by Cat Cahill
And that was when he knew.
He couldn’t let her go without telling her the truth about how he felt. Without telling her that he loved her, and that was why he wanted her out of town. He couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to her.
Jasper grasped the chain of his watch and pulled the timepiece from his pocket. 7:02. It was still early. Surely Grace was at the boardinghouse, packing her things. If he hurried, he ought to arrive before she left for the depot.
He didn’t hesitate, and after dodging a few men who’d had a long night at the saloon and one wayward mule, he arrived breathless at Mrs. Geary’s and knocked impatiently on the door.
“My goodness!” Mrs. Geary’s face peered around the door. “Whatever is the problem, Mr. Hill? I’ve never heard such a pounding.”
“I must speak with Miss Daniels right away. Could you let her know I’m here?”
“Isn’t it too early to escort her to the store?” Mrs. Geary opened the door wider to allow him inside the parlor.
Jasper struggled to keep his impatience inside. Grace apparently hadn’t told Mrs. Geary she would be on her way home today. “Yes, I’ve come earlier today. May I speak with her?” He paused as Mrs. Geary glanced up the stairs, as if Grace would suddenly appear. “Please?” he asked, a desperate edge sliding into his voice.
“I’ll see if she’s ready. Do have a seat.” Mrs. Geary gestured at a nearby chair whose upholstery had seen better days before pinching her skirt between her fingers and gliding—very, very slowly—up the stairs.
Jasper didn’t sit. He couldn’t. Instead, he paced. Back and forth across the thin rug that lay on the wood floor. Miss Tanner, whom he recognized as an acquaintance of Molly’s, nodded at him as she left the house.
His countenance grew grimmer as the minutes ticked by. He paused by the end of the stairs, one hand on the banister, debating how much trouble he’d be in with Mrs. Geary if he went up and found Grace himself. Thankfully, Mrs. Geary emerged from Grace’s room near the landing, closing the door firmly behind her, before Jasper could make the decision to take his life in his hands by ascending the stairs.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hill, but I’m afraid she’s already left. I don’t know why she’d go out by herself after what happened.” Mrs. Geary went on, the worry evident in her voice, but Jasper was no longer listening.
“She’s gone to the depot,” he said, more to himself than to Mrs. Geary.
“Why ever would she go to the depot?” Mrs. Geary asked.
He didn’t answer, instead thanking her before pulling on his hat and rushing out the door. He didn’t know what time the first northbound train left, but he didn’t think it could be this early. Why would she already have gone? She must have left her trunk behind, because surely Mrs. Geary would have noticed it missing.
He should’ve arranged for someone to escort her to the depot. She had no business walking about town on her own. That man could be anywhere. He could have followed her to the depot. He could be there right now, watching her, biding his time . . .
He needed to get to the depot as soon as possible.
The depot was back toward where he’d stood by the river earlier, blocks away. Jasper ran the entire distance and leapt onto the platform when he arrived. Only a handful of people were present this early, all congregated on the other side of the platform. Grace was not among them.
Jasper went straight to the ticket window and inquired after Grace.
“Ah, yes,” the clerk said, running a hand over the red-blond beard that covered his chin. “Pretty girl. I’ve never seen eyes like that before.”
Jasper clenched his fists. He couldn’t blame the man for noticing Grace, but he didn’t have to be happy about it. “Can you tell me how long ago she was here?”
“Maybe thirty minutes ago? She bought fare to Denver. Train leaves at nine o’clock.”
Jasper thanked the man and stepped back from the window before glancing again up and down the platform. Still no sign of Grace. Where would she have gone if not back to Mrs. Geary’s? She wouldn’t have gone to the store, unless . . .
Unless she wanted to see him again. That little spark of hope he’d felt earlier ignited into a small flame.
No, that was impossible. Not after the way he’d treated her. But where else could she have headed?
Figuring the store was as good a place to look as any, he started forward. But just as he rounded the edge of the depot building, intending to head back up toward Main Street, a shadow stepped in front of him.
Jasper stopped short. The man held a revolver, pointed straight at Jasper. He lifted his hands as he squinted to get a better look at the man’s face, which was hidden under the brim of a large hat. The man saved him the effort and stepped forward, but there was nothing about him Jasper recognized. He was fair-haired and generally nondescript.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Jasper asked, impatience warring with fear. He needed to find Grace . . . but if this man was involved with the plot in the note, Jasper was ready to put the entire thing to an end. He sized the man up, determining that if he could catch him off-guard, he could take him. Unless the man wasn’t right in the head and shot him instead. He certainly didn’t look shy about holding that gun.
The man didn’t reply, and just as Jasper was about to demand an answer, pain exploded in his head.
And the world went dark.
Chapter Twenty-one
Grace slumped against the door, her hands aching from pounding on the wood and her throat ragged from yelling. But the man with the broken nose was right—no one could hear her.
She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. If noise didn’t work, she needed to find something else that did. But what that was, she didn’t know.
When the man had grabbed her at the depot, her first instinct was to scream. He realized it and clamped his hand over her mouth before she could get a squeak out. The knife he brandished immediately after that was enough to make her swallow even the thought of yelling for help. Then he walked her down by the river at the very edge of town, hidden from anyone who might see them. They traversed the length of the entire town, turning north toward it only once they reached the very end. He marched her straight toward the wall that ringed the state penitentiary.
They entered the wall through a door near the rear of the structure. Grace had looked up at the prison in vain, hoping someone might see them through the windows. She’d gathered up all her courage to ask the man why they were here, but he’d only grunted and told her to shut her mouth before leading her past what looked like construction on a new building toward a neglected one-room shack that sat alone behind a copse of pines near the wall. Grace’s heart had dropped when he pulled her to the door. The shack was completely hidden behind the hulk of the prison, and nothing existed behind it except the wall and the sage-covered hill that rose beyond.
No one would ever know she was there—that was what the man had said.
And now, she sat inside, alone, and without the slightest idea what her kidnapper intended to do with her. He’d told her nothing at all—not his name, not his intentions, and certain nothing about the plan mentioned in his note.
Grace glanced around the shack, searching for something—anything—she could use as a weapon or a means of escape. But the place was empty save for heaps of dust and cobwebs. There was one grimy window at the rear of the room that let in some light, but it was impossible to open. Grace had tried that first.
Desperation crept through her like smoke through a doorway, slow but blossoming until it threatened to consume her completely. She dug her fingers into her dress and squeezed her eyes shut. She should have stood her ground. When Jasper insisted she leave, she should have done as she truly wanted, and stayed.
She should have asked him why he’d changed his mind about her.
It was so very clear that he’d had feelings for her, at least for a short while. The way he looked out for her, the way his face softened when he saw
her—that all couldn’t have been a lie. What had happened, then?
Perhaps he’d realized the same thing she had—that no one would have been in danger if she hadn’t found the note. And that none of this would have happened if he hadn’t offered her a job. Perhaps he regretted employing her. After all, he was awfully quick to let her go.
Grace opened her eyes and stared at the skirt between her hands. The navy and white traveling dress was wrinkled and streaked with dirt. Something about Jasper’s actions didn’t make sense. He’d been so insistent she leave. He’d told her he didn’t want her here. That he wanted her to go. She’d assumed that meant he didn’t want her.
What if she was wrong?
She relaxed her hands, uselessly trying to smooth out the wrinkles in her skirt. She’d never forget the way he’d looked at her when he’d said all of that, though. That tense, cold look in his eyes, as if no one could possibly get to him. He was so stiff, so distant. He wouldn’t have looked at her that way if he loved her, would he?
But just hours before, he’d regarded her so tenderly. He’d caressed her face, and . . .
Grace slammed her fists on the floor beside her, throwing up dust and bringing nothing but pain to her already bruised hands. She’d discarded her gloves earlier. They’d muffled her pounding on the door, and now she didn’t know where she’d tossed them.
It was useless trying to figure out Jasper’s feelings and motivations on her own. What she’d give for just a few more minutes with him. She’d muster up all her strength and ask him how he felt, outright, and she’d refuse to leave until she knew the truth.
She dropped her head back against the door. The door . . .
Grace pulled herself up to her knees and turned to look at the splintery door. She ran a hand over it, careful not to get any of the wood slivers into her skin. Then she stood and stepped back.
It might work—
Voices outside made her take another step backward. Male voices, and by the sounds of it, more than one of them.
Something thumped against the outside of the door, and Grace jumped backward into the wall, eyes fixed on the door.
“Watch it. Thorpe said not to kill him,” one of the men said.
A key scraped against the door’s lock, and the heavy piece of wood swung inward, revealing two men with something slung in between them. Grace blinked hard in the blinding light that came through the open door.
“It’s stupid to keep them in the same place,” the other man said. “They might be gettin’ ideas.”
Neither of them were the man with the broken nose. The man who spoke was tall and lanky with hair the color of straw. The other was just as tall but dark-haired with what looked like a scar on his cheek. Both carried pistols at their hips. The fair-haired one glared at her as he spoke, as if she was “getting ideas” just standing there.
“Help me get him in,” the darker-haired man said, grunting. Together they dragged another, seemingly unconscious man through the door, dropping him in a heap on the floor. They said nothing at all to Grace before they slammed the door, turned the key in the lock, and left.
Grace stood there a moment, willing her eyes to adjust yet again to the sudden dimness. The room slowly came into focus again, and she stared at the man on the floor before her. He wore no hat, revealing hair that appeared as dark as the night. Large hands sprawled out on either side of him, and his face . . . his face . . .
Grace threw a hand over her mouth in a gasp.
It was Jasper.
Chapter Twenty-two
Jasper awoke to a soft hand cradling his face. He opened his eyes slowly, and the hand disappeared. The shadowy beams of a ceiling came into focus. It felt as if he were lying on a floor. And his head . . . He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.
“Jasper?” A voice like honey filled his ears. Perhaps he hadn’t been imagining the feel of a hand upon his face. He pulled his eyes open again and turned his head just a fraction until he saw her.
Grace.
“Are you in pain?” she asked. Her dress was rumpled and streaked with dirt, and tendrils of her light hair fell about her face.
He was, but he wasn’t about to make that sweet face look even more worried than it already did. He shook his head and forced himself into a sitting position. “Where are we?” He couldn’t piece together what had happened. He’d been by the river, then gone in search of Grace . . .
“An old shack behind the prison,” she said, pushing a long curl behind her ear and streaking more dust across her face in the process.
“The prison . . .” Jasper closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his aching head. That meant something, but he could barely string two thoughts together, much less puzzle out the reasoning behind their location.
“Are you certain you’re all right?” Grace gently pressed her fingers against his jaw, tilting his head up so she could look into his eyes. The fuzziness in his head seemed to disappear immediately, and all he could think about was how soft her touch was.
“They hit me from behind,” he finally managed to say.
She frowned, and he could see the questions in her eyes. The last thing he wanted her worrying about right now was him. “I’m fine.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Jasper gathered the fingers on his face into his own and held them gently in his hand. “It’s nothing but a bump on the head. I’ll be all right.”
Grace watched him a moment, and he could’ve sworn she didn’t believe him. But finally she nodded. He stood and then reached down to help her up.
“Were you at the store? Are your mother and Molly all right?” she asked.
“I wasn’t. But Jennings would have gone to our house. He’ll keep them safe. And once they arrive at the store, and I’m not there, they’ll alert the sheriff.” Jasper glanced about the room as he spoke. There wasn’t much here, no weaknesses that immediately caught his eye or items that could be used as a weapon.
“But how do you know they’re safe? What if those men returned to your home before the deputy arrived?” Grace twisted her hands together.
“They didn’t come to my house,” Jasper said. He strode across the room and pressed on the window. It was solidly in place, and there wasn’t a thing in the room that could be used to break it.
“I don’t understand. Were you on your way to the store, then?”
He turned around. Her eyes were dark in the dim light, but the worry on her face was unmistakable. She feared for his family, and he would too if he weren’t so certain Jennings could handle any danger that came his way. Molly and Ma were safe. “I was at the depot.”
She blinked at him as the words sunk in. “Why?” she asked, her voice so soft he barely heard her.
“I wanted to speak with you.” He stood where he was, a good several feet away from her, wanting to see her reaction yet fearing it at the same time.
Grace dropped her eyes to her hands. The silence stretched between them, so loud he could hear the blood pumping through his ears. “What would you have said if you’d found me?” she finally asked, looking up at him through her lashes.
Jasper wanted to go to her, so badly he had to force his feet to remain planted where they were. He swallowed and kept his eyes on her. “I would’ve told you the truth.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “What have you been untruthful about?”
“The way I feel about you.” He let the words hang in the air a moment, trying to collect the ache in his heart into something that would make sense. “The way I keep imagining you every place I go. How I can’t stop picturing the way you look when you’re figuring something out. The way you smile while you work. The way I’m constantly thinking about you.”
“You wanted me to leave,” she said, her voice strained. “I thought—”
“I shouldn’t have. I went about that poorly. I feared for your safety, so much that I was willing to risk you never returning over remaining here and . . .” He gestured at the walls of the shack.
Her hands clasped together, Grace took the first tentative step toward him. Jasper’s heart threatened to leap through his throat. If she forgave him for the way he’d treated her that evening, he’d never want for anything again. He reached a tentative hand out to her. She took it, and he clasped his fingers about hers, marveling at how well their hands fit together.
“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” he said, feeling as if his voice might crack around the edges.
“I thought you blamed me for putting us all in danger,” she said.
Her words sliced through him. How could she imagine such a thing? “It wasn’t your fault that man was careless about his plans.” He squeezed her hand tighter.
“I know, but . . . Your mother would have had more discretion. She wouldn’t have opened the note. He would have received it back with the shirt, and all would have been well.”
Jasper couldn’t help it—he laughed. Grace stared at him, her pretty mouth slightly agape.
“You greatly underestimate my mother’s love for gossip. She doesn’t share it, but she loves hearing it,” he said, unable to tear the grin from his face. “The world would need to stop turning before she would leave have left a folded-up bit of paper untouched.”
A little smile traipsed across Grace’s face. Neither of them said anything right away. Jasper forced himself to breathe. He wanted so badly to hear her return his words of affection. But perhaps for now he needed to be content with the fact she hadn’t torn her hand from his. He’d hurt her deeply, and he couldn’t force her to change her mind about him if she’d determined her feelings were misplaced.
If she’d had feelings for him at all.
Grace looked about the room. “What do you suppose they plan to do with us?”
Jasper drew in a ragged breath and pushed his mind to remember the immediate danger they were in. “I don’t know. It’s possible they only want us out of the way while they execute their plan.”
