by Jo Goodman
She sucked in her breath a little, and embarrassed, tried to pull away. He wouldn't let her go. "I hadn't realized..." she said, her voice trailing off. "I didn't know it was so obvious."
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "I admit I was flattered. It was difficult to remember that it wasn't real."
Now she pinned him with her eyes, her brows raised in question. "Not real?"
He nodded. "I was your protector—not a good one as things turned out—but there was no one else. It was a natural progression of events that you should imagine yourself in love with me."
"Imagine?"
"Perhaps I should have tried harder to make you see your feelings for what they were, but I liked believing you loved me, and in the mine, when we thought there was no escape for either of us, I needed desperately to believe you loved me that much." He could not understand the growing incredulity he saw in her eyes or the rigid posture in response to his words. "As much as I loved you."
"Loved me? You can say that after the way you've treated me?" Michael tore her wrists away from him now. She stepped out of his reach. "I never imagined myself in love with you. I was in love with you. If I imagined anything it was that you felt something deep and abiding for me. It didn't take long to have the scales lifted from my eyes. You barely acknowledged me during the weeks of the trial, let alone touched me. I was nothing more to you than a supporting witness, a means to an end."
"That's not true. Yes, I was busy with the trial but I-"
"You were consumed by the trial."
"How would you know? You spent all your time with Drew Beaumont."
"Because you would have none of me!"
"Because I could never have any of you!"
For a while there was only silence. Michael felt the curve of the heavy armchair behind her. She sat down slowly, bewildered. "What do you mean you could never have any of me?" she asked quietly.
Ethan's fingers raked his hair absently and sighed. "You said yourself it was a good thing there was no future for us."
Michael grew very still, remembering her words, despising herself for ever uttering them.
"You're Jay Mac's daughter. Bastard or not, you could marry anyone, someone more like you than different, someone with your fine eastern manners and your love for the city. Your father would want a better arrangement for you than me, and in time, so would you."
"And that's why you never asked me to marry you?"
He nodded shortly.
"But the baby's changed things," she said. "You think I'll have you now where I would have turned you down before."
A muscle worked in his cheek. "I had hoped," he said, his voice strained. "It seems that's not the case."
"Tell me something, Ethan. If Houston and Dee hadn't escaped would you be in New York now?"
Ethan's eyes dropped away briefly, then he looked at her squarely and answered with painful honesty. "No, I wouldn't have come. The hardest thing I've ever had to do was let you leave Denver. That will be nothing compared to leaving you here."
Michael slowly released the breath she'd been holding. "I always thought I'd love a man who didn't make assumptions about my feelings, who didn't make assertions about what I thought. I hoped he'd respect me enough to allow me to make up my own mind and would never hold the circumstances of my birth against me. I may be Jay Mac's daughter, but I'm also Moira Dennehy's. And I'm my own person." She poked herself in the chest with her forefinger as tears gathered in her eyes. "I'm Mary Michael, Ethan. Mary Michael. And I don't want you to leave me behind. I never wanted you to let me go."
The step he took toward her was halting. His hand lifted, almost reaching out to her, then fell back.
Her eyes implored him. "Why won't you believe I love you?"
"Oh God," he said softly. He closed the distance between them, raising his hand to her face. His knuckles brushed her skin in a whisper caress. His eyes darted over her, searching, questioning.
Michael's hand slid over his, holding his fingers against her flushed cheek. "I love you."
She was achingly beautiful to him with her darkening eyes and her tumbled hair. "I never wanted to let you go," he said huskily. "I never want to let you go." He bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips. "Marry me, Michael."
The hint of a rare, wide smile touched her mouth. "Yes."
* * *
Houston's restless sleep woke Detra. Tired, she turned on her side and watched him, hoping he would fall into a deep, less painful sleep. The narrow planes of his face were flushed unnaturally; beads of perspiration clung to his forehead and upper lip. Detra touched his brow with the back of her hand. Her eyes darkened worriedly as she felt the unnatural heat of his skin warm her.
Holding up the covers, Dee examined Houston's leg wound. He had insisted she tend to his injury herself rather than seek real medical help. Houston did not want to risk identification at a doctor's hands and the killing which would have inevitably followed. Their trail would have been dirty then, easy to follow, and capture a foregone conclusion. Houston was willing to risk losing his leg rather than losing his life to prison.
Detra scooted out of bed and turned up the flame on the bedside lamp. The small room they had taken in the Bowery was without many amenities, including gas lighting. They had been willing to sacrifice those in return for anonymity in Manhattan's rough and squalid district. The pimps and prostitutes who shared rooms in the sagging clapboard house with them cared nothing about their new neighbors. The portly, ruddy-face landlord cared only about the advance on his week's rent. Detra had been careful not to indicate by either dress or manner that she carried enough money on her to pay the man's rent for years.
Standing at the bedside table, Detra sleepily fumbled with the glass bottles and stoppers that contained Houston's medicine. She used no measure but her eyesight to gauge the amount she poured into the mortar. She ground the grains with a pestle, added water to make a paste, then sat on the edge of the bed again while she cleaned Houston's wound and then swabbed it with the medicine.
His leg jerked once in reaction to her touch and she heard the slight, indrawn whistling sound as he sucked in his breath. He held himself very still for her after that.
"You should have let a doctor take out the bullet," she said. "Not done it yourself. It may come to a doctor anyway, Houston. I'm not certain I can save your leg."
"No doctor," he said through clenched teeth. He tried to get a look at the wound on his thigh. Detra was blocking his view as she worked. "Isn't it any better at all?"
"Some, I think. But I don't know if it's going to be enough." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Lie back down. There's nothing you can do except rest."
"I don't even do that well. I woke you, didn't I?"
She shrugged. "It doesn't matter." When she was finished dressing the wound Detra bathed Houston's face and neck with a cool cloth. "You should sleep again," she said. "I'll sit in the chair so I don't disturb you."
He stilled her hand. His eyes were very dark, hinting at some measure of his pain. "No, I want you here. You won't disturb me."
Perhaps it was gratitude that made him so loving toward her, Dee thought, or perhaps it was the constant, painful reminder of his own mortality. Detra had no desire to examine her good fortune too closely. She rejoined in the fact that he wanted her at his side. The depth of her own love for this man still stunned her; the thought of living without him nearly paralyzed her with fear.
In her own mind Dee had already proved she was willing to do anything for him. Houston would have agreed. She was responsible for the prison escape, his care, the fact that they made it to New York at all. Dee smiled as she slipped into bed beside him. He barely knew the half of it.
"Have you thought how you'll find her?" he asked, sliding an arm around Dee's waist.
She reached out to turn back the lamp and snuggled gingerly against him, spoon-fashion. "You haven't changed your mind, then?"
"No. Did you think I would?"
> "No, not really, I suppose I hoped you would come to your senses on the journey here, but this morning, when we arrived in New York, I knew there was no turning back."
"But you don't agree."
She sighed. "You know I don't. What purpose is served by killing her? We could have been in Canada by now. Or Mexico. I have enough money with us to take a ship to Europe. Killing her is a complication, not a solution."
Houston's hand cupped the underside of Dee's breast. The warm curve of her flesh filled his palm through her thin cotton shift. "Killing her is about a promise I made to myself," he said softly. "It's the only response to betrayal... the only proper one."
Dee shivered slightly, but it was not because his thumb was passing across her nipple. It was the chilling calm of his voice that raised her flesh and his talk of betrayal.
"And killing her will make him suffer," he said after a moment.
There was no need to ask whom "him" was. "How can you be so certain? They weren't married, Houston. It was all a lie simply to protect Michael. It wasn't as if he really loved her. You saw them at your trial. Don't you remember what they were like?"
Houston remembered very well, but he knew he remembered quite differently than Detra. Ethan and Michael hadn't sat together, hadn't spoken except in passing, but Houston had glimpsed Ethan watching Michael while she testified. The momentary unguarded look on Ethan's face told Houston what he wanted to know. It wasn't so difficult for him to believe. After all, until Detra proved to him that Michael couldn't be trusted, he had been better than halfway to falling in love with her himself. "He'll suffer," Houston told her. "You can trust me, Dee."
She hesitated a mere heartbeat. "Don't I always?"
Moving cautiously, Houston bent his head and kissed the crown of her black hair. "Now tell me how you plan to find her?"
Dee laid her hand across Houston's. "I'll start with the Chronicle. It won't take long after that. Two weeks. A month at the most."
"And no one will know about the poison?"
She laughed softly. "Darling, even you're still not sure about the late Mr. Kelly."
* * *
"Well, go on son, this is the time to kiss her."
Ethan grinned. He felt the presence of everyone else in the judge's chambers but he only had eyes for Michael. Bending his head he touched his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft and pliant beneath his, her mouth tasted faintly of peppermint. Her beautiful smile was full of promise when he drew back.
Jay Mac pressed a handkerchief into Moira's hand even as he fought to temper his own emotion. She gave him a sideways look, a watery smile, and squeezed his hand. Mary Francis saw the affectionate exchange between her parents and her own heart swelled with love. No one who saw Jay Mac and Moira together could doubt the depth of the commitment they shared. Mary Francis poked Maggie in the side with her elbow just as Moira leaned into Jay Mac and his hand came around her waist.
Maggie's smile mirrored her sister's as her eyes drifted from the wedded couple to her unwedded parents. She turned to Skye and saw that her younger sister had already observed the same thing. Simultaneously they glanced over their shoulders to look at Rennie. She seemed to have forgotten Jarret Sullivan's hovering presence for the moment because her mouth was curved in a gently wistful smile.
Michael turned away from Ethan and sought out the dear, precious faces of her family. In a moment they were surrounding her, smothering her with hugs and good wishes. Beside her she heard Ethan's low laughter as he was similarly taken into the fold.
"It's the right thing you've done," Moira whispered in Michael's ear. She drew back, took the measure of her daughter's glowing happiness, and nodded. "Sure and you know it, don't you?"
"I know it, Mama." Michael glanced at Ethan. "He's the one."
Mary Francis kissed her sister's cheek. "I suppose he knows you're willful and stubborn and can't possibly honor that vow you made to obey." She looked at Ethan hard, her eyes narrowing momentarily. "You know all of that, don't you?"
"I know it," he said solemnly. "I don't love her in spite of that. I love her because of it."
Mary's features calmed, her beautiful face was serene. She touched the crucifix that rested against her wide, white collar. "Good, because I'll break your kneecaps if you ever hurt my sister again."
"Mary Francis!" Moira admonished, shocked. She cast a significant look at Jay Mac as if to hold him responsible for his daughter's outrageous threat. Jay Mac held up his hands innocently but his eyes were amused.
Rennie drew Michael aside as the rest of the family spoke to Ethan. She searched the face that was so much like her own and found every nuance of expression that made it different. Michael's dark green eyes were radiant, illuminated by some deep happiness within her. There was a becoming blush of color on her cheeks and the normally elusive dimples on either side of her wide mouth were fully evident.
It was Rennie's mouth that had flattened seriously, her eyes that were dark and worried. "Say the word and I'll take your place," she said.
Michael laughed, pretending to misunderstand.
"With Ethan? Really, Rennie, don't you think he'd know?" She looked down at her abdomen then back at her sister. "We're not all so much alike right now."
Rennie took Michael's wrists and gave her a little shake. "Don't you dare make light of me. I'm thinking of you and the baby."
Michael's beatific smile disappeared. "I love you for this, Rennie. There's no one else like you."
"That's quite a compliment coming from my twin."
Michael hugged her sister. "I mean it," she whispered. "There is no one else like you. I don't want you to do anything that would place you in danger. I couldn't live with that, Rennie." She stepped back and searched her sister's face. Rennie was making a good show of being calm, but Michael knew better than anyone the strength of the anger that was being suppressed. "I'm sorry about your wedding, Rennie. Not sorry that you're not marrying Hollis, only sorry that it wasn't your decision. You believe that, don't you?"
"You know I do." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Jarret Sullivan's shadowy presence by the door. "I wish Mary Francis would threaten his kneecaps."
Michael laughed. "And what about Jay Mac?"
Rennie's emerald eyes shifted from Michael's face to where her father stood in deep conversation with Ethan and Judge Halsey. She shook her head slowly, her expression torn between admiration and anger. "I'm not one to back down from a challenge," she said. "I'll think of some way to outmaneuver him for the trick he's played me."
Michael almost felt sorry for her father. "Good for you, Rennie." She squeezed her sister's hands, offering encouragement. "But don't marry Hollis Banks to spite Papa. You'd only be spiting yourself." Slipping away before Rennie could respond, Michael joined Ethan, the judge, and her father.
After he had drawn her into the circle, Ethan's hands rested lightly at the small of Michael's back. He looked at the grandfather clock standing in one corner of the darkly paneled chambers. It was almost midnight.
Michael intercepted his glance at the clock. "Tired?" she asked, searching his face. The edge of weariness had been taken from his features the moment she agreed to marry him, but it had been impossible to talk him out of waiting. Never had so much been accomplished in so little time. While the hotel sent around bellboys with messages to all the people Michael requested, Ethan soaked in a hot tub and washed away the grit of travel. He shaved as she held up gowns for his opinion. He was partial to the green silk satin with piping along the collar and sleeves the exact shade of her eyes, but she knew she could have worn her dressing gown and he wouldn't have cared. His belongings were brought down from the fourth floor as she shamelessly pressed every employee of the hotel into her service. His clothes were cleaned and pressed and laid out when he was finished in the bathing room. By unspoken mutual agreement, they dressed on opposite sides of the bed, and only came together when he needed help with his cuffs and she with her buttons. Neither of them looked at
the bed but they were never more aware of it.
Looking at Ethan now, Michael could see the faint shadow of weariness cross the planes of his face. She wondered if he counted lack of sleep in hours or days. Michael turned to her father. His eyes were warm on hers. She slipped her hand into his.
"It's meant everything to me to be here tonight," he told her.
Michael smiled, shaking her head with bemused affection. "Jay Mac, I'm not at all certain you're not responsible."
His thick brows rose slightly. "Responsible for what?"
"For orchestrating Houston and Dee's escape. It set tonight's events in motion."
Jay Mac laughed. "Daughter, you've always credited me with more influence than I have. This is none of my doing."
Michael kissed her father on the cheek. "Twenty-four years ago you chose Judge Halsey as my godfather. I think you had the entire thing planned even then." She hugged the judge, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to his sharply angled jaw. "Thank you for tonight. It was good of you to do this for us."
The judge sighed and dipped his graying head in Jay Mac's direction. "As you said. The man's had it planned for years. It's hard to stand in his way."
"Don't I know it," she said. Michael fell back into Ethan's loose embrace and she looked at her father. "Rennie's going to challenge you, Papa."
John MacKenzie Worth smiled widely. "Then that's something to look forward to, isn't it?"
* * *
Ethan plucked the pins from Michael's hair. His fingers sifted through the tumble of burnished curls before she laid her head against his shoulder. The hansom cab swayed, rocking its occupants gently as it rolled down Broadway to the St. Mark Hotel.
"Jay Mac looked nearly apoplectic when Rennie caught my bouquet," Michael said sleepily. "Did you notice that?"
"I don't think it was the bouquet so much as your sister announcing she had every intention of marrying Hollis Banks come hell or high water."
"Your friend Jarret didn't blink an eye."
