* * * * *
Some of Tessa’s courage faltered when Mason arrived to take her home. It was easy to be brave with Wolf and with Cynthia, but alone in the carriage, doubts assailed her. Her father was accustomed to having things his way; as far as he was concerned, his way was the only way! She didn’t want to argue with him. Even though she hadn’t lived under his roof for ten years, she remembered how much she had loved him when she was a little girl. She still loved him, even though, at times, he seemed stricter and more rigid than she recalled. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, nor did she want to spend the rest of her life in San Francisco. She missed Wolf. She missed his ranch, the vast countryside uncluttered by buildings and people, the vast blue sky, the quiet nights.
She sat up straight and squared her shoulders. She was a big girl now, old enough to make her own decisions, old enough to choose her own husband and decide where and how she would live.
Smiling faintly, she gazed out the carriage window. Everything would work out somehow. It just had to.
* * * * *
As it turned out, she was the one who was late for dinner. Hart gave her a disapproving look when he opened the door.
“Your parents are already at dinner, Miss,” he said.
“Thank you, Hart.” Removing her hat, Tessa handed it to him, then hurried into the dining room.
Her father pulled his watch from his pocket, looked at it, then looked up at her, one brow arched.
Teressa slid into her chair, unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Rosalia picked up the tiny silver bell beside her plate and rang it. Moments later, Mrs. Rochefort set a plate before Teressa.
“How is Cynthia?” Rosalia asked.
“She’s well.”
Her father’s gaze locked with hers. “Did you have a pleasant day together?”
Something in her father’s tone made Teressa suddenly uneasy. “Yes, of course.”
“Just the two of you?”
Teressa nodded. “Her parents are out of town, you know, visiting Cyn’s brother in Sacramento.”
“Alfred is doing very well, I hear,” Rosalia remarked.
“Yes,” Teressa said. “Cynthia said they’re going to make him a partner in the law firm.”
“Alfred is a good man,” her father remarked. “A credit to his family.”
“Yes, indeed,” Teressa agreed. She was relieved when her father changed the subject.
Keeping her gaze on her plate, she paid little attention to her parents’ conversation. She had a horrible feeling that her father knew where she had spent the day, but that was impossible. Wasn’t it?
She excused herself from the table as soon as the meal was over. Upstairs, in her room, she paced the floor. Wolf had remarked that he felt as though they were being watched. Had someone seen her coming out of the hotel with Wolf and reported it to her father? The very idea was appalling.
Going to the window, she stared into the distance. Surely, if her father suspected something, he would have remarked on it at dinner. Patience was one virtue her father lacked. When he was upset, everyone knew it.
Taking a deep breath, she told herself there was nothing to worry about.
She was still telling herself that when she went to bed that night.
* * * * *
After saying goodbye to Teressa, Chance left Smoke at the livery, then stopped in the hotel dining room for dinner. Sitting there, eating fried steak and potatoes, he couldn’t help smiling as his thoughts turned toward Teressa and the day they had spent together. She was everything he had ever dreamed of and never hoped to have. Warm, caring, giving, with more passion than any woman he had ever known. It was incredible that she loved him, that she was willing to give up a life of ease and refinement to marry him. He only hoped that, after a month or two of living on the ranch, she wouldn’t regret it.
Leaving the dining room, he stood on the boardwalk for a few minutes and then made his way to the saloon across the street. It didn’t take long to find a vacant place at one of the poker tables and he settled back in his chair, glad to have a way to pass the next few hours.
The men at the table were all strangers to each other, which kept small talk at a minimum, which suited Chance just fine. He won several hands and bought a round of drinks.
He had just picked up a fresh hand when he felt that warning tingle on the back of his neck. He tossed a dollar into the pot, put his cards face down on the table, then glanced toward the bar, as if he were looking for the bartender. His gaze moved over the faces of those standing at the rail. No one seemed to be paying him any attention; none of the men avoided his glance but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
He lost the next two hands, threw in the third and left the saloon. He ducked into the doorway of the building at the end of the boardwalk, listening for the sound of footsteps following him, laughed softly when he heard nothing.
Emerging from the shadows, he started across the street.
The faint creak of a footfall behind him was his only warning. He started to turn when white hot pain exploded across the back of his head and then the world went black.
* * * * *
“So, Tess, what are your plans for the day?” Edward asked as they sat down to lunch on Sunday afternoon.
She unfolded her napkin, then folded it again. “I’m expecting company.”
“Company?” Rosalia asked. “Is Cynthia coming over? Why didn’t she come home with us after church?”
“It’s not Cynthia.”
“Did you invite this mysterious person to lunch?” her mother asked. “Should we wait?”
“No.”
Rosalia rang the bell; a few moments later, Marie served the afternoon meal.
“So,” her father said, “who is this mysterious guest?”
Teressa glanced from her mother to her father. “Mr. McCloud.”
Her father lifted one brow. “Indeed?”
“Yes. He’s here, in San Francisco.”
“How do you know that?” her mother asked.
“I…I saw him on the street the other day, when I went to Cynthia’s, and I asked him to come over today after church. I knew you’d both want to see him again,” she said, her words running together in her haste to get them out. “After all, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“Yes, of course,” Edward said. “We owe him a great deal.”
Teressa breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t questioned her further. Soon. He would be here soon. A million butterflies seemed to be racing around her stomach at the thought of telling her parents she planned to marry Wolf Shadow. She pushed her food around on her plate, too nervous to eat.
“Was the meal not to your liking, Miss Teressa?” Marie asked when she came in to see if anything else was needed. “Shall I ask Mrs. Rochefort to prepare you something else?”
“No, thank you, Marie. I’m just not very hungry.”
With a nod, the maid left the room.
Rosalia placed her napkin on the table and Edward immediately rose to pull her chair out for her.
Teressa rose also. Excusing herself, she hurried up to her room to freshen up. Wolf would be here soon.
She was downstairs, sitting in the front parlor, when the clock chimed the half-hour. Her excitement grew as the minutes passed.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Rising, she walked to the window, drew back the curtains, and peered outside. No sign of a tall man on a bay horse.
Where was he?
Two o’clock came and went.
Her father strolled into the parlor. He stopped at the hearth and withdrew a cigar from a box on the mantel. He cut off the end, struck a match, lit the cigar.
“He’s late,” Teressa remarked inanely.
“Perhaps he was detained,” her father said. “Or perhaps he was called back to his ranch on business.”
“He would have tol
d me.”
“Indeed?” Her father’s gaze bored into her, hard and unblinking. “Why would he do that?”
“Because it would have been the polite thing to do, since he knew I was expecting him.”
She flinched as the clock struck the quarter hour.
“Polite. Yes, though I do not recall Mr. McCloud as being particularly polite. Do you?”
“He was always kind to me.”
“He is not coming, Teressa,” Edward said.
She looked up at her father, her heart pounding, a sudden sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. “What have you done to him?”
“I?” He puffed on his cigar, then shook his head. “I have done nothing to him.”
Teressa stared at her father and knew, in that instant, that he was lying to her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chance groaned softly as he opened his eyes to blackness as thick as the grave. What had happened? And where the hell was he?
His head throbbed with every breath. The floor beneath him seemed to be moving and he closed his eyes again. When he tried to lift his hand to explore the back of his head, he discovered his arms were bound behind his back; his feet were tied at his ankles. The familiar weight of his Colt was missing.
Dammit.
Ignoring the pounding in his head, he opened his eyes again. He couldn’t see a thing except for a narrow strip of light beneath what he assumed was a door. There didn’t seem to be any windows.
The air was filled with the sharp tangy scent of the ocean; he could hear the faint lapping of waves, the creak of timbers. Fear spiraled through him when he realized he was on a ship.
Cursing softly, he closed his eyes again. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was behind this. It was obvious that Bryant had somehow learned of his meeting with Teressa. There remained only the question of what Bryant’s next move would be.
Chance wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. He never would have guessed her old man would go this far to keep them apart.
The hours passed slowly. He dozed and woke and dozed again. When next he woke, the light under the door had disappeared.
How long had he been here? His head throbbed, his mouth was dry. He wondered what Teressa was thinking. Was she worried, or angry?
He sat up a little straighter when he heard footsteps outside the door.
There was a faint creak as the door opened. A man stood silhouetted in the opening.
Chance grunted softly. “Bryant.”
Edward stepped inside. Drawing a match from his pocket, he lit the lantern hanging on a hook to the left of the entrance, then closed the door behind him. “Mr. McCloud. What am I to do with you?”
“You could find a doctor to stitch up the cut in my head, unless you plan to pitch me into the bay.”
“Nothing so barbaric as that.”
“Just gonna shanghai me?”
“Would you rather be dead?”
There was no answer to that and Chance made no reply. Instead, he asked, “Will you let me write a letter to my foreman?”
Bryant considered that a moment, then nodded. “I’ll have one of the men bring you paper and pen. The ship sets sail at dawn. If you ever make your way back to this part of the world, stay away from my daughter else a worse fate befall you.”
And so saying, Bryant snuffed out the lantern and left the room, leaving Chance staring into the darkness.
Chance dozed again, lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking motion of the ship.
He woke with a start when he heard the door open. A sailor who didn’t look old enough to shave entered the room carrying a lantern, a sheet of paper, a bottle of ink, a pen, and a hogleg that was almost bigger than he was.
He placed the paper, bottle, and pen on the floor beside Chance. Pulling a knife from inside his boot, he cut Chance’s hands free, then leveled the pistol at him. “Bryant says you want to write a letter,” he said, taking a step backward. “See that’s all you do.”
Shaking the rope off his wrists, Chance uncapped the bottle of ink and dipped the pen in the bottle. Writing slowly, he began to write instructions to his foreman, his mind racing. He had to get out of here before the ship set sail.
He glanced up at the sailor. The kid had lowered the gun, but he was watching him intently.
Chance took a deep breath. He was only going to get one chance to make a break for it.
Shifting his position, he lifted the pen as if he was going to dip it again. Instead, he grabbed the bottle and flung the contents into the kid’s face. Lunging forward, he grabbed the kid around the knees and jerked backward. The kid landed hard on his butt, the back of his head hitting the floor with a satisfying thud. The gun fell from his hand and went skittering across the floor.
The kid sat up, dazed, black ink dripping down his cheeks.
Chance drew back his fist and launched a haymaker. With a grunt, the kid’s eyes rolled back in his head and he went limp.
Pulling the knife from the sailor’s boot, Chance cut the rope around his ankles, picked up the kid’s gun, and lurched to his feet.
Lifting his free hand, he explored the lump on the back of his head. His hair was stiff with dried blood.
“That’s one I owe you, Bryant,” he muttered.
Blowing out a deep breath, he waited until his feet were steady under him, then peered out of the open doorway. The passageway ahead of him was empty. Moving slowly and cautiously, he headed toward the ladder that led to the upper deck.
The ship was quiet under a full moon. Holstering the gun, he climbed up on deck. Keeping to the shadows, he made his way toward the rear of the ship.
“You there! Stop!”
Chance didn’t wait to see if the sailor was talking to him or someone else. He climbed up on the rail and dove over the side.
* * * * *
Bryant slammed his fist on the desk. “What do you mean, he got away?”
The young sailor shifted nervously from one foot to the other, then cleared his throat. “I…uh…”
Bryant jabbed a finger in the boy’s direction. “What’s that all over your face?”
A tide of red washed into the kid’s cheeks. “Ink, sir. He threw it in my face, then hit me when I was down.”
Bryant jerked his head toward the door. “Go on, get out of here. And tell Twist I want my money back.”
The kid nodded sharply and hurried out of the room.
Bryant muttered an oath. Damn. Why hadn’t McCloud stayed back on his ranch where he belonged?
* * * * *
Teressa was coming down the stairs from her bedroom when she saw a young man leave her father’s office. Whether it was impulse or inspiration, she didn’t know but she followed the sailor out of the house and down the driveway.
“Wait, please.”
He stopped, started to turn, and then kept going.
“Please, wait!”
He stopped this time, his expression guarded as he turned to face her.
“What did you see my father about?”
“Business.”
“What kind of business? Did it have anything to do with a man? A man named McCloud?”
The young man’s eyes widened, and then he shook his head.
“It did, didn’t it?” Teressa asked insistently. “Do you know where he is? Is he…oh, Lord, he isn’t…?” She couldn’t say the word.
The young man rubbed his jaw. “He’s alive and well, miss, that’s all I can tell you.”
Relief washed through her. “Thank you.”
Turning, she hurried back into the house and up to her room. Whatever her father had planned had obviously failed. She had to find Wolf, but how? He wouldn’t come here again, she was sure of that.
She paced the floor, then went to the window and stared out into the darkness. If he wanted to get in touch with her, what would he do?
Of course! He would leave a message for her with Cynthia.
Feeling better, she went upstairs to get ready for bed.
The sooner she got to sleep, the sooner tomorrow would come.
The sun had barely cleared the horizon when she woke the following morning. Dressing quickly, she tiptoed down the hall and out of the house. Hurrying to the barn, she roused Mason from bed, waited impatiently while he harnessed a horse to the carriage.
“Are you sure about this, Miss?” Mason asked as he handed her into the carriage. “Your father didn’t say anything about your going anywhere this morning.”
“He must have forgotten,” Teressa said imperiously. “Please hurry. I don’t want to be late.”
Mason looked at her speculatively for a moment, then, with a shrug, he closed the door and took his seat on the box.
Teressa spread a lap robe over her legs as the carriage lurched forward. Her parents would be furious when they learned she had gone out without telling them, but she would deal with them later. Right now, she had to know that Wolf was all right.
The Witherspoons’ butler was not happy to see her so early in the morning. “Miss Cynthia is still abed.” His expression said that was where she should be, too.
“I must see her right away, Manly. Please tell her I’m here.”
“Very well, Miss. Come in.” Manly stepped back so she could enter the foyer.
Teressa stepped over the threshold and followed Manly into the parlor. It was a large room with high ceilings and green and gold striped wallpaper. Windows overlooked the street and the side yard. Lamps with fancy fringed shades set on the tables. A thick carpet covered the floor.
He gestured at a curved sofa. “Sit down, please.”
She did as he asked, only to gain her feet again as soon as he left the room. She was too agitated to sit still.
She turned quickly at the sound of footsteps.
“Tess, what on earth are you doing here at this time of the morning?” Cynthia asked. She smothered a yawn behind her hand. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Has Wolf been here? Did he leave any message for me?”
“Is that what this is all about?” she asked, yawning. “He came by late last night. He gave me a letter and asked if I’d give it to you today.” She yawned again. “It must be important, since you couldn’t wait until a decent hour to pick it up. My father was very upset that I had a male caller at such an hour.”
Wolf Shadow Page 27
