Midnight Rose

by Patricia Hagan

  “Anything. I’ll tell you anything.”

  “I’m looking for a woman. Her name is Erin Sterling. I have reason to believe she’s around here somewhere. You know her?”

  “Never heard the name, I swear.”

  Ryan pressed the knife a bit harder. “I told you, goddamn it, don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not, oh, God, I’m not.” Norman’s teeth were chattering, and he felt his bladder relax, the warm trickle of urine down his legs. “Don’t kill me, please. I swear, I don’t know anybody by that name. The only woman on board is named Starling, and she’s that way—” He strained to point to the ladder that went down to the crew’s quarters.

  Starling, Ryan thought. Sterling. Of course she’d changed her name. She considered herself a fugitive slave. Tensely he commanded, “Where is she? How do I find her?”

  “Down there. First door on the right. Sign outside says Captain.”

  “Is he in there, too? Your captain?”

  Norman managed to assure him no one else was on board.

  Ryan didn’t want to hurt him but couldn’t take any chances on him sounding an alarm, alerting Erin. He would not risk losing her, now that he was sure he’d found her.

  One swift blow to the back of his neck and the crewman slumped forward, unconscious.

  Ryan hadn’t hit him hard, and the man wouldn’t be out long, but figured there was time to get to Erin before he came to.

  He crossed the shadowed deck to hurry down the ladder.

  Zachary waited in an alley next to the building that housed Morna Shipping Lines. He chuckled softly to think how Ryan’s obsession had made it so easy to stay close on his trail without being noticed. The fool hadn’t suspected all these months that he was being followed. Cocky, arrogant, his kind so smugly thought no one would ever challenge them.

  But Ryan Youngblood, Zachary gloated, was soon going to learn different.

  Anyone who had ever known Zachary Tremayne would not have recognized him as he waited for the ultimate glory of revenge at last. The voodoo had taken its toll on his gullible mind, and he was a man possessed. Wide, bloodshot eyes, a constant drool from his slightly parted lips, a lurch to his step, he was manipulated by the dementia within.

  He had seen Ryan go on the ship, so he knew that was where Erin and Arlene were hiding. There had been no time to go back to where he’d left his pack mule on the outskirts of town and retrieve his black powder. But he prided himself on being smart, knew a bit about the ways of the world. All he had to do was break into a warehouse and find a cache there. He knew there would be ice in the river in the winter, and passage would have to be blasted clear for ships. The method would be the same as on the Rappahannock back home—saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal, all blended to make black powder.

  Now, with a pail in each hand and a long fuse wrapped around one arm, he stepped out of the alley, cackling to himself, and crossed toward the ship.

  Ryan quietly turned the doorknob but was not surprised to find it locked. He wasn’t about to call out, because if she was in there, she wouldn’t let him in, and she might even have a gun and, in a panic, start shooting. He had to keep reminding himself that, to her, he was the villain in all of this.

  He braced himself against the wall opposite, gave a mighty lunge, and crashed through the door.

  Erin screamed. She backed against the wall and screamed and screamed again. She picked up a half-empty bottle of rum and threw it at him. He ducked in time, and it smashed against the door.

  “You’ve got to listen to me.” He started toward her, hands outstretched in a pleading gesture. “I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know—”

  That was all he had time to say, before he felt a sudden, sharp blow to the back of his head, then slumped to the floor.

  Norman stepped across his body, held out his hand to her, and urged, “Come on. Let’s go. I don’t know what’s going on, but I saw another man out there, and we’ve got to get out of here now.”

  Erin forced herself to obey, staring down at Ryan as she hurried out of the cabin. It had all happened so fast, but now she had a chance to escape. Gratefully, she took Norman’s hand and allowed him to lead her out.

  “Up the ladder.” He pushed her in front of him. “Quick. The bastard hit me, thought he knocked me out, but I was just dazed. I followed him, got him just in time. Now we got to hurry ’cause there’s no telling what his partner will do if he catches us.”

  Partner, Erin’s brain screamed. That had to be Nate Donovan. “You’re right. We have got to get out of here. We’ll hide till Captain O’Grady gets back…”

  She pulled herself up and out on the deck. With Norman right behind her, they raced for the loading plank and ran down.

  Reaching the pier, Norman cried, “Come on. Run!” He took off, not waiting for her. His job was done. He’d saved her from that madman. The rest was up to her, because he feared any second a bullet was going to hit him in the back.

  Erin dared hesitate, to turn around and take one last look, as though saying good-bye forever to the past and any shreds of love she so foolishly harbored for Ryan. It had not been enough to banish her from his life, his home. Oh, no; he had to twist the knife of contempt a little deeper, denying her freedom forever. He had doggedly followed her, probably intent on shackling her himself, dragging her to an auction block, humiliating her, effecting the final degradation of the soul.

  “Damn you, Ryan Youngblood!” The oath ripped its way out of her heart. “Goddamn you to hell—”

  She froze.

  Satan was not yet through with torment, for her eyes were playing tricks. Not enough to have the demon Ryan on her trail. Now the loathsome image of her stepfather loomed from up there, at the ship’s railing. He was waving a torch, and he began to run down the plank toward her.

  “Don’t worry, it’s almost over,” he called as he came.

  Erin could not force her legs to move, to carry her out of the nightmare. She could only watch in disbelief, trying to tell herself it was all a mirage. It could not be happening. Why would Zachary be here?

  “I’ve got them both now,” he screamed in glee, leaning to set his torch to the wooden planking. “You’re mine now, and nobody will ever take you away from me again.”

  Erin felt herself choking on the constricting knot of terror in her throat. He was setting fire to something. A trail of some kind. It was sputtering slowly but surely upward.

  “Oh, God, no!” She came alive then, realized it was a fuse, and the ship was about to blow up, and Ryan was still on board.

  She charged for the plank. Zachary leaped in her way. Possessed by strength and spirit she never knew she had, Erin gouged his eyes with her nails at the same instant she brought her knee up into his crotch, hard. “Get out of my way.”

  He doubled over in anguish but still struggled after her as she continued toward the ship.

  The acrid smell of the burning fuse struck her nostrils, urging her onward. She had no idea where he’d set the black powder, and there was no time to look in the darkness. The only trail was burning and might set off the explosion before she could find it.

  She started down the ladder but tripped and fell. A sharp pain stabbed her ankle, but she dragged herself up, limping, forced herself to keep going.

  Reaching the cabin, she dared feel a rush of hope to see that Ryan was up on his knees, struggling to stand. Grabbing him about the waist, she pulled him up, frantically shrieking, “Get out. Now. Zachary lit a fuse, and the ship is going to blow any second.”

  It was like ice water in his face. He asked no questions, took no time to wonder what the hell Zachary Tremayne was doing there. “Let’s go.” He started toward the door, only to realize Erin had fallen, was clutching at her ankle, obviously in pain, unable to walk. With one swift movement, he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder and bolted out, down the hall and up the ladder.

  Zachary had dragged himself on board and was staggering forward to try and block them fro
m making it to the starboard railing but was not fast enough.

  “I’m right behind you,” Ryan yelled, dropping her overboard. Without hesitation, he made good his promise and dove after her.

  Erin hit the cold blackness, felt it reaching out to wrap about her, pulling her downward into a clutching abyss. It would be so easy, her heart pleaded, to surrender to the peace.

  She had saved Ryan’s life; he had, in turn, saved hers.

  But why?

  What was the struggle for?

  She felt a hand twisting in her hair, pulling her upward, ever upward, as the ascent to reality began.

  Then they were surfacing, and Ryan was dragging her along, swimming as hard as he could against the current, trying to get as far as possible from the ship.

  And in the eerie light, just before it blew, they both saw him—Zachary—at the railing, waving and shrieking maniacally.

  Then came the tremendous explosion.

  Erin closed her eyes against the sight of flying bits of burning sail and wood all around her, grimaced against the sizzling sound as debris struck water.

  She let the clutching, clawing fingers of oblivion take her away.

  Eager hands were waiting to help them from the river, as a crowd gathered in response to the noise and fire.

  Once ashore, however, Ryan would not let anyone keep him from Erin, and he knelt to gather her in his arms and cover her face with kisses as he fervently, feverishly whispered, “Hear me, my darling. It wasn’t my doing. Any of it. I swear to you.”

  Erin’s eyes fluttered open, and she could see the truth on his face in the glow of the burning ship beyond.

  He saw the tenderness in her gaze and dared hope she did believe. “You saved my life.” He offered a grateful smile. “That’s got to mean you care a little.”

  Her ankle hurt, and she was sore and bruised from hitting the water, but still managed a soft laugh, could reach up to twine her arms about his neck. “I forgot to hate you when I remembered I love you.”

  “And only God knows how much I love you, Erin, and always will.”

  “The rainbow—it’s there, smiling in the sky,” she whispered, just before his lips claimed hers.

  He did not know her meaning. There would be time later to understand.

  As he held her and kissed her, a gentle breeze wafted, mysteriously delivering upon them a victorious red rose.

  About the Author

  Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.

  Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.

  Hagan’s exciting eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.

  Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.

  But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.

  Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan

  Now Available:

  Souls Aflame

  Passion’s Fury

  This Savage Heart

  Golden Roses

  The Coltrane Saga

  Love and War

  The Raging Hearts

  Love and Glory

  Love and Fury

  Love and Splendor

  Love and Dreams

  Love and Honor

  Love and Triumph

  Coming Soon:

  Heaven in a Wildflower

  Ocean of Dreams

  A Touch of Love

  She found love in the arms of the enemy!

  Love’s Wine

  © 2012 Patricia Hagan

  Holly Maxwell despised the Yankees that had ravaged her home, leaving her beloved Magnolia Hall in charred ruins. Then, in the arms of a passionate stranger, Holly dared to think she might have found her true love—till she discovers that Scott Coulter is actually the new Commander of the occupying Federal Army.

  Hurt, humiliated, and reeling from the betrayal, Holly is at the mercy of her ruthless stepbrother, who is more than happy to use her to further his evil schemes. But Holly is determined to persevere—she’ll stop at nothing to regain her family land…and reclaim her heart from the man who she can never forget.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Love’s Wine:

  The sound of wagon wheels churning against dry earth brought Holly’s attention back to the window again. She saw her mother approaching in Grandpa’s old buckboard, the lazy old mule pulling. How happy she looks, Holly reflected resentfully. How happy and pleased with things. Her mother had declared the war over. The wounds should be allowed to heal, she declared. Everyone had to work together and rebuild. And that, Holly thought bitterly, meant cozying up to the damn Yankee carpetbaggers swarming all over Mississippi and the rest of the South like buzzards on a carcass.

  The Yankees, her mother said, were no longer enemies. Now they were “sentinels,” trying to restore the glorious union.

  Hogwash, Holly told herself as she watched her mother draw the mule to a stop and alight to the ground with a youthful spring. She was a beautiful woman, with limpid hazel eyes and milk-white skin.

  Claudia began to call to her as she picked her way carefully up the crumbling steps. “Holly? Where are you, dear? I know you’re in here. Heaven knows, you hang around this depressing place every day. I don’t want to have to look for you.” She poked her head through the archway to the parlor, eyes narrowing as her gaze adjusted to the shadowed light. “There you are. Really, Holly, it just isn’t healthy for you to pine away here. I know it isn’t pleasant at the shack, dear, but—”

  “It is very pleasant at the shack,” Holly interrupted coldly. “I love it there. It makes me feel close to Grandpa. I come here because I never want to forget what they did to him, to all of us.” She turned away, washed once more with the fury and rage that had become her vital force.

  Claudia sighed. “I have good news. Two bits of good news, in fact. First, I think I’ve finally worked it out for us to move to Vicksburg.”

  Warily, Holly turned to face her.

  Claudia ignored the storminess of her cinnamon eyes and hastened on. “Ben Cunningham came to see me this afternoon. Bless his heart, he’s been through so much, coming home from the war with one leg gone, finding Twyla was dead. He’s tried to pick up the pieces, and he just can’t. Goodness, he’s got those small children to look after, and—”

  “What does all of this have to do with us?” Holly asked impatiently. Her mother was very nervous about something.

  Claudia walked into the room, pressing her hands tightly against her bosom. “Ben brought me word from his sister, Abby, in Vicksburg. She’s all alone in that big house. You did know she lost her husband toward the end of the war? She says we’re welcome to come and stay with her as long as we want, till we decide what we want to do.”

  Holly’s lips tightened. She had no intention of moving and said so. “I know what I want to do, Mother, and I intend to do it. I’m going to stay here and rebuild Magnolia Hall. Maybe you can walk away and not look back, but I can’t. I owe it to Papa and Grandpa…and myself.” She turned to the window once more. “I pro
mised Grandpa I’d never give up his land, and I won’t.”

  Claudia hurried forward and held Holly by the shoulders. “Believe me, Holly darling, I know how you feel, but we’ve got to go forward. We can’t cling to the past. There’s nothing for us here. How can two helpless women keep this land going? We can’t even pay the taxes, so in a few more days this land won’t even be ours anymore.”

  Adamantly, Holly said, “I’ll find a way. There’s the silver we buried, and the jewelry. We can sell it to pay the taxes.” The odd silence that followed caused Holly to turn slowly to her mother, who couldn’t face her. “You sold it, didn’t you?” she whispered. She gestured helplessly to the stylish gray velvet riding dress Claudia was wearing. “I should have known. The way you’ve been dressing lately. Oh, why didn’t I realize? You’ve sold our things, haven’t you?”

  Claudia turned away and began to pick absently at the shreds of peach satin that clung to the wall. “I had no choice, Holly. It isn’t just the clothes—though heaven knows, we’ve been in rags. We had no food. I didn’t get much, anyway. The Yankees have money to buy all the silver they want, and the Southerners need food, not silver, on the table. But the jewelry…I can’t part with that. It’s all I have left that your father gave me.”

  “What clothes, Mother? And what food? I’ve caught fish, trapped squirrels and rabbits. Last week I shot a deer. We haven’t starved.”

  Claudia whispered hoarsely, “We both need clothes, Holly, so we can return to a decent life. I ordered gowns made for us both. They’re being made at the dressmaker’s, and that’s the other good news I have for you. We must move to Vicksburg at once.” Her voice rose with renewed confidence. “Jarvis Bonham has finally invited us to one of his fancy parties. I was in Vicksburg today at the dressmaker’s, and then I had tea at the hotel with Ben’s sister. He was there—Jarvis, that is—and we talked.” She reached for Holly’s stiff hands, ignoring her daughter’s cringing reaction, the marble coldness of her skin. “Jarvis is such a wonderful man, Holly,” she gushed. “He’s doing so much to help build things up again. Why, already he’s got a large lumber mill going. He’s providing jobs for so many people. I know you’ll like him, if you’ll just meet him and give him a chance.”