness again.
Jesse woke the second time to a rolling movement. The ship was under sail. He wondered helplessly if, after everything else, he was being shanghaied. But who would want him? He was useless and would be for a long while.
A sudden memory of the other torture Montana’s men had planned made him struggle upward in fear. Hands pushed him back down, firmly but gently. “Don’t move too fast,” the now-familiar voice said.
“Who are you?” Jesse demanded more clearly.
“Ezekiel Thomas Drummond. My friends call me Zeke.”
“Tell me—Zeke — besides my face, what other parts have been damaged?” Jesse felt no pain other than in his hands, and that’s what scared him.
“You’re all in one piece,” Zeke assured him.
“Everywhere?”
“Gray did a nasty job on your face. That’s all.” He paused. “You were lucky,” he added roughly, something in his tone suggesting someone else had not been so fortunate.
Relief washed over Jesse. He moved slightly and realized belatedly that he did have feeling elsewhere. Only his face was numb. “I can’t see anything. I want to take this bandage off.”
“There’s nothing to see. We’re on our way to San Francisco, courtesy of Montana Gray.”
“He’s paid you to take me to San Francisco?”
“No. I took the liberty of adding you to the passenger list. Gray thinks you’re dead.”
“You — saved me?”
“I fished you from the Willamette River and brought you on board. The ship’s doctor was appalled at what they’d done to you. No one knows Montana’s responsible but me. If Montana finds you again, my friend, he’ll make certain you die. I figured the safest place for you was right under his nose, so I brought you here.”
“What have you got against Gray?”
There was a weighty pause. “We have a score to settle,” was Zeke’s cold answer.
“Stand in line,” Jesse muttered.
Zeke laughed without humor. He tucked the blanket close to Jesse’s neck. There was something about the way he did that that sent warning shivers down Jesse’s nerves. “Are you a girly boy, Zeke?”
“Certainly not!” he declared, snatching his hands back indignantly.
“Because I don’t give a damn if you are. If you saved me, I’ll lay down my life for you. But if you touch me, I’ll kill you as soon as I’m able.”
“You really don’t know when you’re at a disadvantage, do you?” Zeke asked with reluctant admiration.
Jesse sighed. “Another Danner curse,” he muttered, sinking into oblivion once more.
Chapter One
Portland, Oregon
May 1897
The carriage rocked slowly down the alder-lined road, moonlight bright upon the ground. Kelsey Garrett stared out the window, coldly ignoring her companion, wishing to high heaven the driver would speed up this carriage and get her home.
She felt a hand steal over hers and fought down a wave of revulsion and irritation. It wasn’t that Tyrone McNamara was repulsive. On the contrary, he was attractive, humorous, and wealthy. But he was used to having his own way, and Kelsey couldn’t stand men who treated her as if she had no brain. Oh, why had Charlotte talked her into accepting his invitation?
Because Charlotte’s a dreamy romantic, she reminded herself. Luckily, Kelsey suffered no such illusions. Her derringer was in her black-beaded reticule. If Tyrone made a move toward her, she would shoot him right through the bag.
“Did you have a good time, Orchid?” he asked indulgently.
Orchid was Kelsey’s middle name. No one knew her first name. Not even Charlotte, or Charlotte’s wonderful grandmother, Lady Agatha Chamberlain, who was as starch and upright as her British heritage. And for purposes of keeping her true identity a secret, Kelsey had misled all and sundry into believing her last name was Simpson, not Garrett.
“I had an interesting evening,” Kelsey answered. Lord sakes, his hand was growing hot. It wasn’t all that warm in the carriage. From the way his eyes had caressed her figure all evening, she imagined his palm was wet with sweat from emotions she didn’t want to consider. She was glad for the barrier of her gloves.
Tugging her cloak more closely to her body, Kelsey tried to slip her hand free. But Tyrone held on. Was he one of those who couldn’t back down from a challenge? Probably. She knew, as Charlotte’s companion, and Lady Chamberlain’s favored friend, that the men of Portland society were intrigued by her. She was a mystery. She’d even heard one of Tyrone’s friends describe her: “Orchid Simpson, beautiful, chilly, and as old a spinster as my aunt was before she took her first lover. Fair game, friends. I’ll wager I can bed her before the rest of you.”
Of course they hadn’t meant her to overhear. But she’d been warned, and the fact that they considered a single woman sport decreased her already low opinion of men. She inwardly snorted. She should have married Harrison Danner when she had the chance. At least he’d seen her as more than a bedmate. But of course, then she’d been deluded into believing she should marry for love and honor and happiness. Hah. Men didn’t understand those words.
Neither, anymore, did she.
“My town house is right up the street,” Tyrone said smoothly. “Would you like to come in for a few minutes?”
They were nearing Lady Chamberlain’s sweeping drive. Kelsey slid Tyrone a look out of the corners of her eyes. “Would we be alone?”
“Assuredly. I can just hail the driver and –”
Kelsey laid a hand on his arm, stopping him from rapping his cane against the carriage ceiling. He looked at her hand in surprise, his face lighting with expectation.
“I’m going home,” she said, dashing his hopes. “Good night, Tyrone.”
“You’re a hard woman, Orchid. I swear, has no man ever even kissed you?”
“I’ve been kissed.” She slipped the beaded bag from her wrist and unsnapped the clasp. She didn’t want to have to display her skill with a weapon to him. Wouldn’t that fuel the gossip surrounding her. On the other hand, no man would want to admit that a woman had held him at gunpoint. She was probably safe.
But she was right about Tyrone’s intentions, for he suddenly grabbed her, grinding his mouth down on hers. She let him for several seconds, curling her own lips back.
“You haven’t been kissed by a real man,” he told her, his breath scented with whiskey. “That’s what you need.”
“What I need is for you to unhand me. Do it quickly, or I’ll be forced to take drastic measures.”
“What would those drastic measures be?”
“I might be forced to shoot you, Mr. McNamara. And what I aim at, I usually hit.”
He laughed. “Is that right?”
Kelsey merely smiled. He would undoubtedly be amazed that it was her prowess with the gun that had first brought her to Lady Chamberlain’s attention. They’d all been standing on the platform waiting for the train to Seattle when a thief stole the purse of the woman standing next to Kelsey. He then shot the woman’s companion, an elderly gentleman, as he tried to make good his escape. Amid screams and panic Kelsey calmly pulled out her own pistol. She waited until she had a clear shot, then pulled the trigger, her bullet hitting the startled robber’s gun from his hand.
She hadn’t thought too much about it at the time. She’d grown up with a rifle and had never considered what effect shooting a man might have on city people. They were shocked! Astounded! Frightened! All except Lady Chamberlain, who turned to Kelsey and said simply, “I like a woman who knows how to defend herself. If you’re looking for employment, miss, I’m looking for a suitable companion for my granddaughter.”
Of course, most people wouldn’t consider a gunslinging woman a suitable companion, but Lady Chamberlain was not most people. She was practicality itself. She knew her granddaughter
would be susceptible to every fortune-hunting male around as soon as she came of age. Being in her seventies, Lady Chamberlain could protect her only so much. And she hated the thought of male bodyguards. Kelsey, or Orchid, as she had given her name to Lady Chamberlain, was “sent from heaven.”
It bothered Kelsey a little that she’d falsified her identity. But she was bound and determined that her brother, Jason, and his despicable wife, Emerald, never find her. Rock Springs was only about thirty miles from Portland, after all, and news of one Kelsey Garrett could travel to Jace’s ears fairly quickly. That was in fact why Kelsey had been heading to Seattle. She needed to put distance between herself and her power-wielding family.
But Agatha Chamberlain’s offer had been too good to resist because Kelsey, above all else, wanted to find someone whom she could trust. Someone who believed in her. Lady Chamberlain had seen her at her worst, at least in society’s eyes, and had applauded her for it. Kelsey had hired on as Charlotte’s companion that very day.
The position had eased her loneliness. She’d left home in a fury, angry with her brother and his wretched, scheming wife, determined to make a life for herself somewhere else. She had two companions: her game little mare, Sadie Mae, and her rangy mutt, Maggie. But on Kelsey’s first night riding alone she’d been accosted by two men who’d attempted to rob and kidnap her. She’d fired at them, and they’d returned fire, and Sadie Mae had bolted, Kelsey clinging to her like a burr. They rapidly outdistanced their pursuers and then Sadie Mae leapt over a narrow ravine, misjudged the distance, and stumbled. She went down, headfirst, throwing Kelsey in the process. Dazed, Kelsey awoke to the sound of pounding hoofbeats and jangling bridles – her pursuers. Before she could even understand what was happening, Maggie shot like a streak into the fray, growling and snapping viciously. She bit the nearest man in the ankle and he howled with pain and rage. A blast and the burning scent of cordite punctuated the end of Maggie’s life.
After that Kelsey heard Sadie Mae thrashing and moaning in the ravine below, then merciful silence. The first of the men’s horses cleared the ravine. Through a sheen of cold tears Kelsey took careful aim. She had to force herself not to murder him in return. She blasted him in the arm, then the leg. Shrieking with pain, he raced away. The other man stayed on his side of the ravine.
Throughout that cold night Kelsey lay utterly still, waiting for one of them to return. The uninjured one did, just before dawn. Kelsey had lost her dog and her horse. She didn’t feel inclined toward mercy. She leveled her rifle at the man’s heart.
And then he smiled at her, raising a pistol. Even with evidence to the contrary he truly didn’t believe she was an excellent shot; Kelsey could read it in his cruel, superior face. She fired a split second before he did. The look of surprise in his eyes was almost comical. His own shot went wild.
Kelsey took his horse and money and rode to the nearest town. His death was duly recorded in the city newspaper amid speculation that a bounty hunter had finally caught up with him. Why he’d been left for the buzzards was a question no one could answer.
That was four years earlier. A bitter beginning to her vagabond life. Since then, Kelsey had acquired a veneer of polish. She looked like a lady. She acted like one. She even lived like one. But she kept her rifle or derringer close at hand in case any man should make the fatal mistake of thinking she was as she appeared and then decide to take advantage of her.
As Tyrone McNamara was trying to do at this very moment …
“Orchid,” he murmured, tightening his grip.
Kelsey had made a serious mistake by listening to sixteen-year-old Charlotte’s dreamy plans to find her a man. Her skin crawled beneath his tight grip. Even though the carriage was pulling to a stop before the grand front porch of Chamberlain Manor, and she suspected even a creature as loathsome as McNamara wouldn’t attempt to rape her in view of all and sundry, Kelsey had to fight to keep herself from kneeing him in the crotch or squeezing her finger around the trigger of her pistol.
She gazed derisively at the mouth hovering over hers. “I have a derringer in my reticule.”
“Really. Would you use it on me?”
“Yes,” she answered honestly.
Tyrone shook his head in amazement. She was so unbelievably cool and collected. He fantasized about her, wondering how he could get his hands beneath her high buttoned collar to her perfectly formed breasts, imagining what that auburn hair with its magenta lights would feel like, look like, if she would ever let it down from its net. And those eyes, so gray and frigid and full of mockery. Would they spark and burn with passion as he suspected?
He felt something nudge his ribs and looked down to see the barrel of the derringer placed firmly against his sternum. He was surprised, but not really alarmed. “You wouldn’t shoot me,” he said positively. “That would be murder.”
Kelsey smiled faintly. “I won’t shoot you unless I have to keep fighting you. That would be self-defense. I’m just warning you, Mr. McNamara.”
The carriage lurched to a stop. Tyrone slowly slid away from her, unsure if she was teasing or not. But he had more than enough time to find out, he decided. Let her think she’d won this round. There was always another way to get inside a woman’s drawers, and Gerrard Knight’s wagered five hundred dollars was too sweet a pot to relinquish.
Ignoring the pistol aimed straight at his heart, Tyrone picked up her gloved hand, touching it to his lips. “Will I see you again?”
“No.” She swept out of the carriage and up the steps to the house, lifting a heavy brass knocker to announce that she was home. Tyrone watched her. He was too cocksure to be rebuffed by her tough stance. He would win her. It was only a matter of time.
Cora Jean, Agatha’s downstairs maid, answered Kelsey’s knock, swinging the door wide. “Good evenin’, Miss Simpson. How was your night out?”
Kelsey yanked off her gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of her cloak. She hated finery. She truly did. Maybe it was time to quit being Charlotte’s companion and search out something else in life. She was twenty-eight. Certainly there was something out there, some vocation that would interest her. Though she didn’t want a man, it did bother her to hear herself labeled “spinster.” Spinsters were dried-up, passionless creatures who taught school and became librarians. God help her, she’d die before she fit that mold! There had to be more to life than just living day-to-day. Why hadn’t she found her purpose yet?
Hearing Kelsey’s tread on the stairs, Charlotte came bounding out of her bedroom, her blond hair tied with a blue ribbon, her lavender silk nightgown not at all the attire for Lady Chamberlain’s granddaughter.
“Where did you get that?” Kelsey demanded.
“I bought it! Lord, I couldn’t bear to lie in bed in a flannel gown. It ruins all my fantasies! Tell me, Orchid. What was he like? Did he kiss you? He did, didn’t he? What was it like? Did it set you on fire?”
Kelsey laughed. “Not exactly. Now, give up on your matchmaking. When and if I find a man who sets me on fire, I surely won’t tell you about it!”
“Why not?”
“Because you’d let the whole world know. I’d never have a moment’s peace.”
“I can’t wait to be kissed,” Charlotte told her.
Kelsey arched a brow at Charlotte’s breathless tone. Agatha had sheltered her granddaughter as was the custom of her country, but Charlotte had grown up so naïve that Kelsey worried over her. Most of the young girls of Portland society knew more about life than Charlotte. Some were even fast at the tender age of fifteen.
“Your time’s coming. Your grandmother’s invited half of Portland to your seventeenth birthday party.”
“That’s still two weeks away. I want something to happen now. Tell me about your kiss!” she insisted again.
“It was dreadful. He smashed his mouth on mine and his breath stank of whiskey.”
“Oh.”
Kelsey’s eyes sparkled, but Charlotte didn’t notice in the dim light of the upper
hallway. There was no harm in teasing her romantic young friend, was there? And Kelsey had suffered her share of unwanted advances. “And then he tried to stick his tongue in my mouth,” she embellished.
Charlotte gasped, her hands flying to her lips. She dragged Kelsey into her room, closing the door quickly behind her. “What happened then?”
“Then he pushed me against the seat and swore he’d have me right there.”
“What did you do?” she demanded, enthralled.
“I pulled out my gun and shot him. He’s dead now.”
“You’re teasing me!” Charlotte shrieked, stamping her foot. When Kelsey started to laugh, she couldn’t fight her own grin. “Okay, what really happened?”
“He did kiss me and he stank of whiskey. That’s all.”
“That’s all? He didn’t even try to kiss you again?”
“I threatened him with my derringer,” Kelsey admitted.
“Oh, Orchid, you’ll never get a man that way,” Charlotte groaned.
“Exactly.” Pointing to the clock on Charlotte’s bedside, she said, “Let’s get some sleep. It’s late, and I know your grandmother wants to take you shopping in the morning.”
“Are you coming with us?”
“Of course. Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”
¤ ¤ ¤
The offices of Ezekiel Drummond were located on a posh corner just off Portland’s Front Street. The building’s staircase was marble, set off by a filigreed wrought-iron rail. The office was on the second floor at the end of the hall, where a pebbled glass window read DRUMMOND AND CO. in gold-leaf lettering. Above the door an electric light in the shape of a fluted bell left a pool of illumination on the polished marble floor. The building smelled of floor wax and money.
Sitting at his cherry-wood desk, Zeke leaned back in the chair and gazed thoughtfully at his guest. Jesse Danner stood by the inner office window, leaning his arm against the rich mahogany paneling, staring out at the street below. Zeke could tell by the harsh look on his face that Jesse was thinking about Nell again.