A Love to Cherish

by Connie Mason

  “Hold me, Casey,” Belle pleaded. She still hovered at the edge of shock. Tonight had been a frightening experience. What if something had happened to Casey?

  Casey knew Belle spoke from fright and shock but he could no more keep his arms from embracing her than he could stop breathing. He pulled her close, inhaling deeply of the soft, flowery scent that clung to her hair and skin.

  “Nothing will happen to you or our child while I’m here to protect you, love.”

  She cuddled close to him. “I know. I’ve always felt safe with you.”

  Casey was inordinately pleased by Belle’s admission. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for but it was enough for now. “Go to sleep, love. You’ve had quite a fright for a pregnant lady.”

  “I’m not sleepy. Make love to me, Casey.”

  Casey went still. Belle had never asked to be made love to before. Had shock done something to that stubborn reserve she’d always imposed upon herself? As much as he wanted her, he couldn’t take advantage of her fragile emotions.

  “That’s not what you really want, love.”

  “Dammit, Casey, I know what I want and I want to feel you over me, around me, inside me. Flesh to flesh, mouth to mouth. I want to be totally consumed by you until I can no longer think. Please, Casey, love me.”

  “You make me crazy, sweetheart. I’d love you every day of your life if you’d let me. Are you sure? I’ve never been certain you truly wanted me. I was experienced enough to make you want me, but that’s not the same as knowing you desire me in the same way I desire you.”

  The words Belle wanted to say lodged in her throat. Instead she showed him by action how much she wanted him. She groped for his manhood and stroked his thick length to the root. Casey went rigid, letting her small hand handle him in any way that pleased her. She was slowly driving him toward ecstasy and he groaned with the need she was creating inside him. When she lowered her head and opened her mouth to him, he cried out her name. Her mouth was hot and wet and he felt a powerful climax building inside him. He allowed her free reign a few moments more then pulled her away and tucked her beneath him.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Casey said in a low, sexy growl.

  He proceeded to torment her sweet body with his mouth and hands until she begged him to come inside her. Grasping her hips, he thrust full and deep into her soft warmth and stroked them both to shimmering splendor. When it was over, Casey couldn’t recall when he’d been so thoroughly sated, so perfectly at peace. When he raised up to ask Belle if she felt the same, he was disappointed to find she had fallen asleep. He sighed regretfully, wondering if she had turned to him only out of fear and shock and if he’d ever know the truth.

  The following morning Casey arose before Belle had awakened and made a thorough search of the grounds. He found several footprints, but nothing to indicate the identity of the intruder. Mark saw to the changing of the locks on the doors and Wan Yo reported that the locks on all the windows were intact. Casey and Mark went into the study after breakfast to discuss the break-in the night before.

  “What do you think?” Mark asked curiously.

  “The intruder had no interest in the study, where the safe and money were likely to be found. He went directly upstairs to the master bedroom. It was almost as if he knew exactly where he was going.”

  “Do you think it was one of the discharged servants?”

  “It’s possible, but I don’t think so. The only one who might match the size of our intruder is Kellerman, and there is no reason for him to hurt Belle.”

  Mark scooted to the edge of his seat and leaned forward. “Do you actually think the intruder wanted to hurt Belle?”

  “Call it a hunch, but that man meant harm to either Belle or myself. Maybe both of us.”

  “Damn! For what reason?”

  “I think it might be Hank Jones but I can’t be sure. I’ve got my work cut out for me if I’m going to find the culprit. Stick around the house today, will you, Mark? Make sure my stubborn wife stays out of trouble.”

  “That’s a tall order, brother. I’ll do my best.”

  Casey found Kellerman in a squalid brothel on Kearny Street. Casey dragged the man out of a whore’s bed and held a gun to his head while he posed his questions. Without weapons to bolster his courage, Kellerman spilled his guts. He admitted that he had sold the key to the house, which he had kept after McAllister’s murder, to a man named Jones, with whom he had struck up a conversation one night in a saloon. He had also provided Jones with a description of the inside of the house.

  Casey’s dire threats gleaned no more information and he left Kellerman to his whore, warning him that it would be unhealthy for him to remain in town. Kellerman got the hint. He was gone before sundown. That still didn’t solve Casey’s problem. Evidently Jones had gone into hiding for he had literally dropped out of sight.

  Mark refused to allow Belle out of the house during Casey’s absence and Greta made certain she obeyed his orders. Belle wanted to visit Harry Hopkins and assure him that they hadn’t given up, that Casey was trying to find the real killer. She worried excessively about Harry’s health. If not for her, Harry would not be in jail now. But if he hadn’t falsely confessed to the crime she would most likely be in prison, or maybe worse. Juries had been known to sentence women to death.

  That night, when Casey joined Belle in bed, he told her that he had found Kellerman, and revealed what Kellerman had said.

  “So Hank Jones had a key to our house,” Belle said, shivering with the thought. “Why would he want to hurt us?”

  “My guess is that we’re getting too close to the truth about McAllister’s death. Once Harry Hopkins is hung for the murder he figures he’s off the hook. Until then he’s going to do everything he can to keep us from digging into his past. Don’t worry, love, I’m not taking any chances where you or my child are concerned.”

  Casey didn’t make love to her that night, but Belle was content to lie in his arms and listen to the thumping of his heart.

  The next day Casey reported the break-in to the sheriff then resumed his search for Hank Jones. To Belle’s delight Mark was unexpectedly called away to the winery late in the afternoon. While Greta was busy with Tommy’s lessons, she was able to sneak away unnoticed with a basket of nourishing food for Harry Hopkins. Sheriff Rogan was not in his office when she arrived at the jailhouse, but the deputy complied with her request to visit the prisoner.

  Harry Hopkins smiled wanly at Belle through the bars. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’ve brought hot soup and freshly baked bread. Jail food didn’t agree with me and it probably doesn’t with you, either.” She passed a jar of soup and two thick slices of warm, buttered bread through the bars.

  Harry sipped the soup and sighed. “It does taste better than the fried potatoes and beans I was served for lunch. Thank you.”

  She watched him eat, wishing she could do more. When he finished, he passed the empty soup jar to her.

  “Casey is still looking for Hank Jones,” Belle said. “Our house was broken into last night. Casey believes Jones is responsible. Someone means us harm and we have no other enemies that I know of.”

  “I wish you’d let well enough alone,” Harry said softly. “I’m dying anyway, a little neck stretching isn’t going to hurt anything.”

  “How do you know you’re dying?” Belle asked fiercely.

  “Look at me. How can you doubt it? I visited a doctor a spell back and he told me there was a cancer growing in my stomach. He gave me a few months to live. Fessing up to the crime you were charged with was the most selfless thing I’ve ever done. I can die happy, knowing I done one good thing in my life.”

  “I won’t let you die, Harry, I won’t!”

  “Those words mean more to me than you can guess. It’s been a long time since anyone cared whether I lived or died.”

  “I care, so does Casey.”

  Harry gave her a gap-toothed smile. “Best you get yourself home, little gel. I
t’s nigh on to suppertime.” He glanced out the barred window behind him, concerned over the lengthening shadows. “Your husband will be worried about you.”

  Belle was startled to see that it had grown dark during the length of her visit. Casey would be livid if he arrived home before she did and found her missing. Perhaps he was already out looking for her.

  “I’ll try to return tomorrow. Don’t worry. If you have to die it’s going to be in bed.” Her bravado didn’t fool Harry. He had already resigned himself to death, and the view of the gallows through his tiny window confirmed his fate.

  Belle hurried through the darkened streets. Had a hack been available she would have taken it, but they were predictably scarce when needed. Then she heard the rattle of wheels and breathed a sigh of relief as a hack came lumbering into view. Truth to tell, after last night’s break-in she was nervous about walking home in the dark. Belle stepped from the curb and hailed the driver. The hack ground to a halt. The driver stepped down from the box and opened the door. Belle barely gave him a second glance, except to note that his hat was pulled low over his eyes and he wore a colorful plaid jacket.

  “Where to, lady?”

  Belle gave the address on Telegraph Hill and settled back against the cushions. The hack clattered off down the street. After fifteen minutes or so, Belle realized it was taking an inordinate amount of time to reach Telegraph Hill and she glanced out the window. Dismay turned to fear when she realized nothing in the passing scenery was familiar. In addition to that, the hack had picked up speed and seemed to be racing down the street at a breakneck pace.

  Sticking her head out the window, Belle screamed for the driver to stop. She might as well have been screaming to the wind for all the good it did. The driver didn’t even look back as he whipped up the horses. The ground sped by at an alarming rate. For the space of a heartbeat Belle considered jumping. But the thought died quickly when she realized she couldn’t risk the life of her child. She hung on for dear life and prayed that whoever was behind this scurrilous deed would realize his mistake and release her unhurt.

  Don’t panic, she told herself. There could be a logical explanation to all this. And then it came to her. Hank Jones! He was the only person with a reason to kidnap her.

  Suddenly the hack clattered to a halt. Before Belle could wrench the door open the driver jumped from the box, flung open the door, and dragged Belle out. She resisted fiercely but her strength was nothing compared to that of her abductor.

  “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”

  The man said nothing. He merely tightened his hold on her and dragged her toward a clapboard shack nestled against a hill in a copse of trees. He opened the door and threw her inside. Belle stumbled but caught herself, and watched in terror as her abductor lit a lamp, threw off his hat, and leered at her.

  “You! So I was right. You’re Hank Jones. I saw you when I visited Harry Hopkins in jail. You’re the man who hurt Greta.”

  “Your memory is good, lady,” Jones snarled. “Greta is the name of that whore I roughed up, ain’t it? She should have given me what I paid for. She’s a damn tease. Got me all hot and hard then changed her mind.”

  “You beat her viciously,” Belle charged.

  “She had it coming. No one cheats Hank Jones and gets away with it. McAllister learned the hard way not to cross me. Though it happened a long time ago, I just recently learned he was responsible for my father’s death, and told my mother the mine was worthless so she’d sell Pa’s share to him.”

  “I was right! You killed my father-in-law!”

  Jones glared at her. “So what? No big loss. The man was a liar, cheat, and murderer.”

  “Killing McAllister makes you as evil as he was. You could have gone to the authorities with your suspicions. And what about poor Harry Hopkins? He’s as innocent of murder as I was.”

  Jones laughed gleefully. “That was right neighborly of Hopkins to confess. Either way, I’m in the clear. If Hopkins hadn’t confessed, you would have been convicted of the murder. I was in the courtroom the day of your trial. I saw how eager the jury was to convict you.”

  Belle started toward the door. “I’m leaving. You disgust me.”

  Jones was surprisingly fleet of foot for a man his size. He reached the door before Belle and thrust her aside. “You ain’t going nowhere.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “You and that kid of yours inherited money that belongs to me. I would have snatched the kid but he’s too well-guarded.”

  “You want money?”

  He grinned, eyeing her with slow relish. “That’s part of it. I want your husband to leave me alone and stop poking into things that are none of his business. Hopkins will swing in another few days. Walker has got to stop investigating a murder that has already been solved.

  “And another thing,” Jones said, eyeing her lewdly. “That old bitch at the whorehouse wouldn’t let me through the door when I got hankering for a woman and returned. No other whorehouse is open to me, either. No woman will let me touch her after I was jailed for roughing up that whore. Somebody owes me, and since you’re handy …” He started toward her, tearing off his jacket and working the buttons on his shirt.

  Terrified, Belle retreated. “Touch me and you won’t get a cent of McAllister’s money.”

  He paused, his expression thoughtful. “McAllister owes me. He killed my father.”

  His hesitation gave Belle hope. “Hurting me will gain you nothing. How do you know McAllister killed your father?”

  “I didn’t know until after Ma died recently. I found an unopened letter from Pa in her belongings. It was the last letter written to her before his ‘accidental’ death. The letter was caught in a narrow space behind a drawer. I have no idea why Ma never opened the letter, or how it became lodged behind the drawer, but I suspect she was too grief-stricken after Pa’s death to read it. She probably misplaced it and never found it. It fell to the floor when I pulled out the drawer, looking for money and valuables.”

  Jones failed to explain that he had left home at the age of fifteen, shortly after his father’s death, to take up a life of crime. He had been angry with his mother for selling his father’s share of the mine to McAllister and refusing to part with any of the money. During the following twenty years Jones could count on one hand the times he had visited or kept in touch with his mother. After he learned of her death recently, he’d returned home, hoping his miserly parent had left him an inheritance. He’d found nothing substantial save the letter.

  Seeing that Jones was lost in memories, Belle remained silent, edging farther away from him. She started violently when he resumed speaking.

  “Pa wrote that if he should suffer an unfortunate accident, we should suspect McAllister of foul play. He said that McAllister was angry with him for refusing to sell his share of the mine. Pa felt that McAllister was trying to cheat him and Hopkins. I came all the way to San Francisco to confront McAllister and demand my dues, but the bastard laughed at me.”

  “So you killed him,” Belle said. “That made you no better than he, if what you say is true. What did you gain by committing murder?”

  Jones sneered. “Satisfaction, lady, satisfaction. McAllister as much as admitted he cheated both Pa and old man Hopkins. He told me I could prove nothing, that my letter was twenty years old and the law would turn a deaf ear at my claim. But I got even. And now you’re going to give me everything that’s due me.”

  He met her across the room and cornered her against the far wall, trapping her within the span of his arms as he braced them on either side of her. “You’re a pretty little thing. Prettier than Greta. You ain’t gonna make me hurt you, are you?”

  Belle tried to duck beneath his arm but he pressed her against the wall with the weight of his body. She felt like a trapped rabbit. His body was hard and heavy against hers and his fetid breath made her gag. Fear lanced through her. She recalled Greta’s bruised body and battered face, and knew Hank Jones w
as a brutal man.

  “There is only one way you can get any money from the estate and that’s through either me or my husband. Casey will hunt you down no matter where you go, if you hurt me.”

  Belle’s words gave her a small amount of comfort. It occurred to her that Casey would protect her and Tommy with his life. She’d just been too stubborn to acknowledge the depth of Casey’s feelings for her. Or admit her own for him. If she ever saw Casey again, the first thing she’d tell him was that she loved him.

  Jones stared at Belle, his lust barely contained. Not the brightest of men, he did realize that Casey Walker wasn’t a man to be trifled with. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the detective found enough evidence to clear Hopkins despite the old man’s confession. But now that Jones had leverage in the person of Walker’s wife, he could demand that Walker drop the investigation and ransom his wife for McAllister’s money. Taking his pleasure with the little slut wasn’t worth his life, or the money he’d get for her return, if he decided to return her after he had the money safely in his hand. But if he wasn’t careful he’d have the entire Pinkerton Agency breathing down his neck, and he couldn’t afford that.

  “You win for now, lady,” Jones said, backing away. “But your man better do as I say or your life ain’t worth shit.” He shrugged into his jacket and jammed his hat on his head, glaring at Belle with obvious malice.

  Belle had to lock her knees in order to keep them from collapsing, so great was her relief. “Where are you going?”

  “You gonna miss me?” He leered at her. “Don’t worry, lady, I ain’t going far. I’m gonna contact your man and tell him you’ll stay healthy as long as he does like I say. Don’t try to escape,” he warned. “The windows are shuttered and I’m gonna bar the door from the outside. If the candle burns down there’s another beside it. I ain’t gonna starve you, either. I’ll bring some grub back with me.”