“It sounds as if everything’s ready.” Miriam retied Polly’s sash and gave her a hug. “You’re so pretty, Polly.”
“Amazing what wonders a woman’s touch can do.” Laughter tinged Reba’s voice. She took Polly by the hand, then looked at Miriam and asked, “Who’s going to walk you down the aisle?”
“We talked it over, and I want Gideon to come claim me. There’s no one present to give me away, and it just seems right to hold fast to his arm from the start.”
Reba and Polly scooted out, and Miriam dabbed on a little perfume. Lord, Thou art so generous. Thou knowest my heart and hast blessed me far beyond my wildest dreams. Thank Thee for Gideon and the love we share. Help me to be a good wife to him.
A single, solid thump sounded. Gideon. It was his knock.
It’s time.
She opened the door.
Gideon took a long, slow look at her—from the flowers in her hair, down her bridal gown, to the tips of her shoes. “Sweet pea, you make me believe in miracles.”
“You take my breath away.”
He winked. “Save enough to speak your vows, darlin’. There’s nothing I want more in this world than for you to be mine.”
“I love you, Gideon.” She accepted the bouquet of wildflowers he handed her and stepped out to meet her future with him by her side.
SECOND CHANCE
by Tracey Bateman
Prologue
San Francisco, 1871
I’m leaving the house and the money to Alisa.”
Standing with her back pressed against the wall outside the library, Alisa touched her fingers to her throat. Alarm inched its way up her spine. What could Mrs. Worthington possibly be thinking by telling her son such an outlandish tale? She inched around so that she could peer through the small crack where the door wasn’t quite shut all the way. The dear woman sat regally in a black leather chair behind her husband’s desk, her fingers laced together as she conversed with her son.
“Surely you’re joking, Mother. Leave our money to a foundling?”
“A foundling who should never have been lost in the first place.”
“Please, Mother.” The sound of Mr. Worthington’s long-suffering voice rankled Alisa. He should show his mother more respect, in her opinion. “Must you always throw that little indiscretion in my face?”
“That darling child is much more than an indiscretion in my eyes. I’m so thankful to God that we found her before she left the orphanage. My only heartbreak is that it took so many years to locate her. Now that I have all the legalities taken care of so that you can’t prevent it from happening, I am ready to tell her of her true heritage and welcome her into the family.”
Alisa shifted her gaze so that she could see Mr. Worthington. He stood by the stone fireplace, one of his elbows resting on the mantel. He leaned his forehead into the palm of one hand and gave a short laugh. “And what of me, Mother? You raised me accustomed to a certain standard of living. How do you expect me to fend for myself? Have you love only for the girl? None for your son?”
“Of course I love you, my boy. And it’s true, you were much too spoiled for your own good. As for your well-being, you still own seventy-five percent of the shipping business. Alisa will own the other twenty-five percent so that she may live in comfort the rest of her life.”
Frustrated by her obscured view, Alisa dared to push at the door, widening the crack so that she could see both Mrs. Worthington and her son. What was the elderly woman saying? Had her mind suddenly become unhinged? In the three months since she’d come to work for Mrs. Worthington as her companion, she’d noticed peculiarities in the way she was treated more highly than most servants. But what possessed the woman to even consider leaving her a penny, let alone part of a company? And this beautiful home?
Mr. Worthington stalked across the room, his boots clacking on the hardwood floor. He leaned across the desk. “I’ll have you declared incompetent, Mother. I don’t want to, but I will if you force me to.”
“I thought you might try that one.” She sighed. “Why do greedy children always think it’s so easy to declare an old woman feebleminded? Son, I’ve already made the changes to the will in the presence of five witnesses, just to be safe.”
Robert’s fist came down hard on the sleek mahogany desktop. “I’ll contest the will. I’ll make the courts believe the girl tricked you into leaving her an inheritance. My inheritance.”
Mrs. Worthington pushed back from the desk. Leaning heavily on her cane, she lifted herself from her chair. She limped to Robert’s side. “There is nothing you can do. If you contest, the entire city will see you as a cad and a fool.”
“If reputation is so important to you, why are you leaving everything to that…”
Alisa gasped at the vile word he used to describe her. While growing up in the orphanage, all of her dreams included a beautiful mother and a handsome father. They were dressed in white each time they returned to get her. What a joyous reunion it was every night while she slept. Her mother’s soft kisses, her father’s strong arms. Never once had Alisa considered that she might be illegitimate. Her wonderful dream had turned to a nightmare with one filthy word.
Mrs. Worthington struck with her veiny, bony hand and left a print on his cheek as a loud slap resounded through the library. “You’ve no right to call her that. No right at all. I’ve made arrangements to legitimize her. She will be given the family name.”
Alisa Worthington.
“I’ll not stand for it!”
“I’m afraid you’ve no choice in the matter. You should have done right by her years ago; then I wouldn’t be forced to bring this embarrassment on you now. She will be introduced into society as my granddaughter during the Christmas ball.”
“Never!”
Still trying to grasp the enormity of what Mrs. Worthington had just spoken, Alisa watched in horror as Mr. Worthington took the elderly lady by the shoulders and shook her hard.
“Stop it!” Alisa leapt from her hiding place. “Turn her loose!”
Startled by the sudden interruption, he released her. Mrs. Worthington stumbled back, grabbing the edge of the desk to steady herself.
“How dare you eavesdrop on a private conversation!” the man spouted.
Ignoring him, Alisa gently took Mrs. Worthington by the shoulders. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
A smile creased the lined face. She reached up and patted Alisa’s cheek. “You may call me Grandmother, my dear.”
Tears sprang to Alisa’s eyes. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Mrs. Worthington. Let’s get you settled back into your chair.”
“Wait.” She pressed her fist to her heart and grimaced.
“Are you all right?”
“I will be. Listen to me now, darling girl. I’ve searched for you since you were a baby.”
“Me, ma’am?”
“Yes. Your mother was the daughter of a laundress who worked out by the docks. She caught Robert’s eye, and…well, you can imagine how you came to be.”
“But I don’t understand how you could possibly know I am the child of that union.”
“But I can and do. When your mother’s time came, she bravely came to our home for help. You were born soon after she arrived. I was privileged to assist in your birth. Afterward, I held you and rocked you while she slept. You were ever so precious.”
“Mother, stop filling her head with this nonsense.”
Alisa stared at the man standing next to her. All of her dreams of someday having a father died, and without warning, tears sprang to her eyes. Mr. Worthington’s face reddened, and his gaze faltered.
Mrs. Worthington touched Alisa’s cheek to regain her attention. The old, tired eyes held a look of such love that Alisa knew the precious lady believed every word she spoke. “I wrapped you in your father’s baby blanket and placed you next to your mother. Then I retired to my own room. When I awoke to your mother’s screaming, I knew Robert had taken you away. He returned later that eveni
ng and told me he had given you to a childless couple and that you were sailing for England that very night. I was heartbroken but powerless. The next morning your mother was gone, and she never returned.”
“Then…how did you…?”
“A maid from the household had disappeared the same night you were born. In those days, we took in all sorts. About a year ago, she came back looking for work. I couldn’t hire her, for she stank of spirits, and she told me, out of spite, about taking my grandchild to an orphanage. I hired a detective agency, and they combed the city. A few months later, we found you.”
Alisa’s thoughts went to the worn blanket she kept tucked away for safekeeping. “And when you described the blanket, Mrs. Perryman knew I was the one?”
“Yes. That is exactly how we came to find you.”
“I can’t believe it. I have a grandmother?”
“No, you do not.”
Alisa shrank from the man she now knew to be her father, as he towered over her.
“I refuse to allow you to take advantage of an old woman’s delusions.”
A gasp escaped Alisa’s throat. “But I would never take advantage.”
“Of course she wouldn’t. And I’m far from delusional. Leave the girl alone, Robert. She most certainly does have a grandmother.” Mrs. Worthington moaned softly and pressed her hand more tightly against her chest. “I…believe I… must…sit.”
Filled with alarm, Alisa tried to tighten her hold just as Mrs. Worthington stiffened, clutched her chest, and slipped from Alisa’s grasp. Time seemed to slow as she watched in horror. The elderly woman crashed to the ground, her head hitting against the edge of the desk as she fell.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but…Madam!” Marietta, Mrs. Worthington’s housekeeper of forty years, stood just inside the room. Her silver tray clattered to the floor as she rushed to her mistress’s side.
“Mrs. Worthington!” Alisa dropped to her knees. Blood ran from a gash on the elderly lady’s forehead.
“What have you done, girl?” Mr. Worthington grabbed her roughly and flung her away. He knelt beside his mother.
“Is she going to be all right?” Tears streamed down Marietta’s face.
“Mother? Mother, please open your eyes and talk to me.”
The elderly woman lay motionless.
Alisa caught her breath as Mr. Worthington’s venomous gaze swept over her. “Marietta, go fetch the doctor and the police. My mother has been murdered.”
Chapter 1
Throw down that six-shooter, mister. Then empty out yer pockets.”
Titus Chance glared at the two men—not men really, but cowards, who had to cover their faces with bandannas. Cowards who couldn’t win in a fair fight, so they had to sneak up on him while he dozed beside his campfire. But lily livers or no, they had two guns to his one, and he wasn’t riled enough to be a fool.
He tossed his Colt to the dusty earth. Reaching slowly into his pockets, he pulled out twenty dollars and a gold money clip and pitched those on the ground, as well.
The burly leader fingered the bills. “That all you got?”
“ ’Fraid so.” At least that was all he had in his pockets.
Piercing eyes bored through him. Titus stared back, careful to keep his expression as innocent as a newborn babe’s.
Titus balled his fists as he watched the thief shift his gaze. “That’s a fine little horse you got there. I’d say it’ll make up for you not having enough cash to make this worth my time. Amos, get the horse.”
The other rider jerked his head toward the leader. “But we can’t jest leave a feller out here in the middle of nowhere without a horse, Bart. Besides, stealing a little money is one thing. I ain’t no horse thief. They can hang a man for that.”
“They can hang ya for stealing money, too. Now do as I say.” He expelled a frustrated grunt. “And what have I told you about calling me by my name while we’re robbing someone?”
“Well, I don’t like it,” Amos said, but he dismounted his horse and headed toward Titus, his pistol pulled and threatening. “Back off easy-like, mister, and don’t make me use this.”
If the situation hadn’t been so grave, Titus might have laughed at the bumbling crooks. But bumbling or no, they still had the guns, and he didn’t. And if he had a prayer of a chance of getting out of this situation alive, he had to be smarter than they were. Which actually didn’t seem all that far of a stretch.
He backed away from the mare he’d raised since birth. He’d named her Raven for her beautiful black coat. Swallowing hard, he kept a cautious gaze on the men as Amos took Raven’s reins. The horse reared only for a second, long enough for Titus to dive for his Colt. He landed with a painful thud on his stomach and slid until he reached his gun. But he wasn’t fast enough. One of the ruffians kicked dirt into his eyes, blinding him. “Yer lucky we don’t kill ya fer that stunt. Mount up, Amos, and let’s git.”
When they’d gone, Titus crawled sightless until he reached the lake. After he’d washed the dirt from his eyes, he sat back and slapped his thigh in frustration.
Now what was he supposed to do? He’d left home a few days ago—directly after Priscilla White had refused his proposal. It had been at his sister-in-law’s insistence that he’d left for a few days. “One grouch around here is plenty,” Miriam had said, waving a wooden spoon in his face. She jerked her head at Daniel. “And my other brother-in-law already has that position filled.” She said it with a twinkle in her eyes to remove the sting, but Titus knew she was right. He’d been moping long enough.
Daniel—who really was a grouch like Miriam said—had gotten up and stomped out of the house, while her husband, Gideon, laughed uproariously. Titus hadn’t necessarily thought it funny, but Gideon was a new husband and thought anything his new bride said or did to be brilliant and inspired.
So Titus had taken a few days to pull himself together, mourn the loss of the woman he’d convinced himself he was destined to wed, and generally shake off his foul mood. San Francisco wasn’t too far away. Close enough that he could make it there in a few hours if he started walking now. He could catch the stage out to Reliable. From there he could rent a horse to ride to the ranch.
He walked back to the campfire and sat down, knowing he’d have to wait until dawn to head back to the city. Feeling like a fool for letting himself get robbed in the first place, he stretched out on the ground and spent the night listening for noises that might indicate the thieves had returned.
By first light, he was up and headed back to San Francisco, relieved beyond measure that the thieves hadn’t been smart enough to tell him to empty his boot, the place where he’d hidden most of his money.
Alisa eyed the mother and son sitting next to her on the seat.
“Davy, please, eat your bread for Mama.” The woman’s soft, pleading tone filled the inside of the stagecoach, annoying Alisa more than the boy’s constant kicking against the seat.
After two days without a decent meal, she gladly would have snatched at the bread and gobbled it down in front of the ungrateful child. He kicked the bottom of the seat with the backs of his heels over and over and over until Alisa was tempted to place her hand gently on his swinging legs and order him to stop.
He held his bread in one hand and rubbed a chubby little fist over his eye.
“Oh, is Mama’s boy sleepy?”
“No!” he yelled and kicked his feet higher and harder.
“Of course you are. That’s why you’re acting so unruly.”
Alisa ventured a glance at the dark-haired cowboy sitting across from her. His head rested on the back of the seat, and his hat covered his face. His shoulders rose and fell with an almost unbelievable rhythm. How on earth could he sleep through all the racket that annoying boy was making?
“I’m truly sorry,” the young mother intoned.
Alisa tore her gaze away from the handsome man. The mother’s lips curved into a weary smile. “He’s really a lovely child,” she tried to explain. “We�
��ve been traveling several days, and he’s so very tired.”
“I’m not tired!” the boy insisted at a feverish pitch.
“Mama believes you.”
Despite a deplorable lack of disciplinary action on the young mother’s part, Alisa had to admire the woman’s calm. Her own patience had worn thin an hour ago. The young mother looked at the boy and patted her thighs. “How would you like to sit on my lap?”
She winked at Alisa, and Alisa couldn’t resist the dimples flashing in the young woman’s cheeks. She smiled back.
Davy set his bread down on the bench and climbed into his mother’s lap. Before long, both were dozing.
Alisa’s empty stomach rumbled in protest as she stared at the half-eaten bread still sitting where it had been flung. It was all she could do not to snatch it up and wolf it down. After two full nights and a day of wandering around San Francisco in case she was being followed, and then half a day so far on the stage without food, her head felt light, and she almost wept from hunger. She’d been holding her reticule, about to visit the orphanage, when she’d heard Mrs. Worthington’s voice from the hallway outside of the library door. The only money her reticule held was the donation she’d intended to leave with Mrs. Perryman, the woman who ran the orphanage. The amount was just enough for her stage ticket.
The chubby five-year-old boy was now fast asleep in his mother’s arms, and the bread just sat there like a shiny pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
She slid her hand along the bench, then snatched it back as the child shifted, causing his mother’s head to snap up and her eyes to fly open. “Are we there yet?”
“No. You’ve only just dozed off,” Alisa said, guilt searing her heart. Thank you, dear Lord, for not allowing my hunger to cause me to sin. She shuddered to think how close she’d come to stealing a little boy’s bread.
The woman’s eyes had drifted shut once more. Alisa ogled the bread for one last second, then willfully turned her entire body away. As she shifted, she came face-to-face with the cowboy. Only this time he wasn’t sleeping. He stared at her with oh-so-blue eyes. Eyes filled with…pity.
The Brides of Chance Collection Page 16
