The Bad Luck Wedding Dress (The Bad Luck Wedding series)

by Geralyn Dawson

  “Scared? Me?” Maribeth laughed. “Now I know you’re lying. Papa knows I’m never scared. I’m nothing like you, Emma. I’m no ‘fraidy cat.”

  “If that’s what you want to think, go ahead.” Emma opened her book and acted as if she were reading.

  Maribeth drew herself up regally. “Liar, liar pants on fire. My secret passageway doesn’t have ghosts. You’re just chicken, Emmaline Suzanne.” With another pair of squawks, she left the room.

  And Emma fumed. She fumed for the rest of the day. Every time her sister saw her, Mari did that chicken-wing act with her arms. Emma thought Katrina must be giving Maribeth lessons, because every squawk became more and more dramatic. It made Emma downright furious.

  But it was the chicken feathers on her dinner plate that made her overcome her fear. She dared not allow Maribeth’s challenge to go unmet any longer. Otherwise, she’d be hearing squawks and eating feathers for years.

  Emma decided to plant a ghost in the tunnel.

  She waited until after Jenny had tucked her sisters in bed and gone downstairs to share an evening cup of chocolate with Uncle Tye. Then, candle in hand, Emma gathered her supplies, clenched her teeth, and entered the hidden passage.

  It smelled like new wood, not musty old dust, and this tunnel didn’t seem near as big as the one in her memory. This one was kind of cozy, in fact. The steps leading downstairs didn’t even creak.

  In a moment of honesty, she admitted that she had been afraid to enter the tunnel. Every time she even thought about ducking into the spaces, she started to shiver. She didn’t know why, exactly. It had something to do with her mother—her real mother—and the hidden corridors in the house back in South Carolina.

  “Well, I’m not afraid anymore,” she whispered to herself, hiking the coil of rope up higher on her shoulder. She’d rig the “ghost” near the parlor entrance. That was right below Maribeth’s bedroom, and with any luck the sounds would wake her during the night.

  Emma whistled beneath her breath and went to work, imagining how she’d scare her chicken-squawking sister half to death. She was almost finished when, from the other side of the wall, she heard Jenny’s muffled voice mention her name.

  Emma stopped what she was doing and listened for a moment. An old memory tugged at her mind and made her stomach hurt.

  Forget it, Emma. There is nothing to be afraid of here. It’s just like the spy hole at the other house, only better because it goes all over Willow Hill.

  She lifted her chin. She’d venture into the passageway any time she wanted, by gosh. No stomachache ever got the best of Emma McBride.

  TWO LOUD blasts of a whistle announced the train’s approach to Fort Worth’s Texas &. Pacific station. While the axles turned the brakes squealed, and a figure stepped out into the vestibule, waiting for the car to slow. He ended up jumping too soon, but he landed with catlike grace to the accompaniment of a railroad official’s disparaging holler.

  Trace didn’t pause long enough to wave at the man or collect his baggage. He didn’t even wait to hire a wagon. He’d been cooped up on the train since early that morning, and he could use a brisk walk. Besides, he could make it to Willow Hill in five minutes on foot. A ride wouldn’t get him there any faster.

  He was anxious to get home—eager to see his children and impatient as hell to bed his wife.

  What would Jenny say about his success? He came home having been named the architect for both the Hill County and Wise County courthouses. Would she think the time away from home well spent?

  Yes. Jenny was his greatest supporter. She’d be proud of him.

  Willow Hill came into sight and Trace broke into a jog. The parlor windows glowed golden with light, a beacon in the deepening dusk. The wind that whistled through the trees carried the faintest hint of laughter, and Trace knew a warmth inside his chest that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

  Home. Family. He missed it more than he ever would have guessed. And while it didn’t paint him in the most favorable light, he wouldn’t deny he liked the idea of his family missing him too.

  After all, who else would help Maribeth with throwing a ball? Who else would play tickle monster with Kat? Who else would know when Emmie needed a daddy’s proud wink? And who else would give Jenny a kiss to make her melt?

  Trace misstepped on that last thought, and only a bit of good luck and a tree trunk handy for balance kept him from falling.

  The front door opened beneath his touch with a quiet whoosh. Trace shook his head, determined to scold the ladies of the house about leaving the place unlocked. Stepping inside, Trace shut the door silently behind him, figuring to make his homecoming a surprise.

  A low murmur of voices came from the parlor. Then, a laugh. Jenny’s laugh. She said, “I can’t believe you did that. Her husband must have been livid.”

  A low-pitched masculine voice replied, “Yes, he was, and rightfully so.”

  Bart Rogers. In Willow Hill’s front parlor. Picturing the rough, hard-scrabble man trying to wield one of Jenny’s little teacups made him grin.

  The man’s voice continued, “The woman made a fool of him in front of the entire town.”

  Trace’s smile faded. No. It couldn’t be. The warmth— the welcome—dripped from his bones like melting wax. He stood motionless, emotionless, while minutes passed as hours. Then the man’s voice sounded once again and icy cold gripped his heart.

  Fear. It was a monster that had breathed inside him all these years. A monster that propelled him toward the doorway where he halted unnoticed and gazed at the man he’d prayed he’d never see again.

  Silently, he screamed, Katrina…

  Aloud, in a voice as cold as his dying dreams, he said, “Thackery. I’d hoped I killed you.”

  Even as Jenny’s stomach sank, even as dread skimmed across her skin, she gazed from her husband to his brother, then back to Trace once more and marveled. She’d never seen two people look so much alike.

  Right down to the murder gleaming in their eyes.

  What was this? Tye had said he’d come here to make peace. Rising from her seat beside the fire, Jenny sought to defuse the tension vibrating in the room. “Welcome home, darling.”

  Trace ignored her, hurling his words at his brother. “Get the hell out of my house.”

  Tye settled against the sofa as though he owned it. “Not until I get what I’ve come for, brother dear.”

  Trace’s hands fisted. “You goddamned stinking piece of—”

  “Papa! You’re home!”

  Jenny looked toward the entry hall where she spotted three sets of feet scampering down the staircase. She glared first at Trace, then at Tye. “Watch what you say. Think of the children, for goodness’ sake.”

  Tye’s casual pose disappeared as he shot to his feet and squared off against his brother. “I am,” he said flatly. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Trace spat a curse and lunged toward his twin.

  “Wait!” Jenny called.

  The girls barrelled into the parlor, the older two girls crying, “Papa!”

  Katrina put her hands on her hips and shouted, “Don’t you hurt my daddy!”

  In the process of throwing a punch, both men froze, identical stricken expressions on their faces. A shudder of unease swept over Jenny. Something frightening was happening here. Something she didn’t understand.

  Stepping forward, she spoke to the girls in a voice that brooked no argument. “Go back upstairs, ladies. Your father will be up in a few minutes to say hello.”

  “No, I’ll go up now.” Trace stepped away from Tye, his smoldering gaze never leaving his brother’s as his daughters filed past him, curious and concerned expressions on their faces. “My girls come first with me—now and always. I want you gone by the time I get back downstairs.”

  Tye straightened the lapels on his jacket. “That’s too damn bad. I’ve been staying here, you know. I’ve been getting to know the girls.”

  A muscle worked in Trace’s jaw, and Jenny
thought his glare looked lethal.

  “I’m going upstairs with my daughters,” Trace said coldly. “Don’t be here when I come down. I’m not the same man I was six years ago. This time, I’ll make sure you’re dead.” With that, he turned and followed the girls up the winding staircase.

  For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Jenny reeled on Tye. “What in heaven’s name is going on here? I thought you came here to reconcile with him!”

  He wore the sullen look of an angry little boy caught in the middle of wrongdoing.

  “Well?” Jenny said when he didn’t respond.

  He muttered a curse and raked his fingers through his hair. “He caught me off guard, sneaking in like that. And didn’t you hear him? First time he sees me in six lousy years, all he has to say is, ‘I’d hoped I killed you.’ It touched a nerve. I reacted badly.”

  “ ‘Badly’ doesn’t quite say enough.” Jenny heaved a frustrated sigh. “If you two aren’t just alike—bullheaded and hot tempered.”

  Tye shrugged.

  After a brief moment of thought, Jenny crossed the room to a small secretary where she withdrew a ring of keys from a drawer. Removing one, she said, “This is the key to the apartment above my shop where Trace and the girls lived before we moved into Willow Hill. We’ve left many of the furnishings, so you should be comfortable there until we get this all figured out.”

  Tye shook his head. “I’m not leaving, Jenny. One way or the other, Trace and I are having this out.”

  “Having what out? What is going on between you two that I don’t understand?”

  He opened his mouth, then hesitated. “Maybe you’re right. Trace never did listen worth a darn when he got riled.” He accepted the key she offered and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll go, for now. It won’t take me long to pack. I guess it’s probably better to give him a little time to get used to the idea of my having found him.”

  When he returned with his bags a few minutes later, Jenny stopped him in the entry hall. “What did you mean ‘found him’?”

  At the door, Tye paused and looked over his shoulder. “He ran off, Jenny. Took the girls and disappeared. You can tell him something for me. Tell him it won’t be like last time. Now that I’ve found him, I won’t let him vanish again. He and I have things to settle between us, and I won’t rest until it’s done.”

  On that cryptic note, Tye McBride left Willow Hill.

  Jenny turned and gazed up the staircase, gripped by both weariness and apprehension. Unwilling to face the ghosts in the parlor, she slowly climbed the stairs. Questions whirled in her mind, piquing her temper. Why was it always questions where her husband was concerned? Would he ever provide answers?

  Her head hurt and she slowly tugged the pins from her hair, massaging her scalp as she entered the master bedroom. She recalled the look on her husband’s face when he gazed at his brother, and she shivered. In the space of a heartbeat, she had seen his fear. That frightened her more than any of the bitter words spoken by either man.

  What troubles had she invited into their home along with Tye McBride?

  “It’s Trace’s fault,” she grumbled, taking a seat at her vanity and unwinding her braid. “If he hadn’t been so secretive about everything, I’d have known what to do.”

  Lifting her hairbrush, she gazed into the mirror and saw in her features a reflection of the fear in her husband’s eyes. When he entered their room a few minutes later, she’d reached a decision.

  She’d ask her questions and have her answers. Tonight. No matter what.

  But she was too slow and Trace asked first. “Why, Jenny? Why did you let him into the house?”

  She twisted in her seat to look at him. “What reason did I have not to welcome him to Willow Hill? None that I know of, certainly. I think I’m the one who needs to ask the questions. Why did you never tell me about your brother, your twin brother?”

  He didn’t answer. Turning away, he stripped off his tie and jacket and pitched them to the floor. Yanking at his buttons, he opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Still, he didn’t speak.

  “What?” Jenny asked. “You obviously have something on your mind, and I seriously doubt it’s an answer to anything I asked. What is it?”

  The question seemed to burst from his mouth. “Did you bed down with him?”

  For a long moment, Jenny was speechless. How could he even think such a thing, much less say it? She pushed from her chair and advanced on him, the heat of her anger drying her tears in an instant. “Blast you, McBride! If you’re not the biggest fool in Texas, then I shudder to think who is. Did I sleep with him? Arrgh!” She hit him with her hairbrush. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  He grabbed the brush from her hand and tossed it on the bed.

  “What is wrong with you, anyway?” she continued. “Didn’t we have a similar discussion right before you left town? Did you leave your brain in Hill County? You make me want to scream!”

  Jenny paced the room, waving her arms. “He’s your brother. Why wouldn’t I welcome him to your house? You’ve never told me any reason not to. You never even told me the man existed, for that matter.” She stopped in front of him and declared, “I’ve given you no reason to be jealous, Trace McBride. No reason to be suspicious. I’m not a faithless woman and you know that. I vowed to love and honor you, to be faithful to you. I’m your wife.” She thumped her chest with her fist. “Your wife.”

  He snorted, and she considered hitting him again. “And Tye is your brother, for goodness’ sake. Why would you walk into a room and see us drinking cups of hot cocoa and immediately assume we were involved in something illicit?”

  “Because it happened before!” He swept up her hairbrush and threw it across the room where it smashed against the wall and fell in two pieces. “My faithful wife and my devoted brother were lovers.”

  Jenny stood paralyzed in the center of the room. Of course! She should have seen it before. All the clues had been there.

  Trace approached her, his smile bitter. “I don’t know how long it had gone on. Months, maybe. Once I discovered the truth—” his fists clenched repeatedly at his sides, “I killed her.”

  A painful knot tightened in Jenny’s chest. “Oh, Trace.”

  “I came close to killing him, too,” he said, a far-off look in his eyes. “The punch I threw knocked him against the fireplace.”

  He slowly shook his head. “God, so much blood in that room. Like the war all over again. He lay still as a corpse—still as Constance—and I died right along with him.” He fell silent, his expression ravaged at the memory.

  Her heart ached for him; her arms yearned to hold him. But Trace held himself separate, alone, and she sensed he would not welcome her touch. Moisture stung her eyes. “You thought he was dead until tonight?”

  “No. Once I figured out he was breathing, that the blood on him was Constance’s, I left.”

  “He told me you vanished.”

  Trace loosed a shuddering breath. “I thought my family was safe. After all this time, I quit looking over my shoulder. I thought we could have a real life.”

  Jenny could bear it no more. She went to him, clasped his arm. “Is the law after you?”

  His brows arched in surprise. “The law? Why—oh, I see what you’re thinking. Murder.” He chuckled humorlessly. “No, I kept tabs on that. They ruled the shooting accidental because I was struggling with Constance when the gun went off.”

  “Then why—”

  “Why are we not safe?” His expression turned to granite and his voice went hoarse. “Because of him. Because of that goddamn bastard brother of mine. I won’t let him have her. We’ll run again, only this time we’ll go so fast and so far he’ll never find us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He squared his shoulders. “You don’t have to come with us, of course. Fort Worth is your home.” A thread of steel entered his voice. “But I won’t let him take Katrina. I can’t kill him. I already tried that, and I couldn�
�t do it right. Our only choice is to run.”

  He actually thought he could leave her behind? The fool. The silly fool. Jenny clutched his shirtsleeves and shook him. “What do you mean, you won’t let him have Katrina? What does Katrina have to do with all this?”

  “She has everything to do with this!” he said through his teeth. “She’s the reason it all happened. He wants to take her from me.”

  “How could he do that?”

  His eyes grew stormy, turbulent, and gleamed with a sheen of tears. His anguished voice broke as he answered. “She’s his, treasure. I’m not her father. Katrina is my brother’s daughter.”

  A new penny brings good luck.

  CHAPTER 17

  AT THE END OF a near sleepless night Jenny awoke to a day dawned blustery and cold. Over her objections, Trace saddled up Ranger and left Willow Hill at first light, headed for the Acre to see a man who had connections in Mexico.

  Jenny felt torn. Although she had assured her husband she’d follow him to the ends of the earth if need be, she’d argued against their leaving Fort Worth. She’d repeated Tye’s statement that he’d find them should they attempt to flee. Trace had brushed off the warning, but Jenny wasn’t convinced. She had observed the determination in his brother’s eyes.

  For all the secrets he’d kept since showing up in her backyard, Tye didn’t strike her as the villain Trace painted him to be. She’d lain awake most of the night reflecting on the man’s behavior during his visit, and she’d reached a number of conclusions.

  Tye would not attempt to separate the girls, for one thing. He’d displayed affection toward all the children— not just Katrina. Secondly, she still believed Tye meant what he said when he claimed to want a reconciliation with Trace. Surely, if he wanted to heal the rift between them, he wouldn’t be planning to rip Katrina from the bosom of the only family she’d ever known.

  Trace was reacting to a threat that, in Jenny’s opinion, didn’t exist. He had refused to listen to any of her arguments, and by forbidding her to see his brother again, he’d made it easy for her to go visit Tye. She would give up most everything for the man she loved—she’d run to Mexico, if need be—but she would never abdicate her independence.