“Sell? What would I sell at this time of night? My house? My jewels? My— Of course!” She turned on her heel and rushed from the room. Snatching her coat from the hall tree, she didn’t bother to put it on as she practically ran up the walk toward Luke.
It struck her then that she was somehow glad he was there waiting for her, strong and tall and steady. It felt reassuring to see him there.
Luke saw her bolt out of the house and tear down the steps. Moonlight filtered through the oak trees, casting the ground in moving shadows, and he strained to see her expression. That damned bastard had better have given her the money, or else he—
One close look at her face, and he knew the answer.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.
“Edward can’t give me the money without the board of directors’ approval, and they’re unavailable.” She struggled into her coat and shoved her disheveled hair back from her face.
“Why, that son of a bitch...” He started toward the house. He’d get that money for her, one way or another. “I’ll tell him about approval,” he snarled. She stopped him with a touch.
“No, Luke, there isn’t time.”
He helped her into the buggy. He’d remember this night and that bastard, and sooner or later their paths would cross again.
He swung up on the buggy seat. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll figure out something. Hell, just say the word and I’ll rob that damned bank for you.”
“This is no time for jokes. I—”
“I’m not joking. I’ve never been more serious. You need money, and I’ll get it for you.” His expression was as hard as granite. “Whatever it takes to get the boy back.”
“I believe you’re serious,” she said into the sudden quiet.
“Damn straight. Hell, I’m half outlaw anyway. Gotta be, in my line of work.”
She believed him. Believed he’d rob a bank for her if she asked him. Not because she asked him, because he was determined to help her and Andrew, with no thought for himself.
In that instant, everything changed. Fears faded and were replaced with a new emotion, familiar yet vague. But there was no time to examine it more closely now.
She touched him on the arm, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard tendons of the work-toughened muscles beneath. “Thank you for your offer,” she said softly, sincerely. “It’s not necessary. Just get me home.”
“All right.” Luke slammed back into the seat, slapped the reins hard on the horse’s rump, and they took off. The wheels made a high-pitched whine that was the melody to the pounding staccato of the horse’s hooves as they retraced their path.
All the while, the clock was running out. “Okay, how about this?” he said, making the turn onto Pine Street. “I’ll go to the meeting place. I’ll pretend to have the money. Then, when they hand over the boy, I’ll—”
“No! I’m not taking any chances. I can get the money.”
“How?”
They pulled into the stable, and Rebecca jumped down the instant the buggy stopped. The horse pawed the straw-covered floor, seeming to sense the tension. “Leave him,” she instructed the stable boy and, hitching up her skirt, she ran full out for the house. Luke followed.
He caught up to her in her office. She was rummaging through papers.
“What are you doing?”
She didn’t even look up. Papers scattered like leaves until she found the one she was looking for. She held it high like a trophy. “This.” She waved the paper. “It’s an offer to buy the paper. I’ve had it for several weeks. It’s exactly enough money, and they said the offer was good indefinitely.”
Luke eyed the proposal suspiciously. “How’s that help?”
“Because they offered cash. Some eastern group who want to branch out. See?” She waved the papers under his nose, her finger tapping the pages. “If they want it, they can have it, but they’ve got to give me the money tonight.”
She scrawled her name on the document in the required places. “Let’s go.” She breezed past him, and he fell in step behind her.
“Where to?”
“The lawyer’s office.”
Ruth was halfway up the stairs when they started down. “Did you see Edward? Did you—” She turned as Rebecca and Luke charged past.
“No,” Rebecca called over her shoulder as she headed for the door.
“No?” Ruth shouted from her place on the stairs. “What do you mean, no?”
Rebecca stopped long enough to give Ruth the barest details. “Edward can’t help without the board of directors’ approval.”
“What are we going to do? I’ve got some cash upstairs. Maybe they’ll take less, or—”
“I’m selling the paper.” She waved the documents in verification of her statement.
“No, Rebecca, you can’t! That paper is every—”
“It’s nothing if I lose Andrew. We’re on our way to the lawyer’s house. They offered cash, and if he’s got it, then we’re set.”
“And if not?”
Rebecca stood very still. For a full ten seconds, she didn’t speak, didn’t move. Then she said simply, “He must.”
With Luke at her side, they drove out of the yard.
She gave instructions, and Luke followed them. Occasionally he stole a quick glance in her direction. Her delicate face was bathed in moonlight. Her chin was set, rigid, actually, and she kept her eyes focused straight ahead.
He could only begin to imagine what was going on in her mind. Perhaps the realization that she could have her son back in a few hours if, and only if, she could raise the money.
Damn, he wished he could do this for her. He wished he’d found the boy days ago, but it was a big city, and looking for one small boy was like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
It galled him that he was so helpless in this, that he could only drive her around and wait while she begged for help, for money. A fierce protectiveness welled up in him—not that it did much good.
There wasn’t anything he could do except stand by and wait, and waiting was not something he did well. No, Luke Scanlin was not known for his patience, nor was he known for his willingness to forgive and forget. He wouldn’t forget this night, or that bastard, Edward, who wouldn’t help her.
There were only two things that mattered in her life, and now she’d have to sell one to save the other.
This goddamned lawyer better have the money.
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up at the lawyer’s home—white clapboard with dark green gingerbread trim.
This time, when she bolted from the buggy, Luke jumped down and went along. This time, they were getting the money. There’d be no taking advantage of her—not now. It was the least he could do.
Ten long steps up the front walk to the wooden porch. A hideous little gargoyle stood guard outside the door. Luke knocked on the door. He could see lights on through the stained-glass panels.
The door swung wide. A portly man of about forty, with thinning brown hair, answered the knock.
“Mrs. Tinsdale. What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting you. Please come in.” Smiling, he stepped aside.
“Mr. Handley.” Rebecca walked past him into the small, square entryway. “I apologize for the late hour but I’ve come to see you about that offer to buy the Times.”
He shot Luke a questioning glance. “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir. Frank Handley.” He offered his hand.
“Luke Scanlin. U.S. marshal for this region.” Luke wasn’t one for titles, but under the circumstances, he thought this was a good time to use his. Just to let the man know there’d be no deceptions—not tonight, not with Becky.
His handshake stopped in midmotion, and his gaze flew to Luke’s face. “Marshal? Did you say marshal?”
“That’s right. Is there a problem?”
“What? Oh, no.” He released Luke’s hand abruptly. “I was just startled, is all. Maybe I should ask you the same thing?”
“Everything’s fine...so far,” Luke returned politely, but didn’t bother to smile.
“Good. Well, please, since this is business, let’s go into the office.”
He led the way down the narrow, carpeted hall beside the stairs, to a room near the back of the house. The gas wall sconces were barely a flicker, and he turned them up, the gas flame hissing in response.
The office was barely ten by ten, just enough room for a small mahogany desk, one matching file cabinet and two Windsor chairs.
“Have a seat, won’t you?”
Rebecca took the chair by the warming stove.
“I’ll stand,” Luke said at the lawyer’s questioning glance.
“Suit yourself.”
“I always do.”
Luke folded his arms across his chest and leaned one shoulder against the smooth doorframe, effectively blocking the doorway.
The lawyer hardly hesitated. He was good, Luke thought with grudging admiration, and he should know. He’d seen enough of them over the years, what with trials and all.
Rebecca broke in. “Mr. Handley, about the sale.”
Frank Handley circled around his desk and sat down, his swivel chair squeaking as he twisted.
“I’ve brought the papers, signed.” She balanced them on her lap. “You had said cash. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Here. Now,” Luke clarified from his place in the doorway.
“Yes. I have the cash in the safe.”
Rebecca straightened, and Luke could see her sigh. There was even the barest hint of a smile. “Fine. Then we have a deal.”
She stood and offered him the papers, which he accepted. He glanced at the signature, then went to a safe hidden behind a painting—so obvious an idiot could have spotted it.
Thirty seconds, and the small door swung open with a squeak. He produced a tan envelope bulging with cash, which he handed to Rebecca.
“You’re welcome to count it, if you like.”
She clutched the envelope to her as though her life depended on it. In a way, it did. It would save her life, for God knew that if she lost Andrew, her life wouldn’t be worth living.
“No, that’s all right, Mr. Handley. I trust you.”
She started for the door. Luke blocked her path. They exchanged a glance. His gaze quickly flicked to the lawyer, the one who was Cheshire-cat pleased with himself. Something about the man bothered Luke. Maybe it was that there had been no haggling, no discussing, no questions. Maybe it was that the money had just been sitting there waiting, as though they’d known she’d sell.
Oh, hell, it was more likely that his suspicious nature was getting the better of him. After all, the offer had been made weeks ago, and, she hadn’t turned them down, so why shouldn’t the money be sitting here waiting?
Still, his male pride, pride that was all tied up in knots because he couldn’t reach in his pocket and produce the needed money, made him say, “You sure about this?” His tone was executioner-quiet.
“I am.”
He saw tears pool in her eyes, and that helpless feeling inside him quickly turned to rage.
He let her pass, though it felt more as if he were letting her go. Somehow he was going to make this up to her. Somehow he was going to make her see that even though he didn’t have thousands in the bank, he was still the one she needed.
The ride back to the house was somber. She had the money, but the cost he knew had been terribly high. The paper was her heart. Andrew was her soul.
“I’m sorry this is happening, Becky.”
She nodded, clutching the envelope to her breasts. “I have the money, that’s all that matters. Andrew is all that matters.”
The horse’s hooves click-clacking on the street and the hum of the buggy wheels irritated her already throbbing nerves. Houses, lights blazing, passed like soldiers in review, while oak trees stood shadowy sentry duty. There was no breeze, just the light gray misting of the incoming fog.
“You know, I can’t help wondering why that lawyer had the money on hand, instead of in a bank.” Luke shifted the reins to one hand.
“The offer said cash,” Rebecca explained. “It was supposed to be an incentive. No lengthy paperwork, no financing.”
“But cash? I mean, most people, when they say cash, they mean in a bank, write a check, that kind of cash.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is, I’ve got exactly the amount of money I need. What time is it?”
He fished his watch out of his pocket and clicked open the cover, twisting it to catch enough moonlight to read it. “Eight. We’ve got an hour.”
He let her off in front of the house, and watched her hurry up the walk before he drove the buggy around to the stable.
“Put it away,” he told the boy. He saddled his horse and led him around to the front. There was at least one thing he could do. He could deliver the ransom. Walking into dark alleys was something he was all too familiar with. If someone was going to get hurt, it wasn’t going to be her.
The entryway was empty when he walked in. He went upstairs and found Ruth with Rebecca, in her bedroom.
The room was large, square, and conspicuously feminine. All soft shades of blue and green. There was lace at the windows and lace trim on the bed coverings. The furniture was cherry, polished to a gleaming shine. It looked just the way he would have imagined Becky’s room.
“You okay?” he asked, knowing she was far from it, but needing to say something, needing to let her know he was there for her.
“Yes.” Her back was to him. She was rummaging in her wardrobe cabinet. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Ready?” He arched one brow suspiciously. “Ready for what?”
Her head snapped around. “Why, to go, of course.” She pulled out a black riding skirt and a dark print blouse.
“Just where is it you think you’re going? I’m taking the money.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“So?”
“I’m going with you.” She dropped down in a chair and hitched her skirt to her knees, then started undoing the buttons on her shoes as if he weren’t standing ten feet away, gaping at her stocking-clad ankle.
His mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut. The woman was more brazen, more stubborn, than most men.
He shot a help-me glance at Ruth, who shrugged helplessly.
Okay, then, he’d handle this himself. Taking a firm step into the room, feet braced, he gave her his sternest look. The one that had made Johnny Jenks think twice, then decide surrender was better than dying. “I—” he emphasized the singular word “—am making the delivery. You are not coming along.”
That fierce look of his failed miserably. The woman didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.” She tossed her shoes aside and pulled her blouse free of her waistband, shooting him an impatient look. “I am.”
“No,” he countered, as though he were talking to a headstrong child. “You aren’t. You don’t know what we’re dealing with here. I do this for a living, remember?”
With cold determination in her eyes, she advanced on him. He held his ground, though he’d seen kinder looks in the eyes of warring Comanches.
Ruth spoke up from her place near the foot of the bed. “I tried to tell her it was too dangerous.”
“Thank you,” he said, in a smug confirmation that didn’t slow Rebecca’s advance one iota.
“Now, you listen to me.” She jabbed the tips of two fingers in his chest, and he flinched in surprise. “I’m going. That’s my son. It’s my money, and—”
“I know it’s your money, dammit. I just drove you all over town to get it,” he snapped, still smarting from the frustration and the blow to his pride.
“Either you take me, or I go alone. But make no mistake, Scanlin—I’m going. Now...” She jabbed him again, and this time he retreated a half step. Comanches could take lessons from her. “You coming with me or not?”
“Dammit, Becky, you
can’t—”
“Yes or no, Scanlin. Those are the only words I want to hear.”
“This is wrong. It’s dangerous as hell.”
“Yes or no.”
He didn’t doubt for one second that she was bullheaded enough to do exactly what she said. Trouble was, she’d probably get herself, and maybe that boy, killed in the process.
Every instinct he had was screaming that this was a big, big mistake.
He was cornered.
“All right!”
“What?” she countered, with a smugness that rankled his dangerously short temper.
“Yes, I’m coming with you.”
“Fine.” She turned away, already beginning to unbutton her blouse. “Now get out of here so I can change.”
Ten minutes later, Luke was still fuming.
He paced the length of the entryway. He’d had a Missouri mule once with a gentler disposition than her. He clenched his jaw so hard, pain inched down his neck and up behind his eyes.
Yeah. Okay. He knew she was worried about the boy. So was he. He knew she’d been frantic. He would be, also, if it were his son.
He kept pacing, his boots making hollow thuds on the polished planks.
Yeah, he also understood that sitting around doing nothing, waiting, wasn’t his style—or hers, obviously.
But this was dangerous, more dangerous than she could begin to understand, and he didn’t have time to explain the fine points of the outlaw mentality. How they were about as trustworthy and honorable as rabid wolves. Make that hungry, rabid wolves.
He should have been in that alley an hour ago. He should have gotten there first so that there would be no chance of a trap, no chance of being surprised. As it was, with all this running around trying to get the ransom, they’d make the deadline with only minutes to spare. That triggered a warning bell in his mind. He didn’t have time to think about it now, but later, after everyone was home, then... He nodded thoughtfully to himself.
For about the tenth time in as many minutes, he checked his .45, the one he had tied low on his right thigh. He hefted the gun, testing the cylinder, the weight and feel, as though he were shaking hands with an old friend. Yeah, he mused, slipping the weapon smoothly into the worn holster, sometimes this was his only friend. Tonight he also had a .32 in a shoulder holster under his jacket. Just in case.
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