Hannah held it up. “A scrap of Wilton-Humes letterhead. With a name on it. It’d been thrown into the fireplace, but it didn’t completely burn.”
Now Glory chimed in. “Wilton-Humes? I don’t understand. Why would there be—?” The answer came to her, contorting her face in horror. “Oh, it’s too awful to even think it. Mama’s family?” She put a hand to her mouth and stared at Hannah.
The following silence was so deep that Hannah fancied she could hear her own blood rushing through her veins. Looking from one to the other of them, she said the words. “You know what I have to do, don’t you?”
“Do? What d’ya mean ‘do,’ child? Yer just a girl. Nothin’ more.” With gray wisps of hair sticking out around her face at odd angles, and with her cherubic face drained of all color, Biddy frowned up at Hannah.
But it was Jacey who answered. “We’re women now, Biddy. Lawless women.” She stared levelly at Hannah. “We’ll do what Papa would do, if he were here. We’ll go to Boston. And we’ll kill Mama’s filthy family.”
Biddy’s response was to stare pop-eyed and then wilt into a faint. Glory shrieked and ran to aid their nanny, who’d fallen harmlessly back onto the wing chair behind her. But Hannah, rooted to the spot, stared at her other sister. Jacey was as hotheaded as Papa’d ever been. “Jacey, there’s no ‘we’ to it. You’re staying here with Glory and Biddy. I’m the oldest. It’s my responsibility to set things right.”
Just as Hannah knew she would, Jacey stiffened and glared out her challenge. “Like hell it is. I’m going, too, Hannah.”
Here it was. The first challenge to her being the Lawless in charge. “No, Jacey. You’re staying here with Glory and Biddy.” When Jacey’s bottom lip poked out in defiance, Hannah rushed on. “I need you here, Jacey. Look at them.” She pointed to Biddy and Glory and gave Jacey time to absorb the helpless scene they presented. When Jacey looked again at Hannah, her chin was quivering. Hannah spoke more gently to her sister. “Honey, you’re the best shot on the spread and the bravest one here. Please. I can’t fight you and worry about them and try to … set things right all at the same time.”
Jacey stared in that hard, direct way of hers. But then her shoulders slumped. “All right, Hannah. We’ll do this your way. But before Biddy comes to, we need to make a blood oath.”
Hannah flinched. Jacey was giving in, but not without a test. She knew how her sisters hated this ritual, how they recoiled from Jacey’s insistence on formalizing every promise between themselves. But if this was what it took, then so be it. Hannah rose to the challenge. “Glory, leave Biddy be a moment and come here.” When Glory joined them, Hannah held a hand out to Jacey. “Give me your knife.”
Glory moaned, but Jacey didn’t hesitate. She matter-of-factly lifted her skirt, exposing the Cherokee beadwork sheath fastened like a garter around her thigh. She pulled out a thin-bladed knife with a bone handle and handed it to Hannah. Something in her sister’s black eyes told Hannah that Jacey had just ceded authority for the family over to her.
Taking the knife, Hannah held Jacey’s gaze. “Blood oath.” She then pricked her finger and handed the knife back to her sister. Grimacing, Hannah pushed on the wounded pad with her thumb, forcing the red bead to a thin flow.
Jacey swiftly nicked herself and held the knife out to Glory. When she hesitated, Jacey fairly hissed at her. “Do it—now. Are you a Lawless or not?”
Watching Glory swipe at her tears, Hannah felt sorry for her baby sister. Jacey always intimidated her into doing things she didn’t want to do. But this time, she was on Jacey’s side. She held her bleeding finger and glanced back at Biddy, whose eyelids were fluttering. “Hurry, Glory. It’s just a prick. If Biddy wakes up and sees this, we’ll be burying her next.”
Glory took the knife, but she handled it as if it were a hot poker. She bravely stuck her own finger out and gave a yelp when she pricked it. With wide green eyes, she watched her own blood flow. She didn’t even blink. Not even when Jacey snatched the knife back from her and, with one-handed, practiced motions, resheathed it under her skirt.
The moment was here. Hannah held her hand out. Jacey mingled her blood with Hannah’s and then looked at Glory, who bit at her bottom lip and stuck her bleeding finger out to them. Standing hand over hand, the sisters looked in turn around their circle. Then, Jacey and Glory settled on Hannah to say the words.
Taking a deep breath, and feeling the weighty presence of her murdered parents in the room, perhaps with their hands atop those of their daughters, Hannah spoke. “We, the Lawless women, swear by this blood oath that we will avenge the deaths of J. C. and Catherine Lawless. And Peter Anglin. We swear we will seek out those who are guilty, no matter where they may be, no matter how long it may take. We swear we will not rest until the guilty ones are dead, and our parents’ and Old Pete’s spirits are avenged and they may finally rest in peace. We swear it. And so be it.”
Jacey and Glory echoed Hannah’s words. “We swear it. And so be it.”
CHAPTER ONE
Hannah’s resolve faltered. Not even Mama’s stories about the size and bustle of Boston could have prepared her for the reality of the seaport town. Wide-eyed and rumpled from her countless days and nights of traveling, she stood on the covered depot platform, amid the jumbled fortress of her trunks and bags, trying to decide her next move.
All around her, pushing, hurrying people swirled and eddied, each one intent on his own particular business. As if caught in a whirlpool, Hannah steadied herself by leaning against a wooden post. The last time she’d seen this many bodies so packed together and agitated, they were cattle wearing the Lawless brand. And they’d been in a desperate stampede to a gully running with water. Now, that she knew how to handle.
With anxious knots kneading her stomach, Hannah threaded her gaze through the human stewpot, seeking the forest of tall buildings beyond the platform’s edge. She’d never seen the like, not even in the cities which had passed as blurs outside her compartment window. Assaulted now on all sides by Boston’s up-close, jarring noises and noxious smells, she knew a moment of real terror. How far did civilization stretch? And how would she ever find Cloister Point, the Wilton-Humes estate, in this jumble?
Stretching out in all directions were narrow, twisting streets, each of them jammed with traffic, foot and carriage. Rough wagons driven by shouting tradesmen vied with fancy carriages and omnibuses for space. Boys hawked newspapers. Women clutched at children’s hands and hurried them along. A fishmonger sang out, touting the day’s catch. Weary travelers hugged loved ones. And heightened Hannah’s awareness of how alone she was.
Talk of vengeance and of blood oaths seemed well and good when in the bosom of her family. But here—on a dark, early-October afternoon as a cold, gray rain began suddenly to slant down? Her self-imposed mission now seemed ill-conceived, if not downright dangerous.
Hannah pushed away from the post to squeeze her coin purse. She eyed the train she’d just deboarded. Not thirty feet away, it hunkered, snorting and steaming like a bull pawing the ground. She swallowed hard, thinking of her sum of money. She had more than enough for a ticket home. She could say she couldn’t find the Wilton-Humeses. Or she could say she’d confronted them and found they weren’t guilty.
A tiny voice in her head wailed in protest. She could also say, it accused, that her father’s outlaw blood did not flow in her veins. That her mother’s fierce love for her girls meant nothing. That the murderers could live out their days unpunished. That her blood oath with her sisters meant nothing.
Her conscience’s mocking words of cowardice shamed Hannah. And then steeled her spine. She focused on thoughts of Jacey and Glory having to shoulder responsibility for the ranch in her absence. Hannah shook her head. No, she wouldn’t let them down. She, unlike them, was surrounded by civilized folks, thousands of miles away from where the murders had occurred.
She was also close to the unsuspecting Wilton-Humeses. Who were probably dry and warm, all nestled in at the family
estate at this very moment. Narrowing her eyes, giving herself over to the jolt of courage that raced her blood through her veins, Hannah vowed anew that she’d find them, that she’d—
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. “May I be of some assistance?”
Hannah jerked around, her gloved hands flying to her chest, as if seeking reassurance that her heart still beat. The handsome, well-dressed man doffing his hat to her loomed bigger than some of the hills back home. Tall herself, she didn’t usually have to look up to meet a man’s gaze. But it was either that or talk to the silken scarf knotted at his throat.
“You startled me.” Hannah frowned up at him. And realized she couldn’t look away from his dark eyes.
Set in a clean-shaven face of wide mouth and hawkish nose, those piercing black eyes twinkled down at her. His smile intensified Hannah’s feelings of awkwardness. “I apologize. I simply meant to offer you my protection.”
“Your protection?” Like a shadow, belated wariness stole over her, reminding her of her particular circumstance—a young woman alone in a strange city. She took his measure in one sweeping glance. Broad and powerful. Moneyed and self-assured. Used to giving orders and having them carried out. “Why would you do that for the likes of me?”
A black-winged eyebrow beneath his gray top hat arched. “I suspect I’ll soon be asking myself that very same question. But you have only to look around you to see your danger.”
No one had to tell her of danger. She was looking at it. Hannah blinked, trying her hardest to turn away from his compelling eyes. She felt trapped. He was fascinating. Like a snake, a sudden intuition warned.
Jarred by that image, she backed up, wrenching her gaze from his to focus on individual faces in the crowd. Some ferret-faced creatures immediately looked away and melted into the crowd when she sighted on them. A glaze of fear thumped her heart. The gentleman was right. She had attracted the attention of the sort who pounced on weak or unwary prey.
She faced the man in front of her. He appeared straightforward and open, but did she dare trust his offer of protection? To her, his fancy clothes and manners were no guarantees of honorable intentions, despite his words. “You should know I have a gun.”
His burst of laughter startled her. “Perhaps I should inform you that I have one, also.”
Hannah reflexively cut her gaze down to his hip, where out West a gunbelt would be strapped. But his chesterfield overcoat hid any telltale sign of a weapon.
“Do you see anything down there to your liking?”
When his meaning soaked in, Hannah drew herself up to her full height, which put the top of her head at his chin, and met his bold stare. She pretended she couldn’t feel the hot flush on her otherwise cold cheeks, and dismissed him. “I thank you for your concern, mister, but I can make my own way.”
A slow grin stole over his mouth, revealing white, even teeth. “Just as I feared. There’s no one coming to meet you, is there?”
Heart-fluttering male or not, just who did this Jasper think he was? “I got myself this far. I think I can go a few more miles without getting myself killed.”
Apparently—judging by his fit of chuckling—every word that came out of her mouth tickled this tall Easterner. “I believe you. However, just to appease my gentleman’s heart, may I see you safely to a cab and on your way? I’d never forgive myself if tomorrow’s headline in the Daily Advertiser reported the discovery of your dead body in the harbor.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe in pulling any words, do you?”
“No. Especially not when it would be reported that you were last seen alive in my company.” With that, he gestured over his shoulder, as if to signal someone to come to him. Hannah frowned, trying to peer around him. She hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. Sure enough, he wasn’t. Four burly men leached from the crowd and stepped forward. Dressed in first-quality but unobtrusive clothing, the big men eyed her dispassionately while silently awaiting their orders. “Take the lady’s belongings to a reputable cab and then proceed on to Woodbridge Pond. I can handle this.”
Before Hannah could protest, her trunks and bags were whisked away. In much the same manner, so was she when the tall stranger stepped up and took her elbow. Not used to being handled by any man, Hannah stopped just short of an overt flinch when his large, gloved hand closed over her arm. But his warm, steady pressure—not too tight—reassured her somewhat.
Wordlessly, he carried her along with him, his long-legged stride forcing her to skip along beside him, or risk being dragged. Hannah figured she was crazy for letting this stranger take her away from the safety of the crowded station. But would anyone help her if she balked? She doubted it, watching the way the folks who’d buffeted her only moments ago now parted for him. Most folks took one look their way, did a double take, and then moved aside. A few men doffed their hats and mumbled greetings, which he returned with only a nod of his head.
Hannah risked a quick glance up at her escort. “From the way these folks are acting, you must be the biggest toad in the puddle. But I don’t believe I caught your name.”
Without slowing, without looking away from the line of waiting cabs and omnibuses at the curb, he finally deigned to say, “You didn’t catch my name because I didn’t throw it.”
His response lit the fuse on her Lawless temper. Hannah stopped in her tracks. “Look, mister, the way I see it, you’ve pushed yourself into my business. You’ve caused my belongings to be carried off. And I believe that’s your hand on my elbow. Now, I’d say all that entitles me to the courtesy of an introduction.”
His expression, as he listened to her, changed from displeasure to bemusement. It was a good thing for him that her mother had raised her to be a lady, or she’d have to kick his arrogant-Easterner shin. “What about me is so funny? Don’t people hereabouts speak their minds?”
“Yes, people hereabouts speak their minds. But not to call me a big toad.” Still, he released her elbow and stepped back, sketching a fancy bow in front of her. “Nevertheless, allow me to introduce myself. Mr. Slade Garrett, at your service and pleased to make your acquaintance.”
His name staggered her, sent her reeling back a step. Slade Garrett? The very name on the charred scrap of letterhead! Helplessly she stared at him. She’d stepped off the train and right into the enemy’s hands.
Either God was punishing her for seeking revenge, or the very devil himself was helping her enemies. Even though she hadn’t known who he was when she boarded the train in Kansas, the newspapers she’d read along the way were glutted with this man’s name. He was the recent heir to his father’s railroad stock—a huge share of stock. A controlling share of stock. And she’d ridden here on his trains.
Shock and fear and hateful anger constricted Hannah’s chest, making it impossible for her to drag air into her lungs. Clutching at her skirt, she realized, to her horror, that she was going to faint. For even now her vision darkened, narrowing tunnellike until it encompassed only Slade Garrett’s handsome, dark, and now diabolical face.
Unable to move, her limbs like pudding, she watched as he sobered and straightened up, reaching for her. The last thing she heard was his voice. “Are you feeling ill, miss? You look pale. Here, let me—”
* * *
The matched bays’ hooves clip-clopped over the cobbled streets. The steady patter of cold rain spiked against the elegant brougham’s roof as it pulled away from the depot. Inside, and seated in an uncomfortable cramp, Slade Garrett glared down at the unconscious girl in his arms and draped across his thighs. Grimacing, he shifted her weight as best he could. What the deuce had he been thinking to even approach her? Now look at this turn of events.
Twitching his nose and mouth around an irritating frill on the girl’s hat, Slade considered her green traveling costume. While stylish, it still announced her as not one of the first sort. Perhaps not even one of the second sort. His deprecating snort coalesced into a vaporish cloud. So now he was a Good Samaritan, rescuing lowe
r-class girls. Totally unnecessary. The depot employed an adequate force to aid distressed or put-upon travelers. He’d seen to that detail himself.
So what was he doing here with her in his lap? He’d never done this sort of thing before. Well, what was he supposed to do when the girl fainted in his arms—leave her lying there in the pouring rain? He could already see tomorrow’s headlines, had he done such a despicable thing. And all he’d meant to do was see her to a carriage and on her way, just as he’d said. Damn his momentary chivalric outburst!
His thoughts darkening his humor further, Slade again hefted her weight on his lap. And stopped short, his grip on her tightening with the realization that she was well padded in all the right places. And resting on him in all the right places. Feeling his male urges stir, Slade raked his gaze over her form again, this time with the heated awareness of a healthy male. And liked what he saw. Too bad she was too provincial and outspoken to be to his liking, because he—
What the deuce? Slade scowled at the carriage’s opposite seat. To his liking? When he thought of a little country mouse in those terms, it was time to visit Francine at Madame Chenault’s. How long had it been? His answer was a sharp, burning cramp down his arm. Grimacing, telling himself he deserved this, he angled the girl up some so he could work out the knot.
Confound it, how long before she’d come to her senses? His conscience posed the same question of him. Slade returned his gaze to the girl and admitted what about her had caught his attention the moment he’d stepped out of the depot office. Lust. Pure and simple. No. Would that it were simple lust. But the truth was … the girl had captivated him as no woman ever had before. All he’d done was glance in her direction and then glance away. Only to have his attention dart right back to her.
But why? Why her? Holding her close now, he again concentrated on the warmth of her curves against his chest and lap. He stared into her face, right now so still and pale. It wasn’t any one feature, not her high forehead, her rich, dark and curling hair, her pert nose, or very kissable mouth, or even the fetching combination of them all that intrigued him. But intrigued he was. Much too intrigued for his—or her—good. Slade shook his head in disgust. Boston’s mothers were correct. Young ladies needed protection from him.
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