Glory frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”
Biddy shrugged, shook her head. “I didn’t want to worry ye, child. Ye’ve so much on yer shoulders as it is. Besides, naught could come of this.”
“And that’s the point. Everything is on my shoulders. I’m the only Lawless here, so you have to tell me these things. You can’t protect me. In fact, Smiley should have come to me with his concerns.”
Then Glory remembered Smiley doing just that—that day in Papa’s office after the fire in the barn. And what had she done? Cried to Riley—the very man Smiley was upset with. She put a hand to her mouth in defeat. Then something else jumped into her consciousness. She turned to Biddy. “It couldn’t have been the ranchers. There was the Wilton-Humes stationery and the spur like Papa’s gang wore. Our neighbors couldn’t—”
Biddy held up a cautioning hand. “I made them same points to Smiley. He said he believes only that the other ranchers might know something, might have heard something afterward. And aren’t saying.”
Glory needed to sit down. Turning around, she retrieved her overturned chair and pulled it up to the table. Sitting heavily, feeling as old as Biddy, she rested her head in her hands. “Land wars. Trackers. Hannah marries a Garrett. Mama and Papa dead. Jacey riding off to Tucson. Someone tries to kill me. Riley Thorne takes off the very next morning. I just don’t know how all this is connected.”
Feeling as baleful as Skeeter had looked earlier, Glory stared at her grandmotherly nanny. “Is there anything else I need to know? Anything you’re keeping from me—something that could sneak up on me and bite me when I least expect it?”
Biddy sat stockstill. Unmoving. Unblinking. “No.”
* * *
Two days later at dusk, and hard on the heels of Hannah’s letter, a package of another sort arrived at the Lawless gates. This one made it no farther than the sentries posted there. The first Glory knew of it was when a knock sounded on the front door, she opened it, and found Heck Thompson standing on the verandah, his hat in his hand.
“Why, hello, Heck.” Glory smiled, remembering the man’s gratitude when she’d replaced the money stolen from him in the bunkhouse. His craggy face no longer bore the signs of his fistfight with Carter Brown the night before the barn fire of a few weeks back. “What is it?”
“Sorry fer botherin’ you, ma’am, but there’s a rider here what says he has a parcel for you. He’s come all the way from the Arizona Territory with it.”
“Arizona?” The word shot fear through Glory. Despite the cold and swirling wind that chilled her skin in the dying day, she felt a dampness under her arms. She clutched at the doorknob, leaning into the door itself. “Send him up to the house.”
Heck ducked his beard-stubbled chin. “Yes, ma’am. We done taken his firearms off him, so’s you don’t have to worry none. And we’ll be right outside the door here if you need us.”
Grim now with worry, Glory nodded. “Thank you. Just send him up.” She stayed at the door, watched Heck sprint back down to the arched gateway. Then, stepping out onto the verandah, she hugged her arms around her waist, a meager defense against the November evening’s blustering winds. But she didn’t really mind the cold. Or this new rider and whatever news he brought.
Anything was better than aimlessly wandering the house day and night, missing Riley, wanting to see his face, to touch him. Why, more than once she’d found herself in the room he’d slept in and had curled up on his bed. She fancied she could still smell his masculine scent in the sheets, even though Biddy had stripped the bed and replaced the linens.
Worse than missing Riley was the nagging fear that maybe somehow he was guilty in Mama’s and Papa’s murders. Or of the attack on her. Or the fires and the missing cattle. Or the sabotaged equipment out in the tack room. With that thought came a vicious gust of wind that whipped Glory’s hair across her cheeks. She tugged it out of her face, telling herself that the sudden tears in her eyes were from the wind and her hair. And not from missing Riley Thorne. Or worrying about his guilt or innocence.
Glory abandoned her dispirited thoughts when, flanked by Heck and Pops Medley, the lone rider approached the verandah. Putting on her best Lawless-in-charge face, she somberly nodded her greeting to the man—boy, actually—who tipped his hat to her. Locking her knees against the fear that he bore bad news about Jacey, that perhaps his parcel contained her belongings—all that was left of her sister—Glory silently waited for him to dismount. Her nails dug into her palms, but she gave away nothing of her inner turmoil.
“You Glory?” the red-haired rider bluntly asked from the bottom of the verandah steps.
“Yes.”
Rumpled and dirty under his ankle-length saddle coat, the young man nodded. “You don’t look a thing like Miss Jacey. But then I don’t reckon that should surprise me none.”
Thinking that was a strange thing to say, but more focused on his mention of Jacey, Glory allowed his comment to pass, asking instead, “You know my sister?” Dropping her pose, she hurried to the edge of the verandah, clutched the wood railing, ignoring a few splintery pokes into the soft flesh of her palms. “Is she okay? Is Jacey all right?”
The boy nodded. “She was when I left Tucson a while back.” He gestured to his saddlebags. “I got a parcel for you from her.” He then looked over his shoulder to the armed and scowling men not too far away, and back at Glory. “I’d like to get it for you, if you think it’d be all right.”
Glory waved a dismissal to Heck and Pops. “It’s okay.” They nodded and turned away, walking back toward the gate. Glory turned her attention to watching this messenger from her sister as he opened his saddlebag and pulled out a slim leather case, no bigger than a good-sized book. Rampant curiosity clouded her features—and got the better of her. “I didn’t get your name,” she called out.
The young man turned to her. “Name’s McGinty. James McGinty. My pa rode with the Lawless Gang for a summer. Rooster McGinty was his name.”
Shock and fear warred for the upper hand in Glory’s stomach. She knew the name, knew the story of the scared boy who thought he wanted to be an outlaw. And she knew Jacey was in Tucson tracking down the Lawless gang members looking for the one, or ones, guilty of … something. At least of stealing. But maybe worse.
And now, here stood the son of a former gang member, saying Jacey sent him. But wait … Jacey would never have given away the exact location of her home to anyone she suspected. Nor could that information have been tortured out of her, so stubborn was she. So this James McGinty had to be telling the truth.
“Ma’am, are you all right? You look a might peaked.”
Glory exhaled, remembered her manners. “I’m sorry, Mr. McGinty. I’m just cold. Please, come in.”
“Call me James, if you would. When you say Mr. McGinty, I expect my grandpa to be behind me with a switch.” James’s disarming grin even pulled one from Glory’s lips. His long legs carried him effortlessly up the wide steps and saw him towering over her on the verandah.
Suddenly at a loss, given the way he was looking at her—the same openly admiring look all men gave her—Glory waved him inside and closed the door behind them. In the polished wood entryway of the great room, lit by the kerosene lamps, she took James’s duster and hat, hanging them on the coat rack. She then directed him to the leather couch, motioning for him to sit, which he did. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Blushing to his roots, he looked her up and down—in a shy, boyish way that amused Glory rather than offended her—and then shook his head no. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m just glad I’m here finally.” He then considered his surroundings. “I can’t rightly believe I’m actually in J. C. Lawless’s house.”
Smiling her response, Glory sat on a facing leather chair and folded her hands in her lap, her attention remaining focused on the soft-sided leather case James McGinty still clutched in his hands. Since he didn’t seem about to hand it over, she opened with, “I hope I don’t sound rude, James,
but why did Jacey send you, instead of coming home herself?”
James focused on her once again. “She can’t. Kid Chapelo’s son took her to Mexico. Some say she’s his prisoner.”
Glory nearly fainted dead away. She clutched her wingback chair’s upholstered armrests. “Did you say my sister’s a … prisoner?”
James nodded, even grinned, his expression somehow emphasizing the riot of freckles covering his face. “Yes, ma’am. But I wouldn’t worry none if I was you. Zant Chapelo may be an outlaw—and a more fearsome one even than his pa—but he’s a gentleman when it comes to the ladies.”
Glory blinked. “James, I’m sorry, but that does not make me feel better.” All she could think about was how Papa had killed Kid Chapelo about the time she was born. No one ever said why, but she knew that whatever had happened, Papa had quit being an outlaw after that. And now, here Jacey was—in The Kid’s son’s clutches. And James McGinty didn’t think she should worry.
Glory’s gaze flickered to the packet in his gloved hands. She pointed to it. “Is that for me? Did Jacey give you that?”
James jerked the parcel up, as if startled to realize he still held it. He scooted forward on the couch and stood up, leaning over to her with the package held out. “Oh, yes, ma’am, I plumb forgot—even after riding all this way just to give it to you. I guess I’m still befoozled about being in the Lawless stronghold.”
Glory had no idea what befoozled meant, but figured she probably was feeling somewhat the same thing as she accepted the parcel and held it in her hands. First Hannah’s letter two days ago. And now this from Jacey. It could be nothing but bad news. She rubbed her hand over the soft leather of the thong-clasped parcel. Whatever was inside this package was so important that Jacey had sent someone directly here, despite the encroaching winter.
She didn’t realize that she’d been quiet so long until James cleared his throat and recaptured her attention. She looked up at him. “I’m sorry, James. It’s just the shock of your being here.” She held up the package. “And this. I’m almost afraid to open it.”
“I’ve ridden quite a ways with it, and it ain’t bit me yet.”
Glory laughed at his words—and at herself. “You’re right. I’m being silly.” But still she didn’t want to open it with him here. “Perhaps you’d like to see to your horse and settle in out at the bunkhouse? You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. It’s the least I can do.”
James ducked his head. “I thank you kindly, miss, but I’d best light out for home on the morrow. No telling how long the mountain snows will hold off.” He turned and indicated the front door. “You wouldn’t mind putting in a good word for me with those men outside, would you? I’d hate to get shot trying to accept your hospitality.”
Glory jumped up. “Oh, of course not. I’m sorry. We’ve just had … some troubles here. Everyone’s edgy.”
“Yes, ma’am. I seen that when I rode in. And I heard tell of the … killings here. My grandpa spoke with Señor Estrada about it. I’m right sorry for your losses.”
“Thank you. But who’s … Señor Estrada?”
“He owns the cantina where Jacey was staying in Tucson.”
“Cantina?”
“Saloon, I guess you’d call it.”
Surprised shock brought Glory’s hand to her heart. She glanced towards the kitchen, listening to Biddy’s singing and pot-banging. Until this mention of a saloon, she’d been going to call her nanny into the room to meet their visitor. But maybe not just yet. If Biddy hears of this, I know exactly how the old dear’s grave will read: Jacey slept in a saloon. Here lies Biddy Jensen.
Glory redirected her attention to James, forcing an attentive expression on her suddenly stiff features. “Jacey stayed in a … a saloon?”
James nodded. “Yes, ma’am. She worked there with Rosie—Señor Estrada’s daughter.”
“I see.” But she didn’t. That darned Jacey. Leave it to her. “She worked there? Umm, exactly what did she … do in this cantina?”
“Do?” James frowned at her, but then his face blushed as red as his hair. “Oh. No … uh … not that. Señor Estrada is a Christian man. He wouldn’t allow that … not that Miss Jacey wanted to. She tended bar some. Once or twice she did serve the men out on the floor.” He smiled, then apparently heard his own words because his eyes went hoot-owl round. “Drinks. Served the men drinks. That’s all. I swear it.”
Tearing up with embarrassment, Glory cleared her throat, didn’t know where to look. But suddenly galvanized by embarrassment, she ushered James to the front door. He snatched up his duster and hat, donning them with all haste. Glory recovered enough to say, “Thank you for coming all this way. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Don’t worry none about that. Señor Estrada paid me to make the trip. I’m glad to do it.”
“Oh. Well, this way then.” Glory opened the door and stepped outside, braving yet another gust of freezing wind. Behind her, James stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind himself. Glory signaled to Heck, who sprinted up to her.
“Yes, Miss Glory?”
“Heck, this is James McGinty. He’s a guest. You can give him back his guns. And will you see to settling him in at the bunkhouse?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Heck turned to James, nodded his greetings. “Get your horse and follow me.”
The sound of James’s scuffing bootsteps across the verandah and down the low, wide steps made Glory turn to him. “Thank you again, James. We Lawlesses owe you for your kind deed.”
James grinned, touched the brim of his floppy felt hat in a parting gesture. “Don’t mention it, miss. The way I see it, J. C. Lawless done my pa a favor by making him hate the life of an outlaw. Otherwise, I doubt he’d have lived long enough to marry and have me and my brothers and sisters. I figure we’re even now.” He stood there a moment longer, looked undecided about something, and then apparently made up his mind to say it. “I’m just sorry about your folks. It must be painful to be orphaned twice over.”
Before Glory could absorb that, much less ask him what he meant, James untied his horse from the hitching post and followed after Heck. For long moments, Glory watched his slim, departing back. Finally, hugging Jacey’s packet to her chest, she thought to ask herself, Orphaned twice over? What does that mean?
Chapter 12
Laura and Seth Parker? Who are these people? And why would Jacey send me the woman’s belongings? Laying down the age-yellowed pages, smoothing her hand over the journal’s ragged spine, Glory frowned, wondering why the words on these pages brought a lump to her throat. Wondered why she felt a kinship with this long-dead Laura Parker. Wondered why she felt like crying for the woman and her little family. It was all such a mystery. And just like Jacey to present her with one.
Thinking of her sister, Glory picked up Jacey’s accompanying letter and reread it. In it, she introduced the young courier, James McGinty, and wrote that Papa had Señor Estrada keep these papers for him all these years. She went on to say, with no further explanation, that she felt Glory should have them. Glory shook her head and huffed out a breath laden with curiosity and frustration—and no small amount of fear for her sister. Because Jacey confirmed James McGinty’s words of last evening—she was riding for Mexico with Zant Chapelo, The Kid’s son.
Glory looked up from the troublesome words and flopped into a slumping posture that matched her mood. Perched cross-legged atop her bed in her morning-sunshiny bedroom, she stretched, trying to work out the remaining soreness in her muscles from fighting her attacker three nights ago. But it seemed her mind could wander to no place that offered her comfort. Certainly Biddy wouldn’t console her once she learned that her precious baby had kept their visitor and this packet a secret from her all last evening.
Glory pushed aside that coming scene and found herself again reading through Jacey’s words—which she figured she must’ve read twenty times between last night and this morning. But still no light had shed itself from her first readi
ng to this one. Because, she admitted, reading Jacey’s letter was like talking to her. Abrupt, unemotional, and short on details. Except to echo Hannah with regard to watching out for strangers.
Jacey also wrote of trackers, saying they’d been hired from Tucson, and that she was riding with Zant Chapelo to find out the who and the why of it. One less thing I have to worry about—Jacey knows about the trackers, so she’ll have a care for herself. Glory put a hand to her thudding heart and stared at the far wall. What a turn their lives had come to, when she couldn’t be certain that either of her sisters was alive.
A sigh escaped Glory as she looked around herself at the jumble of letters atop her quilted bedspread. She fingered a sheet or two of age-yellowed writing paper, but didn’t realize she’d left her mind open to errant thoughts until … It’s too bad that Riley fired Abel Justice and Carter Brown before James McGinty arrived. After all, they’re the only two strangers to come around since Mama and Papa were … murdered. And James is from Tucson—where Jacey says the trackers were hired. It sure would have been interesting to see if he recognized one—or both—of them. Especially in light of me being nearly killed the other night.
She allowed that notion free rein, wondering if it was merely a coincidence that Riley and those men left before James arrived. Glory put her hands to her suddenly warm cheeks. She was sitting here casting doubts onto Riley, half-believing that he was in cahoots with the two suspicious drifters he’d hired—without consulting her or Smiley.
Glory shook her head, refusing to believe she was even entertaining these thoughts. Because how, she argued with herself, could they have known James was coming? Well, the answer was … they couldn’t have. Besides, had they known, and if they were guilty, they’d have killed him long before he ever showed up on her doorstep.
A gasp escaped Glory. Her mind seemed determined to point a finger of guilt at Riley. But she refused to believe it. Riley involved with those two men? Why, it was a ridiculous notion. What reason would he have to want her dead? None, of course. Unless you think about the land feuds, Glory. Remember what Biddy said Smiley told her about the other ranchers?
Seasons of Glory Page 17
