Legacy

by Lynn Winchester

  JoJo pinched her cheek to add a little color to her face, a face that was pale and sunken from weariness and worry. The whole ride back from town, she’d stewed. How dare Timothy Hanlon act so callous about his own near-death? The man was a fool. A smiling, charming, much too naïve fool. What possessed him to run into a dark alley to help someone he didn’t know? Yes, he’d probably saved her life, but he hadn’t known it was her when he’d come charging in…right into her bullet. After he was shot, rather than whine and complain about his wound, as most men were wont to do, he worried about her. She lifted a trembling hand to her throat and pressed. It was mighty sore, and it hurt to talk, but she’d survive. She’d survived worse. Unbidden, images of her brother’s bloody body coursed through her mind, and she stumbled from the vanity to collapse onto the bed.

  “Joe,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from tears and abuse. “Oh, Joe…what am I supposed to do? Hess is so close, so close, but I can’t do it on my own.”

  You’re not alone… A warm breeze caressed her ear, carrying with it an admonition.

  Her breath caught and she shuddered. She was alone, she was the only one who cared that Joe was dead, that Hess was the one that killed him. Hess would not get away with it. JoJo rubbed her neck again, tender and warm beneath her itchy collar, and determined to not let Hess get away with that either.

  You’re not alone, a voice from within her licked up her spine, lodging itself in her mind. “Yes, I am alone!” she exclaimed, then paused when an image of Tim flashed before her eyes.

  “Tim? How can he help me? He’s a farmer’s son. He’s the man my uncle brought to Montana just to keep an eye on me. How can he help me?” she asked the empty room, exasperated, but then she remembered the look of worry on his face when he’d awoken after getting shot. She remembered how his smile made her heart leap. She remembered how his low, rumbling laugh made her belly flip.

  Swallowing, JoJo wondered if Tim Hanlon would still smile at her after he learned about her plan for Dalton Hess.

  Chapter Ten

  “You can’t be serious, Uncle Thomas! You can’t mean to keep me trapped in the house like I’m some sort of criminal,” Joanna exclaimed, her cheeks flaming a becoming red.

  Tim sat in the chair beside Joanna’s, opposite his uncle’s large desk.

  “I am quite serious, Joanna. The man was shot, he needs some tender, loving care. At least for a week or so.”

  Her eyes widened further, and Tim could swear he saw fear cloud their golden depths. “A week? You’re going to trap me in the house for a week?”

  Uncle Thomas raised his hand. “You aren’t trapped, Joanna. Tim is in charge of keeping an eye on you, keeping you out of trouble, and he can’t very well do that with a bullet wound in his arm.”

  Tim sat forward in his seat, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his shoulder. “Sir, I don’t need her to stay around, not if there’s something else she’d like to be doing. I can take the carriage, wherever she’d like to go.” He figured it was a compromise. He could recuperate, somewhat, Joanna could still do whatever it was she was planning, and he could still keep her in his sights.

  “No!” Joanna exclaimed, stricken. “You can’t go anywhere like that. You could pull your stitches and bleed out, and then where would you be?”

  With you.

  “Enough,” Uncle Thomas said, rising to his full height. “You will stay here for the next seven days, until Tim has healed enough to keep an eye on you proper.” He turned to Tim. “And you best heal quick, I still expect you to fulfill your other duties. There’s a shipment I need you to retrieve from town in eight days. The lads at the station can help you get it into the wagon, and the lads at the claim can help you get it out. All you have to do is drive the wagon from one place to the other.” His dark eyes roved over Tim, as if taking his measure. “Can you handle that, son?”

  Tim nodded and squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir. And I promise to keep Joanna out of trouble.” Her sharp intake of breath and her narrowed eyes told him he’d stepped right into something dangerous, but whether that danger was Joanna or something else, he couldn’t say.

  Uncle Thomas came around the desk and clasped Tim’s hand in his, giving it a quick, firm shake. “I’ll hold you to that, son.”

  With that, Uncle Thomas excused them both, and Tim watched as a fuming Joanna strode down the hall toward a part of the house Tim hadn’t seen before. Both curious about where Joanna was going and about Joanna herself, Tim followed.

  He wasn’t expecting to find what he found. Lemon trees, orange trees, and rows upon rows of flowers—all enclosed in walls of glass. Tim looked up to find a glass dome high over his head. He swallowed at the grandeur of it all.

  “Gaw-lee,” he said, awed. “What is this place?”

  Joanna stopped in the middle of a gravel path and spun on her heel. “What are you doing in here? Why are you following me?” she asked, her expression none too welcoming.

  He offered her a placating smile, one he’d practiced on his own sisters over the years. It usually worked. It didn’t with Joanna. “Well, Uncle Thomas did tell me to watch over you… And he did ask you to help me—if I needed it, that is.” He knew he was rowing into troubled waters, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to find a way to get behind the wall Joanna erected around herself. He knew she was troubled, he could tell by the circles around her eyes, the tension rolling from her body, and the furtive and often faraway look in her eyes. As if she were in the room, but her mind and heart were elsewhere.

  Joanna planted her hands on her hips. “So, what is it you need from me? A drink perhaps…” she said, her eyes twinkling with something delightfully devilish.

  He laughed. “Oh no, I couldn’t trust you not to try to drug me again. I think I’ll settle for your company,” he drawled, his smile only widening when Joanna’s face turned pink. He pointed to a set of chairs along the side of the path, where it widened at the entrance of a large open space, where a small fountain softly gurgled.

  This room was a marvel. Even his practical ma would adore it.

  Joanna sat stiffly but didn’t turn away when Tim slowly sank into the chair next to her.

  “What’s this room called?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t sit as silent as a stone for the next seven days.

  She turned to him and tipped her head, her eyes taking in his features, then landing on the sling over his arm and shoulder. Her lips thinned but she finally met his gaze. “It’s called a conservatory. My aunt wanted one so my uncle added it onto the mansion two years ago. Aunt Melda is very proud of it, in fact, one of the very first things she did when I arrived was drag me in here and go on about it for a solid hour.” Joanna rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated huff.

  Goodness, but she was a ball of gumption, and he couldn’t help but admire her.

  “How do you know Aunt Melda? Your ma was her friend?” Keep her talking. Get her to open up. He didn’t understand the need to know everything there was to know about Joanna Stopay. What was it about her that drove him to distraction? What did Joanna have that none of the other ladies in Dry Bayou had? He’d seen his fair share of lovely, sweet, well-mannered females—the Mosier family alone had five girls, ranging in ages from four to seventeen—but he didn’t want to wait around for them to grow up and come into their own. Sure, they’d be wonderful wives for some man one day, but not for him. He wanted something different, someone different. Someone who would fire his blood and steal his breath. Someone who would make him feel whole.

  Someone like Miss Joanna Stopay.

  “They grew up together in Shawnee. My ma was the daughter of the town doctor, and Melda was the daughter of the town mortician.”

  He chuckled. “Seems they were meant to be friends.”

  A small smirk lifted the side of Joanna’s mouth, and a warmth spread out from his heart. Her smile… Lord but I’d give anything to see it again.

  Shaking himself, he turned from the focus of his every thought,
and watched as two colorful birds swooped down from a perch near the ceiling to land on a lemon tree just across from them. He’d never seen birds so large or so yellow.

  “What are those?” he asked, hoping to draw her into a conversation again.

  He heard her turn in her seat. “Aunt Melda says they’re macaws. They were shipped in from Brazil.” She sighed, and Tim turned to look at her, his gut twisting at the glimpse of longing on her face. “It was a gift from Uncle Thomas. He said the macaw was the only bird that came close to her beauty.”

  Leaning forward, Tim murmured, “Or yours.”

  Her golden eyes flew to his, widening at whatever she saw in his expression. Her breathing shallowed and a soft pink colored her cheeks. Goodness but she was lovely when she blushed.

  “There you are, being cheeky again,” she breathed, her voice husky.

  Gathering all his daring, Tim took Joanna’s hands in his and smiled when she didn’t pull away. “I’m being honest.” Something hot and needy passed through her eyes, and he fought a groan. “I’ve never met anyone as lovely as you, Joanna.”

  She swallowed, her breath seeming to catch as he tightened his hold on her hand. He never wanted to let go.

  “You mean it? You think I—I’m lovely?” her doubt seemed to pluck a chord in his chest.

  He moved closer, his gaze dropping to her plump lips, just inches from his. “How do you not know? Surely some man has told you.”

  She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his.

  “Not a single word,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

  “Sometimes, words aren’t enough.” Closer still, Tim watched as her chest rose and fell with tight, quick breaths. She was as caught up as he was. A kiss… Yes, just one kiss. Then he could focus on keeping her safe from herself.

  In a blink, he captured her lips beneath his and pressed in. At first, she tensed, her body turning to steel against him, but after a moment, she softened, leaning into him. She moaned. He pressed in further, the heat of her infusing his body, raising goosebumps and electricity along his flesh.

  She tasted of maple syrup and vanilla, and he was starving for more. He let go of her hands and cupped the back of her head, both holding her in place and pulling her even closer. He couldn’t get enough. His mouth worked over hers as he nibbled at the succulence of her bottom lip. Her hot breath blasted against his face, the sensation awakening something just as hot in his belly. He groaned into her, begging the heavens to prolong his pleasure.

  Suddenly, as soon as it began, it ended as Joanna pulled away, her breaths coming in gasps. Her trembling hand flew to her swollen lips as she stared at him with wide, hazy eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and the rose of the blush had spread down her neck and into the high collar.

  He swallowed, willing his heart to stop pounding so he could speak, but before he could utter a word—in apology or praise—Joanna stood and fled from the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  JoJo stopped just inside her bedroom and fought to breathe through the rush of panic strangling her. It wasn’t panic born of fear, no, nothing like that. It was panic born of overwhelming sensations, shooting through her, banging against the walls of her heart, the corridors of her mind, and to the very tips of her fingers. She shuddered, her thoughts on the heat and the taste of Tim’s kiss.

  It was her first kiss. And it had been glorious.

  Shuddering again, she stepped further into her room and shut the door behind her. Throwing herself over her bed, she took a deep breath, willing herself to calm the heck down. Though it was her first kiss, it was just a kiss. There was nothing to get so worked up about. It was just a kiss, just like Tim was just a man… A man with firm lips, strong yet gentle hands, and a thundering heart beneath this hard chest. Moaning, she laid her arm over her forehead and stared up into the canopy over her bed. The sheer fabric stretched loosely over the top of the four-poster bed seemed to flutter and dance in the breeze whispering in through the window.

  Cool fingers of air slid over her cheek, caressing her heated face, drawing the fear, anxiety, tension, and worry from her body. She sighed slowly, the breath escaping in a long, quiet exhalation.

  Strangely calm, JoJo sat up.

  “What am I to do now?” She didn’t know if she was talking about the situation with Hess or the situation with Tim. Despite the desire to lick her lips, just for another taste of the man she’d abandoned downstairs, JoJo forced her mind to focus on Dalton Hess. The man who killed her brother. The man who was, even now, planning to commit another crime in town.

  She ticked off what she knew with her fingers; Dalton Hess was an evil man, he was recruiting other men to help him, he’d weaseled his way into working for her uncle, he was meeting unsavory types in an alley beside the store, and he wasn’t above killing people to keep it quiet. She touched the flesh at her neck and winced. It was still tender, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been just that morning. Still, she thought as she stood and walked to the mirror over her vanity, I’ll need to cover up until the bruises fade. Which meant wearing starchy, itchy, high collars for at least another few days.

  Sighing, she pouted. How was she supposed to find out what Hess was up to if Tim was underfoot all the time? And, on top of that, her uncle expected her to keep Tim company while his shoulder healed. She’d never get to leave the house—except at night. But then she’d have to find a new way to keep Tim from following her. Perhaps sleeping draught in his dessert or locking him in a closet. Maybe she could tell him her plan and he could help her. That thought made swallowing difficult. She couldn’t tell Tim about Hess, he’d think she was crazy, and then he’d tattle to her aunt and uncle about it. She couldn’t trust anyone but herself, that meant she was on her own, no matter how dark the night became.

  Haven’t you had enough late night near-death situations? her own mind sneered. Oh, yes, she’d regretted leaving last night and getting caught in the alley, but she didn’t regret learning what little information she had learned; like how Hess had a crew of at least three men. And they were armed. That was all she’d been able to see before Hess snatched her, nearly choking the life from her. But she hadn’t been able to see their faces.

  Heart pounding at the memory, JoJo returned to the bed and sat.

  “I have to get back to town. I have to take a look in that alley.”

  A soft knock on the door made her start. “Come in,” she called, expecting one of the maids.

  When Aunt Melda entered and closed the door behind her, JoJo stood. Her aunt never came to her room, so her presence now made every nerve in JoJo’s body crackle with alarm.

  “Aunt Melda, did you need something?” JoJo asked, her voice even, her mind wary.

  Aunt Melda seemed to glide across the floor, coming to stand beside JoJo without having made a sound. Aunt Melda’s dark eyes were shadowed, as if she were keeping something troubling to herself. She sat on the bed and patted the mattress beside her.

  “Joanna, please sit. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” Aunt Melda seemed resigned, and JoJo wondered what had happened to steal the fire from her aunt’s spirit.

  JoJo sat, clasped her hands in her lap, and met her aunt’s gaze. “What is it? Is everything alright?” she asked, the alarm from moments earlier returning.

  “I know what you did last night,” Aunt Melda said, her face pinching in a grimace of disappointment.

  Momentarily lost for words, JoJo could only shake her head. “I had a headache and I came up to bed.” The lie burned her throat, which only added to the soreness.

  Aunt Melda let out a huff of warm air and her face softened. JoJo didn’t know whether to lean into the woman or be even more alarmed.

  “Joanna, I may be old but I’m not stupid.”

  “I never thought you were, Aunt Melda,” she said, her voice thin.

  Shaking her head, Aunt Melda let out another huff. “I know you weren’t in bed last night because you were with Timothy when he was shot.”<
br />
  “Aunt—”

  “Let me finish,” Aunt Melda said, holding up her long-fingered hand. When JoJo pressed her lips together, Aunt Melda continued. “That letter you supposedly received this morning. The circles under your eyes. Tim’s unwillingness to speak of what happened to him. It all points to you getting yourself into trouble.”

  Anger fired through her, heating her face and neck, and making her tremble with the force of it. “Now, see here—”

  “No! You see here,” Aunt Melda exploded, gripping JoJo’s hands and pulling them into her lap. “Jimmy informed me that no such letter arrived from town this morning. Warren, one of the ranch hands, told your uncle about the ladder leaning against the dormer under your bedroom window. It doesn’t take much to figure you made up the letter and you used the ladder to escape.”

  JoJo sunk into the mattress and wondered if she could sink into the floor.

  “Your darling mother entrusted you, her only living child, into my care. That makes me responsible for you. That means that whatever happens to you is my fault. Did you even think of your poor mother when you snuck out of this house and rode, through the dark, mind you, into a town filled with miners and reprobates and Lord knows what else? Did you even think of me? Of your uncle?”

  Warmth rushed from her body, diminishing into the chill of guilt. She swallowed the ball of emotions in her throat. “No,” she answered. “I wasn’t thinking about anyone. I was thinking about…” She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t tell her aunt about her plans to bring Dalton Hess to justice for murdering her brother. “I am sorry, Aunt Melda. I never meant to make you worry.”

  Aunt Melda closed her eyes and pulled JoJo into her, pressing JoJo’s cheek into her chest. JoJo could hear the beating of her aunt’s heart, and it was strangely…calming.

  “I am saddened by the fact that you lied to me. I am disappointed that you would leave the safety of this house in the dead of night. And I am fit to be hog tied because you dragged that young man into your scrapes.”