by Renee Ryan
“Because Prescott—” She broke off, her brows drew together before her expression closed inside itself. “I can’t tell you. There are others who could be hurt if you decided to stop me.”
“Stop you from what?”
“I can’t say.”
“At least tell me who else is involved in your business venture, the one that required a large loan from Prescott’s bank.”
The shadows in her eyes turned into storm clouds, brewing for combat. “The loan is mine and no one else’s.”
Marc didn’t understand her reluctance to tell him the entire truth. What could she possibly be hiding? “If the loan is yours alone, then how is this not your secret to tell?”
She opened her mouth to speak, then promptly shut it. “We made a deal, Marc. I’ve stuck to my end, you must stick to yours.”
Her vehemence stunned him. Had others let her down so badly that she couldn’t trust his word? “Laney, secrets and deceptions are the same as lies. Haven’t you learned that yet?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Trust me.”
She released an unhappy laugh. “You want me trust you?”
“Would it be so hard?”
“Oh, let’s see. Mere seconds ago you assumed I needed money to start my own brothel. You suppose something like that might hold me back from complete honesty?”
“I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
“I could also remind you of the countless little threats you’ve made in the last few weeks. For instance, the ones involving a certain U.S. marshal.”
“You played your part in this deception as well. Correct me if I’m wrong, Laney, but you wanted me to think you lived on The Row.”
She had the cheek to break eye contact with him. “All right, I’ll give you that.”
“So we start clean. A new beginning.”
It was her turn to become the skeptic. “How do we do that? Even now, can you honestly tell me you believe I’ve had nothing but good intentions?”
“I’m no hypocrite. I won’t pretend it hasn’t crossed my mind that if you had nothing bad to hide, you’d tell me the truth now.”
She threw her hands in the air. “And you want me to trust you?”
“I’m not the one keeping secrets.”
“Is that a fact? You want to tell me why you don’t trust women? Or why you so readily assumed I was a prostitute, without once asking me if it were true? You can’t expect trust, Marc, unless you’re willing to give it in return.”
“All I know is that nothing good comes from deception.” He took a step closer. “What are you hiding from me, Laney?”
“Please, don’t keep asking me the same question and expecting a different answer.”
“Tell me.”
“Would you settle for a compromise?”
He tucked his hands inside his pants pockets. “A compromise?”
“You know, it’s when each person gives a little, and both get something back in return.”
“I know what the word means.” He gave a short laugh. “I’m just not overly fond of the concept.”
She grazed him with another penetrating look. Under the circumstances he supposed she had every right to be leery of him, but knowing it and accepting it were two different things.
“Here’s how it would work,” she began. “Once I pay off the rest of my loan, I’ll tell you everything.”
Looking at her as though seeing her for the first time, he realized that if Laney said she would tell him the truth eventually, she would.
From the beginning, he’d measured her against Pearl, all the while refusing to admit that Laney just might have a good reason for her behavior.
He remembered the silent desperation underlying her actions on that first night. Her despair had been real. Maybe he could help her with whatever had put the look of desperation in her eyes. Maybe by helping her he would find his own redemption.
Maybe this was his way back.
“All right, Laney. I won’t ask any more questions.” At her sigh of relief he added, “For now.”
Not in the least discouraged, she relaxed into her smile. “So, you finally accept that I’m not a woman of questionable virtue?”
How could he believe anything else, when the evidence had been in front of him all along? “Yes.”
“And I’m not fired?”
“Not tonight.”
She touched his sleeve. “Thank you, Marc.”
He covered her hand with his. Overcome with the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her again, he blew out a painful rush of air and focused on the matter at hand. “Ready to charm our guests?”
“It’s what I do best.”
Chapter Fifteen
Over the course of the next week, Laney’s days settled into a pleasant, if somewhat hectic routine. She worked at the orphanage all day, visited an increasingly ailing Sally in the late afternoon then worked her shift at the Hotel Dupree in the evening. Though on the verge of exhaustion, she’d never felt happier in her life. And she knew the source of her joy.
Marc Dupree.
No longer her enemy, she now saw him as a person, with worries and burdens and flaws just like her. Instead of finding fault with his imperfections, her admiration deepened.
She was in love. Or, if not, very close to getting there.
Smiling, she spread flour on the chopping board and pressed out more dough. The clock on the table told her she had two hours to finish with her morning chores before serving lunch to the children. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on her long list of tasks, her mind kept wandering back to Marc.
She’d see him again soon. A rush of anticipation tingled along her scalp.
What had happened to her restraint, her need to guard her heart? A single thought of the handsome hotel owner and her stomach turned all shaky and quivery inside.
Sighing, she pressed a flour-tipped finger to her lips. Though he’d not kissed her again, there were times when Marc looked at her in a way that had her thinking of the future, of happy endings, of forever.
Laney looked forward to the day when there would be no more secrets between them. On countless occasions she’d opened her mouth to tell him the truth about Charity House, but each time something in her had halted her confession. Perhaps it was the habit of caution, or perhaps simple fear, but she could never quite find the words to tell him about the orphanage.
And Marc hadn’t pressed.
If she told him the truth, would he finally trust her? A very selfish part of her wanted it to be that simple. But she’d learned her lesson well, thanks to Thurston P. Prescott III. The children needed her protection. Until she was certain of their safety, she had to maintain her silence.
Kneading the dough a bit harder than necessary, Laney sighed. Why couldn’t she have met Marc under different circumstances? Despite her limited knowledge of relations between a man and a woman, she sensed her feelings for the man were special, different, good.
Laney wanted to throw caution to the wind. She wanted to trust in someone other than herself and a silent God who seemed too far away at the moment. She wanted to—
The back door burst open, jarring her out of her daydreams. “Miss Laney, come quick, Katherine just hit a home run.”
Pure delight filled her. The very idea of prim and proper Katherine whacking a ball hard enough to cross over the backyard fence was quite a thought indeed. “Megan, are you certain of this?”
“Yes.” She pointed to her left. “See for yourself.”
Laney wiped her hands on her apron and glanced out the window above the sink. Half the kids were jumping up and down, screaming and carrying on in childish enthusiasm. The other half looked positively bleak. They slapped leather gloves against their legs or scuffed toes in the grass. “Well, what do you know? She finally did it.”
Laney watched Katherine skip from one base to the next, taking her time, giggling all the way.
Megan tugged on Laney’s hand. “
Hurry, Miss Laney. The Hawks need you, or else those awful Panthers will beat us again.”
Laney smiled to herself. Baseball. Who’d have thought one tiny suggestion to try out a new game she’d read about in the Denver Chronicle would end in such success? As a whole, they were a little fuzzy on the rules, but everyone had a good time anyway. And that’s what mattered most.
Megan tugged harder. “You can’t let us down when we need you to help us even the score.”
Laney wouldn’t dream of letting the children down. Ever. If that meant playing a game of baseball, or continuing her silence with Marc Dupree, then so be it.
“I’ll be right out. Just let me finish this pie and put it in the oven first.”
Megan looked out the window and gasped. “She’s almost all the way around the bases.” Hopping on one foot, the girl snorted in impatience. “Hurry up, will ya?”
Laney hurried.
* * *
Marc turned to Trey as they walked down Ogden Street, unsure what words to use to stop his friend from making a big mistake. He went for the direct approach. “You’ll send word if it turns out Ike and his gang are holed up in that shack outside Cripple Creek?”
Trey nodded, his gaze set on the mountains in the distance.
Drawing to a stop, Marc waited for his friend to halt as well. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Trey shook his head. “This is my quest.”
“I want justice served, too.”
“Justice?” Trey ground out his word. “After what Ike and his gang did to Laurette, I don’t want justice. I want vengeance.”
Sick of the same argument, Marc slammed his clenched fist into his palm. “It won’t bring her back.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who got her killed.”
How could he convince his brother-in-law that Laurette’s death wasn’t his fault? “Trey, you couldn’t have known they would attack your ranch that day, that your foreman would turn out to be a coward, that Ike—”
“No, Marc. Don’t try to rewrite history. We both know I wasn’t there to protect my wife when she needed me.” He glared at an invisible point in the distance.
Marc didn’t like the unbending look he saw in his friend’s eyes. Trey was in his uncompromising mood. Someone was going to end up dead. And that someone could be Trey. “Maybe I should come with you, after all.”
“You’ll only get in the way.” Trey shook his head decisively, the gesture clearing his expression at last. “You have issues of your own to settle while I’m gone.”
“Nothing is as important as keeping you from getting yourself killed.”
“I’m not going to die. Ike, on the other hand...” He let his words trail off, the unspoken message clear. Trey planned to ensure the man who’d murdered his wife didn’t make it out of their skirmish alive.
Not liking what had become of his once peace-loving friend, Marc let out a slow breath. “Trey, you can’t let your anger rule your actions. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’ll be back in Denver once I’m through in Cripple Creek. I shouldn’t be gone more than a week. And when I return I want to hear how matters are progressing between you and Miss O’Connor.”
“Now isn’t the time to discuss Laney and me.”
“I disagree. It’s the exact time to talk about the two of you.” The bitterness in Trey’s eyes softened. “When this is over, I want a niece or nephew to spoil. You and that fiery lady of yours can give me that.”
Though his gut rippled in anticipation at his friend’s words, Marc knew Trey was trying to divert his attention from the more volatile subject. “Trey, you can’t win this fight, not with your current mind-set. Find peace in Laurette’s memory. Then go after Ike.”
“Oh, I’ll get my resolution. Once Ike is dead. Now that I know where he’s hiding, it’s time I settled the matter once and for all.”
A familiar wave of helplessness marched through Marc. “There’s nothing I can say to talk you out of this?”
“I’m leaving in an hour.” Trey’s gaze hardened again. “Alone. And you’re going to stay here and find out what Miss O’Connor is hiding. My guess, she’s going to surprise you, in a good way.”
Before Marc could respond, Trey clasped him on the shoulder. “Take care, my friend.”
Without another word he turned and charged down the street toward the jailhouse.
Knowing his words would fall on deaf ears, Marc didn’t bother calling after Trey. Perhaps his friend was right. Perhaps it was time for Trey to face Ike Hayes at last.
Lord, keep him thinking clearly. Keep him safe.
As far as prayers went, this one wasn’t very fancy. But Marc wasn’t used to talking to the Lord on a regular basis anymore. He should probably work on that.
For the first time in years the idea of relying on God seemed possible.
After a few moments of pausing over the thought, he continued on his own path toward the bank. He allowed his head to fill with the business that lay ahead of him. He liked taking care of his own financial affairs. Pearl had once convinced him to take on a manager, and he’d ended up broke.
Never again.
Marc joined in the crowd on the sidewalk, the hurried energy soothing away his frustration over Trey. He liked the personality of Denver at this time of day. The honest people milling about reminded him of better times, simpler times. Here, on Ogden Street, he saw real people with a penchant for hard work and honest living.
With the clean scent of pine riding along the breeze, Marc experienced pure contentment. He didn’t particularly miss Louisiana or the South, but he missed his family and his life before poverty had stolen his youthful innocence. At heart, Marc was a man of strong family bonds, which was why Trey’s destructive quest concerned him.
Was he any different from his brother-in-law? His need for wealth and drive for the material security had hardened his heart as sure as Trey’s quest to avenge Laurette’s death had hardened his.
They’d both turned away from God.
Marc couldn’t say exactly when he’d lost a handle on his own perspective. Perhaps when he’d made the mistake of marrying Pearl. Her death had freed him legally, but he hadn’t been the same since.
His frequent contacts with Laney O’Connor had begun to change him, though. And now he realized he wanted to change, wanted to become the man he was before poverty, before Pearl—before bitterness had spread through his soul. He wanted to turn back to God.
He prayed the road wouldn’t be a long one.
So focused on his thoughts, he failed to watch his steps as well as he should. Swerving at the last moment, he barely avoided colliding into a small child slouching straight for him. Unfortunately, in his attempt to avoid crushing the boy, he ran into another, taller one.
The second kid tipped forward, fell hard into him then leaned back.
“Sorry, mister,” he muttered, keeping his eyes cemented to Marc’s waistcoat.
“My fault entirely.” Marc locked his gaze on a bent head of black curls. A half-second later he felt the whisper of a touch against his vest.
“Sorry again, sir.” The boy shrugged away. The quick flick of triumph in the kid’s gaze was all it took for Marc to figure out what had just happened.
As the boy swaggered off, Marc reached out and grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Not so fast.”
The kid pulled hard to free himself, but Marc had too firm a hold for an easy escape. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the smaller kid lingering just out of reach. He took a step closer, dragging his captive along with him.
Just as he was about to clutch the smaller kid, the bigger one yelled, “Run, Michael.”
Michael dodged Marc’s grasp and took off running toward the opposite end of the sidewalk. At least Marc had the presence of mind to keep his grip around the older of the two.
He waited a beat. When the kid simply blinked up at him, Marc broke the silence. “You have something of m
ine.”
“No, sir. I...I don’t have anything of yours.” The boy’s gaze darted across the street, searching, gauging.
Marc was in no mood to play games with a young thief a third his size. “Hand over my wallet.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” Marc made sure the look on his face squelched any desire for the boy to continue denying his crime.
Shoulders slumped, he reluctantly pulled Marc’s wallet from his pocket. “I...I’m sorry, mister. I don’t ever do this sort of thing. Well, not anymore. It’s just, we need the money. And you looked like you have a lot, enough that you wouldn’t miss a few dollars.”
Although the kid’s gaze was never at rest, Marc caught a glimpse of the desperation in eyes.
Marc’s thoughts jumped immediately to Laney and the similar look she’d had in her eyes that first night in his hotel. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Johnny. Look, mister. We didn’t mean no harm.”
Marc followed Johnny’s glance across the street. “We? As in, you and Michael over there?”
“Yeah, so I took your wallet. I didn’t do it for myself. I did it for—” Johnny sighed “—oh, boy. I’m in big trouble now.” He gave Marc an imploring look. “Please let me go. I don’t want her to find out what I did.”
“Her? A woman told you to pick my pocket?”
“No. She didn’t tell me to steal, but she needs the money. For the orphanage. I heard her say so. She...”
Again, the kid stopped his explanations without giving a complete answer. Marc tried not to bark out his next question. “What orphanage?”
“Charity House. Where me and Michael live with the other kids.”
“So, the orphanage needs money?”
“Yeah, that’s what I just said.”
The swift bunching of muscles under his hand warned Marc what the kid planned. “I wouldn’t try it.”
Johnny tried it.
Marc tightened his grip, making it harder for the kid to move at all.
“You’re not going to let me go, are you?”
“Not until I get some answers.” He placed his free hand firmly on a bony shoulder. “Tell me more about this orphanage.”
