by Pam Crooks
She had to find Allethaire, her best friend. Allethaire was in deep trouble, but then, so was Grace if she couldn’t save the Ladies Literary Aid Society from the scandal she’d left behind in Minneapolis. The precious funds the ladies had raised to build a grand library had apparently been embezzled, then found days later in Allethaire’s luggage, and then, stolen right out from under her nose, all in the shortest breadth of time.
Allethaire needed Grace, and Grace needed Allethaire. They needed each other to get the Society’s money back and save both their reputations.
As if finding Allethaire wasn’t enough, she needed to find her younger half brother, too. Carl, whose last wire demanded that she come to Montana Territory as soon as she could. His cryptic message didn’t give any details as to why, but Grace could only assume he was in trouble.
Again.
It had been a puzzling coincidence how both Allethaire and Carl needed her at the same time here in Great Falls. But it proved to be an important coincidence, too, reinforcing her belief that the decision to travel all the way from Minneapolis—alone—to this rough and barely civilized territory was the right thing to do.
Except she had no idea where Allethaire was. At least, not for sure. Since the night her friend had secretly fled Minneapolis under the threat of embezzlement charges, Grace hadn’t heard a single word from her.
But she knew Allethaire well enough to believe in her innocence and to know she would run straight to her father for help. The powerful Paris Gibson was one of Great Falls’ town leaders. So it made sense that Grace should seek him out first. Surely he’d know where his daughter was?
Grace shivered again and stepped back into the shelter of Margaret’s Eatery, out of the wind. She kept a tight hold on the handle of her black walrus traveling bag, heavy from the precious files inside. Papers that would help save Allethaire.
Grace battled a flare of annoyance that Carl hadn’t met her at the train station, but instead left her to fend for herself in this unfamiliar town. Wasn’t that just like him? To plead for her to come and then act as if he didn’t care when she did?
Sighing, she slid her gaze down one side of the dirt street, then up the other and wondered if Great Falls was always so deserted on a Sunday afternoon. The restaurant had emptied of its customers and would be closing soon. She had Paris’s address—thanks to Camille, the helpful waitress—but no way to get there.
Grace was accustomed to cabs running all day every day in Minneapolis, but clearly Great Falls had no such convenience. Now she’d have to find someone to drive her, even though she didn’t know a soul, and never mind the rest of her baggage was still at the train station waiting to be claimed. Or that dusk would be falling soon. Or that it had started to snow—soft, quiet little flakes that began to gather.
And she had no place yet to stay the night.
A disconcerting wave of panic rolled through her belly, until she noticed a light shining through a window across the street. A business of some sort, and it became something to focus on. Direction. A possible avenue for help.
Hefting her satchel, she stepped away from the restaurant, onto the boardwalk. Her eyes watered from the cold, and she narrowed them to decipher tiny letters on that window.
PLOCEI
POLCIE
POLICE!
Any officer at the Great Falls Police Station would know Paris Gibson. They’d likely know if Allethaire was with him. They’d know where he lived, or at least how to find him. That’s what policemen did. They found people.
Grace strode forward onto the snowy street in relief.
Suddenly horrified, she froze in midstep.
No. Oh, no. She couldn’t go to the police. What if they knew about the accusations against Allethaire? It wouldn’t matter how influential her father was, they’d still want to arrest her. In fact, they could be looking for her at this very minute, and if they found her, they’d throw her in jail, and Grace didn’t dare go over to that stupid police station.
She retreated backward to the boardwalk, but before she could turn around and make a hasty run to the shelter of the restaurant, she knocked into something tall. Something solid.
She whirled and threw her head back in surprise. Her mind recoiled from the savage stranger before her. An involuntary yelp leaped from her throat.
Beneath a filthy flat-brimmed hat, his black hair straggled past his shoulders, and his cheeks were days overdue for shaving. A strong, unclean smell clung to him—a vile blend of horse, wood smoke and unwashed skin. Dark, fierce-looking, he reminded her of the devil himself….
Lucifer could claim his eyes. Black as ink, remote, fathomless. Shadowed and ominous under the brim, they watched her, as if they bided their time to snatch her up. To devour and conquer and force her to sin.
“You look lost,” he said.
His voice didn’t match his appearance. Low and smooth, his words sounded vaguely French. Surprisingly civilized.
“I’m not lost,” she said quickly and angled herself away to step around him.
He angled himself, too. Stopping her.
“You’re new in town, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said carefully. Had it been so obvious?
“Is there something you’re looking for? Someone you need to see?”
Despite his concern, she didn’t trust him. No matter that every fiber of her being wanted to, that someone less prejudiced and more open-minded wouldn’t care how the man looked like an unkempt savage or that he had an apparent willingness to help her.
Grace had learned from years back in her childhood how her instincts were hers and hers alone. So many times, they helped her survive when she felt too overwhelmed, too vulnerable, to go on.
And now was one time when she had to be strong.
Is there something you’re looking for? Someone you need to see?
The words pounded in her head.
“No one,” she lied.
“And yet you arrived here alone.”
She stilled. Her brain scrambled to lie again. “How do you know I’m alone? Why, I—”
“Because I saw you when you arrived. There was no one with you on the train. No one to meet your arrival, either.”
She blinked up at him.
“And your baggage is still waiting at the depot.”
Her heart began to pound. He knew all about her. Because he’d been watching her. Waiting for her to finish her dinner and leave Margaret’s Eatery. Alone.
Her alarm growing, she stepped back again. “I was just on my way to the police station,” she said firmly. The officers needed to know that this, this riffraff had been spying on her when he had no right to do so. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll continue on my way.”
“You’ve come to see Allethaire, haven’t you?”
The words purred their way through the air, jolting her with their chilling accuracy. Grace stood frozen, staring at him.
“How do you know about her?” she demanded hoarsely.
Allethaire would never associate with a man like him. Never. She’d always surrounded herself with society’s elite. Community leaders. Honest and upright townspeople who were her friends, and her father’s friends.
Never a savage.
“I just do,” he said.
A horrible dread rose up inside her. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” he purred again.
“No.” Grace shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
He cocked his head, as if amused by her defiance. “Would you like me to take you to her?”
A new round of terror gripped Grace. A terrible fear that he’d found Allethaire, hurt her, kept her against her will.
It could happen, she knew. This harsh, godforsaken, barely settled piece of Montana would make it easy to hide her away, far and deep into the wilderness so no one could find her. Until it was too late.
“What have you done with her?” she choked. “Where is she?”
The savage gripped her elb
ow. But his smile never wavered. “I’ll take you to her.”
“No.” She yanked against his hold. “Let go of me.”
Grace shot a frantic look toward Margaret’s Eatery, but the windows were dark now. The restaurant had closed. The boardwalks and streets were deserted, too, and the police station seemed so terribly far away.
“You’re very beautiful, Grace. Do you know that?”
He tugged her toward a narrow path that ran between the eatery and a hardware store. A shadow-filled alley that would chew her up and swallow her whole.
Grace knew she couldn’t go there. No good would come of it if she did. She shrieked and dug her heels in, but they just skidded and slid in the gathering snow. She stumbled, writhed, and fought; the savage merely tightened his grip.
She was no match for his strength, yet she fought all the harder, throwing her weight away from him. Her satchel dropped with a heavy thud; she clenched her fist and pounded his body with awkward, frenzied blows. His thick fringed coat simply muffled them.
Her terror grew. “Damn you, let me go. Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”
His coldhearted silence unnerved her, but it was the cunning resolve in his stride that unnerved her more. He dragged her deeper into the alley, past barrels of trash and stacks of empty crates, toward a lone horse tethered to a tree.
Grace vowed she’d not make it easy for him to take her away. She’d fight and kick and scream—
Someone stepped out from behind the restaurant. A man. Tall, broad, lean. Silhouetted in the mouth of the alley with his feet spread and his body positioned between them and the horse.
Another scream bubbled in Grace’s throat. Dear God, she couldn’t fight them both, these two men who conspired to kidnap her for reasons she couldn’t in a million years fathom.
“Reckon the lady doesn’t want to go wherever you’re taking her,” he said.
Grace couldn’t breathe, could barely think, but her brain registered the low drawl as familiar.
The stranger tensed. “She’s lost, that’s all.”
“No!” She strained against him all over again. “I’m not!”
“She asked me to help her.” Straight teeth gleamed, an arrogant smile which curved the stranger’s lips. Never, Grace noted, did he take his eyes off the other man. “Women. Always fickle, aren’t they?”
Fickle? Fickle?
“Some, I suppose,” the man said with a slight shrug. “But not this one.” His arm lifted. His position shifted. In the dusky light surrounding him, an ominous revolver took shape. “And not now.”
She almost wept. She remembered him from the restaurant. The scar on his cheek, the way he’d poured her coffee, exaggeratedly courteous and faintly teasing. Mostly the way his eyes had lingered over her face…
Jack, the helpful Camille had called him. Jack. And the sweet ache of hope coursed through Grace’s blood.
“You’ll save us all a heap of trouble if you let her go.” Jack’s voice hardened. “So do it easy and do it now.”
For a moment, the savage-looking stranger didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Grace imagined him weighing his options, his abilities, and she held her breath for what he might and might not do.
Then, amazingly enough, he released her. “Of course.” He stepped to the side, lifted his grimy hands to show compliance and turned to her. Again, that smile came, as dangerous as it was charming. “It seems we had an unfortunate misunderstanding. Forgive me, won’t you?”
He would’ve been gallant if he hadn’t been so vile. Disgust roiled in her belly.
“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort.”
She moved to put more distance between them, her feet instinctively taking her closer to the protection of the revolver and the man who wielded it.
Jack met her coming. He kept his weapon’s aim steady, his free hand reaching for her.
“Stay right there, mister,” he ordered the stranger in a cold voice. “We’re going to pay a little visit to the police. They’re going to be real interested in why you—”
A violent push slammed into Grace’s shoulder blades, and she catapulted into Jack with such force she couldn’t think fast enough to avoid him. He swore at the sudden onslaught of her body, and they both grappled for balance.
In the blur of a single leap, the savage grabbed Jack next and hurled him sideways. His revolver’s aim lost, Jack’s arm hooked her waist to cushion their fall, twisting their bodies together as they toppled to the ground.
On the way down, Grace’s head cracked against an empty crate, and stars burst before her eyes. Jack landed with a grunt, his muscular bulk thrown half-over, half-under her. The air whooshed from her lungs.
For a dazed moment, he consumed her senses. His heaviness, his warmth, his strength. The roughness of his coat, the husky rasp of his breath, his scent—a bold mix of leather, tobacco and brisk Montana cold.
But in the next, he spat a vehement oath that blazed fire in her ears. He untangled himself from her skirts and bolted to his feet.
“Stay right there,” he ordered. “Y’hear me? Stay.”
He swung toward the stranger fast making his escape and took off after him. Alarmed, Grace scrambled to sit up.
The restaurant’s back door swung open wide. Bundled against the cold, Margaret Butterfield’s matronly shape appeared.
“Ach!” She rushed out with a gasp. “What happened here?”
Another woman followed on her heels. Camille, the waitress. “Oh, you poor thing!”
Grace attempted to right her hat and managed with only minimal success. A careful probe with a fingertip found the tender spot on her head.
“I’m fine,” she said, fearing it was only partially true.
“You’ve had the scare of your life.” Camille bent to slip an arm around her and help her up. “How can you be fine?”
“Did someone attack you? Who? Why?” Margaret demanded, helping, too. She brushed snow off Grace’s coat.
“I don’t know,” Grace said unsteadily. “I never saw him before, but he tried to make me go with him. It was awful.”
Camille enveloped her in a quick hug. “Of course, it was.”
“Another man—Jack—went after him.” Grace spoke around tears that refused to be quelled. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if he—he hadn’t come when he did.”
“Jack Hollister?” Camille appeared taken aback. “My son?”
“He’s smart as they come,” Margaret said firmly, producing a handkerchief for Grace, who accepted it gratefully. “If the man who tried to hurt you has any sense at all, he’d know not to come around here again. Jack and the law will make sure he’ll regret it.”
Grace nodded and tried to take comfort in her words.
Until she met the troubled light in Camille’s eyes.
And they both knew, no matter what Margaret said, the stranger would be back.
Chapter Three
Jack pulled up at the hitching post in front of Lindell’s Boardinghouse, dismounted and whipped the reins into a tight knot. If only he could’ve done the same to the long-haired stranger’s neck instead.
The no-good fool had gotten away, thanks to the close proximity of his horse and the advantage of a head start. Though Jack’s chase had been respectably swift and hard-driven, the bastard had escaped into the hills, his tracks lost in the rough and rocky buffalo grass.
What his intentions were with the Lady in Blue, Jack couldn’t imagine, but it had been clear by her struggles she was an innocent victim. At least, Jack had stumbled upon them in time to prevent her from being snatched away, damn it. Once he’d lost sight of the man and was forced to admit defeat, he hightailed it back to the restaurant. Not unexpectedly, the place had long since closed, and both Margaret and his mother were gone.
But he’d bet his last dime they knew something of the whereabouts of the Lady in Blue.
The dark, swollen clouds ushered dusk in early, and the boardinghouse’s windows glowed with lig
ht. Jack leaped up the stairs, removed his Stetson and slapped the brim against his thigh. Snow scattered over the porch.
Before he could clasp the knob and let himself in, the door swung open.
“Finally, Jack!” his mother said. “I was worried about you.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “So what else is new?”
He chucked her under the chin, strode inside and met the warmth from a crackling fire. The hushed quiet indicated the boarders had already retired to their rooms for the night.
She closed the door after him. “Any luck?”
“None.” His mood returned to grim. He hung his coat on a brass hook, added his hat, but left his holster of Colts strapped on. He turned toward her. “Do you know anything?”
“Unfortunately not. Margaret and I were just closing up the restaurant when we heard the commotion. We missed the whole thing.”
Alarm flared inside him. “You don’t know where she went then?”
Her head cocked. A knowing glint sparkled in her eyes. “Who?”
“The Lady in Blue.”
“Ah.” She nodded once. “Grace.”
Jack’s heart turned over. Grace. Funny how just knowing her name affected him. A perfect name for a woman who was all beauty, perfection and…grace.
“Grace Reilly,” his mother added.
“And?” He held his breath.
“She’s here.”
The news startled him. “Here?” Not with friends? Family? Or at a hotel? He pointed to the floor. “As in right here?”
“No.” Camille smiled and pointed a finger toward the ceiling. “As in up there.”
His glance lifted toward the stairwell. The hallway lined with four doors. She was so close.
Right here. Only footsteps away.
Anticipation flared in his blood. “I need to talk to her.”
“Later, Jack,” Camille said firmly. “She’s resting. Poor thing was still shaking when I gave her a room.”
He grimaced. Hell of an ordeal for anyone to go through, but it had to be worse for a woman alone with no means to defend herself.
Curiosity about her rolled through him—who she was, why she was here. Why she had no one with her. And why the stranger would want to kidnap her.
