When Rachel reached the first floor again, Loretta stepped aside to let her pass. With a grand flourish, the woman opened the door. Heat and sunlight filled the foyer. Outside, everything appeared as normal as when Rachel had entered—but the world had been irrevocably altered.
"I'll come back," Rachel said, "and when I do, Ty will be leaving with me."
"We'll see about that, won't we."
For the first time that day, Rachel watched Loretta's expression change from the mask of aloof hatred to a smile that made her blood run cold.
Somehow Rachel made it from the veranda to the carriage house. Somehow she told the wrangler that she wanted her rig and her dapple gray mare. The boy hurried to do her bidding. She didn't recall the hour-long drive back to town; her mind had been everywhere but on the road.
It wasn't until she had reached the outskirts of Last Chance that Rachel realized there were tears streaming down her face and that Tom Castor's rented horse was covered with sweat. Her own mare, tied behind the buggy, had been forced to eat dust and keep up the pace.
Rachel slowed the buggy horse to a walk and dried her tears with the back of her hand. She reached up to gingerly touch the still aching wound near her temple. Those people, those people, were trying to steal her son from her, and she knew that if she didn't act, and act quickly, they had enough wealth and influence to succeed.
She drove directly to the livery and headed the buggy into the shady interior of the huge barn. As soon as the buggy stopped, she set the brake and scrambled down, coming face-to-face with Tom Castor. As always, the big man blushed.
"You take care of your business, Miz McKenna?"
"Not entirely, but I will," she assured him. Her hands were shaking so hard as she fumbled with the strings of her reticule that he reached out and laid one of his huge, rough hands over both of hers.
"Why don't we take care of that later, Miz McKenna." He glanced over at the two sweating horses. "I'll rub these horses down. You just go on about your business."
Tears of gratitude stung her eyes as she looked up at one of the few townsfolk left she could still consider a friend.
"Thank you, Tom," she murmured, clutching her reticule. "Send the bill around and I'll see you get your money directly."
"Don't worry about a thing, ma'am."
He walked with her to the wide-open doors and waved as she hurried down Main. Her own house was at the other end of the street, so she decided that before she hurried home to get Lane and the others, she would alert Arnie Wernermeyer that she needed his assistance.
She reached the sheriff's office and threw open the door without knocking. Arnie was in his chair, feet up on the desk, hands locked at his nape as if his corpulent neck couldn't support his thick head. When he took one look at her, his feet hit the ground.
"Get up, Sheriff, I need your help."
"Now settle down, Mrs. McKenna. There hasn't been any word from Denver, so there's no way I can let Cassidy out."
She stopped dead still in the middle of the floor and glanced at the solid plank door between her and the cell room. "Lane's still locked up in there?"
She started for the door.
"Ain't that why you came?"
"No, it's not." Rachel jerked on the latch and tried to open the connecting door, but found it locked. She started rattling it frantically. "Let me in there. I need to see Lane."
Wernermeyer lumbered over to her and paused uncomfortably. "You know I'll need to search you, ma'am, just to be sure you're not carryin' a concealed weapon."
"Arnie, if I had a gun you would be looking down the barrel of it right now." Her tone brooked no argument.
He crunched up his features and scratched the back of his neck. "Well now, I don't—"
"I know the law. I'm the goddamn sheriff's widow!" she yelled.
"Let her in, Wernermeyer, and I'll go easier on you once I'm out," Lane shouted from the other side of the door.
By the time Arnie fumbled with the key, then the door, and finally opened it, Rachel rushed inside as if the hounds of hell were after her.
"Hell, Rachel, what's got you in such a lather? If I was Wernermeyer you'd have scared the bejesus out of me." Lane stood up and met her at the bars that separated them.
Rachel grabbed hold of the cold iron so tightly that her knuckles whitened. "Oh, Lane," she said on a broken breath before she began sobbing in earnest.
He reached out and smoothed her hair, then touched her cheek in a silent demand for her to look up at him. "Rachel, honey, don't cry. I'll get out of this somehow."
"Oh, Lane, it's not you."
"What happened?"
"They have Ty—and they say—they say I can't have him and—they're getting a lawyer from Helena and I'll never be able to fight them—and if I can't get him back I'll just die. You have to come with me—"
Her breath caught on another sob, and for the first time the reality of Lane's situation hit her.
"Why are you still here?" she sniffed.
"Who's got Ty?" he demanded.
"The Mc-McKennas," she sobbed.
"Damn it to hell." He spun around and kicked his bunk, winced and turned back to her once more. "I had a feeling they were up to something, but I tried to convince myself I was wrong. Damn it, Rachel, this is all my fault." His fist hit one of the bars.
She shook her head adamantly. "No. No, it's not your fault. It's them. I never realized it before, but I should have seen the signs. They have been looking for a way to get Ty in their clutches since Stuart died."
"And now, because of your association with me, they have the perfect excuse." His voice was deadly calm.
"What about Boyd Johnson? Why aren't you out of here?"
Lane sighed. "He hasn't wired back yet. I told you I was persona non grata with the Agency. What I didn't tell you is that they warned me that if anything happened while I was serving my suspension they couldn't back me up."
"What do you mean?" she whispered, a new fear rising in her throat, threatening to choke her.
"I acted on my own when I killed Robert."
He watched her fingers uncurl as she let go of her stranglehold on the bars and wiped her palms on her skirt. She stared back at him as if trying to comprehend. He didn't know what hurt him more to see in her eyes, the disappointment or the doubt.
"You can't help me, can you?" she whispered, her gaze flitting from the strong iron bars, to the connecting door, to the small window high on the wall between the cells. "You're not getting out today. You can't help me get Ty back."
"No," he said sadly, feeling every bit of the guilt that he was certain was rightly his, both for getting her into the quicksand that was now threatening to pull her down and for not being able to do anything to help. "I can't help you, Rachel. I can't even help myself."
"I can't stand this, Lane."
"I know. I won't blame you if you never want to see me again."
"Don't say that. We'll think of something, some way to get you out, but right now I have to get Ty away from the McKennas."
"Go to Chase and Eva. They'll help you. They're probably still at your place."
"What if the Pinkertons have washed their hands of you, Lane? My God, you could hang."
She covered her mouth with her hand, choking down a cry. Ty had been taken from her, but she could and would fight to get him back. If the law stepped in and Lane were to hang…
"What'll we do?" she whispered.
"Rachel, come here."
She stepped up close to the bars and then closer still until he could slip his arms between them and hold her as close as the unsympathetic iron would allow. Rachel put her arms through the bars and held him in the same way. The cold metal pressed against her cheek. She could feel the warm skin of his back through his shirt, but the bars kept her from feeling his heart beating against her own.
"I want you to listen to me and listen well. Go to Chase and Eva and start working on getting Ty back right away. The more time the McKennas have, the
better their chances of winning. And stay away from here. I want you to put everything into getting your boy back, because he is your heart and soul."
"You're scaring me, Lane. What if the law… what if they should find you guilty and—"
"Rachel, if they hang me, I'll die a happy man for having loved you."
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
Rachel sat at her place at the head of the table and studied her guests. Chase ate silently but heartily, while Eva pushed the food Delphie had so carefully prepared around on her plate. Rachel decided that if conversation truly was the heart and soul of a meal, then this one was good and dead.
No one had had time to warn Delphie that Lane had not yet been freed or that Ty was virtually being held captive by his grandparents. So when Rachel returned home, she went directly to the kitchen to give her maid the details.
Delphie had burst into tears, giving way to all the emotion Rachel was hard-pressed to deny in herself. Through her tears, the housekeeper insisted they try to eat, that it was a sin to let good food go to waste. Now the occupants of the table sat in silence, wrestling with their thoughts, while Delphie hovered at the sideboard, laying out the tea set, a bowl of curried peaches and some sugar cookies for dessert.
Except for the occasional sound of flatware against the Wedgwood china, the house was as silent as a tomb. Finally admitting to herself that she couldn't get another bite past the lump in her throat, Rachel took her napkin off her lap, carefully folded it and then laid it beside her plate.
"Have you—" Eva had just started to speak when Delphie burst into tears again.
"It's all my fault little Ty's not home where he belongs," Delphie blubbered, holding the skirt of her apron over her face.
Rachel stood up and rushed to her side. She slipped an arm over Delphie's shoulder and patted her gently. "Oh, Delphie, how can you say that? We had no way of knowing what the McKennas were up to."
Delphie took a broken, sobbing breath. "I… I let the salt cellar get empty."
"Now, Delphie," Rachel said, trying to calm her, "I wish it were as simple as blaming that old superstition."
Eva offered advice. "It'll be all right even if you did, Delphie. All you have to do is burn some salt from the new box before you use it."
Delphie shook her head. The front of her cotton apron was nearly soaked through. "It's too late. I already filled the cellar with the new salt."
Eva reached for the cut-glass salt shaker, sprinkled some in her hand and headed for the kitchen to burn the salt. "I'm changing the rules. Come on out here and help me, Delphie."
Reluctantly, Delphie followed her out of the room, sniffling all the way. Rachel walked over to the sideboard, picked up a bowl and began ladling the curried peaches into it. She returned to the table and handed the bowl to Chase, who pushed his dinner plate aside and reached for the dessert. When he looked up at her with a smile of gratitude, she couldn't help but notice how much Lane resembled him. It made her heart ache with longing. She used the time it took to get back to her chair to compose herself.
"Do you know anyone who can help you out, Rachel? Do you have an attorney?" He dipped his head to take a bite of one of the juicy, syrup-dripping fruits.
"I don't even know where to begin."
"Even if you just sat back and waited for a hearing, no judge in his right mind would take a boy away from his mother."
Chase sounded so sure she almost believed him, but logic won out.
"What if he does? What if the McKennas buy off the judge? And don't forget about the talk that's been going around lately. I've befriended the notorious Lane Cassidy, there was that questionable kidnapping—"
"Lane's going to be proven innocent, and when everyone finds out he's a Pinkerton, your name will be cleared, too," Eva said as she walked back into the room. She paused and looked at the plate of sugar cookies on the sideboard, picked one up and took a bite. She carried the plate back to the table with her and set it down next to Chase.
Rachel said nothing and looked down at her hands. When she looked up again she found Chase's dark eyes watching her closely. She felt as if he could read the doubt that had begun to creep into her heart and mind.
"Will he?" she asked. "Will he be proven innocent?"
"You don't believe Lane?" Eva set down her water glass with a sharp thud.
Quickly, Rachel shook her head. "Of course I believe he's a Pinkerton, but he forced Robert's hand and everything exploded. He's already on suspension. Maybe the Pinkertons have turned their backs on him."
"Oh, Rachel, you have to try to see the bright side," Eva said.
"He could hang," Rachel said softly.
Chase pushed his empty peach bowl away. The three of them sat in silence a moment more and then Eva said admonishingly, "We can't have this, not another minute of it. I feel like I'm at a wake. Do you think that's what Ty and Lane deserve? We're going to put our heads together and come up with something." She turned to her husband. "Chase, if you have to, you will go to Denver and drag this Mr. Johnson back here so that he can vouch for Lane."
Rachel sat up a little straighter, buoyed by her friend's determination. "I think Sally Crawford's oldest boy is back from school in the East. She told me he was going to read the law and set up practice here in Last Chance. If he is here, I don't think he'll have aligned with the McKennas yet. Besides, his family isn't in ranching."
"That's a start," Eva told her. "I'll go with you to call on him this afternoon. We can pay him anything he wants."
Delphie came into the room to clear the plates. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks streaked with dried tears. "I can make a batch of Ty's favorite cookies and take them out to him. The McKennas can't find fault with some cookies from home, can they? Maybe I can talk to some of their hired help and find out what's going on."
"What a wonderful idea, Delphie," Rachel said, suddenly infected with Eva's spirit. "Pack up some of this fried chicken and biscuits for Lane and put the rest of the peaches in a jar and I'll take him a basket of food."
"Maybe we should put a file in the basket," Eva mused.
"That's my Eva," Chase said with a smile.
Rachel laughed for the first time in days. "Thank you, my friends," she told them. "I know we haven't seen much of each other in the last few years. I've wanted to spend more time together…"
Eva stood up and went to her friend's side. She bent down and put her arm around Rachel. "I know you did, and I know that being married to the town sheriff didn't lend itself to your being friends with the likes of Chase and me, but I always knew that if I needed anything I could come to you, Rachel."
"Just as I knew the same about you," Rachel said through new tears.
"Before you two start watering like a couple of buckets full of bullet holes, why don't you go see that lawyer?" Chase said. "We need to get back out to the ranch before the kids burn the place down."
Rachel teared up all over again. Please let him come home, God, she prayed. Give me back my boy.
It was early evening before she was able to return to the jailhouse to visit Lane. She let Arnie search the picnic basket and then bribed him with two pieces of fried chicken so that he would admit her all the way into Lane's cell. She had taken the time to change into her lavender silk blouse and flared skirt, brushed her dark hair into a neat coil atop her head and pinched her cheeks to give them some color. She was trying to look her best, despite the circumstances, but Lane's reception was anything but warm.
If she hadn't known him so well, she would have taken one look at Lane and walked back out. His eyes were dark with anger, and the lower half of his face was shadowed with the stubble of his beard, giving him an even more sinister demeanor. His hair stood out in all directions, as if he'd been running his hands through it.
Rachel set the basket of food on the hard bunk and waited for Arnie to close the connecting door. Before she could greet him, Lane turned on her.
"Did he search you?"
"Of cou
rse—"
"Did he touch you all over?"
"Lane—"
"Did he?"
"What is wrong with you?" She lowered her voice. "He searched me, but not thoroughly. What are you thinking?"
"I'm going goddamn crazy in here." Lane didn't choose to sit beside her. Instead he paced the six long strides the cell allowed and ignored her.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Not really."
"Delphie's chicken and biscuits," she tempted.
"Maybe later, all right?" He shot her a dark glance. "What have you done about Ty?"
Rachel folded her hands on her lap. "Eva and I went to see Sally Crawford's son, Raymond. He's young, but recently qualified as a lawyer. He listened to my story and said that he didn't think the McKennas have anything but hearsay to go on. They have no right to Ty unless something were to happen to me."
He stopped pacing. Anger, concern, frustration radiated from him.
"Lane, what is it?"
He walked over to her and stopped, hands on hips, glaring.
"Isn't it enough that I got myself into this mess? Isn't it enough that because of me, the McKennas have stolen your son? You shouldn't be sitting here with me. I told you to concentrate on getting him back."
Rachel stood up and placed her open palms on his cheeks, hoping to calm him. She drew his face close to hers, a little surprised his dark, brooding mood allowed it.
"When will you realize all your ranting and raving doesn't frighten me? It never has and it never will."
His dark eyes penetrated her as he searched for the truth. When he found it, his arms went around her and he pulled her up tight against him, so hard that it nearly drove the breath from her.
"Rachel, you're so damn good. You don't deserve all this."
"I'll get through it. So will you."
After a glance at the connecting door, he kissed her. Rachel thought that she knew all there was about kissing after their night of passion, but now she learned that a man could say with a kiss what words left unsaid. He held her as close as humanly possible, his mouth moving over hers, his tongue dipping and tasting and laving hers until she burned for him. His hand slipped down the small of her back until he touched her buttocks and pressed her up against his arousal.
Last Chance Page 24