She vowed it would never happen again.
“Thank you,” she said to Barbara.
The woman she’d thought was her enemy smiled back at her.
Annabelle was missing!
One of the maids apparently had let her out when Ben and Sarah Ann went to the stables to see Peppermint. Sarah Ann became anxious when she wasn’t found immediately, and that anxiety turned to wails when Annabelle still hadn’t appeared by bedtime.
Annabelle never missed her nightly bowl of milk. Never.
The entire household started hunting for the cat.
Barbara and Hugh, who had appeared together at dinner with mysterious smiles, mussy hair, and even messier clothes, joined the search.
Lisbeth thought Henry might be able to sniff out the cat, but when she went to find him, she couldn’t. It seemed he was missing, too.
The two animals had appeared to have a truce in effect—even a friendship of sorts—but …
With growing concern, everyone redoubled their efforts. Sarah Ann’s tears turned into wooden stoicism. She sat on the bed, tearless, staring blankly at the wall, clutching her doll and her mother’s scarf.
Ben stayed with her while others looked, but even he couldn’t comfort her. Finally, Drew relieved him, and Ben rejoined the hunt. As he went to find Lisbeth, thinking they could search the house together, he thought that Drew would make one hell of an uncle, and he hoped the Scot would finally agree to tell Lisbeth of their relationship.
But first things first. That bloody damned cat!
Ben found Lisbeth on her way to search the stables, and together they made their way, stall by stall, toward the back where several stalls were empty. As they approached the last stall, they heard a frantic bark. Ben rushed toward the noise, but Lisbeth was faster. The bark had almost stopped his heart; if anything had happened to Annabelle …
Then he heard soft laughter and saw Lisbeth, her lantern held high, spreading light into the corner of the stall.
A growl warned him not to come any closer, and he looked to see Henry crouched protectively at the front of the stall. In back was Annabelle contentedly licking several tiny kittens. As Ben tried to move forward, Henry bared his teeth.
“You would almost believe he was the father,” Lisbeth said, her laughter flowing like a warm current of air. Still chuckling, she leaned against him.
“I think he does believe it,” Ben said. He took the lantern from her and hung it over the stall. Then he pulled her into his arms.
She melted into him, sinuously curving her body against his. As if she belonged there. And she did. Perhaps he’d always known it but had been afraid to commit himself again, afraid of the loss. But as he cradled Lisbeth in his arms and watched the cantankerous Annabelle, now so content with the life she’d produced, and he saw Henry sitting there, protecting her, Ben knew a quiet joy that was worth any price.
“I love you,” he said, trying out the unfamiliar words. Then a little louder, his confidence deeper, he repeated, “I love you.”
She tilted her head to look at him, her mouth forming a glorious smile. Her lips trembled slightly and he saw her swallow hard.
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “So very much.”
He held her tight. “I have to start from the beginning with my practice, and even then I’ll be selective about the cases I take,” he warned.
“Good,” she replied, then she searched his face. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a … what is it?… marshal?”
“No. But, Lisbeth, there won’t be much money. I have enough to get us back and buy a small house. There won’t be any servants.”
“I always wanted to learn to cook,” she said contentedly. “And I have some money of my own and—”
“That, like Sarah Ann’s, will be yours,” he interrupted. “If anything happens to me, I want you protected—”
“Aye,” she said, but he thought the answer came much too easily.
“Lisbeth—”
She stretched upward on tiptoes and stopped his words with a kiss that went through him like a bolt of lightning.
His lips caressed hers slowly, and then his mouth moved to plant tender kisses all over her face. He felt her tremors, and her breath blending with his, the beat of her heart matching his own.
“Lisbeth.” He said her name over and over again, as if the word would make her his forever.
Slowly Ben ended the kiss and held Lisbeth away from him a little, watching her carefully. There were, after all, still a few formalities to observe.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered.
“And come to America with me?”
Her eyes sparkled like a clear night sky. “Yes.”
“I think I might need a whole ship all my own,” he murmured, not minding at all that a foolish grin was probably spreading over his face.
“A whole ship?”
“Well,” he said, “there’s you and me and Sarah Ann. Annabelle, the kittens, Peppermint, Henry, Shadow, maybe even Bailey.”
“How on earth are we—?”
“We’ll manage. Besides,” he added wryly, “I don’t think I have a choice. Sarah Ann won’t leave Peppermint or Annabelle, Annabelle won’t leave her kittens, Henry won’t leave Annabelle and her kittens. You should keep Shadow and—”
“We’ll need an ark at this rate.” She laughed. “But what about Sarah Ann? Will she—”
“Approve?” he finished for her. “Oh, yes, she wants a family. I’m not sure she was ready for such a large one, but …”
“And sisters and brothers?”
“I think that would make her very, very happy.”
“And you?”
“Yes,” he said, knowing it was true. “A dozen at least.”
She raised up to kiss him again. “I do love you.”
“Will you marry me before we go?” he asked. “We would save on a cabin. Especially since—”
“We’ll be taking half of Scotland with us.”
“Aye,” Ben replied, completing the bargain with a long kiss.
Sarah Ann listlessly turned to look when the door to her room opened. Lisbeth entered with Ben right behind her, carrying a big box. Henry plodded behind, a paladin of the first order.
When Sarah Ann saw the kittens, her eyes grew large and a smile spread over her face. “Ann’belle’s a mama!” she exclaimed.
“So she is,” said Drew, who was sitting next to her.
“And Henry thinks he’s the papa,” Lisbeth added wryly.
“They’re a fam’bly,” Sarah Ann said.
Lisbeth felt Ben’s arm circle her waist and she let him draw her against his side. “How would you like a family of your own?” he asked Sarah Ann. “A whole complete one with a mama as well as a papa. And a dog. Cat. Pony. Horse. Fleas. God knows what else.” He looked at Drew. “Maybe even an uncle.”
The latter was said almost under his breath, but Lisbeth heard. Her brows knitted together and Drew glared at him. Now, what was that all about? she wondered.
At the moment, she didn’t much care. Her heart was doing flip-flops as she waited for Sarah Ann’s answer. She loved the little girl, and Sarah Ann had said she loved her. But maybe she would be jealous of her papa taking a wife, maybe she wouldn’t want her for a mama …
Lisbeth’s last-minute fears evaporated when she saw the excited look Sarah Ann gave Ben.
“Fam’bly?” Sarah Ann said.
“I asked Lady Lisbeth to marry me,” Ben told his daughter. “We want your approval.”
Sarah Ann beamed. “I love Lady Lisbeth.”
“And we’ll go back to America.”
Sarah Ann’s smile broadened. “We’re going home.”
“I love you, Sugarplum.”
Sarah Ann gave him a smile of complete contentment. Then she asked, “Can Drew go with us?”
“Hell, why not?” Ben said. “If he wants to. He’ll be a bloody sight easier to tote than Shadow and that
elephant of a dog.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, he added, “I think.”
Drew was staring at him. Lisbeth stared at Drew. What were these two men up to? No matter. The idea of Drew coming with them to America delighted her.
Lisbeth felt Ben’s arms around her tighten.
“You’re sure you want all this?” he asked softly, his lips near her ear.
She turned enough so that her mouth was only a fraction away from his. “That’s what fam’blies are for,” she said. “I can’t wait.”
Annabelle meowed. Henry barked. Drew disappeared out the door.
And the kiss that followed promised a very large fam’bly, indeed.
Epilogue
Denver
The biscuits were burning again, and never had Ben smelled anything sweeter.
After numerous attempts, Lisbeth had finally learned to use the wood stove. Except when her mind wasn’t occupied with other matters.
He loved those other matters.
Drew Cameron had taken Sarah Ann and Henry to town, and Ben and Lisbeth used the opportunity to engage in building their family—and taking great pleasure in doing so. After a delightfully sensual romp in bed—in the middle of the day—she lay naked, snuggled in his arms, nibbling on the back of his hand. But then she started sniffing the air, too, and suddenly she sprang from their double bed.
“God’s toothache,” she uttered in dismay as he looked on contentedly.
He would give up biscuits any day in return for a rare lazy afternoon with her. Their small ranch lay outside the growing city, a perfect spot for raising Sarah Ann’s swelling company of animals, and breeding a few horses. Lisbeth’s Shadow was in demand, and while they couldn’t command Grand National winner fees, stud fees were welcome to help build their small stable.
Ben had hung his shingle in Denver six months ago, and he had a growing list of clients. He had just finished a trial that had proved very rewarding, winning back a mining claim for a man dispossessed by a large mining company. And he’d had a few other small successes, too. He wrote wills, checked claims, and represented only those defendants he believed in. He’d even saved one innocent man from hanging.
Diablo, now a struggling rancher in North Texas, had written to him. His first child had been born and named Ben. The gesture had been both unexpected and touching. Ben had held the letter in his hand for a long time before relinquishing it to a curious Lisbeth.
He’d never been so content. Though he couldn’t save the whole world as he’d once wanted to do, perhaps he could help just a little bit of it.
And Lisbeth and Sarah Ann gave color and joy to everything he did. As did Annabelle with all her children, Henry who still looked after them all, and Peppermint, Shadow, and Bailey, and his old horse from his marshaling days. There were more animals now: chickens and pigs and an elderly mule that had been abandoned. A new refugee seemed to appear every day.
And Drew. Drew had come to America with them, had helped restore the dilapidated ranch they’d purchased. He would be leaving in a couple of days, though, and Ben would regret it. They had become good friends. Drew had finally told Lisbeth that they were brother and sister, and it was almost as if she’d known.
Now Drew planned to seek his own fortune. He wouldn’t tell Ben or Lisbeth how or where, but Ben knew his brother-in-law was a chameleon who could fit in nearly everywhere.
Lisbeth returned from the kitchen. “The biscuits are burned,” she said happily enough, landing down on top of him. “Are you sure you aren’t disappointed ye dinna marry Fiona?”
“Aye,” he answered. “I’ll take you over biscuits any day.”
“Will you take two of us?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.
It took a moment for her meaning to register.
“Two?”
“Two,” she confirmed.
He seemed puzzled at first, then he grinned. “Ah, well, what’s another mouth to feed?” And his lips spread into a wide smile.
“Think about a trip back to Scotland,” she said with an impish grin.
He had promised one every three years. Ben closed his eyes. Just remembering the logistics of the last trip made him tired. It had been no easy matter, and he didn’t want to think about doing it again. Or maybe he did. It had been the finest trip he’d ever had, having married Lisbeth two days before they left in a double ceremony with Hugh and Barbara.
“I love you, little Scot,” he said.
Lisbeth touched his face with a gentleness that always humbled him. “Thank you,” she said, “for loving me.”
It was the other way around, but they could have argued that point for years. Instead, Ben kissed her slowly, still bewildered by the good fortune that had come his way.
Then they heard a bark. A very loud bark.
And a meow from under their bed.
They both grabbed for their clothes.
Ben and Lisbeth smiled at each other. The fam’bly was back.
And they were about to hear some news.
Turn the page to continue reading from the American/Scottish Novels
Chapter One
Near San Antonio, Texas
May 1870
Blinking back tears, Maris Gabrielle Parker ruthlessly hacked off sections of her hair just as she was attempting to hack off the terrible memories of the past week.
Don’t think about them.
As if she could think about anything else.
Images replayed themselves in her head. The gunshots outside the theater where she’d finished performing. Her father’s body jerking from a shot, then plunging toward her to take a second shot obviously meant for her.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she saw the tall lean gunman, face hidden by a hat whose silver band caught light from the hotel front, darting away as doors opened and people started pouring onto the street. She did want to keep seeing him, remembering him. She had plans for him. And for a man named Kingsley.
Her father’s final words echoed in her mind. A warning? A deathbed confession? And the unexpected, stunning legacy he left behind. Perhaps that was the most tormenting of all.
She stared back into the cracked mirror on the wall of a mirror in a cheap room in Pickens, Texas, a small town forty miles southeast of San Antonio where her world had collapsed in one violent night.
A haunted face stared back at her. She saw little of the singer who had brought down the house at the San Antonio Palace a week earlier, who’d attracted swarms of unwanted admirers. Instead, her blue eyes looked lifeless, her cheeks thin and white, her lips incapable of a smile.
She was alone now. After spending an entire life with her actress mother and singer father, she was all alone.
And someone wanted her life as well as her father’s. They may well try to rectify that unfortunate failure unless she acted first.
The killer, or killers, would be looking for a singer with waist long dark hair and flashy clothes. They would be looking for a readily recognizable woman.
They would not be looking for a grubby orphan lad.
She looked at the hair on the floor and then up at what was left of the long dark hair that had always been her best feature, and she caught a sob in her throat. That hair had disguised a number of imperfections, taking attention away from the too wide mouth and turned-up nose.
“Ah, you have the angel’s own hair, just like your mother’s,” her father had told her repeatedly. And she remembered her mother brushing it, telling her that a woman’s hair was her glory.
Gabrielle bit her lip. Her father’s voice was stilled, as were the fine hands that had danced so lightly over strings and keys. Tightening her fingers around the scissors, she started cutting again, tears falling silently and mixing with the strands of hair catching in her clothes or falling in desolate-looking piles at her feet.
She cut closer and closer to her scalp. Released of its weight, soft tendrils curled around her face, giving her a decidedly boyish look. Still, she would have to use a small amount of oil t
o keep it plastered to her head.
Remember the role, she told herself. Play the role. Nothing else matters.
To give herself courage, she hummed an old French lullaby. The sound was lonely, hollow, in the otherwise silent, stark hotel room. It needed harmony, but there was no one to hum along with her. She felt so alone, more alone than she’d ever been in her life.
When the last lock lay in the heap on the bare floor, she removed all her clothing. Opening a newspaper flat on the narrow bed, she laid her dress on it, along with the corset she’d been wearing under it, and her fine button-up shoes and silk stockings. She tied them together with a piece of string, planning to leave the bundle in a church pew. Perhaps the minister could make good use of them.
Then, sitting naked before the mirror, she opened her stage makeup box and began applying judicious amounts of dye. Enough to darken and roughen her fair complexion. Beginning at her hairline, she covered any patch of skin she thought might show, including the back of her neck, then went back and added a few strategic smudges of genuine dirt, which she’d collected for that purpose. The dye, she knew, would last for weeks without washing. She would take enough for another application. By that time she would have accomplished her task. One way or another.
Finally satisfied with the results, she picked up her petticoat and ripped into it strips, then used the strips to bind her breasts. Not that they were all that large, anyway. Her body was naturally slender, and its few curves would easily be hidden by the layers of clothes she planned to wear. Still, she was taking no chances on being discovered.
Her costume, purchased at the only mercantile in the small town where she’d left the stage, looked altogether too new. She would have to do something about that, she thought, as she put on the stiff clothing. Her hat, though, was perfect. She’d taken it from her father’s trunk; it dated back to a melodrama in which she and her parents had performed. Her father had bought it off a drunken cowboy for two bits, and it was as disreputable as they came.
Marshal and the Heiress Page 32
