Her Outlaw

by Geralyn Dawson

  “I’d have to be in Texas for that, and making the trip at this juncture simply isn’t feasible.”

  “If this is so important to you, why not?”

  “It’s complicated, Sister. Just know that I would go if it were possible.” The problem needed to be solved from here.

  Dair’s mind raced. What could he do to change her mind? “I’ll double the salary. You could send the extra back to St. Stephen’s. You’d be helping both causes.”

  Her fork slipped from her fingers and clattered to her plate. “But you’ve already offered a salary far beyond fair.”

  “It’s obviously not enough if you’re willing to turn down the position.” He’d just have to work a little harder, a little longer, to obtain the extra funds. “Plus, I’ll increase the endowment by twenty percent.”

  That was a lie, of course—he didn’t have the funds for that unless he swallowed his pride and asked his friend, Jake Kimball, for help—but she wouldn’t know it until it was too late. If he got her to Piney Woods, she’d stay. “I need you, Sister. Please reconsider.”

  She listened, but another half hour of his most persuasive arguments netted him nothing more than a vow to keep looking for a replacement, and the promise that she’d pray for him. He didn’t figure either one would do him much good.

  Frustration rode his shoulders, and an all too familiar headache nudged at his brain as he exited the bakery and joined the crowd of shoppers strolling along the sidewalks. Worry had him feeling mean and malicious, so he indulged himself by calling on old talents to pick a few wealthy men’s pockets. He managed surprisingly good results. Gentlemen carried more in their pockets these days than they had when he supported himself with the practice.

  He worked the streets and fought off the headache until a tingle at the back of his neck warned him that he’d caught somebody’s notice. Casually glancing around, he attempted to identify the spy.

  There. A ragamuffin boy of about ten. One of London’s legion of homeless children, no doubt. Carefully, Dair set his trap.

  He led the boy into an alley, then hid behind a wooden crate. When the boy walked by, he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. The kid squealed as Dair pushed his back against the wall, his feet dangling a foot off the ground. “Hello, boyo. I think it is time you and I had a bit of a chat, don’t you?”

  “Let me go, mister. I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “I beg to differ. You’ve been watching me. Why?”

  Bravado rang in the boy’s tone. “Maybe I’m thinking to hook what you’ve been busy snitchin’.”

  “If you have the hands to take it from me, little one, it’s yours. First, though, I’ll have an answer to my question.” He tightened his grip on the boy slightly and smiled a threat. “Why are you dogging my heels?”

  The boy’s eyes rounded. He’d understood Dair’s warning. “It’s a job. He’s paying me.”

  “Who is paying you? To do what?”

  “Watch. That’s all. I’m to watch what you do and report. But don’t worry, mister. I won’t tell about the dippin’ you’ve been doin’, I swear.”

  Dair gave him a little shake. “How long? How long have you been watching me?”

  “Today’s me first day. I promise. The regular fella couldn’t work today, so I’m filling in. Me mom is sick and she cain’t work and we need the money for the little ones.”

  The regular fellow? Damnation. “Who hired you?”

  “I don’t know his name!” The boy rattled off a lengthy explanation that netted Dair little useful information beyond the fact that someone was going to some effort to track his movements. Why?

  The most obvious, and disturbing, reason was that someone might have made the connection between Alasdair MacRae and the Highland Riever. But if that were the case, why was he still walking freely around London?

  How had he missed being under surveillance?

  It couldn’t be the police following him. He wouldn’t have missed them. So, who was it? What had the watchers witnessed? The Riever at work? Or even worse, Dair’s…incidents? For just a moment, he closed his eyes.

  Then the boy squirmed and tried to escape. Dair tightened his hold. “Listen up. I’ve a message to pass along to your employer. I request a face-to-face meeting. Tell him to name a time and place and deliver it to my current residence. I trust he already has that information.”

  “Yessir. I’ll pass it along, sir. I certainly will.”

  Dair grabbed the day’s ill-gotten gains from his pocket and tucked the cash into the boy’s shirt pocket. “After that, I suggest you find a different line of work. If I catch you within eyeshot again, you’ll not get off so easy.”

  “Yessir. Thank you, sir. You’ll never see me again, sir.”

  The boy’s face was alight with gratitude at the windfall. Nevertheless, the moment his feet touched the ground, he scampered off.

  Dair left the alley brooding, the headache continuing its persistent, though thankfully slight, throb. Hadn’t this day gone from heaven and the delightful Miss Emma straight to quitting-nun and spying-urchin hell?

  He needed to take this one problem at a time. First, the Piney Woods Children’s Home. He need not panic. Just because Sister Mary Margaret refused him didn’t mean his plans were for naught. He still had time to find the perfect person for the job. After all, Sister Mary Margaret surely wasn’t the only woman in the world looking to do good works. Dair simply didn’t meet too many of them.

  He ordinarily concentrated his attention on women who liked to be bad. Women like the darling, daring, delectable Emma Tate.

  Regarding the other problem, perhaps the boy’s employer would contact him. If not, Dair would put his own people to work. Angus Fraser had his finger on the pulse of London. If anyone could find out who was watching Dair and why, Angus could.

  Hearing someone shout his name, he looked up. Jake Kimball waved him over to a cab. “I’ve escaped the mayhem at Bankston House and I’m headed to Gaylords for a nice, quiet meal. Care to join me?”

  Dair didn’t hesitate. He climbed into the cab and settled back against the soft leather seat with a sigh.

  Kimball’s brow arched. “So what has you looking like a boy who’s lost his favorite slingshot?”

  Dair was willing to share only one of his immediate problems with his friend. “I need a woman.”

  “Can it wait until after supper, or I shall I drop you off at Fanny’s along the way?”

  One corner of Dair’s mouth lifted in a rueful grin. “I lost my nun, Jake.”

  Kimball frowned and pursed his lips. “Hmm. I didn’t figure you for a man who entertained those sorts of fantasies. Did she have one of those wooden rulers?”

  This time Dair chuckled out loud. “I’ve a project in the works that requires the services of a trustworthy woman of good character, superior morals and keen intelligence. Do you have any idea where I can find such a paragon?”

  “Actually, I might.” Jake waved and winked at a pretty woman strolling along the sidewalk. “You could follow my lead and do what I’ve decided to do.”

  Dair knew that Jake had a project of his own that required a woman’s touch. He’d recently assumed guardianship of his own set of orphans—his late sister’s children. “You found a governess?”

  “No. I’ve realized that the children don’t need a governess. They need permanence. They need love. What the children need is a mother.”

  Surprised, Dair gave his friend a long look. Though they’d known each other for years and considered one another a good friend, both Dair and Jake kept parts of their lives private. Still, Dair knew Jake Kimball well enough to assume that he had something…different…in mind when it came to providing said mother. “And where do you propose to find one of those?”

  Jake Kimball flashed his pirate’s grin. “I intend to advertise for one.”

  Oh, those poor children. “All right, Kimball,” Dair said with a sigh. “What crazy scheme have you cooked up this time?”

&
nbsp; CHAPTER TWO

  “COME WITH ME, EMMA,” a man’s voice whispered in her ear. His lips nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck. His large hand cupped the fullness of her breast, his thumb dragging with exquisite slowness across her nipple. “Come with me.”

  A hand shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Emma!”

  Emma clung to sleep, clung to her dream. She didn’t want to awaken. Come with me.

  Sharp fingernails sank into her skin, shook her again. “Emma! It’s time to get dressed. We don’t want to be late.”

  In her room at the Savoy Hotel three days after her ice cream escapade, Emma opened her eyes to her youngest sister’s impatient glare. The remnants of her dream evaporated as reality intruded, and she recalled the business before them. Yes, she did want to be late. She wanted to be entirely too late. “This is such a bad idea.”

  “You’re not backing out, so just hush,” Kat McBride said.

  Sitting up, Emma took a good look at her sister. Always the actress, Kat was costumed and ready for the farce—a buxom, gray-haired woman wearing an ugly dress and wire-rimmed glasses that failed to hide the gleam of excitement in her eyes. Emma flopped back down on her bed. “I can’t believe I agreed to do this.”

  “I can’t believe you’re acting like such an old fuddy,” Kat responded, tugging her sister from the bed and onto her feet.

  “Really, Em. Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t tell me you used it all up playing pin-the-tail-on-the-mannequin the other day. That was an amusing prank, true, but this plan…it’s McBride Menace material.”

  Emma scowled at Kat. “We’re not children anymore. We need to think before we act. I was lucky I didn’t get caught.”

  “Oh, stop being realistic. That totally spoils the mood.”

  Emma rubbed her eyes and took a longer look at the woman literally beaming with excitement. Was this really her youngest sister? The same sister who’d seldom shown enthusiasm for anything in the years since tangling with a bigamist liar who’d “married” her, got her with child, then died at the hands of an outlaw? The same Kat McBride who’d hardly smiled since losing her daughter in a wagon accident? Why, Emma could hardly believe it.

  “You know what?” Kat continued. “You’re right. We’re not children anymore. But then neither is our grandmother. I’d like to think we at least can be as adventuresome as Monique Day.”

  “Oh, my.” As adventuresome as Monique? There was wicked, and then there was Monique. Their grandmother changed men and lifestyles at the drop of a bonnet. “This is worse than I thought.”

  Kat adjusted her wig, then carefully rubbed an itch at the end of her nose so as not to displace her face paint. Staring over the top of her eyeglasses, she added, “It’ll be exciting, Emma. You’ll see. Now, go put on your dress. The yellow one, remember? You look delicious in that gown.”

  An hour later, standing in a line of women outside of Bankston House in St. James Square, Emma recalled her sister’s comment and smothered a snort. “You were wrong, Kat.”

  “Hmm?” Kat frowned down at her bosom and surreptitiously shifted the stuffing.

  “Standing in line with a dozen other women competing for the chance to marry a man I’ve never met, all the while accompanied by my younger sister who is dressed in a wretched disguise is not exciting. It’s humiliating. Demeaning, even.”

  “Wretched? I’ll have you know this is a wonderful disguise.” Kat smiled smugly and patted her prodigious, well-padded bosom. “People get out of my way. You’re approaching this entire exercise with the wrong attitude. Maybe it could be considered demeaning if you truly were here in answer to Jake Kimball’s advertisement for a wife, but we’re here for a bigger purpose.”

  “We’re here to steal from him!”

  “Shush!” Kat snapped, casting furtive glances over her shoulders. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “But only because he stole from me first.”

  “But what if you’re wrong? What if Kimball doesn’t have your necklace? What if we get caught snooping? Do they still transport felons to New Zealand?”

  “I’m not wrong.” Kat folded her arms. “He has it and I want it back. I’ll get it back.”

  The item in question was one of a trio of unique jeweled pendants given to Emma, Mari, and Kat McBride years ago by an unusual woman under curious circumstances. The necklaces were the McBride sisters’ most prized possessions, and Kat’s had gone missing almost five years ago—shortly after Jake Kimball had tried to buy it from her.

  Last week during a visit to the London Zoo, Kat stumbled across both Jake Kimball and a piece of information that led her to believe he was in possession of her prized piece of jewelry. Then, upon learning that he’d placed an advertisement for a wife in the newspaper, Kat had concocted her plan.

  Kat and her concoctions. Emma shook her head and despite her best intentions, a smile played upon her lips. How long had it been since Kat concocted anything? Emma couldn’t deny that this was nice to see.

  “This is the best way for me to get my property back,” Kat continued. “Rather than humiliated, Emma, you should feel proud. Just think. Your actions will help strike a blow against a man so boorish as to marry a stranger off the street in order to provide maternal care to five orphaned children so he can ignore the fact he’s their guardian and gallivant off to the far reaches of the world. He’s a scoundrel, Emma. Why…”

  Having heard the tirade a number of times already, Emma tuned her sister out. Humiliation. Maybe that wasn’t the right word for the emotion rumbling around inside her, after all. Actually, Emma was feeling a lot of things at the moment. Excitement. Apprehension. Guilt. Envy.

  Envy? She blinked. Considered the idea. Grimaced. How pitiful was that? She was jealous that Kat was the one having all the fun.

  With a little kick, Emma sent a small rock skittering across the cobblestones. It was true. The silver-eyed Dair and his scandalous dare had fueled her inner imp to life, and she was feeling green-eyed because she wanted to be the one wearing the disguise. Pretending to be the outrageous and outspoken Wilhemina Peters sounded so much more entertaining than playing herself—boring old widowed schoolteacher Emma Tate.

  Emphasis on boring. And old. Boring and old.

  She’d turn thirty this summer.

  Sighing, Emma watched a child in the park across the street attempt to get a paper kite airborne. In moments of self-honesty, she admitted the milestone likely lay at the root of her discontent. Her birthday loomed like a dull gray cloud on her horizon. Or maybe more like a buzzard. A big old black buzzard.

  Get a hold of yourself, Emma. Pity parties are so unattractive.

  Emma eyed another rock, gave it a kick, too, then sighed again. Despite her current discontent, she didn’t want to change her entire life. She enjoyed teaching. She liked living in Fort Worth. She could find a husband easily enough if that’s what she wanted. Since Casey’s death, she’d stepped out with a respectable number of men, and she’d been seriously courted a time or two. No one had captured her heart, however. No one fired her blood enough to risk a relationship. After having known true love in the past, Emma wasn’t prepared to settle for less. She’d have powerful, vigilant and true love or she’d have none.

  Right now, anyway. If she changed her mind and let it be known around town that she was looking, men would come calling again. Maybe she’d reach that point someday. Maybe she’d be willing to settle. But not yet. She wasn’t there yet. All in all, life was good. She was a content woman.

  Content, except for being bored. And old.

  She scowled at a pigeon pecking at the grass beside the walk. Of the three McBride sisters, only she could claim that she’d never had a true adventure.

  She wanted one, darn it. Was that so awful? And playing her boring old self in a scheme of her sister’s making wasn’t at all what she had in mind.

  Besides, this plan was all Kat’s idea. Kat’s adventure, not hers. Once again, Emma was relegated to a supporting role which was precisely the
function she wished to forsake.

  That must be the source of her peevishness. She’s the one who’d come to England looking for adventure. Leave it to Kat to be the one to find it.

  Now that’s mean, Emma Tate, her conscience chastised. Stop it. Kat has had a rough time. Her false marriage, losing her reputation. Losing her child, for God’s sake!

  Emma’s cynical side fired back. My own life hasn’t been a bed of roses, either. I know loss, too. Didn’t I lose my husband, the love of my life, at the ripe old age of twenty? Before he’d given me the child I long for?

  True, and that was bad. No doubt about it. But in her life since then, the choices she’d made since being widowed were just that. Her choices. She’d chosen to be the good girl, the dependable one. The teacher. The babysitter. The friend. The niece. The sister. The daughter.

  What happened to the woman? The companion? The sweetheart? The lover? Whose fault was it that the woman had gotten lost?

  Emma sighed. Her fault. Her choice.

  Maybe if she wasn’t so lonely, she wouldn’t feel this envy, this discontent. Maybe if the ice cream incident had ended with something more adventurous than pecan sprinkles—like say, a kiss—then she’d be more inclined to sit back and let Kat enjoy her turn at mischief. As it was, she simply couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for the scheme.

  Nevertheless, despite her misgivings, Emma wanted to succeed. She wanted Kat to find her necklace. Ever since it had disappeared, Emma had felt a little tug of awkwardness, of incompleteness, each time she donned her own.

  “I want this to work,” she announced when her sister’s diatribe finally wound down. “Honestly, I do. I just hope I can do a good job. It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to charm a man. I’m out of practice.”

  “You’ll do fine, Em.” Kat reached over and smoothed an errant blond curl back behind her sister’s ear. “You look stunning, and men always find you fascinating. While it’s true there are some pretty girls here and you are older than most of them—”

  “Thanks for building my confidence.”