by Shirl Henke
Amos came through the door, his face mottled with rage. “You bitch. You stupid, ungrateful little bitch. I took you in, gave your bastard a name, treated you both like royalty. And you repay me by making me a laughingstock right here in the capital!”
“Amos—”
“Amos!” he mimicked nastily. Seeing the fear in her eyes made the rage in his guts burn hotter. “You let Madigan ride out in public with his brat. The resemblance can't be missed. Graham Elden picked it up as soon as he spotted them. By week's end, the whole state of Nevada will be smirking about Madigan's bastard!”
“Don't you ever call my son that again!” Rebekah stood with her fists clenched, heartily sickened by the whole sordid mess in which her innocent child had been caught.
“Don't you presume to tell me what I can say,” he growled as his hand lashed out, striking her a ringing blow to the cheek and knocking her back onto the settee. He fell on her, seizing her dress by the neckline and ripping it halfway down the front.
Rebekah saw the crazed light in his eyes. Dear God, he's going to try to rape me! She clawed at his face, raking a bloody set of furrows down his cheek.
Amos hissed in pain, letting her go, the moment of lust passing as quickly as it had sprung up. “I told you if you ever crossed me again, the retribution would be unspeakable.”
“It has been. Every minute of every year married to you,” she whispered, rolling away from him and seizing a poker from the hearth. “Get away from me, Amos, or so help me God, I'll use this!”
He backed off, daubing at his bloody cheek. “I think not. Consider what will happen to your son if I have to have you put away. A wife who threatens her husband with a poker and attacks him?” He tsked nastily as he watched her heaving breasts and saw the terror in her eyes. “Yes, you know I could have you committed. No one would blame me. And then what would become of poor Michael? Legally, he's mine. If I sent Madigan's bastard off to Europe, no one would blame me for that either.”
“If you even try, I will kill you!” she shouted.
He cursed and turned to the open door. “You'd have to stand in line. Have your things packed. Tomorrow, I'm sending you both to the Flying W until this gossip dies down. Then, we'll discuss young master Michael's future.” He stormed out of the room and down the hall.
Rebekah clutched the poker, her knuckles white against the black iron as she made her way down the hall to the head of the stairs. She did not release it until she saw Amos stride furiously toward the front door and heard it slam behind him. Cue Ging and the parlor maid stood at the bottom of the steps looking up at her. Patsy came tiptoeing from behind a door down the hall and gently took the weapon from her hands.
“Let's be gettin' you into a nice hot bath, ma'am.”
“Michael—”
“Francois's keepin' him busy in the kitchen. You don't want him seein' you like this.”
Shame washed over Rebekah. She reached up to her bruised cheek, already starting to swell, then pulled together the torn pieces of her bodice and nodded.
She soaked in the tub, holding an ice-filled compress to the side of her face, while her mind twisted and turned back on itself. How could she free Michael from Amos' power? She damned Rory for coming back into their lives this way. After watching his son from afar and saving his life this morning, he should have let well enough alone. If he was telling the truth about Amos' imminent arrest, there would be time enough later for him to come forward and spend time with Michael.
“I can't go to that isolated ranch with Amos. God knows what he has planned for Michael or for me.” Make no mistake ... She threw down the ice pack and sat up, shivering in the steamy bathwater.
After repairing her appearance, Rebekah went to tuck her son into bed. She had carefully powdered her face to hide the bruise and pasted a bright smile on her lips.
Michael studied her with round blue eyes. “I heard the yelling. Why was Father so angry? Doesn't he like Mr. Madigan?”
“No, Michael. They're political enemies. It's all very complicated.”
“But he was yelling at you. It was my fault. I was the one who went riding with Mr. Madigan. He should be angry with me. I tried to come upstairs, but Francois wouldn't let me,” he said, choking back tears.
Rebekah hugged him, stroking his dark curls. “No, none of this is your fault, darling.”
“It was mean of Father to yell at you.” He reached up and touched her cheek. “He hurt you, didn't he? I hate him! I wish he wasn't my father!”
“Oh, Michael, you can't understand now. Maybe someday...” She crooned low, holding him close. Impossible dreams flashed through her mind. “Just finish your milk and go to sleep.” She reached for the cup of warm milk with honey in it and watched as he finished sipping it slowly.
“I love you, Mama. He won't send me away from you again, will he?”
Her eyes grew hard as she stared into the inky darkness outside his bedroom window. “No, my darling, he won't ever separate us again. I swear it.”
Rebekah waited until Michael was sound asleep before she went to her own room and tried to get some rest. Ever since Rory Madigan had come back into her life, sleep had become a rare commodity. She felt drained, physically and emotionally, caught between two ruthless and powerful men. Amos cared nothing for her and Michael—only for what they symbolized. They were political assets providing respectability to cover up the sordid and brutal things he did in the back rooms of Comstock bordellos.
Just thinking about the ghastly crime Rory had described Amos committing made her blood run cold. She recalled the scratches she had raised on his face in their earlier struggle. Dear God, he had had similar wounds on his face the very day they were married! Could he have come to his wedding night straight from that poor dead prostitute's bed?
Rory was right—she needed to take Michael and escape. She considered Rory's bitterness against her, the repeated accusations about her selling herself to Amos for wealth and prestige. Could he have intended to return to Wellsville? Had he, only to find her wed to his enemy?
“He promised days. I waited a month. No.” She shook her head and rubbed her aching temples. There was no hope of sleep. Throwing back the covers, she slipped from bed and began to dress. Amos was gone, probably attending more political meetings or even carousing with some whore. He would not return tonight.
“I have to get some fresh air. Clear my head. Perhaps then I can sleep.” She checked on Michael, who was fast asleep. Patsy's room was adjacent to his on one side and Millicent Ahern's was across the hall. Although the governess was a fine tutor, she lacked the Irish maid's caring warmth. Michael certainly responded better to his friend Patsy than he did to Millicent, whom he deferentially called Miss Ahern. Perhaps it's the kinship of their Irish blood, she thought sadly.
Feeling it safe to leave him briefly with those two guardians, Rebekah tiptoed downstairs and slipped through the big deserted house to leave by the rear door adjacent to the stables. Just as she stepped into the kitchen, Cue Ging appeared, standing by the pump with a glass of water in his hand.
As always, he was quiet and unruffled, simply bowing to her as if being dressed to ride at midnight was an ordinary occurrence for the lady of the house.
“I feel in need of some fresh air, Ging. I'll return shortly. Please go back to sleep.”
“Yes, missee.”
Rebekah awkwardly began saddling her mare Buttermilk; but before she got farther than the bridle, Ramon, one of the liverymen, awakened and politely insisted on finishing the job for her. Although he did not ask, she could see the worried look in his eyes. Everyone in the house knows Amos and I had that disgraceful fight. She felt sullied and humiliated.
If not for Rory, Amos would have been able to convince her she was deficient as a woman, lacking the ability to fire a man's blood. If nothing else, Rory had certainly shown her the carnal side of her nature. She recognized Amos' sickness for the ugly thing it was, separate from her. At least she owed Rory that. And he h
ad given her Michael.
With that thought bringing a wistful smile to her face, Rebekah pulled on her gloves and thanked Ramon as he helped her mount. Slowly, she rode down the wide street toward the river beyond the city house.
* * * *
The clock chimed midnight as Amos sat toiling at his desk in the spacious office with its view of the capitol building. How proud he had been as a newly elected United States Senator to open the elegant office right beside the legislature that had selected him for the high position. Of course, during the six years he served in Washington he'd returned infrequently, until the last year of his term, when he had to wage the campaign of his life for reelection.
“Damn that mickey bastard!” It was all Madigan's fault that he had lost his bid for a second term. But the other seat would come vacant in 1880, and he hoped old Shanghai Sheffield would not run for reelection. By God, he would be back in Washington then! Hammer had failed to secure him the appointment to the Department of the Interior, but being a Senator was really more prestigious.
However, he could have no scandal over Rebekah and Madigan's bastard. Why had he failed to see how much the boy was coming to look like his real father? The fact that he scarcely ever glanced at Michael or gave him a moment's attention did not occur to Wells. He only knew he must keep both mother and son under lock and key until he could deal with Madigan. And that had to wait until he had found out who was trying to kill him.
The stocks and bank ledgers were there. But a few particularly valuable items were at the ranch house, including a small fortune in cash he had skimmed on the last several stock deals. Now, all he had to do was stay alive long enough to find out who his enemy was and dispose of him.
The first order of the day was to secure the items in his hidden safe at the ranch. He had made discreet arrangements in Virginia City to hire several bodyguards. They should arrive in the morning. Then, he would take his happy family to the Flying W and lie low.
So intent was Amos on his plans that he did not hear the click of his office door as it was unlocked. The intruder quietly replaced the key in one pocket and withdrew the small pistol. A stroke of luck, being able to secure it. Perfect. The shadowy figure moved stealthily toward Amos, whose back was turned as he reached into his open safe to extract the last of the documents.
Some sixth sense caused Wells to turn just before the pistol was cocked. His eyes widened in utter amazement as he looked down the barrel pointed lethally at his heart. “Not you! Don't be a fool—”
The shot rang out, deafening in the silence of the night. Amos Wells was slammed against the wall. He was dead before he hit the floor. The intruder quickly scooped up everything on the desk and cleaned out the safe.
Chapter Seventeen
“Are you absolutely certain he's your son?” Patrick Madigan's expression was filled with disbelief as he stared at his brother. The two men were sharing a pot of coffee in Rory's suite at the Ormsby House Hotel.
Rory pulled out the faded and dog-eared old daguerreotype of himself as a young boy and handed it to Michael. Setting down his coffee cup, Patrick picked up the picture. “This is you with our parents, back in Galway.”
“Michael is the mirror image of that picture. He was born in Washington exactly seven months after Rebekah married Amos Wells. I've had the dates verified.” Rory's set look brooked no opposition. “He's mine, Patrick.”
The elder Madigan sighed. “I suppose it's possible. But legally he's still Wells' son. You'd better tread warily until we've netted our prey, Rory. This could become very ugly if it got out.”
“I assumed the reason for your surprise visit was to let me know about how things were progressing in Sacramento.”
Patrick's worried eyes studied his brother. “We should have indictments against Sheffield and Bascomb and the rest of their group in a week or two. The last I heard, Stephan Hammer had flown the coop back to Washington. He's going to be harder to convict because of his political connections there.” He picked up the old photo and toyed with it, then looked back at Rory. “What are you going to do about her once this is over?”
“Perhaps I was wrong about her.”
“Don't leap into marriage with her just to get your boy, Rory,” Patrick cautioned.
Rory shook his head and smiled sadly. “That may not be an option. Rebekah blames me for deserting her. If she's telling the truth, she has no reason to trust me now. To her, I'm no better than Amos. He uses Michael to blackmail her—I'm sure of it.”
“I can see how she might think you only want your son—not her. What do you want, Rory?”
Shrugging, Rory sighed. “Hell, Patrick, I don't know....” He swore and shoved his chair back from the table. “That's not true. I want her. I've always wanted her. After eight years, she's still in my blood. Even when I hated her, I loved her.”
“And now you don't hate her anymore,” Patrick said quietly. “Be careful, Rory. She may be the one who hates you.”
“I have to settle this. I'm going to face her and tell her everything.” He stood up.
“Don't be a fool. Wait until Wells is out of the picture.”
“I don't dare. You saw those reports. The man's insane. He's already killed one woman—”
“A prostitute. He won't dare harm his own wife.”
“You don't know that. Once he learns that we're behind his destruction, he could turn on Rebekah and my son. I can't chance it. I'm going to get them away from him today. While I took Michael riding, I read a great deal between the lines as he described his family life.”
“Being seen in public with the boy was most imprudent, Rory.”
“You're beginning to sound like Rebekah's father, Patrick—a dismal prospect indeed,” Rory replied, giving his brother a slap on the back. “As long as you're here, why don't you see if you can run down Sly Hobart.”
“Hobart's dead. That was one of the first things I learned when I arrived in Nevada. My agent wired me that he was shot outside a mine yesterday morning. Amos Wells was with him. Someone tried to shoot him too. Unfortunately, his aim was bad.”
Rory swore and headed for the door. “Then, his confederates are on to us—they must know we're after Wells. He's become a liability to them. If Hammer and the rest want Amos dead, Rebekah and Michael could be in jeopardy, too.” Patrick blanched. “I never considered that, but you're right. Wait, Rory—I'll go with you.”
“No time. I want to explain to Rebekah myself,” Rory called out as he closed the hotel room door.
* * * *
At the Wells' city house, Rebekah had packed two small valises—one for herself and one for Michael. They could not take much, and they needed to hurry before Amos returned. He had stayed out all night, not an unusual occurrence. But after his threat, she knew he would either come for her and Michael or send someone to escort them to the Flying W.
She and her son must be gone before that happened, and she could not involve the servants, who would suffer if they helped her.
After riding around for several hours last night, she had formulated a desperate plan. If they could simply vanish for a month or so, surely Rory would have Amos arrested and held for trial. Once her husband was publicly ruined and his sordid past revealed, she could return without fear of reprisal. Where to go had been the problem. The first place he would look was her father's house. But she had cash enough to buy them train tickets to Sacramento. Celia's husband was wealthy and powerful. She would simply have to throw herself on her old friend's mercy and hope for the best.
Rebekah slipped into Michael's room and awakened the sleepy boy. She guided him from his bed into her room, whispering that he must remain very quiet. He was too disoriented to protest. A few of the servants were up, but if she and Michael slipped out the side door with their bags hidden in her cape, no one would realize they were not coming back until it was too late.
“Mama—”
“Shh. Don't say anything now, dearest.” She had him sit on her bed and began to dress
him hastily. “You and I are going on a secret adventure. It will be great fun, but you must do exactly as I say.” She shoved his arms through his shirtsleeves and quickly buttoned the front. Just as she was about to lace up his shoes, she heard Ging's voice raised from downstairs, arguing with someone. Rory!
“Wait here in Mama's room, Michael. Don't come out, no matter what,” she instructed, urging him to lie back on her bed and doze.
“Is that Mr. Madigan?” Michael asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“I—I'm not sure, but you must promise to stay here. Please. I'll come back as soon as I can.”
Reassured when he nodded solemnly, Rebekah flew down the hall toward the front stairs. Rory had already bypassed Ging and was climbing the stairs two at a time. “Rory, what on earth—”
“We have to talk, Rebekah. Now. You and Michael are in grave danger.” He took her arm and headed down the hall.
“There's a sitting room here,” she said, stopping at the first door on the right.
He opened it and ushered her inside, then closed the door and turned to face her. “I'm taking you and Michael away from here—to my ranch.”
A cold look came into her eyes. “A most peculiar coincidence. Amos has similar plans. Why, Rory?”
“It's all very complicated. Someone—one or more of the men who are mixed up in Amos's crooked dealings—has tried to kill him. I don't want you in the line of fire.”
Rebekah remembered Amos' words during their fight. “He mentioned something about that yesterday. He knows you took Michael out for that ride. He was furious.”
Rory approached and noticed the mark on her face for the first time. “He's hurt you. I'll kill that son-of-a-bitch myself!” His fingers touched her cheek gently, in spite of the anger radiating from him.