The day she allowed him to dictate who she could and could not see, who she could or could not talk to, would be the day she lost herself. She loved being Mrs. Trace McBride, but a part of her—that deepest, most basic part of her soul—would always be Jenny Fortune.
And Jenny Fortune decided to speak with Tye McBride.
She was buttoning her shoes when she heard a knock at her bedroom door. “Yes?”
The door cracked open, revealing Emma’s worried frown. “Mama, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Jenny nodded. “Certainly, as long as you’re quick about it. I don’t want you late for school.”
Emma shut the door behind her, then stood shuffling, gazing at her feet, her hands clasped behind her back. Jenny waited expectantly, then finally said, “Emma?”
The girl’s head came up. Her eyes shone with guilt. She said in a rush, “Last night I was in the passageway rigging Mari’s ghost and I heard you and Papa talking about Katrina. I knew I had to tell you, because last time I didn’t, and all the bad things were my fault. I’m sorry I eavesdropped, Mama, and I promise to never, ever do it again. Please don’t be mad at me!”
Jenny grimaced and closed her eyes in misery. Did she understand what Emma was saying? She’d overheard the truth of Katrina’s parentage? This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Katrina mustn’t hear this news prematurely, and a secret of this magnitude should not be borne by a twelve-year-old. “Blast those hidden passages anyway,” she mumbled.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” Tears slipped down her face. “So sorry. Please don’t be mad.”
Compassion flared in Jenny’s heart and she gave the girl a hug. “I’m not mad, darling, just worried. Now, you must promise not to say anything to your sisters about this. I have to think about what to do. It’s getting late. You need to run on to school.”
Her voice trailed off as she added, “I have to go somewhere myself.”
Emma’s tears didn’t stop, and Jenny was at a loss as to how to deal with them. She was new at this mothering; she’d so much to learn. And a problem of this magnitude— a crack in the very foundation of her family—was more than she knew how to manage. “Your father will talk to you about this later, Emma. Go to school and try not to worry too much, all right?”
Jenny spoke to herself as much as to Emma. Trace would have to solve the problem of what their daughter had overheard. She planned to devote herself to avoiding a move to Mexico.
Donning a cloak, Jenny went downstairs to the kitchen. Trace had asked her to give Mrs. Wilson the day off, and she decided to accede to his wishes on this point. Only this point.
The housekeeper happily accepted the unexpected holiday and promised to see the girls off to school before leaving for the day.
A chilly wind whipped at her hem as Jenny walked toward the center of town. Her stomach turned as she passed a small cafe, and the aroma of frying bacon and eggs swirled around her. She swallowed hard against the nausea and hurried on, concentrating on the arguments she intended to present to Tye.
First she would ask if what Trace had told her was true. She didn’t want to believe that Tye had, in fact, betrayed his brother in such a fundamental way.
As she approached the building she noticed a light in the window above her shop. Good. Luck was with her in that he’d come here and not gone to a hotel. She didn’t have time to check all the hotels in Fort Worth for a missing brother-in-law.
The front door to Trace’s old quarters was locked and Jenny rapped loudly on the glass, calling, “Tye? Tye McBride? I need to talk to you.” She waited, and the hair on the back of her neck slowly prickled.
It’s the cold air, she told herself as she glanced over first one shoulder, then the other.
She banged on the door again. “Tye? It’s Jenny. Open up, please.”
She heard a noise from inside, then the thud of boot- steps descending the stairs. She opened her mouth to sound a greeting when she suddenly sensed the figure approaching from behind. Before she could turn around a hand gripped her upper arm, and the cold, hard barrel of a gun pressed against her side.
“Careful now, missy, or I’ll blow a hole in both you and your husband right here.”
Jenny’s blood ran cold. Big Jack Bailey. Dear Lord, not again.
The door swung open and Tye stood on the other side. Bailey said, “Good morning, there, McBride. You shouldn’t be letting your wife run around without a key. Never know when somebody might get the jump on her.”
Tye’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Bailey gave an evil smile. “Who am I? Come now, McBride, don’t play the fool.”
Jenny licked her lips and said, “He’s not Trace, Mr. Bailey. You’re making a mistake. This is my husband’s twin brother. You have no quarrel with him. You can let him go.”
“Do you think I’m stupid or something, Dressmaker?” Bailey asked, the gun barrel digging into her side. “Come along, now. I have a wagon waiting in the alley, and the three of us are gonna walk nice and peaceful-like around back.”
“Why don’t we go upstairs and discuss this problem,” Tye suggested casually, eyeing the gun. “I’m in the middle of eating breakfast, and you’re welcome to share.”
“Nope. I’ve a job for you to do. Afterward, we’re gonna return to the scene of your crime for a few questions and answers.”
“Crime? What crime?” Tye gave Jenny a sharp, curious look.
She ignored him, all her attention centered on Big Jack Bailey. He can’t know, she told herself. He might suspect the truth, but unless she confirmed his suspicions, surely he wouldn’t hurt her.
Or would he? Jenny gave Bailey a sidelong glance and remembered the dressmaker dummy hanging from her porch.
Bailey motioned for them to move. “Come along, now. Daylight’s a’wastin’. The four of us are taking a cozy little ride.”
“Four of us?” Jenny asked quickly, her first thought of the girls. Please let all of them be safe.
They rounded the corner of the building, and she spotted a wagon with a tarpaulin covering the back. Bailey gestured with the gun. “You, me, your husband, and my boy. Damned sheriff buried him at Pioneer’s Rest and I had to pay the mortuary to dig him back up. Frank needs to be at home at the Lucky Lady, and since you killed him, I figured you should do the burying.”
“Jenny?” Tye asked.
She glanced at him and shook her head, not knowing exactly what she was denying. Silently cursing Big Jack’s twisted logic, she closed her eyes and shuddered at the idea of traveling with Frank Bailey’s body.
Big Jack told Tye to drive. He sat Jenny between them, his gun never leaving her side. “Take Throckmorton down to Fourteenth and head west,” he said. “Just keep in mind that your wife will pay if you do anything to attract attention.”
Bailey smiled and nodded to the people they passed. Jenny held her breath when Wilhemina Peters called out for them to stop. Bailey muttered to Tye to keep on going, then hollered back, “Don’t have time, now, ma’am. Nice hat you’re wearing today.”
Once the wagon was away from town, Bailey climbed into the back and sat on the tarp-draped coffin. He shifted his gun from Jenny, to Tye, then back to Jenny again. “You know, McBride. You should have known better than to marry her.”
His evil chuckle sent shivers up Jenny’s spine as he added, “Good Luck Wedding Dress, my ass.”
TRACE WALKED into Willow Hill with five train tickets to Galveston in his vest pocket and a satchel full of money in his hand. He’d tried his damndest to shut down his emotions, but entering this house knowing he’d be leaving it all too soon was a boot to the gut.
“Jenny,” he called, pausing a moment to listen for her reply. Silence. He frowned and checked his pocket watch. Three hours yet before the girls finished school. He’d have thought she’d be here sorting and packing things to take with them. “I bet she’s gone to the shop,” he murmured, inspecting the kitchen. A conscientious woman like Jenny would want to clear off h
er books before leaving town. She wasn’t the type to leave her customers high and dry.
He glanced down the hall toward his office. He didn’t like abandoning his clients either, but a man had to put his family first. At least the timing of this was good. He’d made arrangements this morning to put the house up for sale, and the agent had advanced him a nice amount of cash. At least this time when the McBrides fled a town, they’d do so with a little money in their pocket.
He found the note in his bedroom telling him she’d gone to the Rankin Building on an errand. Sure enough, he was right. She’d probably bring home half of Fortune’s Design’s fabric inventory with her.
He spent the next hours packing and trying to come up with a good explanation to give the girls for their abrupt departure. The entire time, he was conscious of his wife’s absence and a niggling unease prodded his spine.
Had Jenny changed her mind and decided not to go? Maybe so, but she’d tell him straight to his face. It wasn’t like her to dodge issues of any sort.
By the time his daughters arrived home from school, he had everyone’s bags ready to go. He told his children the lie he’d concocted about a holiday, hoping to make their departure from Fort Worth a little easier to manage.
With everything ready and the train due to leave in less than an hour, he said, “I’m going to make a quick run down to your mother’s dress shop. She must have gotten tied up with a customer and lost track of time.”
Excited about the upcoming journey, the girls failed to notice his concern. He added a warning before leaving the house. “If she gets here before I come back, don’t let her out of your sights, all right?”
“Sure, Papa,” they agreed.
His unease grew all the way to town. He found Fortune’s Design locked up tight with the closed sign hanging in the window. It didn’t look as if she’d been there all day. Then he noticed the light burning in a window upstairs. Why would anyone be upstairs? Jenny had the only key other than his own. What would she be doing … Tye.
Anger surged through him. If she’d gone to Tye he’d kill them both. He tested the door and found it unlocked. Then he bounded upstairs.
He recognized the pair of revolvers slung over the back of a chair, and his gaze swung immediately toward his old bedroom. He started down the hall. He heard her voice in his mind. Trust me, Trace.
He was trying. Good Lord, he was trying.
He approached the bedroom door, his emotions a mixture of confidence and fear. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.
Relief washed over him like flood waters in spring. The room was empty but for an unmade bed and a man’s clothes scattered haphazardly across the room. Tye never had learned to pick his britches up off the floor.
Just to be thorough, Trace checked the loft and wandered through the other rooms, pausing at the mess in the kitchen and the plate of flapjacks half eaten. He didn’t like the look of that. Tye McBride might not pick up his clothes, but he never left a plate of pancakes half eaten. What was going on here? Where was his brother?
More importantly, where was his wife?
The name he’d done his best not to think about rose like a demon in his mind. Big Jack Bailey.
In his heart, he knew. Trace ran for the marshal’s office. Take care of her, Tye. Please, keep her safe.
“THIS IS the prettiest spot on the entire ranch.” Pride rang in Big Jack Bailey’s voice as the wagon rolled to a stop atop an evergreen-dotted bluff overlooking the Trinity River valley.
Tye spied the iron fence that surrounded a small plot of land. Inside the rails, two monuments stood side by side, and he concluded that this was the family cemetery.
Bailey confirmed his suspicions by saying, “That’s my Lilah Mae’s resting place. The son she died aborning is laid next to her.” He cleared his throat, then jumped from the wagon. “I want Frank on the other side of his mother.” From beneath the tarpaulin, he removed two shovels. Tossing them to the ground, he used his gun to wave Tye down from the wagon. “Here you go, McBride. One for you and one for the little lady.”
Tye scowled. “I’ll dig your grave, Bailey. There’s no call for Jenny to be doing that type of work.”
“Nope.” Big Jack shook his head. “She works too. Hell, I wanted her to dig it by herself, but I figured we’d be here till Christmas if I made her do it alone. I don’t have the time to waste; I’m needed in New Orleans. My daughter has recently delivered me a grandson, and I aim to make certain he is raised right. With his daddy’s family connections, that boy’ll be in the White House one day. Now, daylight’s a’wastin’.”
He glanced toward the sky. “Well, would you look at those clouds. ‘Blessed are the dead the rain falls on.’ I knew this was my lucky day. Get to digging.”
Tye judged the distance between him and his captor, and impotent rage coursed through him. Damn. For all his apparent inattention, the man was canny when it came to keeping Jenny under his gun.
Patience, McBride, he told himself. This Bailey character would let down his guard sooner or later.
Jenny squeezed his shoulder as he helped her down from the wagon. “It’s all right, Tye. A little bit of digging won’t hurt me.” She lifted one of the shovels and headed for the graveyard.
“Come on, man!” he protested, glaring at Bailey. “The woman’s in a family way. She can’t be doing hard labor like that.”
Bailey shrugged. “Keep your mouth shut and get to work. Her condition don’t mean squat because you’ll both be dead by sundown. The only question remaining is how hard the dyin’ is gonna be.”
Rage rose like bile in Tye’s throat. He shifted his gaze toward Jenny, trying to reassure her. He’d be damned if he’d allow this sonofabitch to kill them. He had no intentions of dying. Not now. Not when his family was once again within reach.
“Now, grab hold of Frank. You’re gonna carry him over beside his mama. And don’t get any fancy ideas. I’m keeping my Colt pointed at the dressmaker’s heart.”
Tye quietly directed Jenny to grasp the foot end. Taking as much of the weight as he could manage, he and his brother’s wife unloaded the coffin and toted it inside the fence.
“You all right?” he asked as they set the burying box down.
She nodded. “Let’s just get this done.”
Bailey scooped up the second shovel and tossed it at Tye. “Get to work, McBride. I want my boy buried before sunset.”
Tye caught the spade, wishing he could fling it back at Bailey, but knowing he didn’t dare. Jenny was still in harm’s way. “Fine. But I’ll do it. There’s no reason for Jenny to dig—”
Bailey shot the dirt near Jenny’s feet. “There’s the reason.”
Tye cursed beneath his breath, the need to fly at Jack Bailey nearly overwhelming. Jenny placed her hand on his arm, gave him a reassuring smile, and spoke in a low voice. “Actually, I don’t mind the idea of digging a grave for Frank Bailey. I was with him when he died. Somehow, it seems right.”
Tye snorted and buried the shovel in the soft dirt. She’d told him a little bit about the night the gunslinger died. In his opinion, the local folk should throw her a parade.
Perched atop the wagon seat, Big Jack’s attention never wavered. He started telling stories about his children, from the time they were youngsters up to all the details of his new grandson’s birth. Never once did he put down his gun.
Tye knew if he waited long enough and watched closely, the opportunity to catch the man off guard would arise. Perhaps when they lowered the coffin into the ground, he mused. Bailey was liable to be distracted then. It might well be his best chance.
He doubled his efforts and began to make good headway on digging the grave. Glancing over his shoulder to check Jenny’s progress, he frowned. She looked as white and whipped as Sunday mashed potatoes. “Jenny?”
Her smile wobbled. “This is hard on a person’s back, isn’t it. But I’m all right, Tye. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry hell. If her back was hurting, co
uld that mean something was wrong with the baby? He plunged his shovel into the dirt. Damn. He shouldn’t have waited to make his move.
“Hey, Bailey,” he called. “My side’s deep enough. Mrs. McBride and I are going to trade places.” Without waiting for a reply, he slipped beside Jenny. “Don’t be afraid,” he said softly. “I won’t let him hurt you. If anything happens, hit the ground. It should be deep enough to shield you if bullets start to fly.”
Jenny nodded and they worked for a few more minutes.
Then, as he bent to shovel another load of dirt, he saw her grimace. “Jenny?”
Worry dulled her blue eyes as she looked at him and said, “I hope your moment comes soon, Tye. I’m a bit worried about my baby.”
That’s it, he thought. This nonsense had gone on long enough. He set down his shovel and lifted her into his arms, then laid her gently on the ground behind him.
“What the hell you doin’, boy?” Big Jack Bailey called.
“She’s done enough digging.”
Tye prayed Bailey would let it go, but it wasn’t to be. He jumped down from the wagon, his face mottled red with rage. “She’ll never do enough to make up for what she’s done. She killed my son!”
Tye shielded his brother’s wife. “That’s a lie, Big Jack. A scorpion got him. The doctor in town says so.”
“The doctor doesn’t know shit. She did it. She’s a jinx!”
He approached the grave, his furious stare raking Jenny. “The first accidents were bad enough, but when I got that telegram about Mary Rose, I knew you had to be stopped. I sent Frank after you and what happens? He turns up dead.”
His gun hand trembled with the force of his fury, and his voice cracked as he said, “Now I have a new grandson, one who has the chance to go places. I’ll not allow him to be put at risk.”
“You’re wrong, Mr. Bailey!” Jenny said, rising to her feet. “My luck—good or bad—had nothing to do with any of the accidents that happened to your family.”
The Bad Luck Wedding Dress (The Bad Luck Wedding series) Page 29