by Ana Morgan
Jared had always played for keeps, trying to best him. Blade bore the scars that proved it. But, Jared was older now, and he had a picture-perfect family. Hopefully he’d extend his hand instead of more sibling rivalry.
Candy was his biggest worry. She had everything he’d refused to give her—big city house, businessman husband, and money to burn, but she was the sort who always wanted whatever was just beyond her reach.
It had taken him a long time to see things clearly, but since he’d met Stormy, he was glad Candy had forsaken him. He was going home without a hole in his heart. There was nothing Candy could do or say that would hurt him, and he wouldn’t let her near Stormy.
Stormy punched his shoulder. “Mrs. Faron says you should stand when I approach.”
Chapter 22
When the hotel carriage pulled up in front of the Saint George two days later, Stormy was eager to get going. She’d had her fill of choosing the right fork, making polite conversation, and tipping—not sipping—soup from a spoon. The sooner they arrived in St. Louis, the sooner they’d get back to the ranch.
She itched to gallop across the open prairie. Instead, she extended her gloved hand to Mrs. Faron and smiled while Blade thanked the hotel staff.
“We’ll stay just one night when we return,” he said to Mr. Ewins. “I’ll wire ahead.”
The hotel manager inclined his head. “Very good, sir. My regards to your family.”
Blade set his hand on the small of her back, signaling it was time to go.
Her skin prickled under his touch, betraying the truth her heart was trying to ignore.
Away from the ranch, Blade was a very different man. Since they’d left Yankton, he’d kept his distance, not holding her hand or even kissing her cheek. She’d tried hard to fit in, to not be overwhelmed by big city ways, and she’d made a few mistakes. Was he disappointed? He’d ordered Mouse and Mrs. Faron to hover like chaperones.
Was he trying to protect her reputation? Or, his?
Halfway to the carriage, Blade murmured, “Stormy, do you want to go home? I have money to put you and Mouse on a passenger steamer for Yankton.”
“No!” She stopped short. Her heart plummeted toward her toes. He was falling out of love with her.
The pressure of his palm urged her forward, but she resisted. “Blade, if I embarrass you, will you tell me?”
He hesitated, as if debating how to answer. “Of course.”
“I don’t mean to do it.”
“I know. Will you please walk?”
“Are you sure?”
He squeezed her hip. “Sweetheart, if you don’t hurry, we’ll miss our train. We’ll be stuck here for two more days.”
~ ~ ~
Stormy gazed around the Missouri-Pacific railroad station with awe. The depot teemed with travelers and echoed with their footfalls and voices. The scents of salami and perfume mingled with musty leather and burnt grease. A big board listed arrivals from far-off cities like San Francisco and Chicago. A second listed the day’s departures.
The 535 for St. Louis was due in ten minutes and would depart thirty minutes later.
As they waited for Patchen and a station porter to bring their bags, excitement built inside her. She was really going to ride on a train.
Blade reached into his pocket and pulled out three orange tickets stamped FIRST CLASS PASSAGE. He handed one to Mouse.
“Can I hold mine?” Stormy blurted. It wasn’t heiress-like, but she didn’t care. She wanted to experience everything.
“Sure.” He held out her ticket and smiled when she teased it out of his hand. “Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t." Gripping it tightly, she walked out onto the long, low platform between Blade and Mouse. People milled about and seemed to share her anticipation as they looked to the west and straddled their belongings.
A whistle wailed in the distance, and she ducked behind Mouse, intending to walk to the very end of the platform, where nothing would block her view of the oncoming train.
Blade stopped her. “First class is up front. Fewer cinders blow down from the stack, and we can open the windows.”
Reluctantly, she let him steer her the opposite way. When he finally stopped, she couldn’t see anything interesting. She inched forward and leaned out over the tracks.
The 535 rounded a far-off curve like a giant dark centipede. Puffing dirty white smoke, the locomotive grew larger and blacker until it became a belching iron behemoth. A bell clanged shrilly over the ear-splitting, chug-chug of the engine.
Her fancy boots seemed rooted to the thick planks at the edge of the platform. Blade asked her several times to step back, but his voice sounded distant and faint. She couldn’t tear away her gaze. Four times the height of a man, the 535 dwarfed the platform and everyone on it.
Blade yanked her back just before the locomotive thundered past, pulling a tender and three passenger cars. Brake shoes screeched as the cars slowed and stopped. Clouds of steam hissed between the steel wheels. A conductor hopped down and set a low stool at the foot of the first-class steps.
Passengers streamed out of the other cars. Smiling families greeted some travelers. Others walked straight into the station.
“Tickets ready. Get your tickets ready,” the conductor shouted. “The 535 Express to St. Louis, with stops in Kansas City and Jefferson City. All aboard.”
Stormy eagerly handed her orange voucher to the conductor, who tipped his hat. She climbed the steps and entered the car.
High-backed, plush-velvet seats flanked the car’s broad windows. Gas lamps with etched glass globes hung from perfectly-papered walls. Up front, a waiter with a spotless napkin draped over his arm stood beside a cart laden with fancy sandwiches and pastries.
Blade came up behind her. “Sit anywhere you like.”
~ ~ ~
Blade gazed out the train window into the night, bracing himself for the next few days.
Stormy wasn’t the problem. She’d shown true grit during their river passage and had adapted adroitly to life in the hotel. He couldn’t wait to show her off in St. Louis.
The problem was his family.
Sizeable bills for their new clothes were probably in mail sacks on this very train. Within a few hours, they’d be opened by a clerk at the bank, and all hell would break loose unless he made peace with his father. Money was serious business with Samuel Masters.
His mother would be rattled when he arrived, unannounced, with a fiancée, but his timing was deliberate. Olivia planned her schedule weeks, if not months, in advance. He and Stormy would be gone before there would be an opening to parade them in front of Society.
Stormy’s head lolled sleepily onto his shoulder, and he smiled. She’d leaned out the window for hours, and small, dark cinders speckled her face.
She was a bright prairie wildflower. He intended to collect his savings, neutralize Edward Peabody, and whisk Stormy back to Prosperity before she faded.
~ ~ ~
At ten minutes before nine in the evening, the hansom cab from the train station turned onto the smooth stone driveway that led to his childhood home. Outdoor lights illumined half a dozen parked carriages.
Blade cursed under his breath. His parents were entertaining.
Mouse’s yawn turned to a loud gasp. “Mr. B, is this where you grew up?”
“It’s a mansion,” Stormy exclaimed.
Blade opened the pass window and handed a coin to the driver. “Pull around to the side, please.”
As their luggage was offloaded, Stormy folded her arms across her chest and rubbed her upper arms.
“Nervous?” he asked.
She shook her head unconvincingly.
“Don’t be. You’re perfect.” Holding her hand, he led her through the entrance reserved fo
r household deliveries. Past the pantry and the cold closet. With each familiar step, memories flooded back.
Corinda stood at the copper sink washing champagne flutes. Her slender back was to him, and the hair not hidden under her starched white half-cap had turned gray. He wanted to surprise her by throwing his arms around her, like he’d done so many times as a child, but the droop of her shoulders said she was weary.
Quietly, he said, “Corinda.”
“Sweet Jesus in heaven.” She turned, clutching a dripping flute to her breast. A smile eased the tired lines on her face. “Blade!”
Leaving Stormy and Mouse in the doorway, he took four quick steps, pulled Corinda into an embrace, and hugged her tightly.
When he finally let go, she wiped her eyes. “Honey child, I swear one day you’ll give me a heart attack.” She stepped back and appraised him like he was a prime rib roast, fresh from the butcher. “You’re thin. Ain’t you been eatin’ good?”
“No one cooks like you.” He waved Stormy and Mouse into the neat-as-a-pin kitchen. “Corinda, meet my fiancée, Stormy Hawkins, and my friend Mouse.”
“Fiancée?” Corinda took an eager step toward Stormy, and then stopped short.
Blade knew why. Five years ago, when he’d introduced Corinda to Candy, Candy had tried to fire her for ‘not knowing her place.’
Stormy reached for Corinda’s hands and squeezed them. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Corinda beamed. “Greetings to you, too, Mr. Mouse.”
The swinging door to the dining hall opened.
Favoring his good knee, Jackson carried in a tray of demitasse cups and saucers. His cropped hair had turned all white, a blunt reminder to Blade of how long he’d been away.
“Master Blade?” Jackson exclaimed. “I declare, it’s good to see you, boy.”
Jackson set his tray by the sink and bowed when he was introduced to Stormy. He shook hands with Mouse. Then, his eyes twinkled. “I know you’re thinking to hide in here until your mama and papa go to bed. Best hike up your britches and go on in. Introduce Miss Stormy while we get acquainted with Mouse.”
He shooed them past the formal dining table and whispered, “They’re in the music room. Miss Mary is playing the piano.”
Suddenly eager to see his little sister, Blade laced his fingers with Stormy’s and led her through the brightly lit foyer and library toward the music. Chopin, he guessed. They stood in the back, behind his parents and guests seated on folding Savonarola chairs.
He almost didn’t recognize Mary, seated at the baby grand. No longer thirteen, she’d grown into a beautiful young woman with graceful hands and long, dark curls pinned back from her face. Her shoulders swayed as she played flawlessly without sheet music.
She glanced up and, after their eyes met, she began to play faster. The birthmark that rouged a quarter of her face deepened with her excitement.
Her audience shifted in their seats. Skirts rustled. Someone coughed dryly.
She hit the final notes, jumped up from the piano bench, and ran toward him.
Everyone turned and stared. Olivia Masters stood as still and white as a statue, pressing her open fan against her pearl necklace. A slow smile spread across his father’s face.
Blade didn’t see Jared or Candy.
“I knew you’d come back.” Mary threw her arms around him. “Mama, look! Blade’s home.”
He lifted her up and spun her around.
“I have a secret to tell you,” she whispered. “I met the man I’m going to marry.”
A host of essential questions rushed to his tongue. Who was this supposed fiancé? Where had she met him? Was he from a good family? Had he forced himself upon his baby sister? Was she compromised?
Nodding that he’d heard her, certain that he’d grill her for every bloody detail, he set her down and forced himself to acknowledge the silence straining the music room.
He reached for Stormy’s hand. “May I present Miss Ophelia Hawkins, my—”
A tickle seized his throat, and he coughed.
~ ~ ~
When Blade choked on the word fiancée, Stormy wanted to turn and run, but she didn’t know the terrain. The world she knew was six hundred miles away.
Kicking Blade in the butt wouldn’t change anything. All she could do was demand enough money to get back home.
Her aching heart laughed bitterly. Who was she trying to fool? He’d probably rush her to the docks, happy to get rid of her, now that he was back where he belonged.
Mustering the last shreds of her dignity, she swept her gaze over the twenty elegantly-garbed strangers, staring at her, and said. “I bid you a good evening. Please excuse me.”
Blade grabbed her hand and stopped her retreat. “This isn’t how I’d planned to do this. Everyone, this is my fiancée, Miss Stormy Hawkins.”
Delighted claps shattered the icy silence in the room. Blade’s sister, Mary, hugged her warmly. The only person not smiling was a handsome woman in the front who clutched the arm of the man beside her.
Still uneasy, Stormy looked at them closely. The man looked like an older version of Blade—tall, robust, silver hair at his temples. He had to be Sam Masters, so the woman had to be Olivia. Blade’s mother.
Guests congratulated her as Blade led her forward, his hand reassuring around hers. She managed to smile and say, “Thank you,” and “You are very kind,” but her attention was on Olivia. Weren’t mothers supposed to be warm and embracing?
Blade stopped in front of his parents. “Surprise,” he said softly.
His mother’s lips quivered. Her eyes filled with tears, and she hugged him tightly. “Promise you won’t leave without telling us where you are going,” she whispered. “Without saying goodbye.” When she released him, she wiped her eyes and smiled. “You look older.”
“You don’t,” Blade retorted.
“Liar.”
Sam Masters extended his hand to Stormy. His eyes twinkled as he clasped her hand in both of his. “Stormy, you’ll soon learn that Blade and his mother enjoy bickering. Don’t let it drive you crazy.”
He thumped his son on the back. “Blade, I want to know where you found this beautiful girl, but first, let’s say goodnight to our guests.”
~ ~ ~
Edward Peabody crouched in the bushes just outside the Masters mansion and watched the carriages depart. The couple he’d followed from the train station did not leave the house. He raised his flask and swallowed the last drops of whiskey.
A month ago, Jonathan Vance had hired him to investigate the Masters family. Last week, he’d telegraphed descriptions of a petite redhead and her kidnapper along with strict instructions not to go to the authorities. As soon as he located Stormy Hawkins, Peabody was to wire Vance. The banker would come and take her back to Prosperity himself.
In Peabody’s professional judgment, this redhead was Stormy Hawkins, and the man who’d kidnapped her was Blade Masters. Now he needed verification. After all, he’d built his reputation—and his fees—by being thorough.
He knew just who to ask. Six months ago, Mrs. Candace Masters had hired him to find an apartment, someplace where she could discretely relieve her boredom. Using the name Stripples, he’d secured for her a large room in a freshly painted boardinghouse on the other side of town.
She’d rewarded him handsomely. Invited him to stop by any Tuesday or Friday afternoon. He’d not taken her up on her offer, but now he had a reason to contact her again. She wasn’t his cup of tea, but she could verify the redhead’s identity.
Then, he’d toy with her until he devised a surefire plan to earn a slice of the Masters’ fortune.
Chapter 23
All the guests had left, and Stormy stood in the center of a luxurious guest bedroom. Like the rest of the Mas
ters’ house, the room felt more formal than comfortable. Gold-flecked wallpaper. Tatted lace curtains. Flawless floor to ceiling mirror.
A collection of painted porcelain fans, as fragile as they were beautiful, adorned the tops of two huge mahogany dressers.
She kicked off her boots and sank her toes into the thick, mauve carpet. A family portrait, mounted on the wall, caught her eye. Moving closer, she recognized younger, solemn-faced versions of Sam, Olivia, and Blade. The baby in white had to be Mary, so the boy with spectacles had to be Blade’s brother, Jared.
What would it be like to grow up in this sprawling, three-story mansion? Blade didn’t talk much about his childhood. Did he and Jared play tag in the long hallways or make tents by draping sheets over dining room chairs? Would an accidental spill or unintended scratch be tolerated? From what she’d seen, a small army of maids would be needed to keep everything spotless and polished.
Blade hauled in her valises and shut the door. “The rest of their questions can wait until morning.”
He crossed the room, put his arms around her, and kissed her neck.
Desire rippled to her core as she indulged in the touch of his lips, but she couldn’t let him off easy. He’d hurt her feelings. “You’ve been a royal jackass since we left Yankton.”
He jerked back as if he’d touched a pot he didn’t know was hot. “Have I been that bad?”
“You embarrassed me.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Stormy crossed her arms. “Why did you hesitate to say I was your fiancée?
“I realized something and got distracted.” He sat on the huge high-poster bed, patted the gold satin coverlet, and frowned when she didn’t rush over. “Mary is very special.”
“Go on.”
“When I hugged her, she whispered she’d met the man she wants to marry.”