by Gina Welborn
For the past seven years, he’d clung to the idea that his mother was the kind, gentle woman in her letters. What if this harder version—the one who scoffed at him and valued money above all else—was the real her? He’d considered it before and rejected it. As much as he spouted that anyone could be anything in letters, he wanted—desperately wanted—his mother to love him. To let go of that hope would be like burying another parent and mean he’d condemned his father to die alone for nothing.
Mac shifted in the saddle, looking to his left when he crossed Wood Street. His hand jerked on the reins at the sight of his burgundy-clad mother escorting Luci Stanek inside the Maison de Joie.
There were too many pedestrians on the street to gallop, but he touched his heels to Lightning’s flanks anyway. People scattered to either side of the muddy road, shooting him angry glares and calling down curses on his head.
He didn’t care. He needed to get to Luci fast!
Two blocks later, he pulled Lightning to a halt and slid off the saddle in one movement, tossing the reins over the hitching bar and whistling a signal to keep the trained horse from wandering off. He ran into the hotel, held up a finger at the huge Chinese man to say, Don’t bother trying to stop me, and slammed his hand against his mother’s office door to keep it from closing. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Madame Lestraude swung around, her skin blanching under her paint. “Mac! Oh, you scared me.”
He seized Luci by the forearm and jerked her away from his mother. “Wait outside.”
“No!” Madame Lestraude grabbed Luci’s hand.
Tears pooled in the girl’s eyes, so Mac let go. He glared daggers at his mother until she did the same, then he kneeled and turned Luci to face him. “I need you to wait in the hallway. Don’t leave the hotel, just sit in the hallway. Can you do that?”
Luci nodded and leaned into a hug. “I’m sorry, Mac.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” He patted her back, his heart swelling at the feel of her tears on his neck, knowing his rough handling accounted for them. “I’ll come get you in a few minutes, and then we’ll go see your sister, all right?”
Her chin bounced against his shoulder.
“Good girl.” He held her forearms, pushing gently until she faced him. “If anyone tries to bother you, come back in here.”
Chin trembling, she nodded.
“All right, go on now.” He waited for Luci to shut the door behind her before standing and pivoting to face his mother. “What were you thinking?”
“Don’t take that high-and-mighty tone with me, Lester McCall. Last time we talked, you asked if I’d heard any rumors. Well, I have. So I went to your office to talk to you and found a little girl wandering around without protection.”
“So you brought her here? Walked her from my office to here past who knows how many people?” He marched forward, and she scrambled behind her massive oak desk. “That’s not protection. You’ve just ruined Luci’s reputation.” And her sister’s.
“Nonsense.” Madame Lestraude stood behind her chair, putting more distance between them. “Luci is in no danger from me. Everyone knows my business model doesn’t include twelve-year-old girls.”
“This isn’t funny, Mother.” He leaned over her desk with fisted hands. “There’s a rumor that Finn married Emilia in order to sell her and Luci into prostitution.”
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Unease skittered across his neck. “So you could tell me what?”
“That it’s true . . . the part about Emilia anyway.”
Mac narrowed his eyes, his suspicions rising like a porcupine’s quills. “You know this how?”
“Because he offered to sell her to me.”
Mac shook his head, couldn’t stop shaking it. “No. It’s not true.”
“Mac, I know you want to believe the best about your friend, but the truth is, Finn Collins owed me four hundred dollars. He needed money to restart his ranch after being nearly wiped out this past winter.”
Four hundred dollars.
Oh, dear God in heaven, what had Finn done?
She sat down behind her desk, a businesswoman discussing a business transaction. “I agreed to the loan on the understanding that, should he fail to pay me back in . . . in full, I owned his land or could recoup my losses by employing his mail-order bride until the debt was paid.”
What had she been about to say? Why in full? Why not monthly installments? Why would she lend Finn money? How did they even know each other? Question upon question swirled inside his head, popping up and disappearing like some carnival game.
He studied her face. “Where’s your proof?”
She managed to look both amused and wounded. “In my safety deposit box at the bank of course.”
He grabbed onto the chance to get some solid evidence. “So let’s go get it.”
“Certainly, although not this moment. I have work to do.”
Bile filled the back of Mac’s throat. He lowered his head and swallowed it down. “Why tell me this now? Why not seven weeks ago, when Mrs. Collins first showed up in town and was making arrangements with her creditors?”
“I’m not heartless, Son.”
His chin jerked upward.
There was a softness in her, the very thing that caused him such confusion. How could she discuss recouping losses by selling a woman’s body and not being heartless in almost the same breath?
“I figured I’d give the gal some time to get her feet under her before . . .” She cut a glance at the ledger sitting open on her desk.
He looked away. Focused on the painting adorning the wall next to the window. Roses. Pink ones. In a pale blue vase. “Who else have you told about this?”
“No one.” She waited for him to return his attention to her. “Not yet.”
“Meaning you will if you don’t get something in return?”
“That’s right.”
“You aren’t getting Emilia.” He’d die before he let that happen.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Mac. What I want is far less scandalous to your puritanical way of thinking.” She touched the corner of her red-painted lips. “I simply want you to let Hendry run his story. Don’t fight it.”
“Who told you about Hendry’s story?”
Her scoffing laugh grated across his taut nerves. “Did you think a reporter poking around the red-light district and asking pointed questions would go unnoticed?”
“What are you playing at?” Because Madame Lestraude would never do anything without a good reason—a very good reason.
“I’ve said all I’m going to on the matter. Let Hendry print his article.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll show him the deed of trust currently stashed safely away from prying eyes as proof that Finn and I conspired to conscript women into prostitution.”
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
But it explained the money—the incriminating, sickening money.
Mac gripped the handles of the guns strapped to each thigh. “You’ll be arrested, and this time—”
“I’ll pay a fine just like every other time.” She rested back against her chair. “But if you fight me on this, I’ll say you knew about my arrangement with Finn all along.”
“To paint me as a corrupt sheriff?”
“If I have to, yes.”
“Even though it’s a lie and will ruin every chance I’d have at winning an election bid next year?” Hendry would have a field day with the scandal, regardless of their heretofore genial relationship.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect myself and my business.” She lifted her chin. “Now get out.”
Every hope about saving his mother from herself died in that instant. Whatever she’d once been—whatever her letters had portrayed her to be—she cared for no one but herself, and he was done with her. He whirled around and yanked open the office door.
Luci jerked straight, then scrambled to s
tand up. “I waited right here, Mac. Just like you told me.”
The fear in her voice brought him up short. He wasn’t angry at her. He wasn’t. He was disgusted and didn’t know what to do about it. Forcing a breath in and out of his lungs, he leaned down to put his hands under her armpits and lift her into a hug. “Let’s go.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he shifted his arms to support her weight as he carried her out of the hotel. He set her on Lightning and mounted up behind her. Not wishing to draw any more attention to the situation, he kept his horse at a plodding walk toward The Resale Co. and Emilia.
Emilia Collins.
The woman he loved, the woman who’d struggled valiantly to pay off debts that weren’t hers, the woman who—through no fault of her own—would now lose everything because his mother . . .
Shallow breaths shuddered inside his chest. He wouldn’t break down. Not here. Not in the middle of the street, where anyone and everyone would see it. He wasn’t some little boy who’d suddenly realized his idol had feet of clay. He’d known it for years.
Except not about Finn.
If only Madame Lestraude’s explanation hadn’t followed the money. Could Finn have been involved in something he’d sworn disgusted him? Had the hard winter changed him beyond recognition? Or had he pretended friendship to keep Mac from suspecting anything?
If the answers were all yes, many of the puzzle pieces fit. Too conveniently. Because if Finn had developed a conscience and decided he no longer wanted to put his mail-order bride up as collateral, Madame Lestraude might have had him killed.
I’ll do whatever it takes to protect myself and my business.
Mac believed it. He finally believed it.
And the path forward was clear. His mother—and probably his best friend—had gotten Emilia into this mess, so he’d offer the solution. Marriage would keep her and Luci safe, provide guidance for Roch, and make sure Emilia’s creditors would continue working with her as the sheriff ’s wife.
It was four-twenty. He had forty minutes to get to The Resale Co., convince Emilia to marry him, and get back to City Hall before the clerks closed down for the day. The three-day waiting period between requesting and granting a marriage license pushed them to Thursday night. Mac was supposed to leave for Deer Lodge on Thursday afternoon. If he couldn’t get one of his men to cover the trip, he could push it back and leave that night, but no later.
He needed to get to Emilia fast. Then, when the dust settled, he’d find answers to the myriad of questions swirling inside his brain. Something was off.
Something was terribly off.
* * *
Before entering The Resale Co., Mac asked Luci to let him tell Emilia about the visit to Maison de Joie.
“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Luci’s dark brown eyes hadn’t lost their fear on the ride over.
Mac patted her shoulder. “You’re not in trouble. I promise.”
He opened the door, letting Luci enter first. He was about to propose marriage, and he had no idea if Emilia would say yes despite the way they’d spoken of their love for each other a few hours earlier. What if she got it in her head that he was trying to fix things for her? He wasn’t. He wanted to marry her because he loved her. This rumor and his mother’s proof only sped up the timetable of his proposal. Surely she’d understand.
“Emme? Are you here?” Luci called.
“There you are.” Emilia appeared from around a stack of luggage crates, a feather duster in one hand. She smiled at Mac, and thoughts of her lips on his rooted his feet to the floor. A question flitted through her eyes before she dropped her gaze to Luci. “Did you have a nice day at school?”
“It was fine, I guess.”
Mac checked his watch. Four thirty-three. He touched Emilia’s arm. “I—uh—need to talk to you. In private. Again.”
Her eyebrows pinched together, creating a crease between them. “Luci, do you mind asking Mr. Gunderson if we can borrow his office for a moment?”
Luci bobbed her head and ran a couple of steps toward the back of the store before swinging around. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Honest.” She looked at Mac, then at her sister, and then raced off.
“That sounds ominous.” Emilia followed her sister’s progress until she disappeared into Isaak’s office. “Would you like to tell me what that’s about?”
“In a minute.” Mac pulled the hat from his head and gripped it with both hands.
Emilia set the feather duster on a nearby shelf. “Did she get in trouble with a teacher?”
“No.”
“Another student?”
“In a minute, Em.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Mac?”
The clatter of footsteps announced Luci’s return, slower thuds indicating Isaak Gunderson followed at a more sedate pace.
Mac transferred his hat to his left hand and took hold of Emilia’s elbow with his right hand. “Let’s go.”
After exchanging pleasantries with Isaak—and a look that he hopefully interpreted as we need to talk later—Mac ushered Emilia into the private office and shut the door. “Have a seat.”
She settled into one of the ladder-back chairs, and Mac drew the other one close before sitting down opposite her. He tossed his hat on Isaak’s desk, leaned forward, and extended his hands toward her with his palms up. What he wouldn’t give to be back at Mrs. Hollenbeck’s house with Emilia dancing in his arms. Or out at the ranch sharing their hearts. He wanted to shelter and protect her with his body and soul, not bring her pain.
Once she placed her hands in his, he closed his fingers around hers. “We need to get married.”
“What?” Emilia shook her head, as if she was trying to clear her thoughts. “I thought this was about Luci, not us.”
“It is.” Mac squeezed her hands gently. “We don’t have a lot of time for me to explain, so you need to trust me on this. We need to get to City Hall to file for a marriage license before the offices close in”—he checked the wall clock—“twenty-six minutes.”
“I don’t care how much time it takes because it sounds to me like you’ve come up against a problem you think I can’t solve by myself and want to fix things again.”
Yes, except this time there wasn’t any other way.
“My mother took Luci inside the Maison de Joie.”
Her brows rose. “Inside? You’re saying Luci walked into a brothel with a complete stranger? Or did she know it was your mother?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask”—he clarified when she opened her mouth again—“but that’s not the problem.”
“Of course it’s a problem.” Emilia scowled at him. “Luci agreed to avoid the red-light district and to wait inside your office if you weren’t there.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“How long was Luci inside the brothel?”
“Again, not the point.” And at this rate he was never going to get to it.
“How long?” Her voice pitched higher.
He huffed. “About three or four minutes, but I was inside with her for all but maybe fifteen seconds of that.” He checked the wall clock. Twenty-five minutes, twenty-one seconds left.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She pulled one hand away and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Honestly, Mac. If you were with Luci the whole time, why is this an issue?” She stared at him, finally done questioning every word he said. Waiting. Watching. Expectant.
He’d been trying to get to this explanation since walking into the store, and suddenly he wanted to avoid it. Run the other way. Go back to a time when Finn was alive and none of the accusations leveled against him held merit. But this was no time for cowardice. Now was the time for truth.
Mac captured her hand again, heaving a deep breath in and then out of his lungs. “Remember how I said I wanted to track down actual proof about Finn in connection with Hendry’s rumor?”
“The one about selling me
and Luci into prostitution?”
“Yes. My mother says she has a deed of trust signed by Finn for four hundred dollars. She said she loaned the money to him under the agreement that, if he was unable to pay it back, he either forfeited his land or agreed to let her take payment out of you. Not Luci, just you.”
She tried to pull her hands away, but he held tight.
“Let go of me.”
He did.
Emilia folded her arms across her chest. “Did you see this so-called deed of trust?”
“No, but—”
“Then how can you possibly believe such slander?” Her contempt wasn’t because he’d failed his due diligence as a sheriff; it was because he’d failed as Finn’s friend.
Did she think he wanted this? How could she have known him this long—listened to him talk about how much he loved his friend, how much he loved the law—to think he’d treat either carelessly? “And when I do see it? What will you say then?”
She didn’t respond for a long moment. “Then it’s a forgery. Finn never would have agreed to . . . that.”
Seeing her chin tremble cut Mac to the heart. “I don’t want to believe it either, but—”
“But what?”
Mac touched her cheek. “Trust me, Em. I’ll get to the bottom of this. I loved Finn, too, and I won’t rest until I know exactly what he was into and what got him killed.” He checked the wall clock again. Twenty-four minutes until City Hall closed its doors. “But it doesn’t fix our immediate problem.”
“Our problem?” She shook her head again. “It’s not your problem.”
“Of course it is.” He pushed back the chair and kneeled before her. “Marry me. I know it’s fast, and I know it isn’t under ideal circumstances, but trust me, it’s the best plan.”