by Caroline Lee
Gasping in mock outrage, she clutched Antonia to that same breast and whirled back towards the street. “Good day, sir.”
He laughed out loud then and followed her down the boardwalk to the street. “I just mean you never talk about your time teaching—I guess that’s where you got good with kids—but you’re always talking about Mr. Prince and your job with him.”
She slowed and allowed him to catch up, which told him she’d just been pretending indignation. Had she minded the way he’d looked at her? Like he was appreciating her the way a man appreciates a woman? Even if his face was half-hideous and he couldn’t offer her anything near the life she was used to?
“I’m not always talking about Mr. Prince.”
They were standing in the middle of Andersen Avenue, but she’d made no move to continue. He barely noticed her frown, his attention was too riveted on the way her eyebrows had knotted together in the center of her forehead. So maybe he wasn’t as polite as he should’ve been when he snorted and said, “Are you kidding? I feel like I know all about the man.”
As she shifted the gurgling baby to the opposite shoulder, Pea’s eyebrows smoothed out in surprise. “You do?”
“Let’s see…” Micah counted on his fingers. “He’s middle-aged but handsome, you said, although I’m not sure why that’s important. He’s rich and smart, but he’d have to be, because he built his company up from nothing just by being real talented with his hands and the fiddly bits. He doesn’t have a family, but he doesn’t strike you as happy, since he’s demanding and intimidating.” He snorted again. “Why anyone would want to work for him—or know him—is beyond me.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyebrows unreadable. Then she shrugged. “I respect him.”
“Yeah, that’s obvious. But do you like him?”
Another silence, but he could tell from the way those pea-green eyes weren’t focused on him that she was actually thinking about the question. “I think…I think I do. He’s not demonstrative, but I appreciate his praise. I strive for it, and I want to make him proud of me.”
Micah snorted and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sounds like a father,” he muttered under his breath, looking past her at Crowne’s, their destination.
“Yes.” At her solemn agreement, his eyes snapped back to hers, and he was surprised to see something like pity in them. “He…he would make a good father, I think. The kind I always wanted.”
His lips pulled down, and he stared at the way her hand rested on Antonia’s back. What to say in response to a wild claim like that? Pea hadn’t said it for sympathy, he knew, but…
“Penelope Greene!”
The bellow—because it most certainly was a bellow—caused both of them to whip around. There, standing in the middle of the road between Gordy’s restaurant and the bookstore, was a man. And not just any man; this hombre was tall, and broad, and uglier than sin. His dark skin and darker hair didn’t quite cover the horrible scars which had obliterated the right side of his face, and his scowl did nothing to help either.
But it wasn’t until Micah’s eyes dropped to the man’s hips—where his palms rested on a pair of matching revolvers—that he figured out this must be Draven. The bounty hunter feared from here to Reno, the mean son-of-a-bitch Micah had been mistaken for.
Oh shit.
“Penelope Greene,” the man roared again. “I’ve been looking for you!”
That’s when Pea muttered a curse most women wouldn’t even admit to knowing, and shoved the baby into Micah’s arms.
“What?” He juggled Antonia. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”
But her brows had drawn back down into her serious face, and she wasn’t looking at him. “Stay behind me,” was all she said.
“What!” he repeated. “Are you nuts?” He tried to hand her back the baby. “No way, you get behind me. Or better yet, let’s all of us get out of here.”
Everyone else on the streets had run for safety. Where was Deputy Nottingham? Hank had left him in charge while he and Rojita were in San Francisco. Surely the deputy should be the one out here in the street, standing up to Draven—Dios mio, what was she doing now?
“Draven.”
She’d stepped away from Micah, closer to the terrifying hombre in the middle of the street—and was now holding a—
Was that a pistol? Where’d she get that from? Her back was to Micah and the suddenly fussy baby, so he couldn’t see where she’d been hiding it. Dios mio, had she been wearing a gun the whole time she’d been here? It must be because she worked for Prince, but this was ridiculous! She looked like she was about to face down a terrifying—
Oh wait. She was.
When Draven spoke, his bellow had turned to a rumble. And damned if he didn’t sound faintly amused at Pea’s audacity. “Did you just pull a gun on me, girl?”
“Just to make sure I’ve got your attention. I don’t want these good people hurt.”
She didn’t want them hurt? Micah cursed under his breath, and stepped up beside her. “Pea, what are you doing?” he hissed. “Quit pissing him off and let’s get out of here.”
“He’s here for me,” she replied, low enough only he could hear. “Just stay back.”
And then she stepped in front of him once more, leaving Micah standing there staring at her back and the bounty hunter’s scowl over her shoulder. Antonia began to cry, and he realized it was because he’d been squeezing her too tightly. But who could blame him?
“Pea!” She didn’t answer, and Micah thought his knees were going to buckle and leave him lying there like a fool in the middle of the road.
It was just like two years ago. He’d stood here in the middle of the street, staring defiantly at a vicious killer, praying he’d fall for their trick…and El Lobo had shot him. Shot him point-blank in the face.
Staring at the back of Pea’s head, feeling his pulse pounding desperately behind his eyes, Micah wondered if this is what Hank had felt that day. Micah had only been worried for himself, but Hank had been in love with Rojita then. Had he been terrified for himself, or for her? Had his stomach threatened to rebel, his lungs threaten to stop working, at the thought of Rojita in danger?
Because that’s what was happening to Micah. Dios mio, do I love her? Of course he loved her—she was his oldest friend. But was it more than that? All he knew was the idea of her in danger—her standing up to Draven—terrified him.
He stepped forward once more, praying he could find the words to convince her to take the baby and run, to let him find out what Draven wanted, when the bounty hunter spoke once more.
“I see your mission was successful.”
Pea nodded once. “It was.”
What?
“And does he know?”
Does who know? Me? What do I know?
Pea stared at Draven for three heartbeats longer than was comfortable. Then: “No. He does not.”
“Pea?” Micah whispered. “Who’s he talking about? What mission?”
She ignored him, and Draven spoke again. “He’s in Denver, waiting for you.”
“I’ll telegraph him.”
“Not good enough,” the older man rumbled dangerously. “You know that. He deserves better.”
And for the first time since they’d heard her name called, Pea trembled. Micah might’ve missed it, if he hadn’t been staring at her, trying to figure out what was going on, but she closed her eyes on the tremble, and his heart ached to gather her in his arms and protect her from whatever she was afraid of.
And dammit, he would.
Terror or not, memories of that last shoot out or not, he would protect her.
He stepped around her, definitely, decisively. Not beside her, but placing his entire body between her and the bounty hunter. And while she was staring at him, her eyes wide in surprise, he thrust the baby into her free arm.
“Put your gun away, Pea.”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond, but turned once more to Draven. M
icah knew he wasn’t a small man, but he’d never intimidate a man who was known all across the west. Still, he braced his legs, planted his fists on his hips and tried to look as big as possible. “Get out of here, Draven. You’re not needed or wanted in Everland.”
Then Micah scowled.
He knew he had a good scowl—his face was made for it. Blowing off half of his forehead could do that for a man.
But Draven only raised his brows. In surprise? Or was he impressed with Micah’s bluff? Because there wasn’t a maldita thing he could do to back up the demand that Draven leave, and the bounty hunter had to know it.
“You think you can protect her from me, boy?”
It hadn’t been the question Micah had expected, but Draven’s rumble was unmistakable.
Micah nodded. Hell yes, I’ll protect her. But all he said was, “I’ll prove it, if you force me to.”
Draven stared at him for two minutes longer than was comfortable, his hands resting on those twin guns of his. In the interminable wait, Micah felt Pea’s hand close around the backside of his shirt. Was she trying to pull him away, or just letting him know she was there? His heart pounded harder, knowing that if he failed, Pea and Antonia would pay the price.
After what seemed like forever, Draven nodded once, firmly. “I ain’t going to hurt Miss Greene. You’ve got my word.”
He’s not going to hurt her. But Micah couldn’t let himself relax. Not after the way he’d seen Pea tremble.
“What do you want, Draven?”
“I want to make sure Miss Greene understands the situation she’s in. She has an obligation.”
Micah didn’t know what that obligation was, but he wasn’t about to have this conversation with an armed bounty hunter on a deserted city street. “She knows her obligations. She’s an honorable woman.”
Behind him, Pea’s fist tightened on his shirt. “Micah…”
Her whisper was faint enough he doubted Draven heard her.
But Draven took his hands off his guns and addressed her anyhow. “Miss Greene, I’ll be on the next train to Denver. If you don’t tell him, I will.”
Tell who? It didn’t matter. Micah just wanted the man gone and Penelope to stop being scared.
From behind, she whispered, “I’ll do it. I’ll tell him.” And then, louder, “I’ll tell him. I owe him that much.”
“Good.” The bounty hunter nodded once to Micah, tipped his hat to Pea, and then turned on his heel.
It wasn’t until he realized Draven was striding towards the train station that Micah lunged for Pea, pulling her against him with his free arm and pinning the baby between them. “Pea. What was that all about? What’s going on?”
She was making little noises that sounded suspiciously like sobs, but he’d never known her to cry, so he must be mistaken. She was taking great heaving gulps of air though, and he wondered if her heart was beating as frantically as his was.
But she didn’t answer. Instead, she tightened her hold on Antonia, pressing kisses to the baby’s soft black hair and patting her back softly. After a minute, Pea began to murmur soothing words and Antonia calmed. It was how Micah knew Pea was calm once more.
“Mi amor?” The endearment just slipped out. “How do you know Draven exactly? And what did he mean, your ‘mission?’ Does that have anything to do with you being here?”
She was bent over the baby’s head and inhaled deeply. Whether for comfort or to brace herself, Micah didn’t know. But she lifted her chin, stared him in the eyes, and said, “We still need more formula, right? And I want a carrot for tonight’s soup.”
His jaw dropped, moreso when she pulled out of his embrace, taking the baby with her, and stepped backwards. “You’re not going to answer my questions?”
She just looked at him, her stare so flat she had to be hiding her true emotions. And rather than answering him, rather than acknowledging the terrifying confrontation, she just blinked slowly. “Let’s go see what Mr. Crowne has in his larder, shall we?”
And then she turned towards the opposite side of the road and walked away, leaving him surrounded by questions and the growing doubt he ever really knew Pea at all.
Well, that encounter certainly took care of whatever confusion—and secret dreams--she’d been harboring about life here in Everland with Micah. Sure, maybe the last few days had seemed like something out of a fairy-tale, with the two of them working beside one another and joking and teasing like no time at all had passed. And maybe she’d begun to wonder if her life in New York was really all that wonderful. Maybe she’d begun to think about a life here—honest hard work, laughter, babies—as more desirable than her lonely apartment. Her lonely life, few people she could allow close, few people she could trust and admire. Maybe she’d realized how lucky Micah was, how blessed.
But Draven had reminded her where her loyalty lay, curse him.
The fearsome Draven had worked for Mr. Prince for many years, on retainer. The matching Prince .45 revolvers he carried were proof of his first payment, and he’d been willing to travel all over for the man, chasing down hints and rumors, the stock-in-trade of a bounty hunter.
But seeing him here in Everland, none-too-gently reminding her of what she owed Mr. Prince… Penelope muttered something rude under her breath and hurried ahead of Micah to enter Crowne’s Dry Goods. She couldn’t meet her old friend’s eyes right now—didn’t want to see the confusion and probable anger because she hadn’t explained…well, anything.
She couldn’t! How could she confess that she hadn’t tracked him down for old times’ sake? She’d tracked him down to tear his beautiful, admirable life apart.
Tears pooling in her eyes, she ducked down one of the aisles, praying Micah would give her a moment to collect herself. When she heard him greet Ian—and heard Ian’s baby Erik coo happily in response to Micah’s words, and she was sure, a tickle—she breathed a sigh of relief.
Antonia took that moment to squirm, and Penelope held the baby out just far enough to stare into her clear green eyes. The baby sent a gummy smile up at her, and Penelope had to blink faster, to keep the tears at bay. How am I going to leave you, little one?
She pressed her cheek to the infant’s, then dropped four or five kisses in quick succession, savoring the perfect feel of the baby’s soft skin under her lips, the smell of the baby’s hair. Oh God! Little Antonia was the most-perfect thing she’d ever held. How could Penelope leave her? How could she go back home to the city and the job she’d thought was so all-important?
She pressed the baby to her chest and began to walk, hoping maybe some deep breaths would distract her thoughts, and keep her from losing her control.
Instead, she nearly ran into a woman. She was short and round and wore her gray hair parted in an unflattering style, which did nothing to distract attention away from the large wart on her chin. She was wearing a tremendous grin, a grin which said there was absolutely nothing wrong in the world.
Surprised, Penelope stumbled backwards slightly, and the baby laughed.
“Hello!” the other woman said brightly. And then, addressing Antonia, “And hello to you too, little one!”
Penelope didn’t have the strength for being polite. Not right now. She looked around hopelessly, wondering if there was anyone to save her from having to have a conversation with this odd stranger.
The other woman, however, misinterpreted the look. “Oh, don’t worry, Penelope. They can’t see us.”
How does she know my name? And what is ‘they can’t see us’ supposed to mean? “Why?” she asked a little more sarcastic than was polite. “Is this place haunted?”
“Eek! Haunted?” To her surprise, the stranger whipped her head back and forth frantically, as if looking for ghosts herself. “What?”
Penelope blinked. “What?”
“What!”
A second woman stepped around the shelves, and rolled her eyes. “What?”
Penelope’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
The second stran
ge woman had unnaturally bright red hair, cropped short, and was wearing a scowl. In fact, the little wrinkles between her eyes and at the corners of her mouth said the scowl was probably perpetual.
“Alright, alright.” The red-head pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed loudly. “Let’s start again.
The first woman—the not-so-bright one, Penelope had silently dubbed her—blinked, then smiled cheerfully. “Hello!” Then, dutifully, she turned her attention to the baby. “And hello to you too, little one!”
“What?” Who the heck were these women?
The woman blinked again. “What?”
“Oh, for—” The red-headed one muttered something impolite and rolled her eyes again. “Just tell her already.”
Penelope had had enough of this strange encounter. She clutched Antonia to her and stepped backwards. “Tell her what?”
“What?”
“Oh, God.” The grumpy woman groaned. “Not you. Dorcas, you tell her.” When the woman with the wart just stared, her companion gestured, exasperated. “At least introduce yourself!”
“Hello!” Dorcas didn’t seem bothered by repeating her greeting a third time. “I’m Dorcas! This is Grunhilda.” She gestured to her red-headed, frustrated companion, and then leaned in conspiratorially. “We call her Grumpy.”
Obviously. But Penelope tightened her lips, refusing to be baited into joining the conversation. Didn’t these women see she didn’t want to speak to them right now? She didn’t care if she looked rude—she didn’t want to speak to anyone!
Dorcas didn’t seem to mind. She just smiled kindly and clucked her tongue slightly. “Looks like you might have a case of the grumpies yourself, but that’s alright. We know all about it, don’t we?” She winked hugely at her companion, who just rolled her eyes yet again. “You have every reason to be grumpy right now, Penelope. We do understand.”
“How do you know my name?” She couldn’t keep the question from slipping out.
“Oh, we know all sorts of things. We’re Godmothers.”
Where was Micah? Did she still have enough time to collect her thoughts before he reappeared, or would she be stuck talking to this idiot forever? “Huzzah for you,” she snapped waspishly, looking for a way around the pair.