Miss Lily's Boarding House

by Sandi Hampton

  She walked back over to the bed and perched on the edge. Her fingers stroked the soft, silken coverlet. As her aunt’s office had, the bedroom amazed her. From the thick carpets on the floor to the elegant bed coverings to the crystal lamps, it spoke of wealth and opulence. Every day, she learned more about the woman she’d called aunt, yet whom she’d not really known.

  She glimpsed a small wooden trunk, its lid ajar, tucked away in the far corner of the room and covered by a pink quilt. It seemed out of place here among the fancy furnishings. Grace stood, walked over to the trunk and knelt beside it. As she picked up the pink quilt, long-ago memories surged to life. Her mother’s words floated through her mind. It’s your birthday, Grace, and I made this for you. Grace clutched the soft quilt to her chest. She’d never felt closer to her mother than she did right now. And Lily had kept these treasures for her.

  With tears brimming in her eyes, Grace opened the trunk. More memories assaulted her. Pictures of her mother and father wrapped in yellowed lace handkerchiefs. Small dresses of pink and white. And at the bottom—Bonnie. Her doll. Faded by many washes, the rag doll still boasted button eyes, pink cheeks, a yellow flowered dress with a white lace apron. She hugged it to her chest.

  A soft knock at the door startled her. She placed the doll and pictures on the nightstand, then stood, grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her. A few steps took her to the door. She opened it, but no one was there. She glanced down, then smiled. A tray of food, bacon and eggs and coffee whetted her appetite. She picked up the tray and retreated to a table by the window.

  A smile caressed her lips. She could imagine Lily sitting here eating breakfast, managing the household accounts, or whatever else. Maybe Maggie would join her, or one of her girls. And while Grace didn’t approve of their…profession, she was proud of her aunt for caring for those less…fortunate, and for being strong and independent. A woman in a man’s world, especially in this wild primitive land, was a tough row to hoe. After eating, she stowed everything, except Bonnie and the pictures of her parents, back in the trunk, pushed it back in the corner and covered it with the quilt. She sat the pictures and the doll on the nightstand.

  A glance at the clock told her it was almost ten o’clock. She dressed in one of her favorite suits. A soft dove gray skirt with a matching jacket with white lace at the wrists and pearl buttons down the bodice and a pristine white blouse. Even though she was in mourning, she didn’t want to wear black. Aunt Lily had once said she abhorred wearing black. Grace smiled to herself. Well, she wouldn’t wear black, either.

  She pulled her hair back and tied it with a ribbon. She settled her hat atop her head, then changed her mind. No hat today. As she left the room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, shocked that the pale-faced woman with dark shadows under her eyes, was her. She pinched her cheeks to add some color then headed down the back stairs.

  Maggie sat at the table in the kitchen, still clad in her robe. Grace slipped into the chair beside her.

  “Good morning, Maggie.”

  “Morning, Gracie.”

  Grace didn’t correct her. She’d always be Gracie to the older woman.

  “Did you get any sleep at all, lass?”

  “Not much, but knowing Joe was outside the door helped me to rest.”

  “Good. I’m so sorry that happened. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. See, that’s just one reason your aunt didn’t want you to come live out here. It’s dangerous, especially for a young, beautiful woman like yourself.”

  But life is full of uncertainties, and I’m stronger than you think. “There’s crime in Philadelphia too, but I can understand Aunt Lily was trying to protect me. Thanks for sending up breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome. You’re all dressed up. Where are you off to?”

  “I’m going to the cemetery to…” a cold hand gripped her heart, “…to say goodbye to Aunt Lily.” Unexpected tears misted in her eyes and threatened to spill over.

  “Aye, tis fitting. Wait ’til I get dressed, and I’ll go with you. I’ll have the carriage brought around.”

  “That’s all right. I think I prefer to go by myself, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not, lass.”

  “Where…where…”

  “When you leave the house, turn right. The cemetery is up atop the ridge. It’s a far walk. You sure you don’t want me to have the carriage brought around?”

  “I think I’d like to walk, but thank you.” On impulse, she kissed the older woman on the cheek and hurried out the front door. While she appreciated Maggie’s offer, she needed to be alone with Lily to say her goodbyes. She hadn’t been able to tell her mother goodbye, had cried herself to sleep many a lonely night, and an empty place remained in her heart. She’d thought, hoped, prayed, that Lily would fill that hole, but it had never happened.

  As she left the house, she turned right, spotted the ridge and headed in that direction. In just a few minutes, sweat beaded her forehead and ran in rivulets between her breasts. She pulled her handkerchief and patted her forehead. In twenty minutes, she stood at the crest and paused to catch her breath—and gather her courage.

  She picked up the hem of her skirt and picked her way up the rocky slope to the grave sites. She found Lily’s marker easily. The words jumped out at her. Lily Wentworth. Rest in peace. She sank to her knees, and great sobs burst out of her as if shot out of a cannon. But they were healing tears.

  “Oh, Aunt Lily, I’m going to miss you so very much. Even though we didn’t see each other often, I could always depend on you. I thought I knew you, but I didn’t. Why didn’t you trust me, tell me? Why did you deceive me? Now, I’ll never know.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Huh? Who’s there?” She turned and saw a man standing there, twirling his hat in his hand. She recognized him—the blue-eyed cowboy who’d stared at her when she’d first arrived. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Name’s Logan Barnett, and I want to talk to you.”

  The husky voice seemed familiar to her. “Talk to me about what?” She stood and wiped the dust from her skirt.

  “I’m told you’re the new owner of Lily’s. I was thinking about making you an offer on it—if the price was right.”

  “Then you need to see my attorney, J. Philip Randolph.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t think much of attorneys. I like to handle my own business, face to face.”

  “Well, you really must see Mr. Randolph. And now, Mr. Barnett, if you don’t mind,” she pointed at Lily’s grave, “I’m…”

  “Sorry, ma’am. Don’t mean to intrude on your grief, but it’s real important. I’d appreciate just a few minutes.”

  “Mr. Barnett, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to talk to anyone. Please go away and leave me alone.”

  “No.”

  She shot him her most withering gaze, but he didn’t flinch. “I’m going back now. Please move out of my way.”

  She walked past him, and he grabbed her arm. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re going to talk now.”

  She tried to pull free, but her efforts were useless. “Let me go, or I’ll scream.”

  He shrugged and waved his hand. “Go ahead. No one around to hear you.”

  Butterflies churned in Grace’s stomach. The fact that she was all alone with this hard-eyed stranger sent shivers racing down her spine. “But a lot of people know where I am, and I can scream very loud.”

  Another shrug.

  When she didn’t say anything else, he nodded. “Good. I’m glad we understand each other,” he released her arm. “Can we talk now?”

  Grace sucked in a breath and nodded. “Very well.” She didn’t dare anger him any further. No telling what he was capable of. Movement down the hill caught her attention. A buggy had left the boarding house and now headed in her direction. She had to stall as long as she could. “Could we get out of the sun? My head hurts, and I’m feeling faint.” Without waiting for an an
swer, she turned and made her way to the shade of a spreading oak, then sat on one of the huge rocks. “Why don’t you visit like a normal person?”

  Frowning, he walked over and stood in front of her. “Tried to,” he retorted, “this morning in fact, but they wouldn’t let me see you.”

  Grace quirked an eyebrow at him. “No one told me. Who did you speak to?”

  “Someone named Maggie.”

  “I’m sure she planned to tell me when I returned.” She flicked her gaze over his shoulder. He must have caught something in her eyes because he pivoted on his heel and looked behind him.

  Randolph’s buggy was halfway up the ridge.

  The look he sent her took her breath. “Get up,” he ordered.

  Grace didn’t argue.

  “Let’s go.” He pointed to up the ridge to a strand of pine trees.

  “Go? I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She jerked away and tried to run past him, but he was too fast. She screamed, her cries echoing over the rocks. He cursed, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She clenched her hands into fists and rained blows on his back. But she didn’t think he even felt them. As he carried her through the brush, brambles tore at her clothes. In a few minutes, he set her down in front of a horse. She tried to run again—to no avail. She opened her mouth to scream. The last thing she saw was his fist coming at her jaw.

  ****

  Logan cursed as he lifted Grace onto the saddle. He regretted what he’d done, but he wanted some answers, and he wanted them now. His gut told him that time was of the essence. He glanced over his shoulder at the buggy which had slowed down on the rocky terrain. He didn’t want Randolph or anyone else present when he questioned the new owner of the boarding house. He mounted, then pulled her across his lap and held her against his chest. She weighed almost nothing in his arms. He was taking a chance—if caught, he could end up in jail—for a very long time.

  A jab to his flanks sent the big buckskin through the woods and out on the prairie, hugging the foothills as he rode toward the ranch. The woman moaned and stirred a couple of times. He liked the feel of her, all soft curves, and he liked the smell of her, a light scent of roses. Her hair blew across his face, and he brushed the silken strands aside.

  An hour later, Logan reined in his horse in front of his house. He slid from the saddle, carried the woman inside and laid her on the sofa. He knelt beside her and pushed her hair out of her face. A shadow darkened her chin, and Logan frowned. He’d never hit a female before, and it didn’t set well with him.

  He shoved himself to his feet, marched over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of whiskey, then returned to sit opposite her. She’d sure acted strange at the cemetery, with all her caterwauling and carrying on about not knowing Lily and being deceived. He studied her. The long golden hair curled around her face, caressing almost. Her fair skin showed no blemish, and her full pouting lips seemed to beg for kisses. The curve of her hip enticed him, her long legs stretched out behind her.

  By the third whiskey, she stirred and rubbed her face. Her mouth scrunched up into a frown. Her eyelids fluttered open. When she saw him, her eyes widened, and shadows flickered in the green depths. She licked her lips. “You! Where am I?”

  “My father’s ranch.”

  She touched her chin and grimaced. “Ouch! You hit me!”

  “Yeah, well I’m sorry about that, but I wanted to talk to you—and alone. I didn’t want whoever was in that buggy to interfere.”

  “Well, just so you know, I plan to make charges against you for…kidnapping,” she notched her chin up, “and assault.”

  The look she sent him was a challenge, and he grinned to himself. He admired her spunk.

  “Where is your father?” she asked as she surveyed the room.

  “Dead.”

  Her gaze flicked back to him. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry, I truly am, but what does that have to do with me?”

  “Because your aunt was killed a mile down the road,” he slammed his fist into the open palm of his other hand, “the same day my father was murdered.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed, and she shook her head. “You’re lying. My aunt died of the fever.”

  He jumped to his feet. “Who told you that?”

  Grace clutched her hand to her heart. “Why, Maggie told me that, Maggie McBride, my aunt’s housekeeper.”

  “Well, she lied to you.”

  “No, no, she wouldn’t do that.” She stared at him, her face a mask of confusion.

  “What did the sheriff tell you? Or Randolph? What did he have to say?”

  “Well, neither one told me that. The letter I received from Randolph merely said she’d passed away.” She stood and paced the floor, stopping directly in front of him. “Why would they lie to me? Why would anyone want to kill Aunt Lily?”

  “Good questions.”

  “And ones I will be asking all three of them real soon, that is, if you plan to let me go.” She quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

  “I mean you no harm, Grace. I just thought it was real suspicious she was killed near here, and on the same day.”

  “How did…how was…?”

  “Someone shot her.”

  “You mean, like with a gun?” Her voice was a bare whisper.

  “Yeah. I’m sorry, Grace. I only want the truth from you. Do you know anything about my father’s death?”

  “Of course not. Two months ago, I wasn’t even in Texas.” She walked to the other side of the room.

  “That’s easy to say. How do I know it’s the truth?”

  “Well, I can show you my train ticket, and it’ll show I left Philadelphia just a couple of weeks ago.”

  “All right, all right. But I have another question. How do you explain this?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held his mother’s diamond brooch out to her. “I found it in your room last night.”

  “That was you in my room? You scared me half to death.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting.”

  The look she sent him said she wanted to throttle him. “I’ve never seen that before. What is it?”

  “My mother’s brooch. After she died, my father kept it hidden in the house. How did it end up in that desk drawer in your bedroom?”

  “I don’t know,” she yelled at him. “Maybe he gave it to my aunt. I don’t know anything about what’s going on. I can’t think straight. I thought my aunt had died of the fever, now you tell me that’s not true, and now I’m accused of being involved in a murder…and being a thief.” She slumped down on the sofa and swiped a hand across her eyes. “I wish I’d never come here.”

  Logan chewed on his bottom lip. Should he believe her? She sounded sincere. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew about your aunt’s death. I really did.”

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Well, I didn’t.”

  “Okay, I don’t know why, but I believe you.” He knelt in front of her and took her hand in his. “They’re connected somehow, Grace. I feel it in my gut. They were both killed on the same day, about a mile apart. That’s more than coincidence.”

  She opened her eyes, and tears slid down her cheeks. “And your father?

  Logan’s mouth tightened into a grimace. “He was killed here, in his own house, and the place had been torn apart, and money, the brooch and papers stolen.” He pointed at the dark stain on the floor.

  “Oh, my God, that’s, that’s—” She jumped to her feet and stumbled across the room. She turned a ghostly white, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

  He caught her before she fell and scooped her up in his arms. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest. “Take it easy.”

  Her face flushed. “I’m all right. What were you looking for last night?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a deed or a letter. Hell, I don’t know. I think somehow Lily and my father were involved in…something, and
they were killed for it, whatever it is. At that time, I thought you were in on it. Whatever it is.”

  “You made some horrible accusations.”

  He grinned sheepishly at her. “Sorry.”

  “Did you really think I would…Sheriff Johnson and I…?”

  “Yeah. I knew you were Lily’s niece and you owned the, er, the establishment, so I assumed…but now I know different.”

  “You’re not the only one who’s assumed that. He told me he had to talk to me right away about my aunt, but when I tried to ask questions about her, he never answered any of them. All he really wanted to do was grope me.” Silent tremors shook her shoulders.

  “The bastard.”

  “Yes indeed.”

  “See, isn’t it a good thing we had this talk and cleared the air?”

  She smiled at him and rubbed her chin. “Yes, I guess it is.” Her smile disappeared. “But what do you suppose is going on?”

  Logan shoved himself to his feet. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out, and whoever did it will pay.”

  She grabbed his hand, then realized what she’d done and jerked her hand back. “And I’ll help you.”

  Chapter 5

  When Grace touched Logan’s hand, goose bumps pimpled her flesh, followed by an unexpected surge of heat. What was wrong with her? Was she a wanton woman like her aunt? Was it in her blood? This man was a complete stranger, who’d struck her and kidnapped her—and thought her capable of murder. No man’s touch had ever affected her like that, not even Matthew’s. Maybe it was just because he was so different from anyone else she’d ever known, or maybe it was the aura of danger that surrounded him.

  Now that she wasn’t afraid for her life, she relaxed and studied Logan Barnett from behind lowered eyelashes. Sandy brown hair peeked over his ears and collars, and a mustache of the same color covered his top lip. And when he smiled, those killer dimples took your breath away. Her first impression returned—with one exception. She now knew his boyish smile masked the dangerous man underneath.