"Get out of the way, you young whippersnapper," came a caustic voice from the front of the restaurant. "You should have more respect for an elderly lady who uses a cane."
"Uses it to hit people with," muttered the man in the booth behind Caroline.
With a prodigious bosom leading the way, Wilhemina Peters sailed through the restaurant toward Caroline's table. A stylish hat crowned silver hair and complemented her smart spring gown in shades of lavender and green. She did, indeed, carry a cane, an ivory-handled affair, and she made Caroline feel downright dowdy as she stood to greet her.
They exchanged pleasantries and small talk as they waited for their orders to be served. Then, her blue eyes shrewd and curious, Mrs. Peters cut to business. "So, Mrs. Whitaker," she said, using the false name Caroline had given when she telephoned earlier. "What made you decide to write an exposé about Lucky Logan Grey?"
Caroline licked her lips, then launched into her story. "Logan Grey has become quite the folk hero in West Texas since he brought the Burrows Gang to justice. And yet, rumors persist that he is not the white knight his reputation allows. I think the Artesia Standard's readers will be interested to learn the truth."
"He is an interesting subject, that's true." Mrs. Peters pursed her lips and considered Caroline. "I'm curious. Do you intend to publish such a meaty piece under your own byline? Will your newspaper allow it?"
"My father owns and edits the Standard," Caroline replied. "He publishes my articles under my name."
"Indeed!" Mrs. Peters's eyes gleamed with approval. "You know, in the earliest days when I began my 'Talk about Town' column, I was forced to use a pen name, but times have changed. Women have more opportunity now than they did thirty years ago."
"Especially when the woman works with a man like my father," Caroline told her with a smile. "I can't tell you how many times I've heard him say that women aren't equal to men—they're usually superior."
Caroline had a vivid memory of Ben with his legs propped up on his desk, his weathered, wrinkled face alight with laughter as he read the editorial she'd written about the sanctimonious snobbery of a local church-women's group who refused a charitable donation of much-needed school supplies because the donors were women who worked upstairs at Artesia Saloon. "You've a wicked pen, sunshine," he'd said. "This is gonna ruffle plenty of feathers. Think I'll get me a sarsaparilla and sit on the front porch and watch the show."
"Your father sounds like a man I would like," Mrs. Peters said.
"I love him madly. He is a forward-thinking, forward-looking man."
The moment the words left her mouth, Caroline knew they were no longer true. Ben Whitaker had quit looking forward in January when his beloved Suzanne died. He went crazy with grief. Nowadays, he only looked behind, and that way of looking was going to get him killed if she didn't do something to stop it.
Mrs. Peters nibbled at a lemon-drop cookie, then said, "Well, then. Yes, I'll be happy to help you. What would you like to know about Lucky Logan Grey?"
Caroline dragged her thoughts back to the business at hand. What did she want to know about Logan? Anything. Everything. The more the better. If she continued on the course she'd plotted, she'd be taking the biggest risk of her life. The more information she had about the man, the better.
Caroline smoothed the napkin in her lap. "I've done quite a bit of research on his professional successes. I'm curious about Mr. Grey's personal life."
Wilhemina Peters sniffed with disdain. "You want the dirt, the gossip." Then, a wicked gleam entered her eyes and she studied her fingernails. 'That's why you came to me, of course."
Caroline simply smiled.
Leaning forward, Mrs. Peters lowered her voice. "Half the women in town have an infatuation for the man. Logan Grey is quite an intriguing fellow."
Of course he is. Caroline added a spoonful of sugar to her tea since it had taken on a bit of a sour taste.
"He is darkly handsome with a lean, muscular build that catches the eye of even a mature woman such as myself. He has a down-home style to him that doesn't hide his keen intelligence, and a ready wit that appeals to ladies and gentlemen alike. Since you're a married lady, I'll share this tidbit." She dropped her voice even lower. "From what I hear, the soiled doves find him appealing, too. He is said to have quite a sensual appetite and enormous stamina."
Definitely too much lemon in this tea, Caroline decided as her mouth puckered.
"The man reminds me of Trace McBride, back in the day. Do you know the McBrides? They've made regular appearances in print for years—oftentimes in my own column. They're one of the leading families in town today but years ago, Trace McBride was a scoundrel and a scapegrace. He owned a saloon in Hell's Half Acre and left his three little girls to run wild about town. Jenny Fortune saved that family by marrying Trace and taking those Menaces under her wing. You might have read about the Bad Luck Brides? That's what folks are calling the McBride Menaces now since they're all grown-up, married and making families of their own. In fact, one of the girls' husbands, Dair MacRae, is an old, dear friend of Logan Grey's. He's part of their circle of friends."
Caroline did know of the McBrides. The discovery of their family treasure had garnered quite a lot of newsprint, and since Logan Grey had been part of the event, Caroline had made it her business to find out everything she could about Fort Worth's leading family. "I've been a fan of your column for years, Mrs. Peters, so yes, I'm quite familiar with the McBride family. And of course, the Bad Luck Treasure made newspapers all across the state."
"The Bad Luck Treasure," Mrs. Peters repeated, clicking her tongue. "It's an amazing story...as is today's attempted bank robbery. Wasn't that something? Scuttlebutt says some mystery woman assisted Logan." The older woman bent her head to one side and studied Caroline. "Would you happen to know anything about that, dear?"
"No," she denied. The last thing she wanted was to shine the spotlight on herself, so she quickly forged ahead. "So, Mr. Grey is welcome in the parlors of Fort Worth's leading families because of his friendship with the McBride family?"
"That's how it started, but he's made his own place. Of course, his occupation as a range detective takes him away from town more often than he is here. That only adds to his mystique. You do realize that a range detective is little more than a hired gun with legal authority. He has all the wicked appeal of an outlaw, but with a badge to make it acceptable. Sets the young ladies in town all atwitter, though the fact he doesn't dabble there preserves his welcome by their fathers."
Caroline dumped another spoonful of sugar in her cup, then stirred and sipped her tea. The fact that he didn't dabble with daughters showed both self-preservation and intelligence—qualities she needed the man to have. She should be happy.
Nothing about Logan Grey made her happy.
After choosing another selection from the cookie tray the waitress offered, Mrs. Peters observed, "Yet, for all his popularity, Lucky Logan Grey keeps himself apart. There is a darkness about him that goes beyond his good looks. I happened to overhear the McBride girls speculating about him not long ago. They seem to think that something happened down in Mexico a few years back that continues to haunt him, but no one knows for sure. One thing they all agreed on was that he was a restless soul. They despair that he'll ever settle down and marry."
Caroline stifled a snort at that last bit, then turned her attention to the bit of news. "Mexico, hmm? That's interesting. I haven't run across that piece of information in my research."
"Apparently, he refuses to talk about it. Such an intriguing man." Mrs. Peters sipped her tea, then added, "I once overheard a society woman at a party say that Logan Grey is like a special dessert that makes only seasonal appearances on the menu. When it's available, a lady wants to indulge."
Caroline refrained from sneering. Barely. "So he is fickle? Disloyal?"
"Oh, no. He's fiercely loyal to his friends. He doesn't make promises he doesn't keep."
At that, Caroline couldn't stop the unlad
ylike snort.
Mrs. Peters rattled on through two more cups of tea, three cookies and two small slices of cake. She provided a gold mine of information which Caroline could draw upon when she approached Logan later that evening. When Mrs. Peters finally wound down, she asked a pertinent question of her own. "I trust you intend to interview Mr. Grey yourself before you write your story?"
"Yes. I hope to speak with him this evening, in fact." By then, surely she'd have worked up the guts to do so. "I understand he keeps a room at the Blackstone Hotel and takes his meals here in this restaurant when he is in town. I intend to join him for dinner."
"Then you'll need to go to Willow Hill," Mrs. Peters informed her. "The Bad Luck Brides are hosting an impromptu dinner party there this evening in honor of Grey's heroics today at the bank."
Caroline's stomach sank. She hadn't anticipated that.
"The guest list is small—the McBride girls and their husbands, along with two of Grey's close friends, Holt Driscoll and Cade Hollister."
"Really," Caroline murmured, her thoughts spinning at the news.
"I found out because Kat Kimball came by the newspaper looking for the mystery woman so they could invite her to join them." The older woman dabbed her lips with her napkin. "My oh my. Look at the time. I must run. Thank you so much for the invitation, Mrs. Whitaker. I enjoyed our little visit tremendously."
Caroline pulled her distracted thoughts together. "Why, time certainly did fly. Thank you for joining me, Mrs. Peters. Your information has been a great help. I'll make certain you receive a copy of my exposé."
"Lovely. I'll look forward to it." Then the older woman stood, gathered up her cane and handbag, and added, "Really, my dear. You should join them, you know. You won't get a better opportunity to gather information for your article. And besides, you have been invited. Am I correct?"
Caroline winced. Either Mrs. Peters was more astute than she had figured, or she herself couldn't prevaricate worth beans. Likely it was a combination of the two. I have to do better than that. "Yes, ma'am," she said with a sigh. "Apparently I have."
After Mrs. Peters left the restaurant, Caroline broke down and ordered a glass of liquid courage. She had her answers. Nothing she'd learned today either at the bank or from the newspaperwoman deterred her from her path. She didn't know whether that made her happy or sad.
"So, what in Sam Hill do I do now?" she murmured as she sipped her whiskey. Did she ambush him at the bottom of the hill after dinner? Did she wait until tomorrow and waste another day? Or did she forget this whole idea entirely and abandon the father of her heart to his fate?
Not hardly.
She would confront Logan Grey at the dinner party. He would have a harder time saying no if she did it in front of his friends, though the idea of it made her grimace. Facing the yellow-dog scoundrel was hard enough, but lying to him about something so important in front of perfect strangers? Could she do it? She hadn't fooled Mrs. Peters. What made her think she could fool people as clever as the McBrides were purported to be?
She had no other choice. Just think about Ben, about how he took her in and gave her a home and a family. Think about how much he loved her and about how much he needed her right now.
Caroline closed her eyes and recalled the day she had met Ben Whitaker. She'd had seventy-five cents in her pocket, no roof over her head, no food in her belly. After a full day of searching, she'd discovered there were only two jobs to be had in town—nursing Suzanne during her recovery or whoring upstairs at the Artesia Saloon.
"I don't know that you could do the job," Ben had said, his sharp gaze sweeping over her from head to toe when she inquired about the position in his household. "My Suz is a substantial woman. You look as if a gust of wind could blow you down. There's another woman who—"
"I'm stronger than I look, Mr. Whitaker," she interrupted. "And there is no one in Texas who will take better care of your wife. I give you my word."
He rubbed his hand along his jawline, his bushy salt-and-pepper brows lowered in a speculative frown. "You're desperate, aren't you, girl?"
"Yes, sir, that I am."
"Desperate then, and desperate now," Caroline murmured into her glass. Back then, she'd had another option. She could have whored herself.
Today, she had but one option. Lucky Logan Grey.
"Heaven help me." Caroline finished her drink, then left the restaurant.
Four hours later, she stared up a hill toward the McBride family mansion, Willow Hill, her stomach churning with nerves. She'd second-guessed herself and her decisions all afternoon, but in the end, she didn't know a better way to achieve her goal.
"Oh for God's sake, Caroline. Just summon some grit and do it." She started up the hill.
Upon reaching the house, she strolled up the front walk and onto the porch. There she smoothed the skirt of her favorite yellow dress—eerily similar to the one she'd worn that black day fifteen years ago—then patted the medallion she'd hung around her neck for safekeeping. Approaching the door, she raised her hand to the brass knocker just as a burst of laughter exploded from inside the house. Her nerve failed and she stepped away from the door. Her heart pounded like a drum.
Did she really want to do this? It would change everything. Life would never be the same if she went through with this.
Dear Lord, help her.
The sound of voices called to her, and she stepped toward them, peering cautiously through a sliver of space between the dining room window draperies at the group of men she'd known long ago. They were a handsome lot, she thought. All of them tall, all broad of shoulder, all hard and sculpted by the trials and dangers of the lives they'd led. Holt Driscoll with his icy-blue eyes; Cade Hollister, whose brown eyes had so often sparkled with mischief; Dair MacRae, the host of tonight's dinner party in his father-in-law's absence. Him, she barely remembered, though the intense silver eyes, now softened with love as he gazed at his beautiful wife, Emma, did strike a sense of familiarity.
Lastly, Caroline gazed at the green-eyed scalawag she'd come so far to talk to. Logan Grey. Lucky Logan Grey.
The rat. The lout. The bastard.
Look at him sitting there laughing at something his friends had said, even more handsome than before, curse his black soul. She could see why women acted the fool over him. He still had that thick, dark, wavy hair he wore just a little too long, still had those emerald eyes that gleamed behind sinfully long lashes. Though clean shaven, his heavy shadow of a beard contributed a scruffy look to the masculine angles and planes of his face that made him all the more appealing. His broad shoulders and lanky frame had filled out over the years, but the air of danger hanging about him hadn't disappeared.
Memories shuddered over her along with emotions she'd worked hard to bury—hurt, loss, fury and, Lord help her, young, reckless love. The first time she'd seen him she'd been all of eight years old, spending the summer with her maternal grandparents at their farm in East Texas. When she was twelve he'd used a wink and crook of a finger to lure her into the shelter of the pine trees for her very first kiss. Then the last time she'd seen him, those unforgettable eyes of his had burned with passion. Passion for her.
And she'd believed them, foolish female that she was.
Laughter again erupted from the dining room, dragging her back to the present. She identified the people inside from a photograph published in the newspaper on the occasion of the dedication of McBride Elementary. Inside, Emma MacRae's sister, Katrina Kimball, had stood in order to act out the story she was telling. Like Dair's wife and her other sister, Maribeth, who sat opposite her at the table, Kat was a beautiful woman.
It was good that the women were there, Caroline decided. Even though Logan was their friend, the fact they were females would likely make them sympathetic to her plight.
She stepped back and swallowed hard and returned to the front door. Her hand trembled as she sounded the knocker, but as she heard footsteps approach, a wind of righteousness swept through her and streng
thened her. Her fear and her doubts subsided. This had to be done. It was a matter of life and death.
Dair MacRae opened the door and with a polite smile inquired, "May I help you?"
He didn't recognize her, either. Caroline wasn't surprised—or offended—since their acquaintance had been so brief, so long ago. "I am sorry to interrupt your evening, but it is imperative that I speak with Mr. Grey."
MacRae's gaze swept over her, though he gave nothing of his thoughts away. "May I ask who is calling for him?"
She dodged the question by tugging the medallion from around her neck and saying, "I have something I suspect he'd like returned."
"Ah!" A smile bloomed on MacRae's striking face. "Today's mysterious heroine. We wanted to include you in tonight's celebration. I know Lucky will be thrilled you tracked him down."
I wouldn 't count on it.
"Please, come in and join us." Dair opened the door wide and gestured her inside just as his wife joined them in the entry hall.
"Good evening," Emma MacRae said, her expression friendly but curious.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt your dinner party, Mrs. MacRae," Caroline said in an earnest tone. "But there is simply no time to waste. I must see Logan immediately." Knowing she might lose her nerve if she hesitated, she walked right past Emma MacRae into the dining room.
Everyone in the room looked at her. Caroline focused on the men's reactions as they politely rose to their feet. Cade Hollister's expression settled into a puzzled frown. Holt Driscoll's features warmed with appreciation.
Logan Grey's green eyes lit with pleasure as he grinned. "Well, if it isn't my partner in crime-busting. What happened to you this afternoon? I turned around and you were gone. I never even caught your name."
"I'm Caroline," she said, watching closely for a reaction. She saw interest in his eyes, but not a hint of recognition.
The mangy dog.
She waited, counting silently to ten, before she accepted the truth. He still didn't recognize her. She'd told herself earlier to give him the benefit of the doubt due to the intensity of the circumstances at the bank. But now? After she'd given him the hint of her name? What excuse did he have now?
The Loner Page 3
