by Jodi Thomas
“Do you love him?” Stitch whispered, trying to figure out what she was talking about.
“Who?”
“Myers.”
“No, but my father says I have a responsibility. He says Myers will be a very powerful man soon and he’ll need a wife like me. The major said I’d do him proud if I married such a man.” She let out a cry. “I don’t think I’ve ever made him proud of me and it looks like I’m failing again. I’ll bet he’s furious at me about now, and when he’s in a dark mood he can lecture me for days.”
She was sobbing again. Stitch just listened.
“You know what the last thing the major said to my mother was?”
“No.” Stitch was out of his realm again. Advice wasn’t something he’d been too good at giving or taking.
“He said to her, ‘Why couldn’t you have given me a son?’ And my mother’s last words were, ‘I’m sorry,’ like I was the big mistake of their lives.”
Stitch decided this woman’s problems were way over his head. He knew nothing of dealing with fathers other than killing his while the old bastard was asleep. That didn’t appear to be good advice to pass along to Miss Chamberlain, so he tried another angle. “Do you love O’Toole?”
She stopped crying. “I do. I think I’ve loved him since I met him, but he’d never kissed me or even touched me until last night. I thought he only wanted to be a friend.”
Now they were in territory Stitch had had some recent experience with. “A friend is someone good to have. Some might disagree, but I think a woman can never have too many friends.”
“Oh, but I didn’t want him to be a friend. I wanted him to be more. He’s the only man I’ve ever met who lets me be me. He makes me laugh.”
Stitch was back to square one. Being a ghost adviser was hard work. No wonder the dead never bothered to do it. He thought he might as well toss in a question he needed answering. “So if a woman says she doesn’t want to be friends, does that mean she wants more from a man or that she never wants to speak to him again?”
Victoria leaned her chin on her propped-up hand. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on if she touches him or not.”
“What kind of touch?” He had a feeling that putting a hand on a breast wouldn’t be one of the multiple-choice answers.
“Any touch, I guess. I had no idea what Killian thought of me until last night when he leaned over and touched his lips to mine. It wasn’t like any kiss I’ve had. I’ve had hello kisses and good-bye kisses on the cheek, but I’d never been kissed like that.”
“Like what?”
He could hear the laughter in her voice. “Like he was making a promise there would be more. Like it was the first kiss of a million kisses.”
Stitch leaned against the wall wondering what that kind of kiss would be like. Wondering if he’d ever find a woman who’d let him kiss her with a promise kiss. Probably not, he decided.
“Shawn? You still there?”
“I’m still here. I’ll watch over you all night.”
“Good. I think I can lie down now and sleep. Thanks for being here and for talking to me. You helped a great deal tonight. When I think about Killian’s kiss, I’m not so afraid.”
“I’m glad, honey. You go on to bed now. I’ll be here if you need me. Nothing or no one will bother you tonight.”
Chapter 19
Main Street
A block away from the bakery, Killian sat across from August Myers wishing he were drunk enough to act like he was listening without hearing a word. For some reason, the man thought they were alike. He claimed they’d hit it off during the saloon tour he’d taken Killian on in Austin the night they’d met a few years back.
In truth, Killian had just been happy not to drink alone that night and August Myers seemed to know everyone in town.
The newspaperman was good-looking enough to attract not-so-subtle stares from the ladies, and several men spoke of how brave he’d been in battle. Apparently, Myers had led charges at Vicksburg, Gettysburg, and Chattanooga and lived to tell about it. The brave captain’s sharp pen constantly complained about Reconstruction and the carpetbaggers, drawing praise from some and frowns from others.
Killian hadn’t cared about the gossip or politics of the capital that night, and he’d learned years ago that bravery is sometimes a hard thing to measure. All Killian wanted to know was simply what August Myers, the newspaperman, knew about the girl Killian had met at the cemetery that morning.
It had taken O’Toole an hour to get around to asking his new drinking buddy about Major Chamberlain and his daughter. He hadn’t been surprised that Victoria was rich—everything about her spoke of money and breeding. Myers commented that she was cold, but the woman Killian had talked to had been warm and funny. They’d spent that day talking in the cemetery and walking among the headstones.
The night he’d met August Myers wasn’t much different than tonight, Killian thought. Two years had passed and they were in Fort Worth and not Austin, but he was thinking about Victoria and Myers was still talking.
Killian fought down a laugh. He and Myers might have been raised in the same state but that was where the similarity ended. Only Myers didn’t see it because he was too busy trying to tell Killian how to think. Why is it people who are terribly misinformed seem to believe the rest of the world wants to hear their opinion? It’s kind of like people who are least open to listening are the ones most determined to talk.
A barmaid delivered another round of drinks and winked at Killian. She didn’t mind serving him tea and charging him for whiskey.
Myers patted her on the bottom and asked if she was available later. The barmaid glared at him and informed him she was only there to serve drinks. Myers laughed as if he knew she were lying and just trying to up her price. The good looks and polish that had been there when Killian met Myers two years ago had faded . . . grayed into an alcohol wash.
Once the waitress was gone, Myers mumbled, “Ever since I got engaged, I have to have a different woman every night. Just the thought of settling down with Victoria makes me hungry for a warm-blooded woman.”
“Why marry her?” Killian finally got his chance to ask.
Myers smiled as if he had a secret. “Between her father and me, we hold all the marbles. In a few days, my friend, you’re going to say, ‘I knew August Myers before he became famous.’” The groom-to-be frowned. “All I have to do is find that stupid woman and marry her before she pulls another stunt. Fine time to play hard to get, but once I round her up, I’ll ride her regular until she’s pregnant. From that day on, I’ll have the major and all his money in my pocket.”
“Maybe she’s not in too big a hurry to marry you?” Killian downed his tea and signaled for another round.
“She’ll go along with what her father wants, she always has, plus I think the twit really likes me. She’s usually speechless when we’re together, and until today, she’s done everything I’ve told her to do. The maid keeps me informed and she says Victoria has a room full of new clothes. Where we’re going after the wedding there will be no shopping.” Myers laughed. “Or, for that matter, anywhere to run.”
“What if you don’t find her?”
Myers puffed up a little as if proud of himself. “I’ve let it be known in circles the sheriff doesn’t even know about that I’ll pay well to have her back unharmed. A dozen men are out searching now and by tomorrow it may be a hundred. Her father swears she’ll come back soon, crying and agreeing to his command.”
“She always does?”
Myers grinned. “She always does. The major told me that when she was about five or six she’d break the rules now and then. He said he’d make her stand at attention, just like she was one of his troops, and lecture her until she passed out. He said she could never take much of his yelling, and before long she’d start saying she was sorry the moment he’d pull her into his study. He claimed he never laid a belt on her. Didn’t have to. She gave in to every command.”
When t
he next round of drinks came, Killian had no doubt Myers was now receiving the cheapest whiskey served. He was too drunk to tell the difference. As he talked on, Killian tried to think of where Myers planned to take Victoria. The man was a bone-and-blood southerner. He wouldn’t leave the South.
An idea crept into Killian’s thoughts. What if he moved south, far south? Killian had heard of a few men like the Knights of the Golden Circle. Men who couldn’t let the southern way die, they claimed. A group like them had moved down to South America, along with their slaves and families, and started a colony. If the major had the money, he might have handpicked Myers to lead another settlement. But it made no sense—they’d have to have a fortune to make such a move, and no one in the South had money to invest.
Myers downed his drink and began to talk about Victoria. He went down the list of her attributes, all of which were physical, and complained that he hadn’t seen as much of her as he should have been allowed to after the engagement ring was on her finger. He’d tried cornering her and getting a good feel a few times, but her father was always around or the maid was standing right beside them looking like she’d gladly bite any hand that roamed over the virgin bride.
“Do you love her, Myers?” Killian finally asked.
“Of course. I loved her the minute I set eyes on her. She’s got a perfect body, small waist, nicely flared hips. It was all I could do to keep from shoving her down and climbing on, but I knew I had to wait. If she’d been anyone else’s daughter, she’d already be feeling my bastard in her belly, but with her I get far more than a breeder.”
Killian gripped the edge of the table to keep from hitting the man.
“I planned it out so carefully. I knew all about her father and his grand plan. I did my research. He’s building an empire, and when I’m his son-in-law I’ll be next in line for the crown.”
“He thinks you’re a great journalist,” Killian added, wanting suddenly to talk of anything except Victoria.
“Of course he does. I’m spoon-feeding him his own words. I learned a long time ago a reporter doesn’t worry about telling the truth, just tell them what they want to hear and you look like a genius. I’ve even convinced him I’d be valuable to him as a newspaperman. My stories of where we’ll be going will bring in recruits from all over the South.”
Killian wondered how much of this August would remember in the morning. He was either too drunk to realize all he was giving away or he was smart enough to know that the game he’d played was over. Victoria was gone, and with her went some, if not most, of his value to the major.
The barmaid returned with double the drinks. “Last drinks are on the house,” she said, smiling. “Drink up, boys.”
Myers downed his first shot. “She wants me,” he said, “and I might give in. After all, when we find my bride tomorrow I plan to stay at her side until we’re legally linked.” His words were so slurred Killian could barely understand him. “I’ll have to settle down to one woman. The major said he’d shoot me if I wasn’t faithful to his little girl.” Myers made a face as if his whiskey, or his lie, tasted bad.
Killian raised his glass for one last toast. “To freedom,” he said.
“To power.” Myers downed his second drink.
His head hit the table at the same time his glass did.
Killian stood and collected his hat and coat, leaving Myers where he fell. As he walked out of the saloon the barmaid smiled at him.
“He’s all yours,” Killian whispered.
“Thanks. I’ll have him tossed in a back room and we’ll charge him for all the fun he thought he was going to have. He’ll be too hung over in the morning to argue.”
Chapter 20
Main Street
Rose woke Wednesday morning feeling like she’d been in Fort Worth a month rather than a mere five days. As she cuddled deeper into the covers for warmth, she realized something, or someone, lay beside her.
After the first bolt of fear, she turned slowly, ready to bolt.
She spotted the hat, then the leather coat atop the covers. Duncan.
He lay on his back, still wearing his coat, boots, and gun belt. He must have ridden through the storm late last night and collapsed next to her.
She didn’t know whether to hit him until he woke or let him sleep. He looked exhausted, but in no way was it proper for a Texas Ranger, even one who was a cousin almost, to break into her room and sleep with her.
Slipping from the bed, Rose pulled on her robe, deciding to order breakfast for him before she started yelling at him.
She moved silently into the maid’s little room. “Hallie?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
Hallie, her hair tied up in rag knots, continued to snore.
“Hallie, I’ve got a sleeping Texas Ranger in my bed and I need you to slip down to the kitchen and order three breakfasts sent up and a pot of coffee. Hallie, can you hear me?”
The snoring stopped. “Sure. You’re dreaming of having some man in your bed and all you can think about is we all should eat breakfast.” Hallie rose slowly, rubbing her eyes. “I’m really not hungry this early. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
Rose laughed. “I’m not dreaming. There really is a ranger in my bed and the breakfasts are not for all of us. All three are for him. Once we wake him, he’ll be as hungry as a hibernating bear.”
Hallie walked to the connecting door to Rose’s room and peered in to check for herself. She shrugged as if she’d seen stranger things and stepped into her slippers. “I’ll be right back, miss. Don’t poke the bear awake until I’m back. I can slip down the back stairs and come out in the kitchen.”
Rose laughed. Hallie was probably right. The food should be on the way first. As Hallie slipped out her panel door that led to the back hallway, Rose added, “Ask if they can send up a bath in an hour.”
Hallie mumbled something about not feeding wild animals.
Rose crossed back into her room. She took a moment to brush her hair and wash her face before she turned to Duncan. This was too much, she decided. What would people say if they knew he was in here? It was simply not something civilized people did. Not that Duncan would know anything about what normal people did. He was wild, always climbing in the rafters when he was five. By the time he was ten he’d vanish on Whispering Mountain land and not show up for a week. Her uncle and aunt, who’d adopted him, had to threaten to tie him to a desk the first week he went to school. If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Dickerson’s homemade candy he wouldn’t have stayed even tied. He’d simply have gnawed through the ropes and been gone.
Now he was grown and educated to be a lawyer like his adopted father, but the wildness was still there. She crossed the room and touched his hair, another part of him that had never been tamed. “Duncan,” she whispered. “Duncan.” Her hand brushed his warm cheek.
He showed no sign of waking.
“Duncan,” she said louder. “Get out of my bed. You can’t just come in here and sleep with me.”
He still didn’t move.
She poked him on the shoulder. “Duncan McMurray, get . . .”
He rolled to his side with a low moan like an animal in pain.
As his jacket dropped open, Rose saw blood soaking his shirt. Bright red blood made his clothes cling to him like skin and the smell of blood and mud and sweat made her stomach turn over. She let out a small cry. “Duncan, oh, Duncan.”
She tried to move him so she could find the wound, but he was too heavy. When she heard the click of Hallie’s door, she yelled, “Hallie! Get Stitch fast.”
In what seemed like seconds, Stitch was at her side. He didn’t look like he’d slept all night. His clothes were more wrinkled than usual and dark circles shadowed his eyes. He took one look at Duncan and went to work without Rose having to say a word.
Rose ran around gathering towels and both basins for water. Then she put the small teapot, left in the sitting room, on the fireplace coals so water would heat as fast as possible.
Hallie rushed downstairs to send a runner for the nearest doctor and returned with more supplies.
Forcing herself to stand still and think, Rose watched Stitch carefully remove Duncan’s coat. It looked even worse than she thought it might. She stepped closer to cut away his shirt and undershirt while Stitch pulled off his boots and gun belt.
When both stood back to look at the gaping hole high on Duncan’s shoulder, Stitch whispered, “I can clean it, miss, if it’s too much for you. He’ll need a doctor to sew it up.”
“No. I’ve helped my aunt doctor worse wounds. If you can keep hot water coming, I’ll clean it.” Then, in a whisper, she added, “It’s bad, really bad, isn’t it?”
Stitch stated the obvious. “The bullet’s still in him. If a doctor doesn’t get here fast, we’ll have to pull it out. That could take a while and really do some damage. He’s already lost a great deal of blood, miss.”
“I know,” Rose said as if she’d seen a wound like this before. “We’ll clean all the blood off as best we can, then tie a bandage around him as tight as he can stand. Maybe that will slow the bleeding some.”
An hour passed before a doctor finally showed up. He was so young Rose almost wouldn’t let him near Duncan.
“Atamear,” the young man said, “Dr. Atamear. I’m two years out of medical school so you need to step aside, miss, and let me do my work.” He looked like he’d dealt with people not believing him before. “Now, with all your help, we’ll do the best we can for this man.” He smiled at Rose as he moved past her and began checking the wound. “We can talk about me being too young later. Right now, I’ve a life to save.”
Stitch stood just behind her and whispered, “I’ll stay close to him and make sure he does no more damage. You need to take a few minutes to wash up.”
Rose looked down. Her arms and robe were covered in Duncan’s blood.