by Lough, Loree
After her bath, when she’d first gotten a look at the dress Sarah had in mind, Kate had oohed and aahed with as much gratitude as she could muster—a big mistake, as it had turned out, for her exaggerated enthusiasm had only encouraged Sarah to race back to her room to gather accessories to complete the outfit: bizarre, feathered combs to hold back her hair and an enormous cameo ring to wear on her finger.
Now, staring hard at her reflection in the mirror, Kate fought back tears, reminding herself that, in a day or two, when her own clothes no longer reeked of mildew, she’d be able to wear them instead of the dress. But shedding the phony identity she’d invented for herself was something else, altogether; she couldn’t afford to cast it off if she hoped to save her own skin.
In a matter of weeks, she’d gone from being a self-sufficient young woman to someone who’d come to depend on one man for her every need. How had her life become so completely overturned? From the shiny, high-heeled shoes on her feet to the white feathers in her hair, there was no hint of Kate Wellington to be seen. Would any remnant of her true self linger once this mess was behind her?
Kate clenched her jaw, determined not to cry. A girl who’d gotten into a fix like this through no fault of her own would have had a right to feel sorry for herself. At least, for a little while. But someone like she, whose circumstances were of her own making, had no business wallowing in self-pity, not even for a—
“Dinah?”
Josh’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Ma says to tell you dinner’s on the table.”
Kate pinched her cheeks and bit her lips for a touch of color, just as her mama had taught her to do all those years ago.
When she opened the door, Kate stifled a tiny gasp. She’d never seen Josh all bathed and powdered and shaved before. The crisp, white shirt served the dual purposes of accenting his bronzed complexion and intensifying the blue of his eyes beneath his brow of still-damp hair, which glowed like spun gold. She hadn’t noticed before because of his vest and suede jacket, but in those smart, black trousers, it was impossible not to notice his trim waist and flat stomach. “My, but you clean up nicely,” she said, trying to cover her astonishment with levity.
“I was about to say the same thing to you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Hmpf.” In response to the confused arch of his eyebrows, she said, “If anybody had asked if I thought men liked frilly, fussy clothes, I would have said they dislike them even more than I do.”
Immediately, she regretted her words. Goodness, what if Sarah heard that? Kate glanced up and down the hall. “Please don’t say anything to your sister,” she whispered. “She’s been so generous and helpful, and I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings or seem ungrateful.”
Josh grinned. “What do you have against pink?”
“It isn’t the color I object to, but the style—if you can call it that.” She flapped both arms. “I’ll bet if I jumped off the roof, these sleeves would hold enough air to bring me gently to the ground.”
He held out his arm. “Just like one of those hot air balloons.”
“Exactly!” she said, laughing as she linked her arm with his.
“I don’t mind admitting,” he said with a chuckle, “that you amuse me, Dinah Theodore.”
His words should have been comforting. They ought to have broadened her smile and heightened her joy at being this close to him after so many hours apart. Instead, a curtain of gloom closed around her, and as surely as a bucket of water can snuff a fire, his compliment cooled her warm mood.
“How’s that ankle?”
Oh, but he was perceptive! Though she still wore a cheerful smile, he’d sensed the subtle shift of her temperament and attributed it to her injury. She decided it was better to let him think that than to admit the real reason. “It’s a little achy,” she admitted, “but nothing I can’t tolerate.”
With no warning whatever, he slid one arm under her knees, wrapped the other around the small of her back, and scooped her up, just as he had on the night they’d met. It should have frightened her then, but it hadn’t. How could she fear a man who held her as gently as if he thought she might break?
He carried her down the long flight of steps as easily as a basket of line-dried linens and lowered her carefully to the floor at the bottom of the staircase. “Easy, now,” he instructed her. “Lean on me.”
“I most certainly will not.”
Her refusal must have baffled him, as indicated by the faint furrow etched between his eyebrows.
Kate didn’t want to be responsible for dampening his mood, too, so she smiled and added, “I’ve been leaning on you for days, it seems. It’s high time I stood on my own two feet, don’t you think?”
His face relaxed—a little, anyway. Clearly, that hadn’t been the answer he’d been looking for, but she supposed it was close enough.
“When your ankle is healed, I’m all for it. Until then, you’ll lean on me—or I’ll pick you up again. Just think of the impression you’ll make on my kinfolk you haven’t met yet if their first eyeful of you is—”
“Fine. All right. If you insist. Whatever you—”
“Is that you out there, Josh?”
“Yes, Ma—and I’ve got Dinah with me.”
“Well, stop your lollygagging, the both of you, and get in here. We’ve been holding dinner for you.”
The massive grandfather clock near the front door counted out the hour, and Kate’s heart pounded twice for every resonating note. This meeting would be different, she knew—very different—from the casual hellos and polite pleased-to-meet-yous they’d exchanged earlier. This time, his sisters wouldn’t be able to rescue her with an offer to show her to her room. This time, she’d join them at the family table, where making conversation and eye contact alike would be required.
“How many are usually at dinner?” she whispered to Josh.
“Depends on how many ranch hands are riding the range, and how many were close enough to get cleaned up in time for the meal.” He shrugged. “Some days, twelve or fifteen. Others, twenty-five or thirty.”
All seated at the same table, at the same time? Kate would have asked the question out loud if they hadn’t rounded the corner at that exact moment.
Josh’s father rose from the chair at the head of the wide table, which seemed to stretch out forever. Kate tried to count the heads that turned when she and Josh stepped through the arched doorway, but by the time she reached seven, Matthew Neville had reached them. “Here, son,” he said with a grin and a wink. “Let me help you with that.”
“Matthew, honestly,” Josh’s mother, Eva, chided him. “She isn’t a sack of potatoes.”
The rest of the family laughed as the father and son guided Kate into the chair between theirs. She sat down, took a deep breath, and smiled sheepishly, keenly aware that except for the steady tick of the big clock, the room had fallen completely silent. Even the youngest child had stopped squirming and giggling to fix his gaze on the woman seated to his grandfather’s right.
“Matthew, Josh,” Eva Neville said, “please sit down so we can say the blessing. Everything’s getting cold, and you know how Lucinda feels about that.”
A short, husky woman burst through the swinging door that connected the dining room and kitchen. “Yes,” she said, wagging an index finger, “Lucinda does not like cold food.” She shot a playful wink at Josh. “You are forgiven, señor, but only because we have a guest today.”
Lucinda took her place beside Eva as Matthew stood and cleared his throat. “Dear Father in heaven,” he began, setting off a chain reaction of clasping hands and bowing heads that rustled from one end of the table to the other. “We ask Your blessing on the humble servants gathered around this table. Watch over us, Lord, especially those whose work keeps them in the fields. Bless the hardworking hands that grew and gathered this food, those that prepared and served it, and those who will share Your bounty here today. We praise Your most
holy name, amen.”
A chorus of amens followed the prayer. Then, the young man directly across from Kate smirked. “Way to go, Matthew—just the way I like my blessings. Short and sweet, nice and neat.”
“Sam!” Susan exclaimed. “Will you never learn?”
Her husband feigned surprise. “Learn what?”
“To show a little respect, especially regarding prayers. What sort of example is that for—”
“Oh, leave him be, honey,” Josh’s mother said. She looked at Kate to say, “We often refer to Susan’s husband as one of our ‘outlaws.’” Then, smiling sweetly at her son-in-law, she said, “And, oh, we do love and cherish our family clown, don’t we, children?”
“Yes, we love him,” Sarah echoed.
And the rest of the clan agreed as spoons clattered against serving bowls.
“Who’s that pretty lady, Mama?” asked the boy seated between Sam and Susan. “Is she Unka Josh’s new—”
“Her name is Miss Theodore,” Susan quickly responded, “your Uncle Josh’s….” She glanced at her brother. “His friend.”
The child looked from Kate to Josh and then back again. “I’m Willie, and I’m thwee,” he announced, holding up three pudgy fingers, “and I know how to count to twenty-five. Want to hear?”
Kate started to say she’d love to—anything to shift the focus of their attention from herself to the boy—but Susan intervened. “Maybe you can show her after you’ve finished your dinner,” she said. “Right now, the only thing I want you to count, Willie, my love, are those peas as they move from your plate to your belly.”
The child did as he was told but kept his eyes on Kate. Such a charming child, she thought. And, much to her surprise, sadness shrouded her. The boy was yet another reminder that she’d probably never have children of her own.
Thankfully, the amiable conversation among the Neville family members and their beloved employees drowned out her sorrow and continued until the last slice of pie disappeared. To Kate’s great relief, she hadn’t been asked a single question about her life or her background, and although she’d seen many stares at the bright-red scar on her chin, no one mentioned that, either. Hopefully, their curiosity would remain at this level until she bade them a grateful good-bye.
Fifteen minutes later, the field hands returned to work, and the Nevilles scattered to perform their various duties.
Josh was the last to head out. “Will you be all right if I leave for a few minutes?”
“Of course, I will,” Kate said, getting to her feet. “I’m not a helpless invalid, you know.” As if to prove it, she balanced on her good foot and began gathering plates—until Lucinda put a stop to it.
“You should not use the foot, señorita,” the woman said, relieving Kate of the stack of dishes. “I will be back in un momento with something from my kitchen that you will like, I think.”
“If you’re smart,” Josh said, grinning as he donned his Stetson, “you’ll do as she says.”
“I wouldn’t dream of disobeying her.”
“She and George have been with us since I was in diapers. They never had young’uns of their own, and since they can’t go back to Mexico, we’re all the kin they’ve got.”
“But didn’t you say Mexico was just a few miles away, on the other side of the Rio Grande?”
“It isn’t the distance that’s keeping them here.”
Kate had read newspaper articles about conflicts between Texans and Mexicans. While it was wonderful that two families who should have been enemies had adopted one another, she would have asked what, exactly, prevented Lucinda and her husband from going back to their native land if Lucinda hadn’t chosen that moment to return for the rest of the dishes.
Grinning, Josh saluted and left her alone with Lucinda, who chattered nonstop as she went about her work. “I have something that will make it easier for you to walk, señorita. You sit while I get it for you.”
As Willie had all through dinner, Kate did as she was told.
She glanced around, admiring the moss green, velvet drapes flanking the French doors, the glossy, mahogany furnishings spaced tastefully around the room, and the tapestries of wild horses that hung above the sideboard and serving cart. Miniature rainbows glittered from the elaborate chandelier, and sunlight gleamed off of the polished brass candlesticks on the mantel. How had the Nevilles managed to bring so many fine things to a place so remote?
Then, Lucinda returned carrying a cane of knotted wood. “This once belong to mi padre. He use it much in the last years.” Smiling, she ran her fingertips over the curved handle, then met Kate’s eyes. “She will help you get around, but you will use only when you must be on your feet, sí?”
Kate accepted the cane and stood up, giving it a brief test. “Thank you, Lucinda,” she said, hugging the woman. “This is so thoughtful of—”
“Ho-kay,” she said, forefinger ticking back and forth. “Enough gratefulness. Come. I have prepared a place for you in the parlor.”
The cane did make walking easier and more comfortable, and as they walked the length of the hall, Kate thanked Lucinda yet again. In the parlor, she saw the “place” Lucinda had fixed up for her—a chair with bright, floral cushions, which sat near a bank of windows overlooking the front lawn. Beside the chair was a big, straw basket filled with vibrant fabrics, and on the matching footstool sat a black, metal box.
“My sewing kit,” Lucinda said, opening the box.
Peeking inside, Kate saw several dozen spools of thread of every color imaginable. Needles, pins, and a small pair of silver scissors were nestled neatly in the velvet-lined lid.
“Josh say to me that you can sew?” Lucinda said, relieving Kate of the cane.
“It’s not my greatest talent, but I can mend a sock or take up a hem.”
“Bueno!” Lucinda exclaimed as she hung the cane over the arm of the chair. “Then, you will sit. You will sew and enjoy the breeze and the pretty picture out the window. When I have finished the dishes, I come back to see if you need anything.”
And, just like that, she was gone, leaving Kate alone again, this time to admire the ornate chairs and plush rug in the parlor. Amazing, she thought, that the Nevilles had managed to carve civilization from the untamed territory around them.
Outside, the sound of a dog barking drew her gaze to the window. It was hard to believe that, somewhere beyond the serene hills, where rows of corn waved and cattle grazed contentedly, Frank Michaels was doing his best to confound the Texas Rangers.
When he hadn’t been torturing her, he’d occupied himself by sipping brandy and playing cards, and she’d used those hours to study him. During her weeks of captivity, she’d come to understand the way his demented mind worked. Frank considered himself better-looking, better-dressed, and better-educated than anyone he knew. The only opinion that mattered was his own, and, somehow, he found a way to blame every one of his missteps and mistakes on someone else. The definition of stealing was “taking what does not belong to you”—unless your name happened to be Frank Michaels. He’d stop at nothing to protect the only living being he truly loved: himself.
Was he aware that the Rangers had been temporarily sidetracked by their assignment from the governor? Of course, he did. Nothing escaped Frank’s notice.
Just then, a haunting thought caused the breath to stick in her throat. If Frank knew the Rangers were busy elsewhere, what would prevent him from hunting her down and making good on his threat to keep her from testifying against him?
Kate hands trembled so violently that it took her five tries to thread the needle. She plucked a brown wool sock from the basket and slipped it over her left hand. It could have belonged to any man on the Lazy N Ranch, but on the chance it might be Josh’s, she pressed it to her cheek and closed her teary eyes.
After a moment, she poked the needle through the thick wool, picking up a thread on one side of the hole and connecting it to a strand on the other side. And then she pricked her finger. There was just a s
mall droplet of blood, but she didn’t want to risk staining Sarah’s dress, so she popped her fingertip into her mouth.
Risk. The word echoed deafeningly in her head.
As long as she stayed here, the Nevilles were at risk. She’d seen firsthand how little value Frank put on any life but his own. He’d kill them all if that’s what it took to get to her.
It was more important than ever that she take Lucinda’s advice and rest that ankle, for the sooner it healed, the better. She needed to leave as soon as possible, to lure Frank as far as possible from these wonderful people.
Kate Wellington and Dinah Theodore had a lot in common, including experience that proved doing the right thing could be excruciating.
17
Beneath a cloudy haze of cigar smoke swirling in a Kansas City saloon, Frank Michaels sat in a chair tilted back on its rear legs, the sole of his boot pressed against the edge of the table to keep his balance. “So…?”
The scruffy man standing across from him shrugged. “So, what?”
Frank Michaels had never been a patient man. Learning how to pace himself, to wait, and to bide his time had been the toughest lessons of his life. The only lesson tougher? Learning not to let his impatience show.
The other men seated at Frank’s table stiffened as their boss’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. He inspected the glowing tip of his cigar, then met the bearded man’s eyes. “So, Ben,” he repeated. “Where is she?” He drew out every word.
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed once before he croaked, “In Eagle Pass.”
“Alive?”
“Alive.”
“Ben, Ben, Ben,” Frank said, dragging on the cigar. “You disappoint me.”
Ben cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Couldn’t get a clear shot,” he said, his voice wavering slightly.
Frank blew a stream of smoke directly at his face. “And what, pray tell, prevented you from doing what I paid you to do?”
“Hmpf. Ain’t seen no money yet.”
