Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set

by Julie Ortolon

  “I was afraid I dreamed that,” he said hoarsely.

  “You weren’t dreaming. I love you.”

  “Then feed me. My belly button is touching my spine.”

  She smiled and sat up. “I’m afraid you’ll have to start with chicken broth instead of eggs.”

  He made a face. “Skip it then. Lock our door, and climb in beside me.”

  She didn’t lock the door, and she didn’t climb into bed beside him, but she did lean down and kiss him. His lips were chapped, but their light, warm touch against her mouth comforted her. He was alive. Their nightmare was over. And he knew she loved him.

  He turned his face away. “I must stink.”

  “Not at all. We’ve taken good care of you.” She sat back. “You’ve had a sponge bath every day.”

  “Not from Iris, I hope.”

  “Only twice. We all took turns. Even Patrick and Cyrus helped.”

  His laugh was weak but so encouraging. “I can imagine the rumors going around the mill.”

  “Your reputation is shot.”

  “I don’t mind. Trying to be faultless doesn’t… leave much time for living… and loving.”

  “Then get better so we can do that.” She linked her fingers with his. “Our house is full of people waiting to see you.”

  “Let ‘em wait.” He tugged her hand, and in the sweetness of his chaste, tender kiss, her heart turned over with love and gratitude that he had held on. For Cora and Adam, for his family, and most of all, for her.

  Chapter Forty-one

  *

  DUKE WAS STANDING up gripping the bedpost when Faith walked into the room carrying a steaming bowl of who-knew-what in her arms. She stopped and gaped at him.

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “I’m escaping.”

  She arched her shapely eyebrow. “You’re going to fall and undo all my hard work.”

  “I can’t take any more of your torture,” he said, only half-joking. “I’ll do anything if you’ll let me out of here.”

  She smiled and set the bowl on the bed stand. “Get back in bed, darling, or I’ll send for your brothers.”

  “They’re traitors. They’ve deserted me.”

  “They come to see you every evening after they finish work.”

  “I’m going mad lying in bed around the clock. I need to get back on my feet.”

  “You will. When you’ve healed a little more and your strength returns. Now get in bed.”

  He eyed the green and brown stuff floating in the bowl with suspicion. “I’m not drinking that.”

  Her laugh rang through the room and she embraced him. “You don’t have to. I’m making a poultice from birch leaves and bark to put on your shoulder.”

  “I don’t need it. You’re my best medicine.” He kissed her, liking the way her eyes sparkled with concern.

  “Please get in bed.”

  Her soft plea, and his quaking legs, drove him back to the bed he’d been living in for three weeks. Faith sat beside him and dunked a cheesecloth in the bowl of steaming water.

  “Adam and your brothers are taking care of all the chores, so you can relax.” She unbuttoned the nightshirt he’d come to loathe, and pulled it over his shoulder. “This might hurt a bit.”

  It all hurt. The concoctions she put on him; shuffling to the water closet; it even hurt to breathe.

  She gently wrung the cloth, filled it with leaves, and folded it into a dripping square pad. “Your wound is turning a nice healthy pink,” she said, laying the warm cloth over his shoulder.

  He sucked in his breath, knowing her concoctions were helping, but hating the constant assault on his shoulder. Exhausted, he flopped his head back against the pillow, as annoyed as he was reassured by her constant tending. “You’re turning me into an invalid.”

  “The gunshot to your shoulder did that.” She dried her hands on her apron. “If you don’t stay in bed and rest, who will Cora play with?”

  While Duke had seen little of Adam, because the boy was happily filling in as the man of the house, little Cora had been his constant companion, sitting on his bed “reading” to him from her favorite books.

  “Just promise me you’ll share our bed again soon,” he said.

  “I will.” She kissed him, killing him with tenderness. “As soon as you’re well enough.”

  *

  DUKE WAS SO relieved to be out of the bedroom, he wasn’t about to tell Faith how weak he felt, or how the wrenching pain in his shoulder drove him half mad, or how the constant stream of callers exhausted him. Family and friends came and went, helping his wife with chores, bringing meals, and teasing Duke that he was purposely loafing to avoid work. Faith seemed reassured by their presence, but she kept a watchful eye on him, feeding him herbal teas he hated, and coaching him to move his arm a little farther each day to keep his shoulder muscles from growing stiff.

  Her strength and her love had drawn him like a magnet from death. During his twelve days of oblivion, she’d sat with him, nursed him with her balms and herbs, fought for him as hard as his brothers had, and their combined love and will and skill had brought him back.

  And now that he was back, she was guarding him with the protective instinct of a mother. Even his own mother was willing to let him step onto the porch for fresh air, but Faith wouldn’t hear of it. She was worried he’d slip on the ice and fall.

  But as the days wore on, Duke worried he’d lose his mind if he didn’t get out of the house.

  Her boisterous aunts and their outrageous stories saved his sanity. They made him laugh so hard it drove spikes of pain through his shoulder, but the crazy women lifted his spirits. Between them and his own family, they eased the load on Faith’s shoulders. Tansy even painted Cora’s room with a speckled pony and a knight in armor to watch over her, which convinced Cora to try sleeping alone again like a big girl.

  Sheriff Phelps stopped by, to reassure Duke that no charges would be brought against Radford for killing Stone. The Censure hailed Radford as a hero who’d saved a former sheriff’s life. The article went on to name Stone as a corrupt judge whose involvement with a theater project in Syracuse was being investigated.

  Cuvier had made sure no one would look for a connection between Duke and Stone, and possibly uncover Faith’s tie to the brothel, by claiming the judge had come after him for discovering the man’s criminal dealings. Then Cuvier had returned to Syracuse to dig up the truth on Stone. He was coming back today.

  Duke was going to get his father-in-law’s help in making his escape. After four weeks on his back and two more of being housebound, he was staging a revolt. Faith had him settled on the sofa and gussied up with a footstool and an afghan, for Pete’s sake!

  When Cuvier strolled into the parlor and caught him bundled up like an infant, Duke flung off the afghan then ground his teeth from pain. His shoulder was healing, but was still extremely tender.

  “Glad to see you up and about,” Cuvier said, tossing a copy of a Syracuse newspaper on the coffee table. “It appears Stone worked alone, I suspect to guard his reputation.”

  “A man like Stone would work alone just so no one had the power to manipulate him.”

  “I agree,” Cuvier said. “I visited Stone’s father, and the old man is shaken up over his son’s death but sincerely shocked by the news of Franklin’s scheming. He told me about the lifelong competition between Franklin and his twin brother Gordon. He said the boys fought from birth, first for their mother’s nurturing, and later for his attention. When Gordon started following in the old man’s footsteps and pursuing a political career, Franklin pursued law. According to their father, Gordon was the smarter of the two boys, and his early success drove Franklin into a rage on several occasions. It got so the old man wouldn’t speak to the two about each other.”

  “Why did Franklin begrudge his brother success?” Duke asked, baffled. Sure, he’d envied his brothers at times, but he’d always celebrated their achievements with complete and sincere happ
iness.

  Cuvier shrugged. “I went to Washington to ask Gordon that very question. He thinks Franklin’s animosity stemmed from their competition over a gal they were both smitten with. As soon as Gordon married the girl, his brother seemed driven to outdo any success Gordon had. Gordon suspects that’s why Franklin started the theater project. But his plans collapsed so many times, both Gordon and their father pushed him to give it up. He refused, of course, and vowed he would build that theater, name it after the old man, and renew the city his father was born in.”

  “For what? Recognition?”

  “That’s what Gordon thinks. And after talking with their father, it’s the only motive that makes any sense to me. Franklin reveled in his power as judge, and I know he liked being recognized for any achievement, no matter how small.”

  “Pathetic.”

  “But true.” Cuvier took a cheroot from his breast pocket. “I called on his mistress, and learned the judge was planning to have the woman’s brother—the man you clobbered—anonymously deliver Cora to a family who wanted a girl child.”

  Duke’s gut twisted. “Then he had no intention of returning her to us even if we had given him the property?”

  “No. If anyone learned he had a bastard child by a prostitute from the very brothel he was tearing down, it would have ruined his reputation and lowered him another notch in his father’s regard.”

  “But Faith and I could have publicized the truth either way.”

  “How could you prove it without having the child to back up your accusation?”

  “That crafty, corrupt son of a bitch.” Duke shook his head. “I think Franklin Stone was far smarter than his father thought.”

  “He manipulated all of us to some extent. The place he was sending Cora appeared to be a good home with people who would care for her. That’s what makes me think he was bluffing when he put that gun to her head.”

  Duke huffed out a breath, both shocked and infuriated by the news. “I thought he was greedy and too driven to care about his own child. I feared he’d pull the trigger if I pushed him.”

  “He might have. No one can know. His actions were desperate and his mind frighteningly unstable that day. He was so obsessed with finishing his theater project, he might have snapped completely if you’d pushed him.”

  Maybe. Whatever Stone’s motives, the man’s half-crazed mental state could have easily gotten Duke and Cora killed. Duke picked up the paper and angled it toward the window to read the article. After Stone’s death, several homeowners came forward to testify they’d been coerced into selling him their property Stone had extorted every one of them. The article went on to say that Stone’s brother was making amends by negotiating handsome contracts on the properties and giving the money to the homeowners. And while Faith’s father brought most of Stone’s corrupt deeds to light, incurring several tough questions from authorities about his part in Stone’s scheme, there was no mention of Faith’s mother or the brothel. And an audit and investigation cleared Cuvier of any wrongdoing.

  Justice was served. Duke laid aside the paper, feeling proud of Cuvier. “Well done.”

  “And well deserved.” Cuvier reached inside his suit coat and pulled out an envelope. “I’ve taken care of the papers you asked for.”

  Duke accepted the envelope, knowing what it contained, and that they had both said all there was to say on the subject. “Care to take a walk?” he asked, wincing as he pushed to his feet.

  Cuvier stood. “I could use the air.”

  “Then sneak me out, because it’s the only way Faith is going to let me leave the house.”

  His father-in-law was a good sport and distracted Faith while Duke slipped outside. They walked to the livery together, and found Evelyn outside talking with Anna and Dahlia.

  The women greeted them with smiles, but Dahlia broke away to speak to them. “I vowed if you ever crossed my path again,” she said to Cuvier, “I’d cut your heart out for hurting Rose. But I understand the situation now, and can only thank you for exposing Stone as a corrupt scoundrel.”

  Cuvier’s lips twitched. “Hello, Dahlia.”

  A softer, friendlier look stole into her eyes. “Where have you been living these past thirteen years?”

  “I haven’t been living.”

  “Then Rose didn’t suffer alone.” With that she walked away and took up her conversation with Evelyn and Anna.

  Cuvier chuckled and lit a cheroot. “I see why Rose loved those women.”

  Duke nodded. “They have a way of growing on a person.”

  “Go in and see your brother. I’m going to smoke and watch the horses for a bit.”

  He left Cuvier to his thoughts and entered the livery.

  Pitchfork in hand, Radford was cleaning a stall, whisking the soiled straw into a nearby wheelbarrow. He arched his eyebrow at Duke. “I’m surprised Faith let you out of the house.”

  “She didn’t. I tunneled through the parlor wall.”

  Radford laughed and scraped up another forkful of straw. “Kyle and Boyd were cooking up a plan to break you out. They’ll be glad to know they don’t have to cross Faith.”

  “I don’t blame them. I’m hoping her father can sneak me back inside.”

  “By the looks of you, I’d put my money on Faith.”

  “Me too. That’s why I’m laying low.” Duke rested his arms on the pine boards of the stall, glad for the support, but irritated he needed it. He hated being so weak.

  Radford tossed another forkful of straw into the wheelbarrow. “I’ve been wanting to apologize. Just haven’t found the right time.”

  “How could you, when my house is overrun with women who won’t stop fussing over me?”

  “Could be worse.” Radford smiled, and Duke regretted the harsh words he’d had with his brother.

  “I’m sorry I condemned you for protecting Rebecca,” he said. “That’s what a father is supposed to do.”

  “A father is supposed to protect and guide his children,” Radford said, continuing to work, “not smother them and make all their decisions for them.” He rested the pitchfork tines in the straw and hung his hand over the top of the handle. “I misjudged Adam. He’s worthy of your praise, and you were right to defend his character. You’ve got a fine young man for a son.”

  “Thank you.” Radford’s acknowledgment and acceptance of Adam soothed the wound in Duke’s heart. “I wish you hadn’t needed to shoot Stone,” he said. His words were few, but Radford would understand all the things he wasn’t saying: He was sorry to resurrect the demons that had nearly driven Radford insane after the war, he was sorry to burden Radford’s conscience with another killing.

  Radford sighed and leaned against the pine slats. “You know, after Kyle and I got in that fight here, I walked out of the livery wondering if I could ever pull myself together. I felt shaky and half-crazy like I was back in the war.”

  “You’d gone through hell. No one blamed you for losing control.”

  “I was a mess, Duke. I couldn’t even hold a gun at William’s funeral. Everything was exploding in my head like I was in the middle of Gettysburg. I couldn’t have protected anyone that day, and I’ve wondered ever since if I’d fall apart when my family needed me.” His shoulders lowered on a hard sigh. “Now I know. Right or wrong, shooting Stone was the only choice. I regret having to do it, but I don’t regret my decision to save my brother.”

  Peace flowed into Duke’s chest. Radford had finally escaped the war. Killing men had imprisoned Radford, but saving Duke had freed him.

  No, neither of them would have chosen this situation, but circumstances had forced them to cross the line, to commit acts they would never willingly perform. Duke had kidnapped a child who needed him. Radford had killed a man to save his brother. And Faith had lied to protect her family. Right or wrong, good or bad, they’d all done what they’d had to do.

  And Duke could live with that.

  Chapter Forty-two

  *

  IT WAS A cold
, snowy Christmas Eve, but Duke sat in the sleigh and inhaled the fresh air, feeling alive and somewhat healthy for the first time since he had been shot. He couldn’t wait to work the mill again. He’d thought he would feel incomplete without his sheriff’s badge, but he knew a wholeness and happiness he’d never before experienced. He knew who he was: a Grayson.

  Radford had tried being a soldier. Kyle had once wanted to be a lawyer. Boyd had been a bar owner. Duke spent years as a sheriff. But those occupations had only defined a small part of who they were as men. They were brothers, sons, fathers, and husbands. They would defend their families as fiercely as they would defend their country. They would disagree at times, but they would always stand united when it counted.

  They were Graysons. Men who argued and laughed and made mistakes sometimes. Men with families. Men with wives they loved and honored.

  “Why so quiet?” Faith asked, brushing her warm lips across his jaw. She smiled up at him, her cheeks rosy, a tender expression in her whiskey-colored eyes.

  “I was just thinking about you,” he said, glad she looked happy. They snuggled beneath the lap robe, and she didn’t express any curiosity about their destination until they stopped in the middle of Forest Hill Cemetery.

  Adam leapt from the front seat of the sleigh with a youthful agility Duke envied. With painful slowness, he got himself out, but Cuvier assisted Faith and Cora.

  “Is your father buried here?” Faith asked, standing beside him with her new hat and scarf, looking so beautiful he wanted to rush her straight home to their big bed that had been agonizingly empty while he’d healed. He would not wait one more night to love her.

  “No, your mother is. She’s in Fredonia now.” Duke gestured to the engraved stone that marked Celia Rose’s new resting place. “We can plant roses in the spring.”

  Faith stared at the stone and her lips parted. “Is she really… did you move her here?”

  “Your father saw to it while I was laid up.”

  “Oh, Duke…” Faith knelt in the snow and smoothed her knit gloves over the stone. He was afraid she would cry, and that her tears would upset Cora, who was still easily frightened. But Faith looked up at him with the most radiant smile he’d ever seen. “Thank you.” She shifted her beautiful joyful eyes to her father. “There’s nothing you could have ever given me to equal this.”