by Kit Morgan
A shot rang out, and Deacon Smith dropped to the floor like a stone. Thaddeus Slade was getting too old for this. Twenty years ago, the thrill and excitement of the hunt had been exhilarating, the capture more so. But he was younger then, and hadn’t yet been subjected to the evil that now held him enslaved.
With a sigh he holstered his gun, turned and left the small room where he usually met with Bellafonte, Smith and Jackson and went into another. His employer was just sitting down at a tiny table, a brandy decanter and two glasses atop it.
The well-dressed man removed his gloves and poured them each a glass. He handed one to Thaddeus. “From the sounds of things,” he remarked in a refined English accent, “I trust Mr. Smith has accepted his resignation.”
“Yes, suh” Thaddeus said as he took the glass. He waited for his employer to raise his first.
“Then let us drink to your promotion.”
Thaddeus’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. The three men he’d hired to run their northeastern operation had made a gross error in chasing after a family they felt were thwarting their efforts. Thaddeus had been forced to shut things down while U.S. Marshals nosed around. This, of course, meant orders were not being filled like they should be. He was surprised he wasn’t the one lying dead in the next room.
“Have I rendered you speechless, Mr. Slade? I would think you’d be happy to know that you’re now in charge.”
Thaddeus swallowed again. “In chahge?”
“East coast, west coast, the South … everything.”
“That’s … very generous of ya, suh,” he said, his Louisiana drawl stilted by the shock of it. He’d had the South for years and part of the East, but to have it all … “Ah don’t know what t’say.”
“Say you’ll keep looking.”
“Ya know Ah’ve had mah eyes everywheah faw yew.”
His employer stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. “Find her, Slade. Find her or you’ll never set your eyes on another woman again. You’ll not set eyes on anything, because you won’t have them to set!”
Thaddeus audibly gulped. “Ya can count awn me, Lawd Brennan. But … maht Ah ask whah yaw goin’ through all this trouble just ta fahnd one guhl? Hahd ta believe this whole operation exists just ‘cause yaw lookin’ faw –”
“That’s my own business, Mr. Slade,” he snapped. “And my efforts have made you a rich man, so what do you care?”
“Ah was only curious.” He took a casual step back to put some distance between them. Lord Philip Brennan was not to be trifled with – Thaddeus had learned that the hard way, years ago. “Is theah anythin’ else?”
“Speed up production; you’re behind. And do try not to let anyone else interrupt your work.”
“Ya can count on me, suh,” Thaddeus said, then drained his glass. His employer did not finish his. He was staring at the door, behind which lay the former Mr. Smith. “Is somethin’ wrong?”
Lord Brennan looked at him. “Just find her, Mr. Slade. I’ll be looking as well.”
“Wheah?”
Brennan’s mouth curved with the tiniest hint of a smile as he pulled on his gloves. “Not where, Mr. Slade. When.” Without another word, he left the tiny cabin.
Thaddeus stared after him, his stomach in knots. “Whah do Ah wuhk faw that madman?” But he knew why. If he didn’t, he’d be as dead as Deacon Smith in the next room.
He poured himself another drink. Time to get back to work.
Percy’s Unexpected Bride is the third installment of the Blue Brother’s tale. If you haven’t yet read books 5 and 6 in the Dalton Bride series, (Hand and Benedict’s stories) then here’s a little excerpt from each.
From Hank’s Rescued Bride, by Cassie Hayes:
Hank Blue made his way down a row of bottles, methodically wiping the dust from each. The Blue Family Mercantile carried a little of everything, from vanilla extract to Stickney and Poor’s Pure Paregoric, which was really just high-tension hooch with a pinch of opium added for good measure. Just a year earlier, they wouldn’t have been able to keep any of it in stock, but now…
“Henry, keep an eye on the store while Benedict and I go to the bank.”
Hank sighed. “Papa, do you really think Mr. Powell is going to change his mind about giving us an extension? He’s already turned us down twice.”
The defeated look in his father’s eyes nearly killed him. For over twenty-five long years, Stanley Blue had worked tirelessly to build the Blue Family Mercantile into a thriving enterprise. He always planned to leave it to his sons, but ever since Hank and his brothers had come back from Texas empty-handed, Deacons Smith, Bellafonte and Jackson had made it their mission in life to ruin the family.
First, people started looking at them funny, and whispering whenever they passed. Then they started shopping at Crowther’s, a new general store that opened up just down the street, even though it had a terrible selection. Then the bank called the loan Papa had taken out to make ends meet during the slump. There was no question in anyone’s mind: The deacons were exacting their revenge.
But for what? Hank and his brothers had come back from Texas ready to find out exactly what the deacons were up to in Beckham, but the harder they tried, the less they discovered. It had been nearly two years and the Blue brothers were no closer to discovering their secret plot than when they left.
“Do you have a better idea, son?” his father said, interrupting his thoughts. “Because I’m fresh out of ‘em. I can’t just sit here and do nothing, and watch my life’s work wither away.”
Ben wrapped a bulky arm around their father’s drooping shoulders. “That’s right, Papa. If we’re gonna lose the store, we’re gonna doing it kicking and screaming and fighting to the bitter end. Thought you were with us on this, Hank.”
“‘Course I am, Ben. I just…” They didn’t wait for him to finish.
Something had changed inside Hank over the last several months. Where he used to be a happy-go-lucky dandy, he was now mired in hopelessness. There was nothing to look forward to anymore, except maybe moving to Texas and seeing his sisters again. But even that would be tainted by failure. Failure of the store, failure to discover the deacons’ secret, failure to be the man he wanted to be. At 23, that was quite a burden.
It was his third time restacking eight full bolts of fabric when the bell over the door jingled. It was about time Percy showed up. That boy had been acting up more and more as the days passed, and now he’d taken to skipping his shifts at the store. Strange that he was only a year younger than Hank; he was behaving like a child.
“Took long enough to get here,” Hank said, fanning the bolts so big wedges of fabric were nicely displayed. Not that it mattered. Not a single bolt had been touched since they came in more than a month earlier.
“I’m sorry, were you expecting me?”
Hank nearly knocked over the display at the sound of a woman’s voice. Then he nearly choked when he spun around and saw who was standing just inside the shop’s door.
Maggie Bishop.
“Maggie Bishop.”
His voice didn’t sound like his own. It was all whispery and rough, and his mouth was as dry as the North Texas prairie.
Maggie had been two years behind him in school, and though they never ran in the same circles, he knew exactly who she was. He’d always had an eye for pretty girls, no matter their station in life, and he never failed to charm them.
Well, almost never.
“Henry,” she mumbled, glancing behind her before shutting the door and shuffling sideways, her back against the wall. Hank worried she might chew clean through her lower lip if she kept at it.
“How can I help you today?” Best to keep this interaction on a strictly professional level. He’d come away with a bruised ego and a red hand print on his cheek after their last encounter.
Maggie focused her attention on the drawstring of her reticule, picking at the tassel and not meeting Hank’s gaze. The red flush that crept up her cheeks testified to her
anxiety. He couldn’t help feeling pleased.
Mustering every ounce of charm he possessed, which was considerable, if he did say so himself, he leaned one elbow casually on the counter, letting his gaze slide over Maggie. He grinned just wide enough for his exceptionally white teeth to hypnotize her, as it did to every lady he graced with it.
“You’re looking as fine as ever, Maggie.” He knew the compliment would unnerve her even more, but it was also the truth. Her mahogany-colored hair and matching eyes might catch your attention, but it was the rest of her that held it. She was trim, maybe a trifle too thin, which was the norm for the orphans at the Children’s Home of Beckham, but it didn’t detract from her beauty. Her heart-shaped face could make a man lose his mind, as it had for Hank over the years, and her lips were always the most delectable shade of pink. There was no prettier girl in Beckham, and it ate at Hank that she’d rejected him so coldly last year. His compliment was her punishment.
But rather than becoming more uncomfortable, his words seemed to steel her nerves. Pursing those pretty pink lips, she leveled her cool gaze on him, unimpressed by his dazzling smile. “I see you’re still the same pompous oaf as the last time we spoke. Tell me, Henry, how long did it take for your cheek to return to its normal shade?
From Benedict’s Bargain Bride by Kirsten Osbourne:
Benedict Blue crossed the street on his way to see Elizabeth Miller, the matchmaker who had sent his sisters to Texas as mail order brides. She'd informed him and his brothers that the deacons were involved in slowly culling single ladies from Beckham and selling them into slavery. He'd never heard of such a thing, but he'd promised to be on hand for Elizabeth if she needed him.
His younger brother, Hank, had already rescued three of the women and brought them to their sisters in Dalton, Texas. He'd even married one of them. The youngest brother, Percy, had escorted their parents to Dalton. Benedict was staying behind until their home was sold, and he was certain Elizabeth could handle things on her own for a bit before heading off to join them in Texas.
He was about to turn the corner, when he saw a woman pressing herself against the wall of a restaurant, weeping copiously. He could only see the back of her, but she had curves in all the right places. He was an admirer of the female form, and she had a nice one. She was slim with blond hair that hung in ringlets down her back. He didn't recognize her at first, but when he did, he wanted nothing more than to cross the street and avoid her.
Lillian Nettles. She'd been his sister Gwen's closest friend for as long as he could remember. And he'd never forgiven her. What she'd been thinking to embarrass him in front of the whole school, he would never know. No one had ever let him live it down.
Not a day had gone by for the rest of his school years that someone hadn't mentioned the note she'd left on his chair. His instinct was to abandon her and leave her to her own devices, but she was his sister's friend, and he was a gentleman.
He stopped and put his hand on her shoulder, not wishing to touch her but not certain she'd be able to hear him over the sound of her loud sobbing.
Lillian blinked at the person in front of her and almost fainted with relief. Bossy Benedict, as his sisters called him would make everything better.
She brushed her hand under her eyes and looked at him. "I need help," she whispered. She wasn't his favorite person in the world. No matter. She needed him, and he'd be there for her. He was Benedict after all.
Benedict sighed. "What do you need, Miss Nettles?" He kept his voice polite but cold.
Lillian made a face. "Please call me Lillian, Benedict. We've known one another too long for formalities."
"I think it would be best if we kept things formal. What do you need?" He wasn't going to stand there loitering on the corner for hours.
"Fine. Do you know the deacons? The ones your sisters were going to marry?" She knew he did, but she had to get his attention somehow.
At the word deacon, Benedict's ears pricked up. "Yes, I do."
Lillian sniffled, her eyes filling with tears again. "Well, they've been after me for months to meet Deacon Smith's nephew. They said he'd be the perfect match for me. I told them no repeatedly." She shrugged. "Let's face it. Deacon Smith is no prize, and I really couldn't imagine wanting to be married to any of his relations."
Benedict nodded slowly. "So did you meet the nephew?"
Lillian shook her head. "No, but a month ago my parents were killed in a fire." She sniffed loudly at that, pulling a handkerchief from her drawstring purse. "They left me alone for three weeks after that, but a week ago, they started pestering me to meet Deacon Smith's nephew again. I...I had no desire to meet him, but I'm all alone now. I was an only child, so there's no family to go to. I've never had a beau."
"So did you meet him?" If she hadn't mentioned the deacons, he probably would have walked away already.
"No, of course not. Weren't you listening?" She sighed. Benedict was an intelligent man, but he didn't seem able to follow a simple conversation. "I talked to them yesterday, and I finally agreed to meet him, not because I was interested in the man as a husband. No, I agreed to meet him, because I wanted the deacons to leave me alone once and for all."
He could cheerfully wring the woman's neck, but he kept his temper in check. To think, he'd been admiring her figure just minutes before. Of course, he hadn't realized it was her then.
"And did they leave you alone?" He knew the answer, but he wanted her to tell the story in her own way.
She shook her head. "No, because I went to see them today, to tell them I'd spoken in haste and wasn't interested in meeting Thaddeus, no matter how many nice things they said about the man." She paused, sucking in her breath and lowering her voice for effect. "When I got to Deacon Smith's house, I heard them talking through the open window. It's a good thing for me it's spring, because if it had been winter, I never would have known. Anyway, one of them, I don't know which because I wasn't looking, said something that frightened me. You see, I flattened myself against the side of the house next to the window so I could hear them better. Don't you think that was smart, Benedict?"
Benedict closed his eyes and nodded. "Very smart."
"Do you know what I heard the deacon say?"
Benedict shook his head, not saying anything. He was afraid he'd yell if he found his voice again, and she was obviously frightened enough. Lord, the woman was exasperating.
She dropped her voice to a whisper. "He said that Thaddeus had promised them a thousand dollars for me, and that he had a buyer all lined up." She looked up at Benedict, her eyes wide. "They were going to sell me!"
I hope you’ve enjoyed Percy’s Unexpected Bride, and the rest of the Dalton Brides Series. If you love Western Historical Romance, join the greatest Face Book Group ever! Pioneer Hearts where readers and authors connect!
