She hung her head. “I should’ve asked him who he was. I should’ve asked him what he wanted with her.”
“It’s okay, Charlotte. Let’s go over your meeting with him again. Tell me everything, every detail you can remember, even if it seems unimportant.”
She nodded her agreement and calmed down enough to tell him what time the man had spoken to her, the details of their brief conversation, and to give a physical description. The description could’ve matched any number of men in Helena, a town known for attracting all types. He was a slight, well-dressed, well-spoken man probably in his fifties with a receding hairline and gray hair. There was absolutely nothing that would make the man stand out. She was certain that she hadn’t seen him before and she wasn’t even certain she could recognize him again if she saw him. Their entire encounter had lasted for perhaps two minutes. Not enough time to commit the stranger to memory, but Zane suspected he’d orchestrated it that way so that he’d blend in.
If Charlotte hadn’t had a hand in delivering the letter to her mistress’s desk, then Zane had to believe the man was a professional. If he was very experienced, he’d have found a way to slip upstairs undetected and pick the lock. All of this combined to convince Zane that the man was true in what he’d written in his letter. He was a private investigator hired by the man in Glory’s past to find her. Zane also suspected that it wouldn’t stop at the five thousand dollars the man wanted. He’d take the money and report back to the person who’d hired him. The man in Glory’s past had probably paid him well to find her. What was to stop the investigator from taking the payment from Glory and turning her information over to him anyway? He’d double his fee with very little effort on his part.
Cold certainty washed over Zane. This wouldn’t end until the man from her past was found.
“I swear to you that I had no idea what was in the letter.” Charlotte had finished up recounting the meeting. “I don’t even know who he is.” She paused, winding and unwinding a length of her hair around her index finger in a nervous gesture that made her seem very young. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“I believe you.”
Relief made her shoulders visibly sag as some of the tension drained from her body, but she was still worried. Her brow furrowed again as she asked, “What was in the letter? Is Glory in trouble? Is she in danger?”
Zane hesitated, unwilling to reveal too much. Rumors in this place could spread like wildfire and get out of control. On the other hand, Glory was in danger and he needed everyone to be on the lookout for a possible threat. He decided to stick as close to the truth as possible. “Can I trust you?”
She nodded. “Yes, I promise nothing leaves this room.”
“She’s not in danger yet. It’s possible that someone from her past might be looking for her. I need you to keep everything we’ve said in this room secret, but if you hear of someone looking for her, let me know immediately.”
“Of course. I swear to you I won’t say a word about this to anyone.”
The girl seemed sincere, but even if that much got out into the rest of the house, it wouldn’t be so bad. They could use the extra eyes and ears, and it was hardly a secret that everyone here seemed to be hiding from something.
“Thanks for your time.” He stood, intending to make his way downstairs. Glory had probably finished up her meeting with Able. Zane would need to stay with her while Able readied himself for the evening’s work.
“Glory said for you to meet her and Able at Sainsbury’s after our meeting. I think she wants to buy you a suit.” She gave him a shy smile. “I guess you’ll be working here for a while.”
He’d been afraid that Glory had been serious about the new clothes. He didn’t mind protecting her. He wanted to protect her. But he didn’t like the idea of her dressing him up.
* * *
“There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d show.” Glory couldn’t help the way the corners of her lips tugged upward the moment Zane stepped into J. Sainsbury’s shop. He was so broad and tall that he seemed to take up the whole storefront. His gaze slid over the store as if he was expecting something to attack from one of the shelves. She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.
One side of the narrow shop was lined with shelves full of ready-made shirts and pants, with a couple of wooden mannequins dressed in coats and waistcoats to display Mr. Sainsbury’s skill. The other side displayed bolts of fabrics in various textures and colors. Broadcloth in shades of blue, gray and black, soft colored linens and lawn, somber seersucker, along with silks in every color of the rainbow. Even some plaids for trousers.
“Don’t worry, we can avoid the plaid if you prefer,” she said.
His narrowed gaze finally landed on her as he took off his hat, and ran his palm over his head as if he were smoothing his hair down. She smothered another laugh at how discontented he seemed. She’d seen him backing up Hunter when they’d forced their way into Victoria House a couple of months ago looking for Emmy, their runaway hostage; she’d seen him roughing up that man who’d been stalking Castillo; she’d seen him when he’d carried his half-dead friend in when Cas had been shot. He’d handled that all with confidence and calmness. She’d never once seen him look as uncomfortable as he looked now.
“Oh, we’ll avoid the plaid.” One of the mannequins had on a deep red silk waistcoat shot through with black thread. It was a showpiece to draw attention from window-shoppers on the street. Not that Sainsbury needed the business. It had taken begging on her part and a 20 percent premium to get him to agree to see them today because he was overbooked. Every man in town who cared about his standing in Helena was on the wait list to have a Sainsbury suit.
“We’ll avoid red silk too,” said Zane, eyeing the mannequin with a look she could only equate to suspicion.
She couldn’t help but giggle. “Consider it done.”
“Ah, Mr. Pierce.” Sainsbury’s assistant hurried in through the curtains that separated the fitting areas in the back of the store from the main room. Pins of various sizes stuck out of a gingham cloth swung over his shoulder and a length of measuring tape hung down from his neck. “We’ve been waiting for you.” The older man was slight in build, barely taller than Glory in her low-heeled shoes. Zane towered over them both. “Come on to the back and we’ll take your measurements.”
Zane followed, holding the curtain open for her so that she could precede him to the back. Zane had to duck to walk through the curtained archway.
“Remove your coat and boots.” The man led them past several curtained alcoves and pointed to a coatrack in the corner. “Stand on the dais and I’ll be with you shortly.” After giving the instruction he disappeared into another room where the clothing was stored.
Zane hung up his coat, and put his gun belt on the peg beside it, then he leaned down to unlace his boots before kicking them off. As he took his place on the dais, Glory allowed herself a moment to look at his clothes. The length of his pants was perfect, and they pulled in just tight enough at the waist. She couldn’t quite pull her eyes from the way the fabric clung to the muscles underneath, cupping his form perfectly. The fabric didn’t sag there like it did for some men, and while she was certain it was due in large part to the fact that he was fitter than most men, she could also recognize the work of a skilled tailor when she saw it. He wasn’t the usual gunman who traveled through town looking for work. Apparently the outlaw business paid well.
As she settled herself in a chair, she studied him a little longer than was strictly necessary. She didn’t want to imagine it, but she couldn’t stop thinking of what he might look like beneath his clothes. The very notion of that was so foreign to her that she probably let it go too far before stopping herself. He’d be wide and broad, his muscles defined. Would his chest be as bronze as his forearms? She shifted, realizing it was stifling in the small space. The silk of her gown seemed to be stic
king to her skin so she tugged at the neckline.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” His voice made her look away, catching his knowing gaze in the mirror. He didn’t appear upset that she’d been looking him over. He even seemed to be holding back a smile.
She shook her head and tried to appear as if she hadn’t been gawking at him. Gesturing to him, she said, “You’ve clearly seen a tailor before. Why do you seem so uncomfortable?”
“Can’t get accustomed to strangers making my clothes.”
She stared at him for a moment in silence, unable to believe how her heart was beginning to pound. She wanted to know what he meant. What had his life been like up until now? What would it be like after he left? Before she could stop herself, she heard herself asking, “What do you mean? Did someone you know make those?” She gestured to what he was wearing.
He took in a breath through his nose and she could almost see him turning over the question in his mind. “No, these were made in Denver. The Jamesons and I spent a winter there a couple of years back.” He paused, making her think that’s all he planned to tell her. Her heart sank a little, but perked back up when he continued. “I spent most of my childhood with my mother’s people. We didn’t have tailors or seamstresses. People we love make our clothes. It still seems odd the way you do it here. Impersonal and detached.”
She’d never thought of it that way. “I suppose you’re right. When I was a child, my mother made all of our clothes, though most of mine were altered versions of my older sister’s.”
“You had an older sister. Any brothers?”
“Why do I feel like you’re always trying to get information out of me?” She wasn’t really annoyed. Mainly she was covering because of how much she wanted to tell him. So much of her life had been spent not talking about her past, but talking to him was easy. She wanted to tell him things, to make a connection with him, because he might be someone who could understand. It was probably silly to think so, and she didn’t really understand why she did.
Instead of answering her question, he offered up some information of his own. “I had two older sisters.”
“Had?” An unexpected pain tugged at her heart.
He shrugged. “I think they’re still living. We had the same mother, but my father was white. A trader who traveled through our village from time to time. After my mother died, I went to live with him and we lost touch. I heard they married and moved north to Canada years ago when the tribe was moved to a reservation in Oklahoma.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He turned to look at her fully.
The response had been automatic. What was she sorry for? Him losing touch with his sisters? His mother’s death? “For the pain on your face when you told me that.”
His expression didn’t change but something in his eyes did. She’d surprised him. She didn’t know why but that made her happy. Able’s deep voice rumbled out from one of the curtained alcoves where he was being fitted by Sainsbury himself. Sainsbury’s assistant came bustling in a moment later, effectively breaking up whatever moment had been happening between them.
“You’re in luck. We have a shirt that we can alter to fit.” The man came to a stop next to the dais and set a few waistcoats in various shades of gray and black on a rack next to it. “Take off your shirt, Mr. Pierce, so that I can note the adjustments we need to make.”
Zane’s hands went to the buttons of his shirt, and Glory couldn’t keep her eyes from the bronze skin he revealed in the mirror as he unbuttoned each one. She nearly leaned forward until she caught herself when he revealed the indentation between the well-formed muscles of his chest. The line went all the way down to his stomach, where she could just make out ridges of muscle. His thick fingers pulled the tail of his shirt from his breeches, and she silently gaped at the bare expanse of skin revealed to her.
Her fingers curled into the arms of her chair and her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. It wasn’t from fear this time. No one could harm her, and this was in no way sexual. Maybe that was the very reason she actually experienced arousal instead of apprehension. Well, that, coupled with the memory of that kiss and being pressed against him. He was shrugging out of the garment before she came to her senses enough to realize that she had no business watching such an intimate scene.
“I—I’m sorry. I should leave you to your privacy.”
She pushed out of the chair, but his voice froze her in place. “Stay.”
That one word filled the room, echoing in her mind. Her gaze found his in the mirror again, but she couldn’t tell what he meant by that word. Nevertheless, she found herself sinking back into the soft cushion of the chair. Only when she was settled, did he continue. One shoulder, hardened and sculpted with muscle, shrugged out of the shirt, followed by the second. His muscles rippled and bunched under his smooth skin as he moved. Scars crisscrossed his right shoulder in a pattern of pink and white. She couldn’t tell what had made them, but the wounds must have been painful. Her heart ached that he’d had to endure whatever it was that had happened. They were too wide to be healed cuts from a knife, but they had a similar slashing pattern. There were more scars along his rib cage, an accumulation of nicks and cuts from his rough lifestyle, she supposed.
He paused with the shirt drooped at his waist as he unfastened it at his wrists before handing the shirt off to the assistant. As the man draped it over the rack, Zane stood tall in front of her. His back and chest were so defined she imagined that an artist would have an easy time sculpting him from stone. Her gaze transferred to the mirror so that she could see his front. One of the scars from his shoulder blade curled around his shoulder. Closing her hands into fists, she imagined what it would feel like to run her palms over him. A light patch of dark hair started at his lower belly, and she imagined it abrading her skin as she traced it. It led downward, disappearing into his pants.
The assistant came back over, breaking her line of sight. Thankfully. She hadn’t realized she was basically panting and took a moment to collect herself as he helped Zane into the shirt. He pinned and prodded, adjusting the fabric, before holding up a selection of waistcoats.
“Whichever one she prefers,” she heard Zane say a moment before the assistant brought the samples over for her.
She managed to get herself together enough to select the charcoal silk shot through with dark gray piping. She was starting to think that she might be able to make it through the rest of the fitting as Zane shrugged into the waistcoat. He turned to face her, holding out his arms so that she could get a good look.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’ll do.”
He smirked, his eyes catching hers and holding on. Apparently it was no secret how he affected her. However, she actually managed to smile back. This flirting between them was starting to be fun. She knew now—after that kiss—that he wouldn’t push it too far, and as a result, she could feel herself relaxing around him. Maybe they had no future, but they could have flirting.
“Happy to meet your high standards, pretty lady.”
She laughed. He did look good. Better than good. Sainsbury’s assistant had pinned in the waist, showing off Zane’s powerful but lean frame. God, she’d have to keep some of her more forward ladies off him when he showed up tonight like that. They all knew the rule against liaisons among staff, but it might be worth repeating it before the night was over.
“I think we may have less luck with the pants, but we’ll see what we can do.” The assistant’s voice interrupted her musing as he picked up a stack of breeches and held one up to Zane’s long legs. “Why don’t you take those off and try this pair? I’ll see what I can do to alter them.”
The second Zane’s hands made to go for the fastening on his pants, she fled the room. There was no way she could make it through seeing that part of him. As she came to a stop at the counter in the front room, s
he fanned herself to calm down, but she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. She kept imagining what was hidden in those breeches and giggling like a schoolgirl.
It felt good to giggle. It had been years since she could remember laughing so much in the span of an hour, and never had it been over a man. At fourteen she’d been robbed of her adolescence, and couldn’t ever remember feeling such ridiculous infatuation over a man. Her hand went to her stomach, marveling at the butterflies that fluttered around as she tried to imagine Zane naked.
She wondered if this is what her sister had felt when she’d gone all soft and weak every time the boy who brought them fish came to the yard. She’d had a sweet spot for him, always making sure that she was on the porch when he came by. Only this was no mere fish boy. Zane was a man, fully formed and powerful. A ripple of pleasure coursed through her belly. It was a foolish feeling and she knew it, but she allowed herself to indulge in the novelty for a little longer. After all, he’d be gone soon and she’d only have these moments to remember.
“Hello, Miss Winters. I’ve never seen you looking so radiant.”
Glory gasped as she turned toward the sound of the low, slightly menacing voice to see a man standing in the shadows.
Chapter Eleven
William Harvey stood inside the shop’s doorway. If the little bell on the front door had rung when he’d entered, Glory had been too preoccupied to notice. She couldn’t quite understand why her heart was racing now. He’d alarmed her, but it was only Harvey, not someone worse. Not him.
Her eyes drifted closed in relief. Clearly she was letting this mysterious letter get the better of her. Or maybe Zane’s overzealous vigilance was getting to her. He was making her overly suspicious that every shadowed figure that moved was her past coming to get her.
“I’ve startled you.” Harvey looked pointedly at the hand covering her heart before looking up at her face. She could’ve sworn his gaze left a layer of grime as it roved over her bosom on the way up.
An Outlaw to Protect Her Page 11