Last Chance

by Jill Marie Landis

  "You said it was your business to know everything."

  "I'm only a Pinkerton agent. I'm not God."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Really. I'm not God."

  There was a small tilt to her lips that lasted no longer than a blink, but she had almost smiled; he was certain of it. He reached out to touch her shoulder, tried to gentle her by running his palm down her sleeve to her wrist. He caught up her hand and entwined her fingers in his own.

  "I'm sorry you've been caught up in this, Rachel. I really am. I would never hurt you or Ty. Ever. In your heart you know that."

  In her heart she wanted to believe. His hand was warm and gentle as his fingers slipped between hers. His gaze locked with hers, forcing her not to look away. His dark eyes were hypnotic, drawing her away from Shield, coaxing her like a moth to a flame, until she found herself in his arms. He reached down and wiped the tearstains off her cheeks, pressed a kiss against her temple, but didn't pull her up against his heart until he heard her sigh.

  "Oh, Lane, I don't know what to believe anymore."

  He reached beneath her chin and tilted her face up until she was forced to meet his gaze. "I know it's a lot to ask, but you have to believe me, Rachel, because everything I've told you today is true. All of it. Auggie, the Agency, the fact that Chase and Robert are both suspects. I didn't want you mixed up in any of this, but when Robert showed up back there without warning, I simply reacted. Now I've gotten you embroiled in this mess, and we're going to have to think of a way to get you out of it again—with as little harm as possible."

  It was a long moment before she asked, "What will we do?"

  Relief surged through him. "Am I forgiven?"

  "For now."

  He felt her relax against him. Her arm slipped around his waist.

  "Things are really in a muddle," she murmured against his shirtfront.

  "I'm afraid I'm about to make it worse," he said softly.

  Rachel pulled back. "How could the situation possibly get any more complicated?"

  He trailed his fingers over her cheek, brushed her hair away from her temple and then bent to press a soft, brief kiss against her lips. "I love you, Rachel."

  "What did you say?"

  "I said, 'I love you,' but right now I can't make you any promises."

  She reached out and traced his lips, studied his face, his eyes. "I'm not asking for any."

  "There are no guarantees I'll be around—"

  "I was married once, and that guaranteed nothing at all."

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  By half past two it was sweltering in the tight confines of the dingy office of Sheriff Arnie Wernermeyer. As sweat trickled in an annoying manner along the sheriff's temple, Robert McKenna stared in amazement as the overweight, underintelligent "Keeper of the Peace" lounged so far back in an oak swivel chair that it threatened to topple over.

  Except for a neat stack of wanted posters, the sheriff's desk was empty. The topmost sheet was printed in bold black type and called for information leading to the arrest and capture of the Gentleman Bandit. Sheriff Wernermeyer sat with his thick, sausage-roll fingers laced together and resting on his potbelly, listening with a blank stare as Robert relayed the events that had led up to Rachel's abduction.

  Wernermeyer yawned. "Let's see if I have this right. You want me to call a posse together to go after Cassidy because he kidnapped Mrs. McKenna? What does he want with your mother?" Arnie frowned as he scratched the wide girth above his belt and stared up at Robert through dull, faded gray eyes.

  Robert had to unclench his teeth to speak, slowly emphasizing each and every word. "He did not kidnap my mother. He rode off with Rachel McKenna, my sister-in-law, after he threatened me at gunpoint."

  "Why?"

  "Probably because I surprised him when he was attempting to rape her."

  "Maybe she went off with him 'cause she wanted to. 'Bout everybody in town saw her dancin' with him on the Fourth." Arnie followed up his opinion with an indelicate belch.

  Robert winced. He was so furious at Cassidy for making a fool of him that he had to fight the urge to leap over the desk, bury his fingers deep into the sheriff's fleshy throat and squeeze until the pig turned blue in the face.

  Instead, he said as calmly as he could, "She appeared to be struggling to escape when I came upon them. She screamed as he rode off with her. Besides, why would a woman of Rachel's standing take up with a man like Cassidy? She was clearly abducted."

  Wernermeyer sighed. He put his hands on the desktop and levered himself up, a move which sent the chair beneath him rolling back until it hit the wall.

  "You sure she was yellin' for help?"

  "I want my sister-in-law rescued, and I'll see to it that there's a posse riding out in ten minutes, with or without your help, Wernermeyer. Let's not forget who put you in office." Stuart McKenna Senior had hand-picked his son's replacement. In exchange, Wernermeyer turned a blind eye to any range disputes in which the cattle baron was involved.

  The lawman paled. "I'll go over to Carberry's and get the word out, and then I'll go to the schoolhouse and ring the bell. That'll bring everybody runnin' to see what's going on."

  "Fine. I'm ready to ride. You can send someone to the saloon for me after you've gathered the men."

  Arnie lumbered over to the hat rack. When he reached up to collect a well-worn, buff-colored ten-gallon hat and shove it on his head, the sweat stain that marred the underarm of his shirt was clearly visible.

  Robert turned away in disgust. "Wernermeyer?"

  "What?"

  "Tell them we're not coming back empty-handed."

  McKenna moved to the open doorway and watched the man amble down the street toward Carberry's. In minutes the whole town would know Rachel had been carried off by Lane Cassidy. He smiled, a slow, knowing smile. Once she was rescued, Rachel would welcome the chance to escape the ensuing scandal, which would leave her reputation in shreds. When he magnanimously stood beside her, willing to overlook the shameful incident, she would be so thankful that she would do whatever he suggested, take whatever he was willing to offer.

  He saw Wernermeyer disappear into Carberry's and silently congratulated his father on his choice. The sheriff was a supreme idiot in a town chock-full of run-of-the-mill idiots. He found himself almost pitying his mother, and easily understood her hatred for this place. If she outlived his father, it wouldn't take her two hours to start the move to Helena, where so many pretentious mansions had been built on the west side of town.

  He couldn't wait to see the last of Last Chance himself, especially now that having Rachel and her son under his protection was just about a certainty.

  Holding tight to Lane's hand, familiar with every plant along the pathways of the garden behind her house, Rachel led the way through the darkness. Her house loomed before them, a bulky shadow without one welcoming light at any window. It was nearly nine, a little early for Delphie to have retired. Rachel hoped she had gone to the McKennas' to be with Ty.

  A door slammed in the distance and they crouched low. She held her breath. Behind her, Lane did the same. A carriage passed by on the street and as it did, he gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze. They crept toward the house again.

  Even when they reached the relative safety of the darkened piazza, she could not allow herself to relax. Surely Robert had sent up a hue and cry and was out looking for them. What if he guessed Lane might be brazen enough to hide under her roof? What if someone was waiting inside to capture him?

  She stooped to retrieve a key hidden beneath the potted begonia beside the back door, and the waxy leaves bobbed and swayed when she lifted the heavy pot. Without a word, Lane reached around her to hold the plant while she felt around the clay dish for the key. As her fingers closed around it, she drew back and Lane silently replaced the pot.

  Without a sound, the door opened on well-oiled hinges. Lane followed her into the dark kitchen, closed and locked the door behind them and r
eached for Rachel's hand. He placed the key in her palm and whispered, "We made it."

  "You are insane, Lane Cassidy."

  "No one is going to think to look for us here in your own house, so just relax." He moved from window to window, pulling down the shades, then paused in the center of the room beside the long table.

  Rachel wasn't convinced that he knew what he was talking about, although, because it was one step closer to Ty, she had readily gone along with his plan to hide his horse on the outskirts of town and return to Last Chance.

  "Where's Delphie?" he asked.

  "Probably at the McKennas' with Ty. At least I hope that's where she is." Rachel clasped her hands together, trying not to give in to the panic she felt when she thought of her son and what he might be going through.

  "Got anything to eat? I'm starving." He began opening and closing cupboards in search of food.

  "Shh. I'll get it." She pushed him aside, opened the bread drawer and pulled out half a loaf of Delphie's molasses and wheat bread. Handing the loaf to Lane, she opened the knife drawer and found a long knife. Just as she was about to slide the drawer closed, a footfall in the hallway caused her to freeze.

  The unmistakable sound of a rifle being cocked was followed by, "Hold it right there or I'll fill you full of lead."

  Rachel started shaking so hard that the knife clattered to the floor. The shadowed figure in the doorway took a step. Rachel gasped. Lane moved forward, shoving her behind him.

  "Delphie?" he said. "It's us."

  "Rachel?"

  Tears of fatigue and relief stung Rachel's eyes. "It's me, Delphie. And Lane."

  The rifle clicked again. Delphie carefully propped it beside the kitchen door and moved into the room. Like the two of them, her voice fell to a whisper. "You scared the bejesus out of me, I'll tell you that."

  Rachel moved forward and hugged the maid. "I'm sorry. We didn't see any lights and I thought maybe you had gone to the McKennas'."

  "They sent word that I shouldn't worry about Ty. They haven't told him what happened. The whole town's out looking for you." She turned to Lane. "They're going to bring you in for kidnapping Rachel, Lane Cassidy. I couldn't believe it myself, didn't want to believe it, but as the day passed, I didn't know what to think."

  "I'm fine," Rachel assured her, "and I certainly wasn't kidnapped, although it appeared that way."

  "What happened?" Delphie wanted to know.

  Lane said, "I needed to make it look like I was kidnapping Rachel, but that's all I can tell you right now. I'll be gone before dawn, but for tonight I'm going to hide out here. Tomorrow, Rachel will let everyone know she's safe, that she escaped and made it back to town on her own. What we need is your help, Delphie. Can you cover for us if anyone comes around?"

  "Is that what you want, Rachel?"

  "Please. I'll explain everything to you when I can."

  "Then I'll do it. Why don't you go upstairs and I'll bring up some cold food and draw a bath for you down here."

  Rachel reached out and squeezed her hands. "Thank you."

  "I owe you, Delphie," Lane said.

  "You don't owe me anything but an explanation, but I'm willing to wait for it. Get upstairs and out of sight so I can light the lamp in here and get some food together."

  Lane moved slowly through the second-floor rooms. Before he pulled the shades down tight, he paused beside each window to gaze down at the street below. The town appeared quiet.

  Rachel didn't go directly to her room, but to Ty's. Waiting for her in the hallway, Lane could easily make out her silhouette, a shadow in the darkness, as she moved around her son's room, smoothing the spread on the empty bed, pausing to rearrange a stuffed toy, a book, a framed photograph.

  He heard her sigh as she walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. His heart ached for her. He'd never meant to hurt either of them.

  She moved up beside him, her exhaustion showing in the slight dip of her shoulders, the measured tread of her step. He took her hand as they walked down the narrow hallway toward her room. The wall was covered with frames. He had noted the pictures the night he had tucked Ty in bed—a patchwork of her past that included poses with her parents, Ty as an infant and Stuart and Rachel on their wedding day.

  He half expected her to bar him from entering the spacious room she'd once shared with Stuart, but she did no such thing. Instead, she walked in and waited for him to follow.

  "Is it safe to light a lamp, do you think?" she asked.

  "The shades are down. We'll keep it low."

  She walked to the bedside table and carried a hurricane lamp over to him. Lane set it on the vanity and pulled a match case out of his back pocket, lit the lamp and turned the wick low. Once the chimney was in place, he took off his hat and set it on the frilly, upholstered stool that was pulled up before her vanity.

  "I doubt if I'll be able to sleep a wink," she mused aloud, pacing to the dressing screen as she crossed her arms protectively over her rib cage.

  He crossed the room and reached out to grab her shoulders, turning her until she was forced to face him. "Don't worry, Rachel. No one will think to look for us here, and if they do, Delphie will send them packing. I'll be gone before dawn and you can put this behind you. Do you have your story straight?"

  "Don't worry, I haven't taken leave of my senses," she assured him. "I'll go to the sheriff when the posse comes in and tell him that I hit you over the head with a stick, stole your horse and got away. The horse threw me outside of town and ran off, I walked home in the dark, was exhausted and spent the night here, safe and sound."

  "Good."

  "Do I sound convincing?"

  "They'll believe you. You're Rachel McKenna."

  "I hope so. What will you do? Where will you go?"

  "I'm going out to Chase's and explain. I'll try to enlist his help."

  "I wanted your reunion with him to be so different. I really wanted things to work out between you and Chase this time." She reached up and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "What about Robert?"

  "I'll find him again once things calm down, confront him. Now that he thinks I'm capable of kidnapping, he'll believe me when I tell him I want to throw in with him."

  "And if he isn't the Bandit?"

  "Then, as usual, I've made a pretty big mess of things, haven't I?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  At least she was honest with him. He pulled her up against him, smoothed his hand up and down her spine and longed, to wish them away from this time and place. "Don't worry, Rachel. It'll all work out."

  "I hope so," she whispered.

  Delphie appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray laden with food. Lane let go of Rachel and took the tray from Delphie. If she had an opinion of the scene she had walked in on, the maid kept it to herself.

  "I've got your bath almost ready," she told Rachel. "When you finish, come on down to the kitchen. I'm going to turn in and take the rifle with me. If anyone comes to the door, you two just keep quiet and let me handle things."

  "How can I ever thank you, Delphie?" Rachel said, her voice breaking.

  "Don't mention it again," Delphie said. "It's about time we had a little excitement around here."

  Lane watched her disappear down the hallway. He carried the tray to the bed, set it down in the center of the wide four-poster and waited for Rachel to join him there.

  "You had better get started or there won't be anything left," he said, eyeing the cold fried chicken, a mound of sliced bread, butter and a pot of honey. A large jug of milk and two glasses stood in the middle of the tray, along with cups and a pot of coffee.

  Rachel eased herself down on the other side of the tray until she was perched on the edge of the bed. She stared at the chicken, wondering how she could possibly swallow a single bite knowing she and Lane would be spending the night beneath the same roof.

  "You can use the guest room down the hall," she blurted out as he bit into a chicken leg.

  Lane chewed slow
ly, swallowed, but didn't say a word. Again, he sank his teeth into the chicken leg. His eyes never once left her face. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and then smiled.

  "Whatever you say."

  "Why are you looking at me that way?"

  "What way?"

  "As if you think this is funny," she said.

  His smile faded. "There's nothing funny about any of this, Rachel, believe me. Can I help it if I feel like smiling when I look at you?"

  She blushed and looked away.

  "You've carefully avoided commenting on what I told you this afternoon."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know what I mean. It isn't every day I tell a woman I love her. In fact, I've never said that to anyone else in my life. Except for that pretty blush that's staining your cheeks the way it did when I first said it, you haven't reacted at all."

  He might not have been able to see more than her blush, but Rachel knew for certain that she was reacting. Her palms were clammy, her heart was beating faster than a racehorse going at full speed and she was experiencing a languid, melting feeling in a very unmentionable place.

  Abruptly, she stood up, desperate to get away from his dark, expectant gaze. She knew what he was waiting for, knew he wanted her to acknowledge her feelings for him, but her tongue was frozen in place. Finally she managed to choke out, "I'm going down to bathe," and left the room before he could say anything else.

  A tubful of tepid water and then a change into the modest white lawn gown Delphie had laid out revived Rachel's spirits more than she would have guessed. Embraced by the night, she took her time brushing out her hair, relishing the wisp of cool air that was finally riding the breeze. The scent of night-blooming jasmine wafted in through the open window on the wind, which blew the kitchen shade this way and that in an uneven rhythm.

  It would be heaven, she knew, to step outside and stand on the veranda, drink in the fresh air, the heady aroma of the flower garden, the tranquillity, but she didn't dare risk being seen. She left the water standing in the tub, draped her soiled clothes over her arm and walked out of the kitchen. She tiptoed past Delphie's room and heard the maid snoring loud enough to wake the dead.