by Nancy Bush
“Who the hell are you?” he rasped in alarm, holding Eliza’s limp body in his strong arms.
“My name is Ramsey Gainsborough,” he introduced himself, his eyes narrowed on Eliza’s unconscious form. “You sir, are holding my wife!”
¤ ¤ ¤
Lexie couldn’t keep the gun at eye level for very long. The tiresome ride took its toll on her muscles. Her eyelids kept fluttering downward, her lashes sweeping her cheek, though she willed herself to stay alert. But it was warm in the carriage and, halfway to Portland, she sighed and laid the gun on the seat beside her.
“I’ve never thought you were gentleman, Jace,” she murmured, laying her head against the backrest and eyeing him through half-shut lids. “It would make me happy to prove that wrong.”
Jace, for all his burning lust, had a deep, chivalrous nature at times that surprised and bothered him. It was in his mind to throw Lexie down on the seat and toss her skirts over her head. Only two things prevented him: one, old MacDougal would never let him take Lexie without raising some kind of fuss; two, he had the strangest desire to earn her respect.
“Did you really love me once, Lexie?” he wanted to know.
She smiled tiredly. “No, I don’t think I did. But if you’d been as honest with me then as you seem to be now, I might have.”
“Damn you,” he said without heat, and sent his burning stare out the window to the deep night.
When Lexie fell asleep he collected her gun, but made no attempt to touch her.
¤ ¤ ¤
The parlor was the scene of tense expectation. Joseph Danner stood beside the couch, protectively watching over a still unconscious Eliza. Eliza’s chest barely moved, and twice Joseph leaned over her to check her breathing. Samuel was back in his chair by the window, but his dark gaze burned with wrath. In an older man his intensity would have been awesome — even at his young age, Ramsey Gainsborough’s men watched him carefully.
Jesse lounged against the fireplace, one arm leaning negligently across the enameled mantel. But his indolence was belied by the cold blue fire flaring in his eyes. His fingers straightened and clenched, straightened and clenched.
Tremaine saw them all in a swift, encompassing glance, weighing his options. His restraint was like a tattered tapestry, slowly unraveling with each tiny pull of Gainsborough’s words. And though he was sick with worry for Lexie, he was glad she wasn’t here. This man, he told himself, in startled astonishment, was her father!
“Well,” Gainsborough remarked, his lazy southern drawl much like Eliza’s. Casually, he pulled a Havana cigar from the silk-lined breast pocket inside his jacket. “It seems my resurrection has caused my dear wife to swoon. Do any of you gentlemen possess a match?” he asked politely.
Joseph stiffly pulled one from the pewter stand on the oak end table. He handed it to Gainsborough and said quietly, “What do you want?”
Gainsborough smiled his grotesquely wicked smile. “Ah’ll not mince words, Dr. Danner. What ah want is retribution — payment, if you will, for the agonies ah suffered at this woman’s hand. Look at me. My left hand is nearly useless. Ah am forced to walk with a cane. The muscles in my face do not do the bidding of my brain. And why?” He sent a venomous glance toward Eliza. “Because my wife hit me over the head with a poker and crushed a part of my skull, then she left me for dead.” He slowly lit the cigar, letting his words sink in. “Yes, Dr. Danner, ah want retribution.”
Lexie, Tremaine thought sickly. He wants Lexie.
“There is another member of the family missing, I believe.” Gainsborough looked expectantly toward the curving staircase. “Miss Lexington Danner. Is she upstairs?”
“Lexie’s visiting friends,” Tremaine stepped in. The gun case was in the den. He wondered how he could get past the burly blockade of Gainsborough’s men without arousing suspicion. Their gun belts were at their side. He had no doubt the pistols were loaded and ready. He also knew they would shoot first and ask questions later. He’d met Gainsborough’s type — and the kind of man he employed — before.
“When will she be back?” Gainsborough asked.
Tremaine answered the man’s cold smile with one of his own. “Later.”
“Ah hope this is not another lie — like the one you gave my man last Christmas.”
“Victor Flynne?” Tremaine guessed.
Gainsborough eyed him shrewdly, sensing that, of the entire Danner family, Tremaine was the most dangerous. If Flynne’s information could be believed, the eldest Danner son was half in love with Lexington and, though that made him an even more formidable enemy, it also betrayed a vulnerability he planned to capitalize on. “He sent you all a wire, asking if you were the same Danner family who had come to Oregon on the Bonnie Lynne. You denied it. But Victor’s a diligent, thorough man. Ah might never have found you if it hadn’t been for his persistence.”
Eliza stirred on the couch, her eyelids fluttering. “Joseph…” she cried out softly, anxiously.
“Right here.” He wrapped her trembling hand within the warmth of his rough one.
“There’s nothing for you here, Gainsborough,” Tremaine said flatly.
“Oh, but you are mistaken. Ah what my wife back. And ah intend to have her.”
“You filthy, sadistic rapist,” Joseph suddenly growled. “Eliza struck you in self-defense! I wouldn’t let you have her for any reason.”
The insults caused Ramsey Gainsborough to flush a dark, unbecoming red. “My wife is my property! If ah want the adulteress back, there is nothing you can do about it!”
Joseph was on his feet in an instant, but Tremaine was ahead of him, blocking his way. The gunmen’s hands lay poised over their pistols, but Tremaine’s eyes met Gainsborough’s. “Eliza will never leave willingly. Surely you know that.”
“Ah intend to prosecute for attempted murder. The lady also stole a king’s ransom from me.”
“It was her money,” Joseph snarled.
“It was my money. Ah am her husband!” Gainsborough bellowed and the gunmen raised their pistols directly at Joseph Danner.
“Wait!” Tremaine commanded. He judged the distance between himself and the nearest gunman. He could take one, but the other fellow’s six-shooter was bound to spray enough bullets to kill or injure his father. “If it’s money you want, we’re willing to discuss financial restitution.”
The man’s laugh was ugly. He stared with loathing down at Eliza’s fragile beauty. “It’s you or your daughter, bitch,” he said, then added, “My daughter. Make a decision.”
It was at that moment Tremaine realized how much he cared about his stepmother. He would have laid down his life for her if it might help. But Gainsborough was threatening Lexie, too. And Eliza, pale as death, knew it.
“I’ll go with you,” she said quietly. “How much time do I have?”
Joseph exploded in fury. He lunged for Gainsborough. Tremaine didn’t wait, he threw himself at the nearest gunmen’s legs, knocking him over, pinning him before he could get his hands on the deadly pistol. Jesse was a flying streak beside him, but he was too late. The gunman with a silver buckle shot once, with perfect aim, and Joseph Danner dropped to the ground. Jesse connected with his arm, but the man swung around, cracking his six-shooter against the side of Jesse’s head. Samuel was on Gainsborough, kicking and punching. Eliza screamed, and Silver Buckle yanked her from the couch, pressing the cold barrel against her temple. “Stop,” he ordered through his teeth.
Silence prevailed. Eliza’s eyes were closed, her captor’s arm squeezed across her heaving chest. Pa lay in a pool of spreading blood.
Gainsborough threw a now passive Samuel off him and glared at Tremaine. “Let Pete go,” he demanded, straightening his jacket.
Tremaine did as he was told and Pete went to stand by his employer, hands on his gun, his dark glare murderous. Jesse lay perfectly still.
Jesse’s groan galvanized Tremaine into action. He stooped over his father and was relieved to see that the bullet had merely cut a chunk of flesh f
rom his upper arm. “Get me the tablecloth,” he ordered Samuel, ignoring the strangers. He ripped off his shirt and tried to stanch the bloodflow as Gainsborough staggered to his feet.
“Come back here, boy!” he called, but Samuel kept right on going. Silver Buckle looked askance at Gainsborough, and for a moment Tremaine held his breath. But Gainsborough shook his head and Samuel was allowed to leave.
“Jesse,” Tremaine asked, still bent over his father. “Jesse, can you hear me?”
“God,” was his miserable reply.
“Let Eliza go,” Tremaine said flatly. “We won’t fight you.”
She was flung unceremoniously on the couch. In a shaking voice she said, “If you leave my family alone, I’ll do whatever you want.”
Gainsborough heaved a misunderstood sigh. “That’s all ah want. Ah am not interested in bloodshed.”
The hell you aren’t, Tremaine thought furiously, but Eliza, who had always chosen her own path, said with total conviction, “We’ll leave tomorrow, if you want.”
Samuel came back with the pale peach linen tablecloth and Tremaine ripped it into strips. He bound his father’s arm and applied direct pressure, stanching the bloodflow. Joseph’s face was ashen, but his breath whistled in and out of his throat.
Gainsborough chuckled, and the sound sent icy premonition down Tremaine nerves. “Ah would rather stay and get to know my daughter a little, maybe even convince her to come back to Kentucky with us. Ah’ve heard she’s a lovely thing.” He sighed and settled into the cushions, for all the world as if he were planning to move in permanently.
“Make sure Jesse’s all right, then show Mr. Gainsborough Pa’s liquor cabinet,” Tremaine said to Samuel, earning him a look of shocked amazement from his younger brother. “Do it,” he hissed, and Samuel, stiff with unspoken resentment, helped Jesse to a chair and led the now grinning Ramsey Gainsborough to the other room. Pete’s burly form guarded the door.
Tremaine was thinking fast. He needed help and he needed to find Lexie. He had to get a message to the Cullens. The Garretts were closer but Jace Garrett was as much to blame for this situation as anyone. Tremaine had to deliver the message to the Cullens himself and, if possible, alert the sheriff.
Pa’s hand crept up Tremaine’s bare arm. “Find Lexie and keep her away,” he beseeched in a faint voice that only Tremaine could hear.
“I will.”
But how? And how could he leave his family unprotected? He glanced at Jesse, then at Samuel, who had just reentered the room. Lastly, his gaze met Eliza’s and in her eyes was the whole family’s answer: Lexie must be kept from Gainsborough’s evil plans at all costs.
He determined he would leave tonight — somehow — and follow Lexie’s trail. By fair means or foul, he would protect her. And he would make certain she remained ignorant of what was happening at the farm. For Lexie, he realized grimly would sacrifice herself to save the others.
Tremaine would rather commit murder himself then leave her that choice.
Chapter Nineteen
Lexie had only catnapped, too tense and worried to rest peacefully. Upon awakening, her fingers crept across the carriage seat to find her pistol was missing and, she realized sinkingly, searching the carriage through lash-veiled eyes, in Jace’s possession. The gun was in his hand.
Jace was still staring through the window but now Lexie could plainly see the angles of his face. Dawn was breaking and she reckoned they must be close to Portland. She was glad for Jace’s protection, but anxious to get rid of him all the same, considering how little she trusted him. He mustn’t know where she was heading.
He stretched and glanced her way. Lexie feigned sleep for long moments while he studied her, and she had the distinct feeling he didn’t know what to do with her. “You’re not asleep,” he said, breaking the silence.
She would have felt a lot safer with a pistol in her hand. Stretching, she made a great show of yawning, then lunged for the gun. Jace was surprised but not totally unprepared. He tussled with her until Lexie’s hair fell free around her shoulders and she ended up across his lap.
“You touch me, Jace and I’ll kill you,” she hissed coldly.
Jace looked down at the tempestuous beauty in his arms and threw caution to the wind. “Oh, hell,” he muttered and pressed his lips to hers.
Lexie froze. It was incomprehensible to her that she’d ever longed for his touch. She struggled until her hand was free, and then she slapped him long and hard. The crack echoed in the morning stillness.
Jace growled and tossed her down on the carriage seat, his eyes lit by a dangerous flame. “What does it take to turn you into a lady?” he demanded through his teeth, his patience gone.
“More than the likes of you,” she answered recklessly.
His mouth slanted fiercely over hers and bile rose in Lexie’s throat. She groped along the seat, filled with jubilation when her fingers encountered the cold barrel of the pistol. Jace was hard at work trying to tame her struggling limbs. Lexie thought calmly, coolly, deliberately. She shoved the pistol against Jace’s most vital tissue and said reasonably, “if you want to remain a stallion, I suggest you move away — slowly.”
“Christ! Lexie!” Jace froze.
“Get off me,” she muttered, and he did as she suggested.
His face flushed; his breathing ragged. “What’s wrong with you? You’re more man than woman these days! Didn’t Miss Everly’s School teach you any manners? You used to be reckless, but now you’re as hard and as any waterfront whore!”
Those words hurt. Lexie swept in a choked breath but didn’t relinquish her hold on the gun. “Tell old MacDougal to drop me off at Miss Everly’s School,” she said.
“Fine,” Jace spat and, when they turned onto the street, added coldly, “Get the hell out.”
He practically dumped her on the curb, as anxious to be rid of her as she was of him. Lexie barely got Tantrum untied before he yelled to old MacDougal to drive away. The kindly Scot gave Lexie a wink of encouragement before he snapped the reins on the bays. The carriage lurched away and Lexie was left on the empty cobblestone street.
As soon as he was out of sight, she mounted Tantrum and walked him quietly along the street. Her heart was heavy as she considered what to do. She needed money for her train fare. The few bills she’d borrowed from Jesse weren’t enough.
She would have to sell Tantrum for the rest of the money.
Portland was waking up as Lexie wound her way through Nob Hill to the once grand home owned by Ella’s family. The gardens had already suffered from the Burnhams’ financial losses; weeds were tenaciously springing up in clumps around the ragged lawn.
The staff had apparently been cut back considerably as Lexie rode through the gates without anyone stopping her. She tied the wearied Tantrum to a porch rail, then rubbed his nose for a few minutes before she faced Ella. She would be asking a lot of their friendship.
Lexie raised the tarnished brass knocker and let it fall twice. The hollow clang-clang echoed through the sleeping household, and it was several moments before a middle-aged woman in a black dress opened the front door.
“Well, missy?” she demanded, looking down her nose at the sorry picture Lexie made in her grimy white shirtwaist, black cloak, and ripped split skirt.
“Is Ella home? Please tell her Lexington Danner is here to see her.”
The maid sniffed and slammed the door in Lexie’s face. Lexie sighed. She could hardly blame her. A few minutes later the door was flung open again and Ella, her eyes still heavy with sleep, grinned at her friend. “It’s all right, Jane,” she threw over her shoulder to the maid. “Lexie’s another Miss Everly graduate.”
“Oh, Ella, I’m so glad to see you!”
For the first time since she’d seen Tremaine with Jenny, Lexie felt near tears. Her eyes burned and when Ella said, “Well, come on in and tell me about it,” she wanted to throw herself into her friend’s arms and bawl her eyes out.
“What in heaven’s name are y
ou doing with that?” Ella asked with delicious horror.
The pearl handle of the pistol was revealed sticking out of the pocket of Lexie skirt. “For a cool drink and a bath I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Done.” Ella collected her arm and dragged her upstairs.
When Lexie was gratefully immersed in warm water up to her chin, inhaling the lovely rose-scented steam rising off the water from the bath salts, a glass of lemonade sitting on the needlepoint stool beside her, she broached the subject that had been weighing most heavily on her mind. “I need money, Ella, to go to Denver and be with my brother, Harrison.”
Ella was sitting crosslegged on the feather tick that covered her bed. “So you can become a horse doctor and avoid marrying some rich old pervert to increase the family’s declining fortunes. I envy you,” she said with none of her usual irreverent humor.
“Ella! You’re not getting married, are you?”
“I’m afraid so.” She smiled wearily.
“You don’t sound like you — love him.”
Ella snorted. “I don’t. He’s older than my father. But he’s rich, and since Silas Monteith cheated my father out of his money, all that’s left is a good match between his ‘Miss Everly’ daughter and someone wealthy.”
“Cheated! What do you mean?” Then realizing what her friend was saying, Lexie cried, “I can’t believe you’re standing for it!”
“Can’t you? There is a mortgage on the house that will not be met unless Emmett Lockwood marries me. I’m not pretty like you, Lexie. I can’t attract the young and handsome wealthy men.”
“But your parents can’t make you!” Lexie cried out. This was a subject dear to her heart. “You’ve got to fight, Ella! They can’t make you marry someone you don’t love!”
“No one’s making me.” Ella was quietly sober. “I made this decision myself.” At Lexie’s uncomprehending look, she added, “I have three younger sisters and four brothers. None of them will have my advantages. My mother is pregnant again. And my father can’t find suitable employment. He’s not a laborer; he’s a bankrupt businessman. Every job he takes he believes is beneath his station.”