“Not entirely,” Mason admitted truthfully. “The room was almost as dark as midnight, and by the time he opened the door, I’d already made my way back outside. By the time he made it to the window, I would have been shooting down the tree. The problem is that I don’t know for sure. There’s no way of knowing whether he got a good enough look to identify me or not, but knowing what Zachary is like, the lengths to which he will go, taking such a risk doesn’t strike me as very smart.”
“We need to be extremely careful now, Mason,” Rachel fretted. “If he even suspects that you’ve returned, we’re all in for a peck of trouble! You can’t even risk going outside! If he were to know for certain—”
“No, Rachel,” he answered firmly.
“But—”
“I will not spend the rest of my life hiding,” Mason said calmly. “What am I supposed to do? Stay locked up here in the boardinghouse, never so much as showing my face in public again? We both know that such a way of living isn’t for any of us. No, the time has come for me to reenter the life that I left behind. I’ve already done too much hiding.”
“What if he—”
“Trust me. I won’t allow anything to happen to you or yours, I promise.”
Listening to Mason speak, Rachel allowed herself to be soothed by his assurances. She knew that her initial reaction had been wrong, even a bit cowardly, but with all that had happened since the day she followed Charlotte out into the woods, she found her concern difficult to ignore. Though she was still frightened of what Zachary Tucker was capable of, she trusted Mason to do what was right.
“I didn’t mean that you should run,” she said regretfully. “I truly didn’t.”
“I know,” he quieted her, “but if I intend to resume some semblance of the life I once had here in Carlson, I am eventually going to have to let people know that I’m alive.”
“That’s what you want? To resume your life?”
“What I want is to go forward, to stop running and be the parent that Charlotte needs me to be,” Mason said, taking a step toward where Rachel stood. “But I don’t want to do that alone. I want…”
“Mason?” she said. Her heart was pounding. “Tell me what you want… please tell me…”
Mason drew nearer, taking her hands in his own. The heat of his touch surprised her. For a long moment, neither spoke, content simply to stare into each other’s eyes. Rachel felt as if she were swimming in the blue depths of Mason’s gaze.
“The other night I told you that I didn’t want your role in Charlotte’s life to change,” he said, speaking of the memories that had roiled about in Rachel’s anxious heart only minutes earlier. “But that’s not all I want.”
“Tell me,” Rachel said softly.
Mason’s eyes held her every bit as solidly as if she were in his arms. When he spoke, his words drove the very breath from her chest. “While I can never completely know what my future will hold, I do know what I desire for it, and that is for you to be part of it. I’m asking for you to share in my life as well as Charlotte’s.”
“But Mason, how can that be?” she protested, voicing the very fear that had been nestled deep in her heart from the first moment she had acknowledged that her love for him was not sisterly. “I’m not Alice, and she was the love of your life.”
“And she was my wife,” he answered swiftly.
“But doesn’t that mean that—”
“The truth is that Alice is gone, Rachel,” Mason said. “Gone from both of our lives. Spending the rest of our days needlessly wishing it to be otherwise will only make us miserable. But just as I can’t allow myself to live in the past, to stop jumping from one train car to the next, I refuse to deny what I’ve been feeling for you.”
He loves me!
To hear Mason speak such heartfelt words, to learn that the man she yearned for wanted her too, sent shivers of joy racing through Rachel. Desperately, she searched for words to answer, to finally reveal her own feelings for him, but found herself speechless, silent in the face of the glory of the moment, helpless to fight any longer against the emotions she had been feeling.
Mason was right; Alice was gone. Making peace with that fact had been hard, but she had done so. Being in love with her sister’s former husband was complicated and confusing, but it wasn’t wrong. It was possible, wonderful—and right! There might be those who found their love inappropriate, but there was no denying that it existed and could warm them the rest of their lives.
Impulsively, Rachel rose up on the tips of her toes and brushed a caressing hand against his scarred cheek. There was no going back. Tenderly, he lowered his face toward hers, his fingers delicately lifting her chin.
Just before their lips touched, he asked, “Is this what you want, Rachel?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Oh, yes, Mason.”
Straining upward toward him, she melted into him. His arms enveloped her, pulling her to him. Closing her eyes, Rachel allowed herself to surrender to the emotions that coursed between them, to answer his demanding kiss with passion of her own, to succumb to the overwhelming desire that pulsed through their entwined bodies.
One of Mason’s hands found the small of her back and the desire that cascaded through Rachel made her weak in the knees. With a feeling that was almost desperation, she kissed him even more passionately, her mouth exploring his, hungry for something she had longed for, when Mason met her intensity with more of his own.
In that moment, nothing mattered: not that Mason had once been Alice’s husband, not that he had been gone for eight long years, not that he had been scarred by the ravages of war, not that everyone in Carlson still believed him to be dead, and not even that Zachary posed a danger to all of them. The only thing of consequence was that they were together, that they had declared their feelings for each other, and that they would go forward together.
When their kiss finally ended, Rachel opened her eyes to find that heavy snowflakes covered their shoulders. Even as flakes melted against her hair, catching on her lashes, her eyes probed Mason’s face.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“Anywhere we want to,” Mason answered simply.
Without any doubt, Rachel knew that he was right; now that they had admitted what lay in their hearts, and with Charlotte in the circle of their love, there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish together.
Rachel set her oil lamp down on the floor and checked the lock on the front door of the boardinghouse. The old grandfather clock that had sat at the foot of the steps since she was a child chimed midnight, twelve uneven bongs that reverberated across the room. The only other sounds were the creaks and groans of the old building settling in the cold, snowy November night.
Glancing out the frost-dappled window, she saw that the snow continued to fall heavily; the hard ground was already covered with two inches of fluffy white powder. Smiling, she returned to her task; every night since Otis had been attacked on his way home from the tavern, Rachel had made it a habit to check all the doors and windows. With Zachary possibly having seen Mason, there was every reason to be careful. Even now, her emotions running unchecked, she knew that she had to remain diligent for the safety of the family.
And their futures… including mine and Mason’s…
Parting with Mason on the porch had been one of the most difficult things she had ever done, so great was her desire to remain in his arms. Even bidding him a good night’s sleep with another passionate kiss had done little to quench the fire that filled her. Though they had only been apart for just moments, she couldn’t wait to see him again.
Picking up the oil lamp, she walked the short hallway to the kitchen, intent upon making certain that the latch on the window was secure; with that done, she could finally get some rest. With her every step, shadows danced on the walls in the flickering flame of the lamplight; though she was used to such illusions, the memory of being attacked by Jonathan Moseley suddenly rose up in her thoughts, unsettling her.
&n
bsp; She pushed open the door to the kitchen and set the lamp down on the table. The flame jumped for a moment before settling into a steady burn. She checked the window, and found that the lock was still engaged, but as she turned back toward the lamp, she felt a draft of cold air race across her skin. Looking around the room, she noticed the door that led to the porch was ajar, a sliver of the night visible past the jamb. She was certain that she had locked it only minutes before…
Before she could turn around, a rough hand clamped down on her mouth, silencing the scream that rose in her throat. Though she tried to struggle, she was held in place effortlessly.
“Keep still, or you’re gonna get hurt,” a man’s voice threatened in her ear. “Badly.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
TRAVIS JEFFERSON ANGRILY clamped one hand down on the woman’s mouth while his other arm firmly grabbed her about the waist. She struggled for a moment, unsure and frightened of what was happening to her, but she quieted a bit after he warned her of the consequences she would face in fighting him. He had no qualms whatsoever about hurting a woman; if this bitch must be roughed up a bit, he wouldn’t lose one damn second of sleep over it.
He cursed himself for having been caught unawares in the kitchen; he took pride in doing his job properly, but this time it had all gone to hell.
Patiently, he had waited outdoors in the falling snow, watching through the frosted glass as Rachel Watkins left the kitchen for the deeper recesses of the boardinghouse. Jimmying the lock had been so simple that he wondered why it had been installed in the first place. He’d just entered the kitchen when the flickering light once again began to move toward him.
Travis still might have gotten away without being seen, managing to hide in the inky shadows, but he had little doubt his goose was cooked when the woman had noticed the door still ajar. At that point, he had no choice but to act.
When Zachary Tucker had come to him earlier in the day with the proposition of returning to the boardinghouse, to see if the inhabitants had any sort of information about the banker’s long-dead brother, Travis had jumped at the chance, smiling all the way out the door. It didn’t matter to him that his odds of success were slim at best; after all, his employer was obviously feeling the stress of his negotiations with the railroad company. What did matter was that he had another opportunity to redeem himself.
The truth was that he was frustrated that his attack on that fat drunkard of an uncle had not worked, that his clear message to sell the property had fallen upon deaf ears. He thought that a broken arm would convey his message far better than any words ever could. Failure was something he refused to tolerate in his profession. This time, he would be successful, no matter what means he had to employ. To that end, he’d come with a knife safely tucked into the cuff of his boot. If someone ended up cut, then so be it. He was ready for whatever might come his way.
“Now, I’m gonna ask you some questions,” he growled into the woman’s ear, “so you just nod that pretty little head of yours in answer, unless you got some desire to lose it. You follow what I’m sayin’ to you?”
Rachel Watkins nodded her head emphatically.
“Good girl,” Travis praised her. “If you lie to me, I’ll know.”
She nodded again.
Maybe this ain’t gonna be so damn difficult after all…
“Do you know of a fella goes by the name of Mason Tucker?” he asked, turning the woman to where he could see in her eyes; even in the dim light afforded to the kitchen, he felt confident that he would be able to see the truth, no matter what it might be.
Rachel Watkins’s eyes grew wide as she slowly began to nod her head; Travis had known that she would recognize the name, what with the man having been married to her sister.
“Supposed to have died, didn’t he?”
Another cautious nod.
“You don’t suppose that he ain’t as dead as people think?” the hired man snarled, adding as much threatening menace to his voice as he could. “Maybe even livin’ here in this house?”
This time, Rachel’s eyes grew even wider, and though she shook her head in response, it was clear to Travis that she was lying to him. A shivering sense of excitement wormed its way down the length of his spine; just the thought of discovering deception excited him, for now he would have no choice but to make things physical.
With his hand still pressed against her mouth, he violently shook her. “Don’t think for one second I can’t tell when I’m bein’ lied to! That son of a bitch is here, ain’t he? Answer me, goddammit!”
Letting go of his grip upon her, Travis struck Rachel with the back of his hand, slapping her so hard that she tumbled to the floor. Before she could stir, he was again upon her, roughly yanking her back to her feet, so that her head lolled from side to side.
“I’m gonna do a hell of a lot worse if you don’t tell me what I want to know!”
“Let her go!” a man’s voice commanded from behind him.
Swiftly, Travis turned the woman around, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her against him, the other hand around her throat. Together, spinning on his heel, he twisted to face the new arrival with Rachel as a shield.
Standing in the darkness of the hallway that led from the kitchen was a man, his hands balled tightly into menacing fists, his broad shoulders promising a potentially worthy adversary. With the scant, flickering light thrown from the oil lamp, the man’s eyes shone like those of a wild beast whose brood was being threatened.
“I reckon you’re Mason Tucker,” Travis said.
Stars swam dizzily in front of Rachel’s eyes as a result of the stranger’s blow, but through the haze of confusion and tears, she was overjoyed to see Mason.
When she had first been grabbed, Rachel was overcome with fear that Jonathan Moseley had returned. She had screamed, but the sound had died in the cup of the stranger’s hand. Not until her attacker spoke did she realize he was someone else.
Though Rachel had been frightened half out of her wits, she had done her best to remain calm, looking for any avenue of escape. At the mere mention of Mason’s name, she had known that Zachary Tucker was behind this latest intrusion into the boardinghouse. To ask about Mason, to wonder if he weren’t dead and even in the house, made it as clear to her as if Zachary himself had come. Mason’s hope that his brother hadn’t caught a good look at him in his father’s bedroom hadn’t held true. The man gripping her was probably Zachary’s thug, the one who had brutalized Otis.
“I told you to let her go,” Mason warned. “And I sure as hell meant it.”
“Or what?” the man chuckled. “Way I see it, there ain’t no way in hell you’re gonna do shit, long as I got a hold of this here gal. That means that you and I is in a standoff.”
Listening to the two men, there was nothing Rachel could do, no warning she could give; the man’s hand was still clamped down tightly over her mouth. Stunned after being slapped, she still quivered slightly, and she didn’t believe that she had the strength to fight her way free.
“You can’t hold on to her forever,” Mason snarled.
“Ain’t gonna have to,” the stranger argued. “Soon as I can get on out of here, there ain’t gonna be a single person in Carlson who ain’t gonna know you’re alive, startin’ with one in particular. With a face the likes of yours, ain’t gonna be no easy task to keep on hidin’.”
As the man spoke, Rachel felt his hand move ever so slightly. It had been pressed tightly over the whole of her mouth, but now it had begun to slide toward her chin, allowing her a bit more movement with her upper lip. While she still assumed that the man wanted to keep her silent, to prevent her from shouting and awakening the rest of the boardinghouse’s inhabitants, what was most important was that she remained his hostage. He was sure that Mason would be reluctant to engage him if there were any chance of her being hurt in the process, a fact that was most certainly true.
Suddenly, Rachel knew what it was that she should do. If Mason were to have any cha
nce to stop this man, as well as to prove once and for all that his brother was up to no good, she had to act.
“You best just stay away,” the man began, “ ’cause there ain’t—aaarrrhhh!”
Before the stranger could complete his thought, Rachel bit down on his finger as hard as she could, and in the instant when the man reacted, she jammed her elbow into his midsection, driving him away and escaping from his grasp. She had no more than broken free than Mason was across the room, hurtling into her attacker with all of his might; his first blow landed just as Rachel fell to the floor and relative safety.
“You bitch!” the man barked.
“Now it’s just you and me,” Mason snarled in answer.
Staring wide-eyed, Rachel watched as Mason landed a heavy punch that connected with the stranger’s jaw, momentarily staggering him, but just as it seemed he might fall down, the man managed to right himself, slamming back into Mason. The two of them careened across the kitchen, smashing into the table on which she had placed the oil lamp.
The force of the collision immediately set the lamp wavering, and just before Rachel could rush over and rebalance it, it tipped over the edge and fell to the floor, where it shattered into pieces. The oil poured free from its container and instantly burst into flames, racing across the floor like water poured from a cup, burning a brilliant yellow and orange.
“Mason!” she shouted. “Fire!”
Rachel hurried to where the oil burned ever hotter and ever higher, desperately trying to stamp it out with her booted feet, but nothing she did seemed to make the slightest bit of difference. She was helpless to prevent tongues of flame from licking at the legs of the table and chairs and setting them ablaze. Within a matter of moments, the fire already appeared to be out of control.
Oh, no! Oh, please, Lord, no!
* * *
Mason moved quickly to his left, dodging a short right hand thrown by the stranger, crouched, and blasted a punch of his own to the man’s ribcage. Rachel’s attacker yelped in pain. Though Mason had thrown all the strength he could muster into the blow, the unknown assailant continued to show surprising resiliency, refusing to fall or yield.
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