A Mail-Order Haven

by Janelle Daniels

  "Is anyone else home?" He asked before opening the door.

  "Sylvia, our housekeeper. You'll probably frighten her if you walk in."

  He knocked on the door, obviously agreeing with her.

  When the gently aging woman opened the door, glancing at him and then back at Juliette, she smiled and opened the door wider. "There's no need to knock. If you're with Juliette, you may enter."

  "Thank you," Devon said. "I'm Devon MacAllister, Juliette's new bodyguard. I knocked, because I need to check the house before she comes in, and I didn't want to frighten you."

  Sylvia's eyes widened, and her gaze darted to Juliette. "Bodyguard? Is your brother—"

  Juliette jumped forward. "No, no! It's nothing like that." She spared a glance at Devon, and she could see the suspicion in his eyes, the questions. She hadn't meant to tip him off, to tell him anything about her brother. She wanted him to remain in the dark. "It has to do with the mine. I'll tell you about it in a bit."

  Sylvia's stance relaxed, and she let out a sigh of relief. "That's good, then." She glanced at Devon. "Well, come on in. Do your search. Although, I can tell you I'm the only one here."

  "I know," he said softly, reassuringly, and it surprised Juliette that he was taking such care with Sylvia. "This is just a precaution. We'll need to do this from here on out, and it's necessary to begin now when the danger is low."

  "Is there anything more I should do? Should I be worried about my safety?" Sylvia looked between Devon and Juliette. She didn't look concerned, but Juliette could tell she wanted to be prepared.

  Juliette stepped forward and put her hand on the woman's shoulder. "You're in no danger. It's me they will be after. Well, me and Willow."

  "Willow?" She glanced around, as if trying to find the woman in question.

  "She'll be staying with Clara for a while. So, it'll just be the three of us."

  "I see." She eyed Devon.

  "Go ahead and fill Sylvia in on what's happening," Devon interjected. "I'll check the house quickly, and we can figure out everything else later."

  Juliette nodded her agreement, and Devon stepped inside to perform his duty. She knew there were things to figure out and discuss, but she just wanted to go into her room and close the door. She'd been so focused on Devon, on having a bodyguard, she hadn't allowed herself to process why a bodyguard was needed.

  The mine had paid out. That was life changing. Everything she knew, everything she did, would change. Yes, the money would change things. She was a wealthy woman now, and had the freedom to do anything she liked. She could leave Montana, she could return east, she could travel to Europe, or anywhere else in the world. The possibilities were endless, but it wasn't just how she would spend the money. Being wealthy brought its own set of problems, and the fact she was unmarried multiplied those problems.

  The repercussions, the possibilities, all of them tumbled through her mind, and she just wanted to sit in her room and digest them—and then plan.

  One step at a time.

  Devon hadn't lingered in the house, but he'd checked it thoroughly. Every nook, every cranny was catalogued in his mind. It had been easy to tell which rooms were vacant and which were occupied. He'd already weighed the pros and cons of the empty ones, and had chosen the room by the stairs as the best strategic position. Unfortunately, his room would share a wall with Juliette's. Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, but there was something about her that pulled at him.

  He'd known her room instantly, had known the books belonged to her. They were organized, clean, not a speck of dust clung to their pages, and told him a lot about her. Her scent had lingered in the air like some decadent dessert, and his body had reacted before he could catch it.

  Was it his attraction to her that pulled at him? He didn't think that was the only reason, but it was a possibility. He'd been attracted to other women, though never while he was on the job, and never enough to make him lose focus, so this situation shouldn't be any different.

  No, it was still that niggling feeling that he knew her, that he recognized her. He hadn't seen her in person, of that he was certain. He would never forget a face like Juliette's. Dark eyes, dark-brown, almost black, hair that would tumble into his waiting hands. He could almost feel the silk against his skin.

  He growled. He shouldn't be thinking about it at all. He was here to do a job. Not fawn over the person he was supposed to protect.

  He stepped out of the house to join the women on the porch, and gestured for Juliette and Sylvia to come in. "It's all clear."

  Sylvia raced ahead. "I'll make sure your room is ready," she said to him.

  "The one next to Juliette's, please."

  The housekeeper nodded enthusiastically, as if she would've never thought to give him the other one. "Of course. It's better that you stay close to her, if she's in danger." She smiled supportively at Juliette before turning into the house.

  "After you." He gestured for Juliette to enter before him, but she hesitated. Did his manners make her nervous? He didn't usually stand on ceremony, but he could wear the mask when needed. And he had a feeling he’d need as many barriers between himself and Juliette as possible.

  She walked in and he followed her into the house, closing the door behind him. He stood in the entryway, remaining silent to see what she did.

  She went straight for the staircase, but pivoted toward him on the first step. "Before I go up, is there anything you need?"

  He wanted to smile at the impatience he saw on her face. He could tell she wanted to be by herself, but she was obviously bred well enough to know it would be rude. "I'll be just fine. If there's something I need, I'll ask Sylvia."

  She nodded. "That's probably best. She'll be able to get you whatever you need, and she also cooks the meals. So if you're hungry, she's the one providing the food."

  "You mean you won't cook me dinner?" he teased with a straight face.

  She rolled her eyes, not believing his seriousness for a moment. "You mean you won't be cooking me dinner?" She arched her brow before turning and climbing up the staircase.

  His laughter echoed in the empty foyer. A woman who knew her own mind. This will be interesting.

  Chapter 4

  It was still early when Juliette snuck out of the house the next morning, her study material tucked under her arm. She'd spent the whole night poring over the pages and diagrams in her book on martial arts. Several different styles were listed, and while she had already weighed the pros and cons of each, she settled on learning all of them. Each style, each move, would be useful in the right situation. She'd rather be over-prepared and able to defend herself, if necessary. Besides, the pictures looked easy enough. With practice, she was sure she would be able to master each and every style in no time.

  She picked up things easily, and she didn't anticipate this would be any different. In fact, her brother had taught her survival skills in his own, twisted, kind of way. She'd mastered those, hadn't she?

  Well, this would be no different. She was sure of it.

  She strode a few yards away to the copse of trees beside the house. She didn't know how long she'd be working on her task, but if it went on for more than an hour, the sun's rays would beat down on her. It was mild this time of year, but with all the layers she wore, dictated by society, she'd overheat quickly. Especially after rigorous exercises.

  She placed her book on a branch, using some of the smaller twigs to prop the pages open. It took her a few tries to get it situated, but finally, she nodded in satisfaction. The book would stay open.

  She squinted, studying the pictures closely. Form was important, no matter which style she chose. She'd been tempted to try boxing, but decided against it. It was a man's sport—not that it bothered her—but she found there were much better styles more suited to her petite stature. She'd never have the brawn needed to succeed in fisticuffs. No, her strengths were in her dexterity and in her lower body. She needed to be able to move quickly, kick with her legs, without getti
ng too close.

  With the image painted in her mind, she took a step back, breathing in deeply, and lowered into the position shown—knees slightly bent, legs apart, hands raised to chest level.

  The pose felt unnatural, off-balance. She frowned and peered over at the book again, making corrections to her limbs.

  Deciding that it felt strange because it was new, she pushed forward and kicked as the diagram had shown. She puffed out a breath when her leg caught in her skirts.

  She was never going to learn how to do this with all that fabric in the way. She peered over her shoulder, a guilty flush creeping up her neck at the thought of taking them off.

  She couldn't, of course not, but she wanted to. Sometimes she hated propriety. It didn't seem fair that men were able to move about freely, while women were constrained, but she had no desire to be an outcast, so she followed the status quo.

  But no one's out here. She chewed her lip. She couldn't disrobe, could she?

  She contemplated the idea further, but then discarded it. Anyone could come by at a moment's notice, and she wouldn't be able to dress fast enough. Besides, Mr. MacAllister was still here, and all he'd need to do was look out his window to catch a glimpse of her.

  Settling for an alternative, she gathered her skirts and knotted them at her side. She was covered, at least mostly, but would be able to undo the fabric before anyone got close enough to notice.

  She took up the fighting stance again and kicked out, happy with her range of movement.

  She kicked a few more times, wondering why she still felt off balance. She didn't feel strong, like if she connected with something, she'd fall over.

  As far as she could tell, though, she was doing it correctly. Well, she might as well move on. She repositioned her arms and tried a few different ways of striking. The movement seemed easier, flowing smoothly. So why did her kicks seem off? Something had to be wrong.

  She kicked again.

  "You're holding your weight off-center. That's why you don't feel secure."

  Juliette gasped and wheeled her arms, her surprise bringing her off balance. She caught herself before she fell, but just barely. "What are you doing here?" She asked when she spotted him behind her, leaning against a tree.

  He folded his arms. "My job. You know, the one where I'm supposed to remain with you at all times, protect you, keep you safe?"

  Embarrassment rose, but she tamped it down. She refused to feel guilty, like a child who'd taken one too many sweets. "I thought it would be all right since I was just outside the house. If anything happened, I'm sure you'd hear my scream." It was logical and true, but in reality, she hadn’t thought about it, and that bothered her. She'd been so focused on her goal, learning these new skills, she'd only put herself in danger.

  "You're probably right. I would've heard you scream, but I might not have gotten here in time to help you."

  She shook her head at her own foolishness. "You're right. I shouldn't have left without telling you."

  He looked surprised at her admission. "I understand it's an adjustment. You're used to being able to do what you want, when you want. Unfortunately, at least for the next little while, that won't be possible. You'll have to include me, if you want to remain safe." He glanced at the book propped in the tree. "What's that?"

  "Oh." Her mind reeled with things she could say, but she landed on the truth. "I'm learning martial arts."

  He pushed away from the tree. "Ah. So that's what you were doing, or at least trying to do, when I interrupted."

  Her spine straightened. "Excuse me? I was doing a lot more than trying. I was succeeding."

  "You were getting there. Your punches were good. But as I mentioned, you're holding your weight in the wrong spot." He pointed to the illustration. "Here. See this? The weight is evenly distributed on both legs in this position. Try again."

  Her initial reaction was to blow him off, or send him away, but her logic overrode her. This was his profession. He had knowledge she didn't, and that knowledge would give her what she wanted. Independence. So even though her pride stung, she didn't care. She valued knowledge over pride any day.

  She did as he instructed, shifted her weight, and immediately felt more secure, more in control. She attempted to kick again and found her footing much more grounded, stable.

  "That's it." He didn't smile, but he gave her an encouraging nod. "Why the sudden interest in martial arts? Or is this something you've been studying for a while?" He asked, but there was a slight twist to his lips that mocked her.

  She raised her chin. "As you can tell, this is a new study of mine. With all that's happening, I thought it would be a good idea to learn how to protect myself in case the need arose."

  She thought he'd mock her, but instead, he nodded in agreement. "That's smart. It's always best to be prepared, no matter what. Although I'm hoping to stop any threat from reaching you, it happens sometimes. And the more you're prepared, the better off you'll be."

  She closed her mouth, swallowing the retort she'd had ready. "Thank you."

  "Martial arts takes a long time to master, more time than you have. There's an easier and more efficient way to defend yourself."

  "How?"

  "This." He took a pistol from his belt and held it up to her. "Do you know how to shoot?"

  "I've done it a time or two, but I'm not proficient." Her brother had tried to teach her the skill, but it never took. She never could efficiently control the weapon, and therefore, she felt it was more of a danger. Besides, she'd mastered her brother’s other lessons, and never felt the need to further her defensive skills. "I never needed one to protect myself."

  He cocked his head. "Do you have another way of protecting yourself?"

  His deductive reasoning skills surprised her. She appreciated the way his mind worked, the logic he'd used. Mr. MacAllister was dangerous. Having a strong body was one thing, but pairing it with a keen mind was lethal.

  She thought about lying to him, about telling him she had no way to protect herself, but she discarded the idea. Not even the other women in the house knew what she was capable of, and she liked it that way. They accepted her for who she was, not what she was rumored to be, not for her relationship with her brother, and not for the gossip which had surrounded her before coming here. To them, she was Juliette, the bookworm, and she liked that. However, in this situation, it was better to tell him what she was capable of, so if they were in any kind of situation, he could anticipate her moves.

  "I might not know martial arts, or how to fire a pistol accurately, but if I know someone's coming, I can injure them before they ever touch me."

  His eyebrows raised. "And how exactly would you do that?"

  Before he could take another breath, she'd extracted the knife out of her boot and launched it at the tree a few inches from his head.

  He didn't even flinch.

  He stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. A chill washed over her, his intensity unnerving, but she refused to move, refused to blink. He was searching, testing, and for whatever reason, she wanted to withhold what he was looking for.

  She wasn't weak. It didn't matter if she was a woman, it didn't matter if he was physically stronger than her. She had a will of iron. She was determined, and no matter what happened, she could take care of herself. She might need a little help while things progressed with the mine, but she wouldn't need a bodyguard forever. She knew that, felt that, and would do everything in her power to make it happen.

  "What did you say your name was again?” he asked, suspicion in his eyes. “Now that I think about it, Ronan never mentioned your last name. He introduced you as Juliette."

  Sweat broke out under her corset, but she didn't cower. Devon MacAllister didn't know who she was, and a part of her didn't want him to. Would he recognize her name? What if he connected her with her brother?

  Shame washed through her, but she pushed it away. It wasn't her shame, it was her brother's. She may have been accused of robbing banks, ma
y have been put on trial, but she was found innocent—she was innocent—and she was tired of avoiding her past.

  She raised her chin, bracing herself. "My name is Juliette Davenport."

  Recognition immediately lit in his eyes, but she refused to look away. Let him say what he would. Let him accuse her.

  "I see." He glanced at the knife. "Your brother taught you well."

  Her mouth fell open. "How did you know my brother taught me?"

  He took several steps toward her until his face was almost inches from hers. "Because I've seen him throw like that firsthand."

  She gasped. He'd seen Sam? Did he know him? Was Devon one of her brother's victims? She didn't know what to say, how to respond. Finally, she asked, "How? When?"

  "It doesn't matter." He searched her face, her eyes, as if looking for something. She didn't look away, wondering if this was the moment he would accuse her.

  Finally, he swore and turned away. She wasn't sure if he hadn't found what he was looking for, or worse, if he had.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. "Does your brother know you're here?"

  His question took her aback. "I don't think so. We've had no communication, of course."

  "But you're his sister."

  She shook her head, her eyes looking to the sky as she laughed humorlessly. "As if that matters. My brother doesn't care for me. He never has."

  He glanced to the knife embedded in the tree again. "He cared enough to teach you how to defend yourself."

  "He only did that to amuse himself. Don't think that because we share blood, he cares. He doesn't. He left me when I needed him. He left and forced me to take responsibility for things he did."

  His jaw clenched. "I know about the trial. I know what happened."

  Bitter embarrassment flooded her. Of course, he did. Everyone knew. She was never going to escape her past, no matter how long she lived in Promise Creek, no matter where she went, no matter what she did. She would always be Samuel Davenport's sister, always under suspicion. She might not have robbed banks with her brother, but in the eyes of most people, she had. That would never change. "Then you know what everyone knows."