Jesse's Renegade (#3 of the Danner Quartet)

by Nancy Bush

  She bound her hair into a net, splashing her face with water from the beautifully hand-painted porcelain sink in front of the gilt-edged mirror. White porcelain knobs painted with the matching floral pattern in blue, gold, and the faintest peach – a color so lovely it looked as if it might taste delicious – flanked the brass faucet. Every touch of grace and elegance tightened Kelsey’s chest.

  She stood undecided in the bathroom for long moments. She wanted the best, but was determined to straighten out this financial situation with Jesse at the first opportunity. Returning to the main salon, she was astounded to see his bedroom door was now open.

  “Jesse?” she called softly, knocking against the open panels.

  The blue and gold color scheme extended to his room. Her eyes darted to every corner. She was afraid she’d discover him half dressed, or fully naked, and the thrill of something like panic slipped down her spine.

  But the room was empty. Unless he was waiting in the closet, ready to pounce on her, he’d already left. Throwing open the closet door, Kelsey braced herself, already knowing that Jesse had left their suite of rooms as he had left her alone the night before. No explanation. No word about when or if he might return.

  In a fulminating fury she unbuttoned her shoes and threw them the length of the elegant salon. They crashed against the veined marble fireplace; one ended up on the carpet, the other sat straight up on the grate, as if someone had placed it there for that evening’s fire. Swearing with all the couth of a logger, she then twisted on the taps of the beautiful bathtub, ripped off her “wedding gown” for the last time, and sank into the depths of water, plotting a dastardly revenge, all the while knowing she was as much to blame as Jesse for the impossible situation they’d put themselves in.

  Chapter Seven

  Jesse watched Zeke chew thoughtfully on the tender morsel of veal he’d laid on his tongue. Zeke ate with enjoyment, but a certain decorum. His tastes were refined in spite of the fact that he’d spent most of his life in tenements and backwater shanties. Through his own indomitable will, he’d raised his and Nell’s social status and acquired a polished and well-bred sensibility along the way. Jesse had surprised Zeke’s lowly roots from him on only two occasions: the first being during Zeke’s daring rescue of Jesse beneath Montana Gray’s ubiquitous nose; the second being when Jesse had nearly killed a man who had been publicly slapping around his wife. The wife’s name had been Nell, and hearing that, Zeke had suddenly yanked Jesse from the antagonist’s hammy fists, looking for all the world as if he were planning to take on the brutal bully himself. Zeke’s intervention had been so spontaneous and out of character that Jesse had nearly missed the opportunity to step in front of his friend and fell the bastard with a well-placed blow to his paunchy midsection.

  Otherwise Zeke had been the epitome of a gentleman, in his thinking, in his actions, and in his overall view of the economy and its place within it. It was Jesse who had more difficulty with his “gentleman” persona. He could accomplish it with ease, but inside, where it counted, he never felt like he truly belonged. Never wanted to truly belong.

  “How’s the missus?” Zeke asked, hiding a smirk while he chewed.

  “A model of discretion.”

  The choking noises emitted from Zeke’s throat drew the attention of more than one table of diners at Sinclair’s Eating Establishment, one of Portland’s more elegant restaurants. Jesse fingered his crystal goblet of water. He itched to get out of this gray wool suit. The collar rubbed against his throat. Hot, stifled, and frustrated, it was all he could do to sit there and share a civil conversation. A part of him blamed Zeke for the mess he was in.

  “You’re at the hotel?” Zeke asked, gulping water and swiping up the tiny tears that had formed at the corner of his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Jesse’s tone was cold with disgust. He’d planned to take his new bride directly to their suite of rooms, not for the purpose of seducing her – heaven forbid! – but simply to set up residence and begin the charade he was bound and determined to play for Montana Gray’s benefit. But before he’d had a chance to reveal his intentions to the starchy Miss Simpson, the reverend had called her by name. Kelsey Garrett! Kelsey goddamned Garrett! Jace Garrett’s little sister, who’d been betrothed to the mayor of Malone – what was his name again? Oh, yeah. Warfield. The spurious old lecher, Jesse thought in disgust. Now he remembered. Warfield had taken one look at the unusual young Kelsey with her rich burgundy hair and wide gray eyes, and he’d asked for her hand. Apparently Kelsey had somehow squeezed out of that arrangement. Or else she was a widow.

  That thought struck Jesse hard. He tried to imagine a coupling of the sexually stifled Kelsey and the round-bellied and lascivious Warfield, and failed. Which was lucky, he decided. He didn’t want to think of Kelsey and Warfield, or Kelsey and anyone, and why that should matter at all was enough to increase his frustration and make him want to slam his fist down on the table with impatience.

  It had taken monumental self-control for him not to wring Kelsey’s lovely neck when she’d berated him about the conditions of the apartment. He’d taken her there on purpose. Punishment for tricking him. He hadn’t intended on staying, but she’d made him so furious he’d wanted to bring her to heel.

  And then, in bewilderment and an overwhelming sense that things had definitely gotten out of control, he left for the bar and subsequently Mamie’s whore’s den of satin sheets, red feathers, and heavy perfume. Only Jesse had slept off his drunken binge on the floor. He’d woken to the sounds of rather disinterested lovemaking; one of his “friends” from Briny’s taking advantage of what Jesse had paid for and then never bothered to receive.

  Jesse had stumbled out of the place and taken a deep lungful of dank Willamette River air, clearing his head before he returned to the apartment where he’d stashed Kelsey hours before.

  He’d been surprised that she was still there. He’d half expected her to bolt. And then she stood there in a pair of drawers that outlined the curve of her hips and the shape of her thighs, and a camisole that fell loosely from the soft mounds of her breasts. Her hair had bellowed, soft and feminine in the breeze from the open window, and he’d suddenly, fervently, wanted to push her down on the bed and bury himself inside her.

  She hadn’t noticed. He was certain of that. She hadn’t seen his involuntary reaction, and years of practice had kept his feelings from showing on his face. He’d had to focus on those frigid gray eyes to keep his sanity.

  He wouldn’t make that mistake again. The last time he’d been suckered by a woman was when Lila Gray’s husband had had him beaten nearly to death. He’d be damned if he’d be suckered by Kelsey.

  But what the hell was she doing parading around as Orchid Simpson? Clearly she didn’t want the Garretts to find her just as much as he didn’t want the Danners to find him. They had that in common, he thought ironically.

  Zeke speared another morsel of veal. “Gray’s having a party. A charity auction in the ballroom of his home. It’s slated for Saturday after next. I don’t know if I can wangle an invitation, but I’ll try. You do want to go, don’t you?”

  “With Kelsey?” Jesse made a sound of disbelief. He would never trust her in such august company.

  Zeke’s brows lifted. “With Orchid,” he admonished.

  Jesse wondered if he had the energy to explain that Orchid was Kelsey. Kelsey Orchid Garrett, he thought bitterly.

  “How much are you going to tell her of your plan?” Zeke asked, frowning.

  “Just enough to insure she’ll help me. Not enough to cause me trouble.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to accomplish it,” Jesse admitted. “I’m sorry I ever took a bride. I want this to be over so Nell’s avenged and Gray’s buried in his own muck!”

  “It’ll take a little time. Just a little more.”

  “Easy for you, Drummond. You’re not living with that hellion.”

  Jesse uncharacteristic bitternes
s gave Zeke pause. “The woman is that impossible?”

  “Damn near impregnable,” he muttered, unaware of how that sounded.

  Zeke cleared his throat and rubbed the end of his nose. “As I understood it, this was to be a marriage of convenience.”

  “It is a marriage of convenience.” Jesse’s retort was swift. “In a physical sense anyway. Nothing else is convenient about it in the least.”

  Zeke had to hide a smile. Jesse had been the one who’d fancied Orchid over Charlotte. Zeke wasn’t above thinking the handsome, irresistible Mr. Danner was getting a bit of his own medicine back.

  “If I can get you an invitation, will she behave at Gray’s party?”

  Jesse scowled. “What about Samuel? Will he be invited?”

  “Quite possibly,” Zeke said unhappily.

  Jesse’s scowl deepened.

  The two men sat in silence for a few moments, each absorbed in his own thoughts. People drifted by. Some smiled at Zeke, whom they knew from his carefully structured social climbing, and looked curiously at Jesse. Surfacing from his dark thoughts, Jesse realized it was past time for him to get moving on his plan to ruin Montana Gray. He was going to have to make some compromises.

  “I’ll take care of Kelsey,” he said, ignoring Zeke’s confused gaze. “But I’ll need your help to approach Samuel. I don’t know my brother very well. He’s a wildcard. Years ago, when my mother’s life was threatened by Ramsey Gainsborough, Samuel grabbed a gun and started calmly and cold-bloodedly trying to shoot Gainsborough’s guards.”

  “Samuel Danner?” Zeke asked in disbelief. “The lawyer?”

  “One and the same. Before that mess with Gainsborough, Samuel had always seemed kind of – I don’t know – studious, I guess. Quiet. Reserved. Cautious. But then he just started blasting and all hell broke loose.” Jesse shook his head. “It wasn’t long afterward that I left.”

  “Well, the Samuel Danner here in Portland is reserved, and maybe you could call him quiet. He doesn’t waste words. But you know all this; I’ve talked about him before,” Zeke added, frowning.

  “I don’t know him. Just because he’s my brother, I’m not sure I can trust him. I don’t want him running off to Rock Springs and giving me away.”

  Zeke now knew a great deal about Rock Springs and Jesse’s absolute obsession over keeping away from it. The investigator he’d hired to learn about Eliza Danner had been very specific. The way Zeke saw it, Montana Gray had obliterated Jesse’s past. There was the Jesse from before, and the Jesse after. The “after” Jesse wanted nothing to do with the “before” one.

  “Maybe it’s time to meet Samuel face-to-face and find out what he’s like,” Zeke suggested. “If we have to, we can force him into going along with us.”

  Jesse eyed Zeke with raw skepticism. “How?”

  “Everyone has a secret past. I doubt even the illustrious Mr. Samuel Danner could escape a serious investigation. If so, we can always manufacture something…”

  “You’re totally unscrupulous when it comes to Nell,” Jesse said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Zeke was fully aware of his own obsession.

  “Just don’t underestimate Samuel.” A rakish smile faintly curved the corners of Jesse’s mouth. “I made that mistake once, but when I saw the way he handled the rifle, I decided Samuel was a man to be reckoned with – and he was only thirteen at the time.”

  “Well, he’s twenty-eight or nine now, but I doubt he’s handled the rifle since.”

  “Zeke,” Jesse admonished his friend. “Be careful. Don’t tell him why you want to see him, just get him to your office. I’ll take it from there.”

  Zeke met Jesse’s direct gaze. “You really think there is reason to worry?”

  “He’s a Danner.”

  “Good point,” Zeke conceded without hesitation.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  Mrs. Jesse Danner peered through the fronds of an enormous potted plant, pleased that it gave her a direct view of the hotel lobby. She was seated in the lobby restaurant, which consisted of groups of couches, chairs and small tables. Piano and harp music tinkled softly in the background, giving the impression of an intimate soirée. Kelsey, whose taste for the aesthetics was similar to Jesse’s – she’d learned what she needed to know to survive and play a convincing part, but had yet to understand half of the musical or artistic endeavors she’d been introduced to – couldn’t help thinking the arrangement was rather thin and unappealing. It was all she could do to keep still in her chair. She wanted to fidget like a schoolgirl. She hated waiting, but she had no idea where her husband was, and until they sat down with some plain talk about what his plans were, Kelsey was at his mercy.

  A white coated waiter bent over her, smiling benevolently. “More tea, madam?”

  Kelsey had barely choked down the tepid brown liquid. One taste she had acquired was for English tea, the way Lady Chamberlain insisted it be prepared. Nothing else came close. “No, thank you.”

  “Cakes?”

  The silver tray was loaded with confections, some oozing cream and topped with meringue, others swirled with miniature frosting roses in shades of pink, peach, and yellow.

  Kelsey shook her head again. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A sudden urge to grab her rifle and ride to open places was so strong, she had to willfully fight it back, gritting her teeth in the process. While she’d worked for Agatha she’d never felt this stifled. Perhaps it was because she’d always known she could flee the gilded cage. Or perhaps it was because she’d been playing a part; Orchid Simpson was an entirely different personality from Kelsey Garrett. But whatever the case, now, with her marriage feeling like an ever-tightening noose around her throat, she couldn’t bear the restraints of high society.

  She wanted to leap to her feet and scream as loudly as she could!

  While Kelsey, the hellion, inwardly battled Kelsey, the proper lady, Jesse Danner strode through the revolving doors and crossed to the desk. Kelsey was so caught up in her own frustration, she almost missed him. But suddenly spying his familiar figure jolted her heart. Where had he been? What was he doing now?

  What should she do?

  The clerk delivered him a note which he read without interest and tossed into the trash as he strode to the stairs.

  Kelsey’s heart lifted. Well, now here was an opportunity. She had no faith that Jesse would level with her, but she could garner some information on her own. Consumed with curiosity, she gathered up her rustling skirts and hurried to the trashcan, plucking the letter from the other slips of paper.

  “Ma’am?” The head clerk asked coolly.

  “I’ve lost my only photograph of my brother,” Kelsey improvised with a faint trembling smile. “I’ve searched and searched and now he’s missing and I’m – I’m afraid I’ll never see him again!”

  Concern for decorum rather than a damsel in distress prompted the clerk to offer in an undertone, “Let me help you.”

  A broad, bejeweled dowager leaning on an elegant ebony cane entered the lobby as Kelsey rummaged through the waste can. The woman was gasping at the effort of walking, and her expression was thunderous. An entourage of followers held back, as if afraid of her wrath. Spying her, the clerk snapped to attention, shot Kelsey a confused glance, then swung around the desk and went to the wealthy dowager’s aid.

  “Here it is!” Kelsey declared joyously, hugging Jesse’s message to her chest. “Glory be! Saints be praised! God has smiled on me today!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the clerk shushed Kelsey coldly. All his attention was on the new arrival. “Good afternoon, Madame Duprés. Let me call Bentonhurst to help you to your rooms. What a lovely gown!” he raved effusively. “It’s been ages since we’ve had the pleasure of your company. Are you in Portland for long?”

  The old lady snorted and, with surprising agility, hit him straight across the thigh with her cane. “Get my bags!” she ordered in a voice that rang with ill temper.

  The clerk bustled pa
ssed the lady’s entourage and was gone. Kelsey was sorry she would have to miss the rest of this spectacle, but she was determined to learn what Jesse was up to. She scurried to a safe corner behind the massive marble pillar and smoothed out the crumpled note.

  One Henry Connors was interested in discussing a sale. A phone number was listed, along with an address.

  What kind of sale? Kelsey wondered. And only the very well-to-do possessed telephones. Was it a business number, or could this Mr. Connors actually have a telephone in his own home?

  Shoving the note into the pocket of her dress, she headed up the stairs. At the door to her room, she hesitated, feeling absurdly as if she should not. Then remembering it was her money that had afforded such wasteful opulence, she used her keys and swept imperiously into the room. The door to Jesse’s bedroom was closed. Kelsey could hear water running. He was either bathing or shaving.

  Ten minutes later Jesse appeared in the main salon. He wore a shirt open at the throat, and a pair of gray trousers. A towel was wrapped around his neck. He had indeed been shaving, and she could smell the scent of soap even from six feet away, which is where he chose to stand right in front of her.

  Kelsey had changed into a black dress that emphasized her paleness. Its collar was tight white lace that nearly reached her chin. The only relief were the mother-of-pearl buttons on her leg-o’-mutton sleeves.

  Jesse regarded her with displeasure. “This afternoon we’re buying you some new clothes,” Jesse said by way of a greeting.

  “I don’t need any new clothes.”

  “Nevertheless, you’re going to get some.”

  “I prefer the ones I have.”

  “I don’t really care what you prefer. You look terrible in black. It’s time we put you in something that’ll make you look better.” Jesse strode toward the cabinet against the wall and pulled down a door that revealed a stocked bar. He poured a glass of brandy for himself, then sank negligently onto the gold brocade chaise lounge.