Egan Cassidy's Kid

by Beverly Barton

  “May we use the phone?” Egan asked. “We’ll reimburse you when our friends arrive with some money.”

  “Of course you can use the phone.” Ed motioned for them to follow him. “I’m afraid the café closed five years ago, but I’ll get Corrie to rustle you up something while you call your boy.”

  “This is so nice of you, Mr. Butram.” Maggie kept in step with their host. When she glanced over her shoulder at Egan, who stayed a few feet behind, she noticed him surveying the town, as if he were searching for something—or someone. Did he honestly think Grant Cullen might be lurking around the corner?

  “My pleasure, Mrs….” Ed laughed. “Don’t think you mentioned your name.”

  “Smith,” Egan said.

  “Jones,” Maggie said.

  Ed stopped, scratched his head and gave Maggie a puzzled look. “Which is it, Smith or Jones?”

  “Both,” Maggie told him. “My maiden name, which I retained after my marriage, is Jones. And my husband is Mr. Smith.” Maggie’s tense glare warned Egan to just go along with her explanation.

  “What a darn fool thing for a woman to do,” Ed said, then grumbled incoherently to himself. He gave Egan a sharp, disapproving look. “Son, if I was you, I’d make this gal use my name.” When the thought struck him, Ed cursed. “I’ll be damned. What name does your boy use?”

  “Smith,” Maggie and Egan said in unison.

  Ed smiled, seemingly satisfied with their answer. “Come along and make your phone call. I’ll see if I can get Corrie away from that fool talk show she watches on TV every afternoon. Maybe you two could go on that show and tell folks why you go by two different last names after being married…how long did you say you’d been married?”

  “Fifteen years,” Maggie said as they followed Ed into the hotel foyer.

  The entry had all the charm of an old lodge, with animal heads mounted on the wall and wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling. Fresh paint hadn’t touched the tan walls in years. Wear and tear had removed whatever veneer the hardwood floors might once have possessed.

  “Phone’s in there.” Ed motioned toward an open doorway to a room that Maggie guessed served as the hotel office. “Just make yourselves at home and I’ll go tell Corrie that we got guests.”

  “Thank you.” Maggie kept smiling until Ed disappeared down the long, dimly lit hallway, then she swerved around and followed Egan. “Wait up, will you?”

  Catching up with Egan just as he lifted the telephone receiver, she grabbed his hand. “Will it be safe to bring Bent here?”

  Egan nodded. “Bent will be as safe here as in Flagstaff. As long as Cullen is alive you’re both in danger, no matter where you are. Bent will have Joe, Hunter and Wolfe with him on the trip and once he’s here, he’ll have four of us protecting him.”

  “Five,” she corrected. “Don’t forget that I’d die to protect him, just as you would.”

  When a keening series of peeps reminded Egan that he still held the telephone receiver in his hand, he returned it to the base. “Look, Maggie, I know how much you want to see Bent and the risk is minimal in bringing him here, since Cullen has no idea where we are. We’re getting out of here first thing in the morning to take you and Bent somewhere for safekeeping until…”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere close by, if possible. I’m counting on Joe knowing a safe place, maybe even on the Navajo reservation. If that’s the case, then we’ll be heading east anyway and it’s best for the guys to bring Bent to us since we’re already farther west than Flagstaff.”

  “I’ll be so glad when this is all over and we’re safe. All of us.”

  “Yeah, honey, me, too.” He caressed her cheek. “Now, do you want to talk to your son?”

  “Most definitely.”

  Waiting impatiently while he dialed, she patted her foot on the floor. When Egan glanced down at her dancing foot, she held it still and offered him an okay-I’m-nervous-so-shoot-me look.

  “Joe? Yeah, Egan here. Maggie and I are safe and sound in some wide-place-in-the-road town called Stonyford, at the town’s only hotel. Right on Main Street.”

  “Tell him I want to talk to Bent.” Maggie tugged on Egan’s arm.

  “Maggie’s anxious to talk to her son, but first I need to discuss something with Ellen.”

  As Egan eased his hip down on the edge of the desk, Maggie noted the frown on his face and wondered what was wrong.

  “Okay. Let me talk to Wolfe then.”

  “Where’s Ellen?” Maggie asked.

  “She had to go back to Atlanta. An emergency,” he explained.

  “When can I—”

  “Yeah, Wolfe, I’m going to need a safe place for Maggie and Bent to stay while I tend to business. And I’ll want Joe and Hunter to remain with them for as long as it takes.”

  Maggie waited and waited while Egan’s discussion continued. She listened halfheartedly, wishing he’d finish his business and let her talk to Bent. Finally she heard Egan say, “Put Bent on the phone.”

  He handed her the receiver, which she grabbed. “Hello, Bent?”

  “Hi, Mama. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, now that I hear your voice. Are you all right, sweetie?”

  “I’m okay. Just worried about you. But now that I know you’re safe and we can go home, everything will be all right, won’t it?”

  “Listen, Bent.” Maggie hesitated, took a calming breath and started again. “We can’t go home. Not right away.”

  “Why not?”

  “The man who kidnapped you hasn’t been caught and as long as he’s free, he poses a danger to you and me.”

  “Because that General Cullen hates Egan Cassidy. All of this is his fault. My being kidnapped and our almost getting killed.”

  “Bent, sweetheart, this isn’t Egan’s fault.”

  “Yes, it is, and you know it! Don’t try to defend him.”

  “All right. I won’t. We don’t need to settle this right now. Just cooperate with Mr. Ornelas and Mr. Whitelaw because whatever they do, it’s for your safety.”

  “I understand. I’m not some dumb kid.”

  “I know you’re not, sweetie. Now, listen, the Dundee agents are going to bring you here…to me. Tonight.”

  “Will I have to see him?”

  She knew he was referring to Egan. “Yes, Bent, you will.” She hadn’t expected so much hostility from Bent, focused entirely on Egan. Although they had seldom discussed his father, Maggie wondered if all these years Bent had harbored hatred for a man he didn’t even know. If he did, was it her fault?

  “Well, don’t expect me to be glad about it,” Bent said. “He nearly got us both killed.”

  “I love you,” she told her son, changing the subject. “I can hardly wait to see you.”

  “Yeah, me, too, Mama.”

  “See you very soon.”

  Maggie handed the receiver back to Egan. He eased it down on the cradle and glanced at Maggie.

  “I take it that my son is none too happy with me right now.” Egan rose to his feet. “I suppose expecting him to understand was wishful thinking on my part.”

  Maggie curled her fingers over Egan’s forearm. “You can win him over. It may take time and a great deal of effort on your part, but Bent needs a father. He needs you. And whether he knows it or not, he wants you in his life.”

  “I’d like to believe that.” Egan covered Maggie’s hand with his. “But knowing that you and he are safe and that Cullen can never threaten either of you again, will be enough for me. I don’t have the right to expect anything more.”

  “Oh, Egan, that’s not—”

  Ed poked his head around the door. “Got grub in the kitchen waiting on you. Corrie warmed up some chicken stew in the microwave and sliced some chocolate cake. I put on a fresh pot of coffee, too.”

  “Oh, Mr. Butram, that sounds wonderful.” Maggie slipped her hand from beneath Egan’s.

  “After you eat, I’ll show you upstairs to your room,�
�� Ed said. “Just one bathroom on the second floor is in operating order, but there’s a big ol’ tub and the shower works just fine.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s a chance you might find us some clean clothes?” Egan asked.

  Ed inspected Egan’s and Maggie’s soiled, tattered attire. “Corrie’s shorter and rounder than you—” he eyed Maggie “—but I reckon you can tighten the belt on a pair of her jeans.” Ed surveyed Egan from head to toe. “Now, you big fellow, pose a problem. Wouldn’t none of my clothes fit you.” He snapped his fingers as an idea struck him. “My nephew, Preston, is about your size. I think he might’ve left some things here. He comes for a visit a couple of times a year. I’ll check with Corrie.”

  “We can’t thank you…and Corrie…enough for you hospitality.” Maggie patted Ed on the arm. “We spoke with our son and our friends. They’ll be coming here sometime tonight. Do you have a couple of more rooms available?”

  “Sure thing, little lady.”

  Maggie studied herself in the tall, narrow mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door. Corrie’s jeans weren’t a bad fit, only one size too large and the legs were a bit short. And where the plump, large-breasted Corrie would have filled out the blue chambray shirt, Maggie wore it like a minitent. But for once in her life, she really didn’t care how she looked. She was clean, well-fed and she and Bent were safe. Within an hour or less, she’d see her son, be able to touch him and hold him and reassure herself that he was all right.

  After slipping into Corrie’s socks and putting on her own dirty boots, Maggie gathered up the damp towels and her filthy clothes. Ed had told her to just place the items in the wicker basket outside the bathroom door, so she followed instructions and dumped them on top of Egan’s discarded apparel. He had come upstairs first to bathe, while she’d helped Corrie clean up the supper dishes.

  Maggie opened the door to their bedroom. Egan lay stretched out atop the jacquard-style coverlet on the four-poster tester bed. His boots rested by the nightstand and his pistol lay on top, beside the lamp. Corrie’s son’s jeans fit Egan snugly, outlining the shape of his long, lean legs. The borrowed plaid shirt hung open from collar to hem, exposing his chest.

  “When Bent arrives, you’ll have to move to another bedroom.” Maggie hovered in the doorway.

  “I take it that our son wouldn’t approve of our sharing a room.” Egan smiled halfheartedly. “No problem. I’ll share with Wolfe.”

  Maggie entered the room, but steered clear of the bed. She knew only too well that a partially undressed Egan might prove to be too much temptation. “Where do you suppose Joe and Hunter will take us in the morning?”

  “You can be sure that it will be somewhere they can keep you and Bent safe.” With his palms cupping the back of his head, which rested on two pillows, Egan gazed up at the ceiling. “Is Bent going to stir up a fuss about not getting to go home right away?”

  Maggie sat in one of two overstuffed armchairs that flanked the double windows overlooking Main Street. The floral print material was slightly discolored and worn on the arms, but the thick padding afforded her a comfortable seat.

  “He isn’t pleased, but he’ll cooperate. Bent’s stubborn and sometimes headstrong, but he’s very smart. He’ll understand that staying in hiding is necessary.”

  “They should get here soon.” Egan glanced quickly in Maggie’s direction, then returned his gaze to the ceiling. “Should I make an effort to talk to Bent tonight or should I let it wait until—”

  “Talk to him tonight.” Maggie rubbed her neck and shoulders.

  “What should I say to him?”

  “Tell him the truth about what happened between you and Grant Cullen. The first step in forming a relationship with Bent will be making him understand that his kidnapping and the danger we’re in now isn’t your fault.”

  “But it is my fault.” Egan sat up, pivoted slowly and scooted to the edge of the bed.

  “It isn’t! You’re blaming yourself for something that is Grant Cullen’s doing. You have no control over his actions. You never did.”

  “I could have told you about Cullen fifteen years ago.”

  “Yes, you could have,” she agreed. “And I could have told you about Bent years ago, too. But you didn’t and I didn’t. So, if any of this is your fault, it’s my fault, too.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Maggie. You’re completely innocent of—”

  “No, I’m not. Bent is the only innocent party. You made a mistake in not telling me about Cullen. And I made a mistake in not telling you about your son. But Cullen is the person who is at fault for ruining your life and putting Bent and me in danger.”

  Egan rose to his feet, but hesitated before venturing closer to Maggie. “You’re the most understanding person I know. You realize that Cullen’s pursuit of revenge has ruined my life.”

  Maggie’s gaze locked with Egan’s and for one endless moment, time stopped. Unspoken confessions passed between them. Unfulfilled hopes and dreams became a common thought. Heartfelt longing for what had been lost and could never be recaptured united them in mourning.

  “Oh, Egan. My poor Egan.” Teardrops gathered in her eyes as she held open her arms.

  Drawn to her loving kindness, Egan crossed the room and knelt in front of her. She wrapped her arms across his back as he laid his head in her lap. With gentle fingers threading through his hair, she caressed his head.

  Outside the last rays of sunlight faded. Dark shadows fell across the room. The sound of a car horn came from somewhere up the street. Egan didn’t move. Barely breathed. A tender quiet cocooned them. Maggie had never felt more connected to—more a part of—anyone than she did Egan at that precise moment. Earlier today their bodies had mated, giving and receiving pleasure. And now their hearts joined, sharing sympathy and concern and deep understanding.

  “Howdy. This here is Corrie Nesbitt, up in Stonyford. You remember me, Mr. Baker?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. How can I help you, Mrs. Nesbitt?”

  “Well, you stayed at my hotel when you was covering that story about the Johnson boy who fell down in the mine shaft and—”

  “Oh, yes, I remember you now,” Travis Baker said.

  “You told me then that if anything else interesting ever happened up our way, I was to give you a call.”

  “Absolutely. I did tell you that, didn’t I? Has something interesting happened up your way?”

  “Is your TV station still paying out a hundred dollars for a news tip?” Corrie asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, we sure are.”

  “All right then, I might have a story for you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, late this afternoon a man and a woman—they call themselves Mr. Smith and Ms. Jones—they come wandering into town looking like death warmed over, if you know what I mean.”

  “Strangers?” Travis Baker asked.

  “Yes sirree. They said they’d been lost up in the mountains and they sure looked it. But I’m telling you, that even though they’re both just as nice as they can be, there’s more to their story than meets the eye. Might make a great human interest story for your viewers, if they’d tell you the details on camera.”

  “Where are they now, this Mr. Smith and Ms. Jones?”

  “Upstairs in one of our rooms,” Corrie said. “They told Ed that they was married and had a son. Some friends is supposed to be bringing the boy and coming here tonight.”

  “Mrs. Nesbitt—”

  “Call me Corrie.”

  “All right, Corrie, do you think these folks are criminals?”

  Corrie harrumphed. “I didn’t say that. I just figure there might be an interesting story here and I could make myself a hundred dollars.”

  “I’ll tell you what, if you can keep them there overnight, I’ll drive down first thing in the morning with a cameraman and see what Mr. Smith and Ms. Jones have to say for themselves.”

  “And you’ll bring my money?”

  Travis chuck
led. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll give you the money, if I actually get an interesting story.”

  Chapter 12

  The Dundee agents arrived in Stonyford around eight-thirty. If the situation hadn’t been so dead serious, Egan would have found it amusing. Corrie Nesbitt peeked out from a front window, her large, round eyes bulging with surprise and suspicion when she saw the men emerge from their car. Ed Butram stood just inside the hotel entrance, his arms crossed over his thin chest and a look of concerned curiosity on his weathered face.

  Hunter Whitelaw got out of the car first, his big, bearlike body moving with amazing agility for a man so large. He scanned the area, then threw up his hand in greeting to Egan and Maggie, who stood side by side on the walk in front of the hotel. Egan nodded. Maggie smiled weakly.

  Joe Ornelas emerged from the other side of the back seat, scanned the area and said something to the driver of the vehicle, David Wolfe.

  “Your friend there is an Indian, ain’t he?” Ed Butram asked.

  “Navajo,” Egan replied.

  “Thought as much.”

  Hunter motioned to the other back seat occupant and Bent Douglas appeared. Tall, lean and good-looking. Egan’s hands curled into loose fists and his heart swelled with pride at the sight of his son. His son! But the boy hated him. And who could blame him?

  With Hunter and Joe flanking Bent, the three of them approached. Maggie ran down the sidewalk and into the street. Bent started to run to her, but was refrained by Hunter’s big hand on his shoulder. The minute Maggie reached her son, she flung her arms around him and enveloped him in a smothering hug. Bent wrapped his arms around his mother and returned her fierce hug. Then Maggie grabbed his face between her hands and covered it with kisses.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stepped back, grasped Bent’s hands and just stood there on the street looking at him. Egan ached with emotion. The love Maggie and Bent shared was a precious thing—something he wasn’t a part of.

  Don’t ask for too much, Egan reminded himself. Maggie is safe. Bent is safe. And he was going to make sure they stayed safe always. He realized that he might never be allowed to become a part of their lives on a permanent basis, but knowing that Cullen could never threaten them again would have to be enough.