The Wayward Heart

by Jill Gregory

  Richards’ wealth was clearly evidenced by his fine, well-cut clothes—a gray silk shirt, dark breeches, and red embroidered vest. His boots were of finest kid leather, and his expensive Stetson was only one of a collection that would make any cowboy envious. But then it was only appropriate that Winchester’s most influential citizen should take pains with his appearance.

  As the clock struck nine o’clock in the little hotel dining room, Richards stretched out one long leg, examining the shine on his boot. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as he glanced soberly at the despondent Judge.

  “You know, I hate to say this, Judge, but there’s a chance we might never find the girl. I mean, there’s a lot of territory out there, and we don’t even know where to begin. What’s going to happen to the Circle H if we don’t? The hands won’t stay on forever without an employer to pay them and give them orders. And since Wes’s death, I’ve had my doubts about Rusty Jessup’s loyalty as foreman. According to rumor, he’s been stirring up some kind of trouble.”

  “True enough.” Judge Hamilton sighed. “But I suppose we’ll work something out if it comes to that. If we don’t find Miss Hill within a week or two, I reckon I’ll have to contact that fancy eastern lawyer about making some arrangements.”

  “Well, you know I’d be happy to buy the place and add it on to my acreage and stock,” Richards remarked. “I wanted to do that in the first place, right after Wes was killed. It seemed to me that I’d be doing his daughter a favor by taking it off her hands.”

  He shook his head ruefully. “If only she’d agreed to sell then, none of this would have happened. She’d still be safe and happy back east with all her city friends, instead of—”

  “Please, don’t say any more, Matt,” Judge Hamilton interrupted him. “I can’t bear to think about it.”

  “I feel the same way, Judge. But I can’t help hoping that by some miracle she’ll turn up. I’d like to own the Circle H, naturally, but I’d hate like hell to think that I was profiting by that poor young woman’s misfortune.”

  He started to sip absently at his half-filled coffee cup, then pushed it away in disgust as the cold, bitter liquid touched his lips. “Damn, I feel so helpless. Wesley Hill was my closest friend, one of the finest men I knew! It’s frustrating as hell to know that his daughter is out there somewhere, in trouble, and that there’s nothing I can do to help her. That poor kid—she’s only a schoolgirl, scarcely used to the kind of treatment she’s sure to get from those desperadoes. And Judge, from the photograph I’ve seen in Wes’s study, she’s beautiful, too. Real soft and delicate-looking...”

  His voice trailed off as the Judge groaned miserably, and both men lapsed into silence, thinking of the lovely young woman they’d seen so often in the photograph. The girl they would in all likelihood never have the opportunity to meet in the flesh...

  “Can... can someone help me... please?”

  A breathless female voice spoke suddenly from the hotel doorway, and glancing up, the two men were shocked into frozen silence by the apparition they saw there. A young woman leaned against the door frame, her long dark hair a tumbling, tangled mass cascading about her face, a drab woolen blanket clutched tightly around her shoulders, below which could be seen the tattered remnants of a soiled, dust-caked lavender dress. Her face was pale and dirty, her green eyes swollen with recently shed tears.

  “Please, can you help me?” she said again in a voice that was barely audible. “I... I need a room for the night.”

  By this time, the two men had sprung into motion, scraping their chairs back hastily as they rushed to her aid.

  “Miss Hill?” Judge Hamilton demanded incredulously, as his arm encircled her waist.

  “Yes, oh, yes.” She nodded tearfully, leaning weakly against him. The Judge exchanged an astonished glance with Richards, whose expression was one of total disbelief.

  For a moment, Matthew Richards seemed stunned, as though a ghost had entered the hotel, but then he recovered his composure, and hurried to assist the Judge in helping the girl to a seat at the table.

  “You’re all right now,” the older man was telling her reassuringly as he lowered her into a chair, his eyes studying her white, dazed face. “I’m Judge Hamilton, Miss Hill, and this is Matthew Richards, your father’s very good friend. So you see, you’re in safe hands now. There is nothing more to be frightened of.”

  “Thank you,” Bryony whispered, closing her eyes in utter exhaustion. She opened them a moment later to gratefully accept the glass of water Matt Richards brought her. The cool liquid tasted delicious as it soothed her parched throat. Placing the empty glass on the table, she gave a small shaky smile to the two men hovering worriedly over her. “I’ll be fine now,” she told them. “I only need to rest.”

  “Can you tell us what happened to you, child?” Judge Hamilton questioned, sitting down beside her and taking her limp hand in his. “The other passengers on your stagecoach told us they’d been robbed, and that you’d been abducted by the bandits. They were mighty distraught, and that’s the truth. One of them, Doc Brady, offered a hefty reward to any man who found you. We were out searching for you until dark, but to no avail. Where did they take you? How did you escape?”

  Bryony shuddered as the horrible memories flooded back. “I was taken to a... a vile place called Gilly’s,” she murmured, staring up at the Judge with weary eyes. “Have you heard of it?”

  “Heard of it? Of course I have!” He frowned. “It has a notorious reputation—it’s a known hangout for all the rustlers, thieves, and gunmen between here and Tucson.”

  She nodded. “I can well believe it.”

  “How did you ever get out of there alive?” Matt Richards spoke for the first time. Bryony pushed her hair out of her eyes, gazing up at his thickset, bearlike form.

  “I was rescued. A man helped me escape and brought me back to town. He left me in front of the saloon.” Her eyes darkened in anger as she recalled the way Texas had refused to take her as far as the hotel, insisting that she go on alone once they reached town.

  He’d claimed that she’d made him late enough for his intended rendezvous that evening, and he wasn’t going to delay his pleasure one moment longer just to escort her along a perfectly safe street to the perfectly safe premises of the hotel.

  Her fists clenched as she remembered his insolent smile, the way he’d watched her stumble off down the street, but she was interrupted from dwelling on these rage-provoking memories by another question from Matt Richards. His voice cut urgently into her thoughts.

  “Who was the man who rescued you, Miss Hill? Do you know his name?” His black eyes stared piercingly into hers, but Judge Hamilton shook his head.

  “Matt, I reckon she’s had enough questions for one night. Let’s wake up Frank and his missus and have them settle her in a room. We’ll find out more about this business tomorrow.”

  Richards nodded grimly and strode off to awaken the hotel owner and his wife, who had already retired to their modest room across from the hotel kitchen. He returned shortly, followed by the disgruntled couple who were hurriedly pulling on dressing robes over their nightwear.

  “What in tarnation is this all about, Judge?” Frank Billings frowned irritably, until he saw the dark-haired girl seated at the dining table. A low whistle sounded from between his lips. “Is that her? The kidnapped woman?” he cried in amazement.

  “It sure is. This is Miss Bryony Hill, in the flesh.” Judge Hamilton looked as pleased as though he personally had rescued the lady from her recent peril. “She needs a room, Frank. As you can see, she’s pretty worn out.”

  “Land sakes, ‘course she is.” Edna Billings pushed past her startled husband to bustle solicitously over to Bryony. “You just come with me, honey. We’ll fix you up in a real nice soft featherbed and you’ll be as good as new come mornin’.”

  She surveyed her charge’s bedraggled appearance and shook her head. “Hmmm. Looks like a nice hot bath is a good idea first
off, honey. It’ll help ease those aching bones, I promise you that. Come on, I’ll help you upstairs. Frank, for heaven’s sake, don’t just stand there like a ninny—bring her baggage along and fetch some water for her bath. Hurry it up now, or I’ll give you a tongue-lashing you won’t soon forget!”

  With these words, the peppery little gray-haired woman took charge of the situation, sending her hapless husband scampering into action, while the Judge and Matt Richards watched in silence. When Bryony had disappeared around the second floor landing, supported by Mrs. Billings’s solid arm, Judge Hamilton turned away to pick up his old black hat, settling it upon his head with an air of relief.

  But Matt Richards continued staring at the now empty stairway. He gave a start when Judge Hamilton spoke suddenly beside him, breaking his reverie.

  “Ready to go, Matt?” the Judge inquired.

  “Sure thing.” Richards’s sober, handsome face immediately broke into a smile. “Well, Judge, it appears that all our worrying was for nothing. Bryony Hill turned out to be one lucky young woman.”

  The Judge readily assented, and the two men left the hotel, each headed for his separate lodgings.

  Upstairs, Bryony sank dazedly into the bath that had been so hurriedly prepared for her. Mr. Billings had vanished, but his wife still scurried about the small, tidy room. Bryony’s torn clothing and the woolen saddle blanket had been tossed into a careless pile on the floor beside the tub. Edna Billings folded them and set them on a small bureau as Bryony hurried to wash away the grime of her day’s adventures. She groaned as her sore muscles protested each little movement, but the hot, sudsy water felt wonderfully relaxing to her tortured body.

  While she was washing the sand and grit from her hair, Mrs. Billings bade her good night and departed, shutting the door behind her to leave Bryony alone in the small, spotless hotel bedroom with its pretty print wallpaper and drawn muslin curtains.

  By the time she finished rinsing herself clean and patting her aching body with the thick towel the woman had left, Bryony was too tired to look through her trunk for a nightgown, so she climbed into bed completely nude. The sheets felt cool and refreshing, the bed exquisitely soft. Her eyes fluttered shut as she basked in the sublime comfort of the moment. But tired as she was, sleep did not come to her immediately. Her mind whirled with a jumble of disturbed thoughts. The awful events of the day haunted her, as did unnerving doubts about the future.

  Maybe I’m not cut out for life in the west, she thought. Maybe Roger and Mr. Parker and Miss Marsh were right when they told me that the frontier was no place for a girl who was alone in the world and completely dependent upon herself. Maybe I should have listened to them—sold the Circle H to Matthew Richards when he first offered to buy it, and married Roger, despite his faults.

  After all, Roger had wanted her, and he’d have taken care of her, however superficial his reasons.

  She shifted restlessly on the bed. It isn’t too late, she thought miserably. She could still go back. She could catch the next stage bound for St. Louis and return to the life she’d been bred to lead, a life vastly different from the violence and hardships she’d already encountered in this wild land.

  The prospect was dismal, though, for she hated the idea of having to admit failure. Yet she couldn’t dismiss it from her mind, not after the harrowing experiences of this day.

  Finally, besieged by doubts, her spirits sagging with defeat, she drifted off to sleep, thankful for a brief reprieve from making any decisions until the morning.

  Chapter Eight

  Sunshine streaked into the room, unhindered by the thin blue-and-white-print muslin curtains that rustled softly in the April morning breeze.

  The glow of light and warmth spreading across the clean, bare wooden floor, touching the bed and the girl sleeping deeply upon it, grew increasingly brighter and more intense as the hours of the morning wore on and noon approached. It was this shimmering glow that finally awakened Bryony, as the warm brightness at last penetrated the heavy oblivion of her slumber.

  She stretched, yawned, and opened her eyes, staring blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings. At first, nothing registered; her sleep-fogged mind struggled to recall where she was.

  But then her memory rushed back with a sudden jolt that coincided with a knock on the hotel room door. Hurriedly, she snatched the cool bed sheet and wrapped it about her before padding quickly to the door.

  “Who’s there?” She leaned cautiously against the paneled wood.

  “Edna Billings. I’ve brought you a bite of breakfast,” the hotel keeper’s wife answered promptly. “Open up this here door, honey. This tray is getting mighty heavy.”

  A moment later, Edna was setting the tray down on the night stand.

  “Here you go. Brought you some coffee and my fresh home-baked bread. When you come downstairs, I’ll whip up a batch of eggs and some buttered shortcake, but this’ll tide you over ‘til then. I figured you’d be about half-starved.”

  “Thank you! I am!”

  Bryony began to eat ravenously, and Mrs. Billings, with a satisfied smile, left to begin preparing the rest of her breakfast. Bryony devoured every crumb of the homemade bread, heartily convinced that she’d never tasted anything so delicious, especially after she smothered it with butter and honey. The coffee was the first she’d drank with the benefit of sugar and cream since she’d departed St. Louis, and it was wonderfully strong and flavorful. The entire meal was a delight, rapidly bolstering her spirits, which, with the dawning of a sunny new day, were already reviving.

  It was spring, and she was young, and a whole exciting new world stretched before her. Gone were the doubts and fears of the previous night; yesterday had been a horrible nightmare, but all that was over now and this was a new day, a chance for a fresh start.

  All thoughts of returning to St. Louis ebbed away as she felt a new determination to make a success of her life in the west. She would prove to Roger, to everyone, that she could survive in the toughest of conditions.

  With surging confidence she finished her meal and searched through her trunk for some clothes. She selected one of her prettiest gowns, with the intention of making a smashing impression upon everyone she should meet today.

  After last night’s unpropitious beginning she knew she had to do everything in her power to show the people of Winchester that she wasn’t helpless, or given to defeat, and that she was, instead, a competent, independent woman, strong enough to conquer life on the frontier.

  She washed and completed her toilette quickly, then stood a moment before the tall chipped mirror that hung from the wall opposite the window.

  She studied her reflection in its shining surface. Completely without vanity, she knew she looked splendid. Her gown of white muslin was charmingly pretty, with a low décolletage that was just daring enough without being boldly immodest. Her dark hair contrasted dramatically with the white gown. She’d dressed it in a cluster of ebony ringlets that dangled prettily about her oval-shaped face, enhancing her cheekbones, and calling attention to her jade green eyes. But surveying herself, she frowned.

  Something was missing.

  But what?

  With a sudden inspiration she began rummaging once more through her trunk. Her jewel box was inside and contained just what she needed to complete her toilette: a dainty gold heart-shaped locket on a gold chain.

  She found it quickly, but paused for a moment to stare at the assortment of jewels in her possession as a startling thought struck her.

  How strange that the highwaymen yesterday hadn’t ordered her or any of the other passengers to open their baggage.

  The outlaws must have known their victims possessed other valuables in addition to the ones they were wearing, yet they hadn’t insisted on searching for them.

  Why not? Bryony wondered. It seemed very odd. It was almost as if they’d been in a hurry to collect what was readily available, without caring to bother about the rest.

  But if robbery was their motive fo
r stopping the stagecoach, why didn’t they take the time to do a thorough job of it? Why hadn’t they stripped the passengers of every single valuable item they owned?

  Perhaps, she mused, they’d been in a terrible hurry, fearful of being apprehended.

  But the road had been lonely, deserted, and the highwaymen had not seemed uneasy in the least. They had been in a hurry, though.

  In a hurry to hustle her away with them.

  She bit her lip uneasily. Something about this situation disturbed her, but she wasn’t sure exactly why, or what.

  At last she shrugged and closed the lid of her trunk with a snap.

  Instead of questioning the outlaws’ behavior she ought to be grateful they hadn’t bothered to search for her other jewels. Wasn’t it bad enough that they’d stolen her mother’s cameo brooch?

  With a sigh, she decided to try to forget all about the robbery, and about everything else that had happened yesterday. She turned back to the mirror to fasten the gold locket about her throat.

  But her fingers trembled as she secured the locket’s clasp.

  She couldn’t help wishing that this was the cameo brooch instead. It hurt to know that she’d never see it again. Her eyes clouded with sadness at the thought, for that brooch had been one of the few keepsakes she had left of her mother, and she’d treasured it for years.

  Most of her jewelry had been gifts from her father, as was this locket, but they didn’t have the same meaning for her as those items her mother had worn. For years, ever since her mother’s death, her father had bought her gifts that were used as a substitute for his own attention and affection. They were beautiful, it was true, and lavishly expensive, but they had never been able to compensate for love.