by Cox, Carol
“What about this plot he concocted with the Bartletts? Was that for him or for you?”
Michael raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m still trying to figure out how the man’s mind works. He has some idea of building a political legacy, and he refuses to believe I’m not willing to become his successor. In his mind, he may honestly believe he’s looking out for my best interests. I’m sure he sees me as obstinate and unappreciative, since I don’t see things the same way he does.”
“Did he follow you out here?”
“No, it was the other way around. When he heard how a new city was being built to serve as the territorial capital, all his political machinations geared up. He pulled every string he could think of to secure an appointment out here. He’d already tasted the beginnings of power back home. He planned to build on that out here for a few years, then head back east trailing streams of glory. He really thinks he’s going to build a dynasty. I’m the one who followed him here.”
Elizabeth rubbed her arms as though chilled. “But why?” An unsettling thought struck her. “You didn’t have political aspirations, too, did you?”
Michael burst out laughing. “Perish the thought! I’ve seen enough greed and corruption to last me a lifetime. My motives were much simpler—to keep an eye on my father.”
“You’ve taken on quite a burden. It must weigh heavily on you.”
“Call it an obligation, if you will. An obligation to my mother’s memory.” His face lit up at her mention. “She’s the one who held our family together. She made sure my sister and I knew we were loved and taught us about a heavenly Father who loved us, too, and would never leave us. All the qualities our earthly father lacked.” Michael straightened and stood.
“She’s the one who introduced us to Jesus and told us how He could become our Savior. And even after all the years of neglect from our father, she spent hours on her knees, praying for him to come to know the Lord, as well. His behavior sickens me. Sometimes I think I’d like nothing better than to live in a place where no one’s ever heard of Timothy O’Roarke and will never know I’m his son.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets.
“But if I did that, I would feel like I’d be turning my back on all my mother’s efforts. I can’t do that,” he stated simply. “If I’m out here, I can reason with him, try to make him see what he’s missing. And in the meantime, maybe I can at least keep him from going too far.” He shrugged. “Obviously, I haven’t done a very good job of that.”
Elizabeth moved across the floor to stand directly in front of him. “I think you’ve done a fine job.” She reached up to smooth a dark curl off his forehead.
“You can’t make choices for someone else. All you can do is point the way and try to warn them about pitfalls ahead. The rest is up to them.” Her voice softened to a whisper. “I think you’re a very special man, Michael O’Roarke.”
Michael probed her gaze and raised his hand to capture hers where it still lingered near his hairline. Unable to tear her gaze from his, she felt his other hand slide around her shoulders and pull her close.
She rested her cheek against the smooth surface of his shirt. His heartbeat drummed in her ear, keeping time with her own quickening pulse.
The nearest she had come to a man’s embrace had been James’s brotherly hugs. She didn’t want suitors. . .had avoided them, in fact. She was a person in her own right—with no need to diminish her own individuality by merging into the identity of another.
But being wrapped in Michael’s arms didn’t make her feel diminished. Rather, like two separated parts finally finding each other and becoming a whole.
His fingers cupped her chin and tilted it upward so that she looked into his blue eyes. “And you’re a very remarkable woman, Elizabeth Simmons.” His gaze seemed to search her heart, questioning, then he lowered his head, and his lips sought hers.
Elizabeth’s arms found their way around Michael’s broad shoulders, twining around his neck and pulling him closer, finding the other half that made her feel complete. Michael knew her strong will, yet accepted her as she was.
And loved her? The thought sent joy careening through her whole body. She leaned into his embrace. She would sort out her feelings later. For now, it was enough to rest in Michael’s arms.
“Is everything all right back here?” Jenny’s voice sounded from the doorway. “I thought I smelled something scorching on the stove.” Footsteps clattered to a halt. “Oh! Um. . .it looks like the stew has burned. I’ll just move it off the stove, shall I?” A pot rattled. “Then I’ll. . .I’ll just go tidy up the dining room and wait. For customers. Or something.” The door swung open, then shut, cutting off the sound of her retreating footsteps.
Michael brushed his lips along her cheek, her ear, her neck. . . . He nestled his head in the hollow of her shoulder. “I suppose we owe her an explanation,” he murmured.
Elizabeth nodded. Jenny deserved that.
But it could wait.
Nineteen
Michael pushed open the door to the kitchen, where he found Elizabeth wiping down the counters. “Are you about ready to go? I’m eager to hear C. C. Bean’s thoughts on the Resurrection. It should be an interesting evening.”
“Just let me get a shawl from my room. We can leave as soon as Jenny comes back in from taking the garbage out. We’re a little late getting things finished up tonight.” She hurried to her room, where she pulled her shawl from its peg, then paused in front of the mirror. She cringed. A day spent over a hot stove had left her hair hanging in limp strands. Michael hadn’t mentioned her disheveled appearance, but she wasn’t about to go to a Bible study looking like that.
Pulling the pins from her hair, she brushed through it quickly, trying to coax some life back into her chestnut curls. She ran the comb down the center of her head to make a neat part, pulled her hair back on the sides, then secured it in place with two tortoiseshell combs.
She turned her head from side to side to study the effect. Not perfect, but certainly an improvement.
Back in the kitchen, she found Michael scooping a wedge of apple pie from a pan. He looked up with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t have much supper. Just thought I’d help with the leftovers.”
Elizabeth chuckled and watched him wolf down the slice. It felt good to laugh, good to see Michael at home in her kitchen again, and good to have him back as a part of her life. Life itself was good.
Michael wiped the crumbs from his face and replaced the cloth that covered the pie pan. Elizabeth reached for her reticule. “Ready to go?” she asked.
“I thought we were waiting for Jenny.”
“Didn’t she come back in yet? I’ll go see what’s keeping her, while you check the lock on the front door.”
She stepped outside into a perfect summer evening. A light breeze from the north caressed her cheek, bringing with it the scent of lilacs. A dove perched in a nearby juniper tree called to another in a piñon pine. It would be a beautiful night for strolling to the Bible study.
“Jenny?” She was probably savoring the lovely evening on her own and had forgotten they were waiting for her.
No answer.
Elizabeth scanned the alleyway, trying to think where Jenny might have gone. She usually stayed well within the shelter of the restaurant’s walls, keeping her safe from both snide remarks and the possibility of contact with Martin Lester or Burleigh Ames.
“Jenny?” She called louder this time. Surely Jenny wouldn’t have ventured too far afield. Where could she be?
A vague sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach. She moved past the doorstep to the garbage barrel.
Scraps of food lay scattered across the ground. Her unease blossomed into fear.
“Jenny!” The word floated out into the night but brought no response.
❧
“Michael, she’s gone!” Elizabeth stormed into the kitchen, her face flushed and her features taut. The back door banged shut behind her, punctuating her words.
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“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. She isn’t outside. I’ve looked everywhere. Where can she be?”
“Take it easy. Have you checked her room? Maybe she came in while I was locking the front door and I didn’t notice.” He followed her to the former storeroom.
Elizabeth tapped on the door, then pushed it open. Michael peered over her shoulder. A cot, neatly made, took up most of the floor space. Jenny’s dresses hung from pegs on the walls. A tidy room awaited its occupant’s return.
But no sign of Jenny.
Michael caught sight of Elizabeth’s trembling lips and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Calm down. There’s surely an explanation. Where else could she have gone?”
Elizabeth whirled and clutched his arms. “That’s just it. There isn’t anyplace else. She—both of us—worried about Ames showing up to bother her. Throwing out the garbage gave her a chance to get outdoors, but it was close enough to be safe. Or so we thought.” Her fingers dug into his arms. “Oh, Michael, where is she? What are we going to do?”
He stared down at her hazel eyes, puddled with unshed tears. He’d never seen Elizabeth at a loss before, but now this independent woman was asking for his help, and he knew he had to rise to the occasion.
“Bring that lamp, and let’s look outside again. I want to check for tracks, signs. . .anything that might give us a clue.” Elizabeth flashed him a grateful smile, picked up the lamp, and followed him outside.
“See?” She pointed at the pile of debris on the ground. “Jenny would never have gone off and left this mess.”
Michael nodded, remembering the time she had dropped the garbage. She had made sure every scrap had been picked up before she left. He stood still, letting his gaze roam around the pool of lamplight, trying to get a sense of what must have happened.
“Over here.” He strode farther out into the alleyway, where two parallel lines marked the dust. He squatted to examine them more closely.
“Wagon tracks,” he stated. “And fresh ones. See how sharp the edges are? Someone came along here not too long ago.” He motioned for Elizabeth to wait there and carried the lamp down the alley, following the wagon’s progress, careful not to mar any possible signs with his own tracks.
Returning, he noted the print Elizabeth’s shoes made and compared them to the other tracks nearby. Those, then, must be Jenny’s. And up ahead. . . He drew back, startled.
“What’s the matter?” Elizabeth asked.
“It doesn’t make sense. I expected to see signs of a struggle. But look at this.” He led her a few steps ahead.
“The wagon stopped here.” He pointed as he spoke, inviting her to read the story written in the dust. “A man stepped down, but he didn’t approach the spot where Jenny stood. Those are her prints, passing behind you and ending up by the wagon.”
Elizabeth studied the ground. “That still doesn’t tell me where she is.”
“Look at this. See that slight shuffling there? That’s where they stood and talked. And since her tracks don’t lead away. . .” His voice trailed off, and he glanced up at Elizabeth, wondering how to break it to her.
“From everything I see here, it looks like she got into the wagon and rode away of her own free will.”
“But that doesn’t make sense!” Elizabeth scanned the area, trying to find something that would refute Michael’s conclusion. “She wouldn’t have gone off like that of her own accord without a word to either one of us.”
“I wouldn’t have thought so, either. But the evidence shows—”
“I don’t care what it shows! Jenny’s been living with me, remember? I know her, Michael! She hated having to stay cooped up indoors, but she was terrified her guardian might try to catch her unawares and take her back. The only time she ever came outside was to throw out the garbage or use the privy.”
She cast a hopeful glance at the small wooden structure beyond. “Do you think. . . ?”
Michael gave her a look of sympathy but shook his head. “There aren’t any fresh prints heading in that direction. The only places she went are the garbage barrel and here.”
❧
Elizabeth stared at the footprints in the dust, the final connection Jenny had with this place. She took the lamp from Michael and followed the marks the wagon had left until she reached the end of the alley. No more tracks. No more Jenny.
It was totally unlike Jenny to jump into a wagon and just take off.
As far as you know.
The only people in Prescott Jenny trusted were Elizabeth and Michael.
As far as you know.
“No, I won’t believe it.” Elizabeth silenced the insidious little voice of doubt. “Something is wrong, Michael. I know what the signs show, but I know Jenny, too.” I do, she assured herself. “It would be completely out of character for her to up and leave like that. She knew we were waiting for her and that we were just inside the building.”
A shiver of apprehension threaded up her spine. It was easy to hear through the restaurant walls. Jenny had only to call out, and they would have rushed to help her. What had happened to keep her from doing just that?
“Get the sheriff, Michael.”
He shook his head sorrowfully, and her voice sharpened. “Something is wrong. Go get him.”
Michael heaved a sigh. “He’s gone. I heard this afternoon. He’s off dealing with a dispute over some claim jumpers down around Big Bug.”
No. What was he doing, trying to sort out some foolish mining problem when Jenny needed help? Chest heaving, Elizabeth fought for control. “When will he be back?”
“Maybe by morning. Maybe not for days. It all depends on how things go out there.”
“We can’t wait for days!”
“I know that.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “But we’re going to have to wait until morning. There’s no way we can follow them tonight. I’ll check around town, find out if anyone has seen her.”
Elizabeth’s body stiffened in denial all the while her mind accepted the hard truth of Michael’s reasoning.
“We can’t trail them until daylight,” Michael continued. “But I promise you, I’ll be here as soon as the sun comes up.”
“Before,” Elizabeth demanded. “We need to be ready to leave the moment it’s light.” She raised her hands, then let them fall to her sides. “I can’t just sit around this evening doing nothing, as if she’d gone off to spend the night with a friend.”
“Pray that she has.” Michael cupped the back of her head in his hand and pulled her close, cradling her against his body as if she were a child. “For that matter, just pray.”
❧
By the time Michael tapped on the door the next morning, Elizabeth was dressed and waiting.
“Come inside. The coffee’s on.” She ushered him in and cast a glance at the overcast sky. Pale gray fingers of light pushed their way through the cloud bank. It wouldn’t be long now.
She poured two cups of coffee and sat across the table from Michael, drawing comfort from the warmth of the steaming brew. Even in the summer months, nights grew cold here in the mountains. She shuddered, wondering how Jenny had passed the night.
And where.
Michael cradled his cup in his hands. “Did you come up with any ideas during the night?”
She shook her head slowly. “I have no idea who she would have gone with willingly. Or why.”
Only the glimmer of a thought had kept her awake all through the long night hours.
Could Jenny’s disappearance have anything to do with seeing the kiss she had shared with Michael the day before?
That Jenny had seen them, she knew without a doubt. Her gasp of surprise and quick departure confirmed that. She hadn’t said a word about it later, though, and Elizabeth hadn’t found time to explain it to her. Had something about their embrace upset her to the point she would run away without a word?
And if so, what could it be? Elizabeth couldn’t think of any reason, save one:
What if Jenny cared for Michael herself?
It would be natural enough. After the treatment she had received, first at the hands of Martin Lester, then Burleigh Ames and his customers, any kindness shown by a man would make him seem like her knight in shining armor. Could that account for Jenny’s abrupt departure?
“I wonder. . .”
Michael looked up eagerly. “Yes?”
“Never mind.” Elizabeth gathered their cups and set them in the basin. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. It was enough to shoulder the burden of guilt at the possibility that her actions might have driven Jenny away. She couldn’t bear the shame of admitting it to Michael.
Especially if her suspicions turned out to be true.
“Let’s go.” She blew out the lamp and stepped outside into the first light of dawn.
On any other morning, she would have gloried in the promise of a new day. Now she felt weighed down by the responsibility of finding Jenny—and the realization that she had no idea what to do first.
“I didn’t find anybody who had seen her last night. Let’s take a better look at those tracks now that it’s daylight.” Michael strode to the end of the alley, radiating confidence. She followed, grateful to have a starting point.
“Do they tell you anything?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “Only that the wagon turned west from here. The tracks are so mixed in with the other traffic, I won’t be able to follow them.”
Elizabeth stared westward, willing herself to spot some sign, some scrap of information that would give them a clue. Except for a few other early risers, the street was empty.
“We’ll go that way, then.” She walked briskly, putting action to her words. “Someone must have seen them. We just have to find out who.”
They queried everyone they met without success until they came upon an old man sweeping his front porch.
“Yesterday evening?” He fingered the tuft of white hair over his right ear. “Sure, I saw a wagon down this way just before sunset. Surprised me some. I thought Lester lived out toward Chino Valley. Don’t know what he’d be doing, heading off down the south road.”
