Her Lone Protector (Historical Western Romance)

by Pam Crooks

  His eyes shut. He needed to close his mind to the holocaust he’d just witnessed. To rest a minute or two. Then he’d have to find Dooling—and soon. Between the two of them, they’d scour the far corners of Los Angeles to track down Gina’s mother.

  “Gina! Mio Dio! Gina!”

  Creed’s eyes flew open at the anguished cry. A black-haired man, a few years older than she was, dropped to his knees beside her, grasped her shoulders and gave her a good shake.

  Creed sat bolt upright. Abrupt protectiveness shot through him, and he grabbed the man’s wrist to keep him from shaking her again.

  “Easy,” he growled. “You might hurt her.”

  The other man turned grieving eyes toward him. “Is she—is she dead?”

  “No.” Understanding why he’d think so, Creed released him. “We were in a stairwell by the eighth floor, and a ball of flame came at us. She was knocked out.”

  The man made the Sign of the Cross.

  “She’s alive,” Creed said, for both of their benefits. “Best thank God for that.”

  “Sì. I do.” The handsome face crumpled, and he grasped her shoulders again, more gently this time. He bent low and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Mi amore. I must know that you are all right. Can you hear me, Gina?”

  Amazingly, she stirred, as if his plea—or maybe it was the familiarity of his voice—reached into the deep abyss that held her captive. She made a slight grimace, then fell victim to a spasm of deep, wracking coughs that curled her onto her side and left her gasping for air.

  Alarm filtered through Creed. Inhaling that smoke had made her sick. Maybe she needed some water. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He dragged a glance around the park but saw no one who might have some to share.

  Yet he was reluctant to leave her to make a more thorough search. He didn’t know who this man was, and until Creed knew she’d be all right, he had no intention of leaving her with anyone.

  The coughing ended, and she lay back, spent from the effort. Her gaze touched on him before flitting to the man bent over her. Recognition widened her dark eyes; she raised herself up and flung her arms around his neck.

  “Sebastian!” The smoke had given her voice a raspy sound. “Oh, Sebastian! I cannot find Mama! Have you seen her?”

  He made a sound of despair. “No, Gina. You did not see her on the ninth floor?”

  “Sì, but only for a little while before she remembers our pay envelopes and runs back for them. I could not keep her with me, Sebastian! I could not leave the elevator, and Leon, he could not go up for her again. The cable burns, and Mama is still up there, and—”

  He appeared horrified. “Mio Dio, Gina. She is lost, then.”

  “No!” Stricken, she pushed away from him. “She is not lost. I will find her. She looks for me, too. I know she does.”

  “Gina.” Sebastian touched her cheek. “Bella Gina, the fire is terrible. So many will be lost today.”

  Her breath quickened. “Not Mama.”

  “You must understand—”

  She made a quick, negating shake of her head. “I will find her, Sebastian.”

  He drew in an unsteady breath. “I hope that you will.” He hesitated. “What of Serafina?”

  “I see her by the third floor.” Gina paused, as if to gather her composure. “But she does not know where Mama is.”

  Sebastian nodded, slowly, gravely, and said nothing more.

  Creed didn’t know how Sebastian fit into Gina’s life. Might be he was her husband. Or betrothed. Could be either one, since he obviously had great affection for her. But it rankled that the man offered no hope about her mother. Until they had solid evidence to the contrary, Creed intended to help her keep looking.

  “I will take you home to my family,” Sebastian said. He made a move to rise, his hand on her elbow. “We will wait there for word about Louisa.”

  She jerked from his grasp. “No.”

  “It is better you come with me,” he said. He reached for her again.

  “I cannot leave, Sebastian. I will not!”

  “Mi amore, please. Many terrible things are happening because of the fire. It is not good you are here to see them.”

  Creed’s patience snapped. Hadn’t the man been listening to anything she said?

  “The lady stays,” he growled.

  In unison, they turned toward him.

  Sebastian locked an imperious gaze on him. Creed had a pretty good idea how he must look—eyes reddened from smoke, his shirt and Levi’s covered in dust and soot, and he’d long since lost his Stetson. Sebastian would know Creed had no affiliation with the Premier Shirtwaist Company’s factory. He might even think he looked out of place in a city as sophisticated as Los Angeles.

  But Creed had never backed down from a fight. And right now, Gina needed someone on her side.

  “Who is this, Gina?” Sebastian demanded.

  She hesitated, her gaze still on him, the faintest furrow forming between her dark brows. Creed knew her mind was scrambling.

  And why did that annoy him?

  “I am sorry,” she said finally. “I do not remember your name.”

  She’d been distraught in the stairwell when he’d introduced himself and consumed with getting to the ninth floor. Understandable that the words didn’t sink in.

  But he knew with certainty he’d always remember everything about her, from her name, to the way she said it, to the way she looked when she did. Her beauty before the fire, and after, and all her anguish in between.

  “Creed Sherman,” he said.

  “Yes,” she murmured with a slight nod. “Yes, that is it.”

  “You do not know him?” Sebastian asked. “Yet he speaks for you?”

  She snapped her attention back to him. “He does not!”

  “Then it should not matter if he wants you to stay. It is more important I think you should go.” A third time, he took Gina’s arm. “Let me take you home, mi amore.” His voice lowered to a gentle, coaxing tone. “Just for a little while, eh? Until the nightmare is over.”

  She didn’t move. “The nightmare does not end if I do not find Mama, Sebastian. You know it will not.”

  “I’ll see that she’s taken care of,” Creed said roughly.

  Again, she turned to him. Her dark gaze seemed to search into his soul to judge for herself whether he could be trusted. She couldn’t know the man he was, or what he’d done, or all he was capable of, and he found himself holding his breath.

  “Yes,” she said. She seemed to draw strength from her decision. She gave Sebastian a quick nod. “I am safe with him. He risks his life in the fire to help me.”

  Sebastian released her and drew back. His shoulders squared. “I will help you, too, then. But it will not be easy. Tell me what I can do.”

  She swept an arm outward, showing him the crowd which filled the park, the streets. Factory workers, civil servants, the curious—and the morbid.

  “So many people. And it is dark soon. I cannot ask them all if they see Mama.” She appealed to him. “Surely, someone does!”

  “Sì, sì. I will ask everyone I know. I will do my best for you and for Louisa.”

  Tears welled in her black eyes. “Grazie.”

  He smoothed the hair at her forehead. “You must be strong, Gina. I am afraid the news will not be good.”

  She drew in a quavering breath. “I must hope that it is.”

  He kissed her cheek, one side before the other, and hastened to his feet. Gina followed him up, her gaze clinging to him as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Creed rose, too. Her relationship with Sebastian was none of his business. Wasn’t like Creed to pry, but with this woman, he had a need to know.

  “Do you belong to him?” he asked.

  “Sebastian?” She appeared taken aback. “No.”

  Creed kept his expression blank. “Easy to tell you mean a lot to him.”

  “Yes.” She appeared distracted, her gaze caught on someone in the crowd. “I think i
t is Julia over there. Maybe she sees my mother.”

  Creed caught her arm before she could leave. “Not so fast.”

  Her dark gaze darted up at him in surprise. He kept a firm grip on her, saw how her chin barely reached his shoulder, that she was full-breasted and thin-hipped and slender enough to make him wonder if she got enough to eat every day. Again, a peculiar feeling of protectiveness swirled through him.

  “Hell of a blast back there in the stairwell,” he said quietly. “You hurt anywhere?”

  “No.”

  “It’s best to find a doctor to know for sure.”

  “I do not need one to tell me I am fine. Only I know if I am fine.”

  She had a stubborn streak in her, for sure. “I’ll bet your throat is sore from breathing in smoke.”

  Her fingers touched her neck. “A little, yes.”

  “Some water will help it feel better.”

  “I do not want any water.”

  “There’s a delicatessen across the street. I’ll get you a glass there.”

  “Creed.” Impatience threaded the word. “I do not need a doctor or a glass of water. I only need—”

  “—to find your mother. I know.” He gave in. She was beside herself with worry. Nothing he could say or do would convince her to do anything else. “All right. We’ll work together on it. Where’s this Julia you mentioned?”

  He scanned the maze of faces in the direction she indicated and snagged on one he recognized. Graham Dooling’s. The Secret Service agent looked rushed, intense, clearly on the hunt for someone as he wove his way through the people scattered around the park.

  “Gina, wait,” Creed said, not letting Graham out of his sight.

  “Why?”

  “I have a friend over there. He might know something.”

  “Who?”

  “Graham Dooling. He works for the government. Could be he’ll have an idea what to do.” Creed slid a sharp whistle between his teeth. The sound caught Graham’s attention; seeing Creed, he immediately sprinted toward them.

  “I’ve been trying to find you, sir,” he said. “I heard the blast from the upper floor of the factory. I knew you were headed that way. I thought the worst.”

  “We made it, but barely.” The grimness in Creed’s tone revealed all he didn’t say. “The explosion kept us from getting to the ninth floor.”

  “‘Us’, sir?”

  “My name is Gina Briganti.” She stepped forward, and the desperate hope in her expression was enough to give Creed’s heart a stiff yank. “We try to find my mother, Louisa Briganti. Do you hear about her?”

  Graham’s regret was genuine. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I haven’t. There are so many—”

  He halted. Easy to see even he was affected by her anguish and disappointment. Creed guessed that because of it, Graham refrained from explaining how difficult it would be to track down so many this soon after the fire broke out.

  “The police are doing all they can, Miss Briganti. Right now, getting the blaze under control is their main concern. After that, they’ll have to find some way to get a listing of the workers on duty today. When they do, they can cross off the names of—of everyone found.”

  “Could take a day or two,” Creed said, just so she’d know it’d be hard to do.

  A tiny gasp escaped her. She whirled toward the crowd. “Julia might have a list.”

  “Julia?” Creed and Graham repeated in unison.

  “Premier’s bookkeeper. It is payday today, and she has a list with her when the fire breaks out so we can sign for our envelopes. She is here. I see her not long ago.”

  Creed exchanged a hopeful glance with Dooling. It’d be a stroke of luck if the woman had some sort of roster with her, which could be a valuable tool in the quest to account for every factory employee.

  And he fervently hoped there was someone on that list who had seen Gina’s mother.

  Chapter Six

  No one had.

  Gina was devastated no one knew where Mama was. Were they so frantic to save themselves they paid no attention? Many of the seamstresses knew Louisa Briganti and liked her. They would have helped if she needed it.

  At least, Gina hoped they would.

  She knew as well as anyone the fire, the smoke, were horrifying. So hard to see, to breathe. But what had happened when Mama went back for her purse?

  Gina couldn’t bear to think of all that might have gone wrong. She refused to think of it.

  In the end, it had taken the fire department only thirty minutes to get the blaze under control. Those who survived were raced by ambulances to the Los Angeles Infirmary, located nearby. Those that didn’t were lowered from the factory’s top floors by block and tackle, placed in pine boxes and brought to a makeshift morgue set up near the waterfront.

  Gina hadn’t found her mother at either place.

  Oh, the relief.

  The worry.

  Where was she?

  Every name on Julia’s list had been accounted for. Except Louisa Briganti’s. It’d been a stroke of luck the young bookkeeper thought to rescue her clipboard from the fire, along with the company’s ledger, to keep important financial records from being destroyed. It was a big help, Julia’s list. Because of it, the police made two more.

  One for the living. One for the dead.

  Louisa Briganti wasn’t on either one.

  But somewhere, she waited for Gina to come. Gina clung to the hope that Mama was looking for her, too, at this very moment.

  Safe. Somewhere. Waiting. Looking.

  Deep in her heart, Gina believed she was alive. Perhaps it was the bond they shared, a daughter with her mother, that made her believe. A mystical sense of feeling that continued to give her hope.

  And if Gina didn’t believe, she’d go crazy. How would she live without Mama? Alone?

  Now, hours later, they’d come full circle. Back to the factory. Though it was well past midnight, Gina had insisted they go back. She had foolishly hoped Mama would be there after all, sitting on the curb, wrapped in her thin coat, waiting for Gina to come for her.

  But Mama wasn’t there.

  The acrid scent of smoke still lingered in the air. Gina barely noticed. She stared up at the building, once a fire-breathing monster, now shackled and tamed. Black soot stained the brick on the upper levels. Lamps had been brought in by the fire department, and their dim light shone eerily through the vacant openings which once held the glass from the windows, their sashes gone, a gruesome reminder of the horrors of the afternoon. Outside, a scattering of policemen guarded the building; inside, firemen watched the banked flames so they wouldn’t erupt again.

  The crowds were gone. The streets were silent. And the Premier Shirtwaist factory would never be the same again.

  “Gina. It’s three in the morning,” Creed said quietly. “I’ll take you home.”

  She dragged her thoughts to the man beside her. What would she have done without him? He’d been tireless in their attempts to track down her mother, as determined as Gina, though he had never seen Louisa Briganti before in his life.

  At Gina’s insistence, his friend, Graham Dooling, had already left for home. She’d given him the name of her apartment and the street where she lived in case he heard news before she did. He promised to contact her immediately if he did.

  Creed Sherman and Graham Dooling. Both strong, honest Americans. They’d done what they could for her and her mother.

  “There is nothing there for me now,” she said.

  “Could be she’s found her way and is waiting for you.”

  It was something Gina hadn’t thought of. Mama already being home. She wouldn’t have gone there without Gina and yet…

  It wasn’t impossible. Mama hated doctors, hospitals. If she was found hurt, she may have been stubborn and refused the ambulance. She may have demanded to go directly home instead, preferring Gina’s care over anyone else’s.

  The thought reinforced her hope. Perhaps it was what Creed Sherman intended
. To keep feeling the hope.

  She peered up at him. The firemen’s lamps didn’t reach this far, and the dark night shrouded his features. But she could feel him watching her. Not once had he strayed from her side since she saw him from Leon’s elevator. He helped her think when her brain was thick from worry, her heart heavy from fear.

  She felt safe with him, and so she wouldn’t tell him he couldn’t take her home. She didn’t want to walk by herself in the dark anyway. Besides, she had nowhere else to go, and fatigue had settled deep into her bones.

  She shivered in the chilly California air and pulled the wool blanket someone from the infirmary had given her closer about her shoulders. “It is a long walk.”

  “Walk?” She sensed his frown. “You mean you don’t have a rig parked somewhere?”

  “No.”

  Gina thought of Mama’s shoe and how pebbles often found their way inside the worn-out sole. Only this morning, no, yesterday morning, Gina had fussed with her about it, and now she didn’t know where Mama was. She swallowed down a hot rise of tears.

  “I have a horse,” he said. “Just across the street.”

  She could only nod, barely comprehending the luxury of riding when she had always, always, walked. He took her elbow, his grip loose but steady through the blanket. He kept his stride matched with hers as they crossed the brick-paved street, the rhythmic click of their heels against the clay the only sound to break the silence.

  They halted next to a sleek palomino tied in front of a saloon, one of many in the business district, its name hidden in the shadows of the night. At their approach, the horse snuffled softly, as if relieved he hadn’t been forgotten. Creed patted the pale hide in reassurance and unknotted the reins.

  “You know how to ride?” he asked.

  She hadn’t ridden since she left Sicily, but it’d once been her passion. At least, before Papa died.

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “Climb up, then.”

  He took her blanket, freeing her hands to grasp the saddle horn and mount. She remembered to take her foot out of the stirrup so he could use it next. He swung up easily; leather creaked as they both settled in. The palomino shifted and took their weight.