Last Chance

by Jill Marie Landis

  "And you have to stay away from scoundrels like Lane Cassidy," Stuart reminded her. He was standing by the window, his coat open, his hands shoved in his pockets. Sunlight slipped in around the edge of the shade and glinted off the gold watch fob dangling from his vest.

  At that moment, Rachel was unable to summon what little composure she had left. Silent for too long, she reminded herself of the resolution she had made last night. Just as she refused to wear black in Stuart's memory any longer, so too did she refuse to be dictated to by his parents.

  "You have no right to tell me with whom I may, or may not, associate." Rachel tried to appear as cool and calm as she could manage.

  Loretta got to her feet. Her lips were quivering with rage. "Do you mean to tell me you are going to see that… that desperado again?"

  "I have no idea," Rachel said honestly. "But whether I do or not will be based on my own decision and certainly not because of anything you said here today. Now, if you don't mind, I seem to have developed a throbbing headache."

  Loretta was so stunned by the smooth dismissal, she was shaking as she bent to retrieve her parasol. "I don't know what's come over you, Rachel. Why, to treat us this way after all we've done for you and Ty in your time of need…"

  Stuart walked up behind his wife. He stared hard at Rachel, as if in warning. "I'm sure once Rachel has time to think things through she'll come to her senses. We'll let you know the details of Robert's dinner party," he added, deftly guiding his wife toward the hall. "Go to the carriage, Loretta. I have one thing more to say to Rachel and then I'll be right out."

  "But—"

  "Go, Loretta."

  Obviously flustered, Loretta went down the hall, a furious expression on her face. Rachel braced herself for what she feared was to come.

  "If you know what's good for you, you won't see that man again," Stuart said, his voice low and very definitely threatening.

  Rachel fisted her hands within the folds of her skirt. She stared into faded eyes exactly like her husband's. Both men had been coldly determined, volatile, highly dangerous if challenged. Rachel knew that her independence was at stake. Even though a quiver of fear shook her, she didn't dare back down before his glacial stare.

  "This is my home. I'll do as I please."

  "And where my grandson is concerned, I'll step in to do what's best for him. Don't ever forget that."

  "Are you using Ty to threaten me?"

  "I'm just warning you, that's all." He gave her a quick, head-to-toe once-over and then smirked. "I doubt a man like Lane Cassidy will be around long once he gets a taste of you. After all, if you'd had any talents at pleasing a man, my son wouldn't have had to turn to whores, would he?"

  Before she realized what she was doing, Rachel reached up to slap him. He grabbed her wrist and held it, slowly applying pressure. Rachel refused to show any sign of pain. Finally, he let go. He leaned closer, barely whispering, his face inches from hers.

  "Stuart told me all about you. Said you had about as much life in bed as a porcelain doll." He looked her up and down with disdain. "Dolls break. You remember this little talk, Rachel. Don't cross me."

  He stepped back and stared at her with vicious intent before he turned on his heel and started after his wife.

  Sounding a hundred times more confident than she felt, Rachel called out, "I'm thirty years old and this is my house and Ty is my son, Stuart. I'll do exactly as I please."

  "We'll see about that, won't we? We'll just see."

  As he rode across his uncle's open range, Lane realized that the land had not changed. The flat, nearly treeless valley curved upward, sloping into the foothills of the Big Belt Mountains and the spurs of the Rockies. Pasturelands stretched golden-brown, the low, weather-toughened grasses baked and dried by the summer sun and wind. Alders and cottonwoods crowded the banks of the streams and tributaries of the Missouri that cut across the valley.

  As he came up over a rise, the ranch proper, with its barn, corrals and outbuildings, was finally visible. He reined in and stared in amazement at the impressive, two-story house Chase had built for his family. Queen Anne in design, it appeared brand-new, or at least freshly painted, standing to the left of the old log structure that had been their home when Lane lived here.

  Even though he had read the reports, the shocking sight of such a grand house made his blood run cold and called to mind his reason for returning to Montana.

  For three years a suspect the Pinkertons had dubbed the Gentleman Bandit had been robbing trains in Wyoming, the Dakotas and Montana. Assigned to other cases, Lane had never been in the hunt for the Bandit. When he was suspended, he found himself with little to occupy his time and sat in the field office in Denver reading case reports.

  He was shocked to discover the Agency had named Chase Cassidy its only suspect. Given the location of the robberies, the Agency had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that the Gentleman Bandit could very well be his uncle.

  Lane didn't suspect Chase, especially not now that he knew Chase and Eva were married with two children, but for want of any other leads, the Agency apparently did.

  The Bandit was over six feet, with dark hair and a confident, well-dressed, gentlemanly manner. With a good suit of clothes and a convincing display of refinement, Chase could easily fit the description. The Trail's End Ranch was centrally located to all of the robberies, which had taken place a good five to six months apart over a three-year period.

  The reports indicated that Chase and Eva had been traveling extensively in the past few years, to Chicago, to Cheyenne, St. Louis, and now California. Traveling by rail.

  On paper, Chase's involvement looked like a possibility, and Lane knew the Pinkertons were so frustrated that they might be tempted to rush a suspect to justice. As soon as a holdup was reported, William or Robert Pinkerton himself would hurry to the Denver office to supervise, but so far the agency had found itself unable to hand the Gentleman Bandit over to the railroad.

  Precautions had been taken. Extra guards armed with Winchesters and revolvers were stationed on trains that transported bank funds. Burglar-proof safes, which took hours to crack, forced most train robbers to blow up the safes, and sometimes the money inside them. But the Gentleman Bandit had not resorted to such tactics. Somehow he was able to gain access to the payroll cars without calling undue attention to himself. The man was so canny that he could usually slip on and off the trains without notice.

  As Lane sat astride Shield, who chomped at the bit, anxious to join the ranch horses in the extensive corrals below, he experienced a sense of unease as he surveyed his uncle's spread. When Lane had left the ranch ten years ago, Chase had barely had enough to make ends meet. Now it appeared the Cassidys had somehow built a gracious home, refurbished the old barn and added on to the corrals. It was unheard of for any rancher dependent on the fluctuating price of cattle and the unpredictability of the weather to hit upon ten years of good times.

  Shield shook his head and blew, sidestepping and fighting the bit, raring to run. Lane gave the Appaloosa his head. It was up to him to find out the truth behind Chase's good fortune and lay the suspicions of the Pinkerton Agency to rest.

  Ramon Alvarado, Chase's foreman, or segundo, was waiting outside the long, low house made of hand-hewn logs that had served as the Cassidys' home before the stately Queen Anne had been built a few yards away. He stepped off the low porch, out of the shade of the overhang and into the afternoon sunshine, to greet Lane as he rode into the yard.

  As soon as Lane reached the house, he dismounted, preferring to hold Shield's reins rather than tie him to the hitching post that ran the length of the porch. Ramon was watching him closely, without rancor, but intently.

  Lane had not seen Ramon since his life had been at its lowest ebb. His last day on the ranch, Lane had purposely baited Chase, hoping to draw him into a gunfight, hoping Chase would put a bullet through him and end his misery. But Chase hadn't drawn at all. He had been more willing to die at Lane's hand than t
o bring him down.

  Lane had shot wide, then ridden off that day without looking back.

  "It's been a long time, amigo." Once tall and slender, the Mexican foreman had added a few pounds with the years. He was still well built, although slightly heavyset. Ramon extended a hand in greeting.

  Lane shook hands, then glanced over toward the new house. "Looks like things are going well for Chase."

  "He has finally found happiness."

  Lane slapped the ends of his reins against his thigh and shifted his stance. "It appears he found some money, too. And I hear they have two children."

  "Sí. A boy named for you. The girl has red hair like her mother." Ramon smiled, flashing a rare, bright smile beneath a neatly trimmed mustache. "Ellita is more like you than her brother is. She is in trouble every day."

  Lane smiled as much as worry would allow. "I hear they're all in California."

  Ramon nodded. "Should be back soon." His glance grazed the gun at Lane's hip, then shot back up to his eyes. "You're welcome to stay here as long as there won't be a posse showing up looking for you anytime soon."

  Lane tamped down his immediate irritation, but given the reputation he had purposely cultivated, it was an honest comment.

  "As far as I know I'm not on anyone's wanted list right now."

  "I'll get the key to the house," Ramon said, heading toward the porch again. A slender, blue-eyed woman with thick blond hair wearing a canary yellow and navy calico gown walked through the front door. She stopped when she saw Lane.

  Ramon spoke to her softly, nodding toward Lane and then the big house. The woman smiled and stepped off the porch, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked up at him.

  "Welcome home, Mr. Cassidy. Eva told me about you. I'm Lucy, Ramon's wife."

  Things had changed. Lane wondered where Ramon might have found such a beauty. Before the foreman could continue indoors to retrieve the key, Lane called out, "If it's all right with you, I'd just as soon bunk out at the old line shack." He glanced over his shoulder at the new house. "Don't think I'd be very comfortable in there, worryin' about where I put my feet or bumpin' into some gewgaw of Eva's."

  "She has so many beautiful things," Lucy said innocently.

  Many beautiful things. Things the Pinkertons suspected may have been purchased with stolen railroad cash.

  Lane felt the overwhelming urge to saddle up and ride out again, to ignore the signs and let some other Pinkerton operative uncover the truth. But, he reminded himself, he was a bona fide Pinkerton agent. He had come all the way to Montana to prove them wrong. Then again, if he made any discoveries to the contrary and ignored evidence, he would pay with more than a suspension—he would run the risk of being considered an accomplice.

  "The line shack is ready and well stocked. The cattle are grazing on the other side of the hills just now. You shouldn't be bothered."

  "Thanks. I'll stop by every day or so to see if Chase has come back." Lane tipped his hat to Ramon and then Lucy and mounted up.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  Seated at a wide library table in the guest bedroom, Rachel reached out without leaving her chair to tuck the lace curtain back, hoping to let more of the afternoon breeze through the second-story window. The table before her was littered with a sizable collection of colorful tins and decorative storage boxes of all shapes and sizes. Most of them were open, their lids set aside so that she could easily see the countless beads, bits of lace, faux pearls and feathers stored inside. Spools of colored silk thread were neatly arranged in a Japanese lacquer box. Beads were sorted by size and color, the feathers carefully laid out in an oblong box covered in aqua satin.

  Despite the heat of late afternoon, she had come upstairs hoping to lose herself in fan decorating, her favorite pastime. But aside from staring at an unadorned silk fan and picking out beads of all shades of purple, from near-white lavender to deep violet, she had failed to keep her thoughts from drifting to the confrontation she'd had with the McKennas three days ago.

  The sound of the Regulator clock in the entry chimed four, the notes echoing through the house. Rachel set the blank silk aside. She was in no mood to do more work on her latest project.

  She brushed her hair away from her temples, then ran her hands along the nape of her neck, chasing the stray wisps back up into the casual knot atop her head. Through the window beside her, she could look down at her garden. Due to her zealous care, it thrived despite the heat. Her arms and shoulders still ached from carrying buckets of water to each and every plant. She propped her elbow on the windowsill. With her chin in her hand, Rachel studied the variegated colors of the blooms below and let her mind wander.

  Although she hadn't seen either the McKennas or Lane Cassidy since their impromptu meeting in the kitchen, she had not stopped thinking about any of them. True to her word, she had hung on to her resolve and had not gone back into mourning clothes simply to appease Loretta. Delphie and Ty had been more than willing to give up wearing black and Rachel declared they should both wear full colors, although she continued to go about in half-mourning, content with subdued tones for the time being.

  When she caught herself wondering if Lane was still at the Cassidy ranch or if he had ridden off without a good-bye, she felt unsettled, a feeling which irritated her to no end. Lane had been on her mind, especially since Ty continued to talk about him every day—about his gun, or the snakeskin band on his hat—and to ask over and over if she knew when Lane would return and take him riding.

  Despite anything she said to try and dissuade him, Ty was certain Lane would return.

  "Me and Lane are friends, Mama," he would say, as if she had no way of understanding the bond between men.

  Whenever she listened to him expound upon Lane's qualities, she realized how desperately Ty needed a hero in his life.

  Stuart McKenna might not have been faithful to her, but he had done everything in his power to be a good father to Tyson. He spent at-home hours roughhousing with his son or telling him stories of his boyhood and what it had been like to grow up on a cattle ranch. Stuart loved to lift Ty up on his horse with him and ride proudly down Main Street, both of them outfitted in matching hats and jackets that Ty had long since outgrown. But unlike the articles of clothing Rachel had packed away with some of his baby things, Ty had not outgrown the need for a man's influence.

  Her father-in-law, as much as he claimed he wanted to take part in Ty's life, was too .busy with his ranching affairs to actually spend much time with the boy. Rachel was thankful that was the case, for she considered both of the elder McKennas far too overbearing. Their wealth had colored their view of life with qualities she did not want her son to acquire.

  She leaned across the table, drawing the canisters and tins closer. Scooping up a handful of beads, she dropped them in an empty box, where they would stay until she was in the mood to complete the fan. She had yet to choose a design.

  Pinned to the wall above the table was a grouping of various types and styles of fans she had collected or that had been given to her as gifts.

  Some were courtly models a century old with spokes of mother-of-pearl, ivory or scented wood. Others were smaller, less obtrusive versions, thirty or forty years old. There were also some hand-painted and needlepoint fans, and ones of satin, silk, beads, feathers or lace. Displayed in the center of them all was one garish, oversized fan of scarlet ostrich feathers, a gift from Eva Cassidy. Eva had admitted with a laugh that she had often used it during her dance hall routines before she had "settled down to become respectable."

  Rachel knew of no kinder woman than Eva Cassidy. That the elder McKennas held Eva in contempt because of her husband's reputation was laughable—for they knew only half of Eva's story. She had been raised as an actress and had traveled with her parents' acting troupe before performing at a dance hall in Wyoming. One day Eva had decided to seek decent employment and wound up working as Chase Cassidy's housekeeper. Eva's past was a well-kept secret that Rachel h
ad been privy to for years.

  As she untied the lace curtain and let it fall back into place, she heard the front door open. Delphie called up to her.

  "I'll be right down," Rachel answered, giving the room a once-over to make certain it was tidy. She couldn't abide clutter.

  Wondering when she would hear from Lane Cassidy again, she hurried along the hall and started down the stairs. Halfway down, the entry hall came into view. Rachel stopped dead in her tracks. Her hand tightened on the stair rail. Standing there with Ty's hand in his, Lane Cassidy looked up at her as if he wasn't sure exactly how he'd come to be there.

  "Look who I found in town," Delphie announced with a grand smile as Rachel walked down the remaining steps. "I took the liberty to invite Mr. Cassidy to supper tonight after he let it be known that veal oysters is one of his favorite dishes."

  Ty began jumping up and down. "He says he's got time to take me up on his horse before supper if you say it's all right, so please say it's all right, Mama." He cocked his head to one side and gave his mother his most appealing smile.

  Rachel glanced up at Lane. "Do you think he'll be safe?"

  "I promise he'll be safe. We'll just go to the end of the street and around the block."

  "Can we do it twice?" Ty begged.

  "From the look on your ma's face I'd say we're lucky to get to go around once," Lane told him before he turned to Delphie and asked, "How long before dinner, ma'am?"

  "At least an hour. That'll give you all time to ride around the block twice and even have some tea out on the porch." She winked at Rachel, who found herself able to do little more than fidget with the waistband on her skirt.

  "We'll be back shortly," Lane said, and stepped aside so that Ty could run out the door first. He looked back at Rachel and assured her, "I'll be careful."

  "I know," Rachel said, confident that he would be.

  Still, she couldn't keep from walking them to the edge of the wide veranda so that she could watch as Lane easily hefted Ty onto his horse. He mounted up behind the boy so gracefully that he made it look like one effortless movement. With an arm securely around Ty's waist and his hands expertly holding the reins, Lane started his horse out at a slow, gentle walk. Ty turned around and laughed, his smile beaming from ear to ear. He waved like a pasha on parade as they slowly moved away from the front of the house.