Only in My Arms

by Jo Goodman

  She still struggled with the irony of having to lie about helping Ryder escape the stockade in order to be in a position to be believed about everything else. Florence Gardner herself had come East with her son when the general had been summoned to Washington by the War Office. She had met with Ryder and Mary, had offered to admit the role she had played, but they had declined. General Gardner's career, already under a great deal of scrutiny because of his handling of the Colter Canyon investigation, would have suffered considerably more if it had been known he couldn't control his own mother.

  From the moment Mary's family had crowded the wine-cellar stairway, it seemed there had been no end to the activity and to the lack of peace.

  Ryder's memory of the commotion in the cellar was clearer than Mary's. In spite of her sister Maggie's immediate attention, Mary sported a lump the size of a plover's egg for a week. Mary was the first to admit it was an insignificant consequence of her encounter with a wine bottle. Anna Leigh Hamilton had not been so fortunate. Maggie's timely intervention only meant that the chance of infection had been reduced. The shards of glass had been painstakingly removed from Anna Leigh's face and throat, and Maggie had bathed her eyes with a steady flow of water, but no amount of skillful suturing would ever restore Anna Leigh's complexion to its former flawlessness, nor would the bathing restore sight to her eyes.

  Anna Leigh Hamilton made a tragic, sympathetic figure as she testified against Wilson Stillwell. It was not difficult for her to twist the truth and paint herself as a victim of an older man's promises and power. She cleared Ryder McKay, but she leveled charges at his uncle. Anna Leigh's suffering on the stand made it almost impossible for any of the other defendants to point their fingers at her. Still, they tried... and failed. The efforts of Lieutenant Rivers and Senator Stillwell to portray Warren Hamilton's daughter as a temptress only succeeded in reminding the press and the public and the politicians that the woman had been a vibrant, spirited beauty, vital to dressing up the dullest Washington dinner party. The senator and the lieutenant could say nothing against her that didn't go against themselves.

  Lieutenant Rivers and a handful of key conspirators were hanged in April. The full entourage of soldiers who had committed the massacre at Colter Canyon were sharing prison cells in and around Washington and were scheduled to hang in groups of three or four over the course of the summer. They were mostly forgotten now as the nation began to put the Colter Canyon tragedy out of its memory with the suicide of Wilson Stillwell. Editorials in The Times and The Herald all but came out and thanked him for his decision to end his life and let the nation move on. The publisher of the New York Chronicle was a lone voice in naming him a coward.

  The senator died without giving up the location of his share of the gold shipment. While all the others involved in the theft had turned over their unspent bullion, Wilson Stillwell never admitted he had received any of the gold.

  Mary thought long and prayed hard before she decided to confess that she knew where the senator had hidden his Judas payment. Before she shared what she knew, she struck a deal that a portion of the vast treasure would be turned over to the families of the men who had died at Colter Canyon. She also secured the War Office's agreement that Ryder McKay was done answering their questions. To her way of thinking the Colter Canyon affair was closed. The Army was in no position to argue with her.

  She led her husband and Army officers back to Senator Stillwell's home and into his wine cellar. "Revelations 21:21," she said. When no one moved, she added, "The streets of the city were of pure gold, like translucent glass." Ryder began to smile at that point, but the entourage of officers continued to regard her blankly. They sincerely hoped they hadn't followed her to be quoted scripture. Sighing, Mary said, "Don't look at me, gentlemen. The answer is under your feet."

  Ryder was the first to understand and the first to remove a penknife from his pocket and dig at the bricks on the wine-cellar floor. Gold was a soft metal, so he had no difficulty chipping through the paint and revealing the precious metal beneath. The edge of his knife was flecked with gold. He held it up for the officers to see. They worked hard at not being impressed. The Army had already scoured the senator's home, including the wine cellar, a half-dozen times, and had found nothing.

  "How did you know?" Ryder asked her as he led her away.

  So she told him how, during his interrogation of Anna Leigh, she had kept tracing the mortared edges of the bricks in the cellar floor, and that when she had looked at her hands much later she had seen flecks of gold under her nails.

  Like the good poker player she was, Mary had kept the secret to herself, not showing anyone her cards until she was certain she knew when and how to play them.

  Ryder McKay was not acquitted as loudly as his uncle was denounced. The Army absolved him of all wrongdoing and offered to reinstate him if he wished. He didn't, for which no one in the War Office was sorry. They felt they had lived up to their agreement with Mary and were happy to finally end this affair. His presence was an embarrassment, a reminder of the shoddiness of their organization and of the rampant prejudice in the government's Western policies against the Indians. Ryder McKay was cleared, but he wasn't a hero.

  He was satisfied with that. He preferred exile to the property he and Mary had purchased at Flagstaff to a life of notoriety in Washington or New York. They had more than enough money to make a good start at ranching. His savings had bought the property, and Mary had her trust from Jay Mac to purchase cattle and hire hands. Then there was the unexpected news from Rennie just a few weeks ago: Ryder's prospecting map had led her and Jarret to a mother lode. Rennie arrived for the wedding carrying deeds and mineral rights and rights of way for Northeast Rail. She negotiated a deal with Ryder and Mary that would set them up handsomely for the rest of their lives.

  And, as Jay Mac pointed out, it did no harm to Northeast Rail either.

  "What is it?" asked Mary. She felt Ryder's soundless laughter as his chest vibrated softly against her arm. "What are you thinking?"

  "That your father's a crafty man."

  "In business they call that successful."

  "Mm." He bent his head and kissed the crown of her head. "He was making noises about retiring. I heard him talking about it to Judge Halsey at the reception."

  "I know. I overheard some of it." She shook her head. "I imagine he'll always keep his hand in some way, but he's been grooming Rennie and Jarret for a long time to take over Northeast. They're ready for it, and Mama would be happy to spend her days traveling the country and visiting her grandbabies. Jay Mac doesn't seem as averse to the idea as he once was."

  Ryder agreed quietly that it was true. He felt Mary relax against him, her arm becoming a little heavier across his chest. Her breath was soft and her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn't sleeping yet. Her lips were moving almost imperceptibly. Ryder could feel the whisper of her mouth against his skin. He smiled. This was the time of night when she protected him with prayers and gave thanks for every good fortune that was hers to share.

  He had been wrong to suppose that Mary had placed her trust solely in him, that she had been certain he would protect her. He knew that now and was able to recognize the real source of her great strength and of her love.

  Mary had placed her trust solely in Him.

  The End

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  A Note from the Author

  The publication of Only in My Arms represents the end of the Dennehy saga. When I first began writing about Mary Michael Dennehy, I had no idea that she came from such a large and interesting family or that I would be committed to writing about them for the next five years. I certainly didn't anticipate developing a story around Mary Francis. Letters from readers (and some gentle prompting from my editor) convinced me to complete the chronicle with Jay Mac and Moira's first daughter.

  Readers who were kind enough to write to me and let
me know how much you enjoyed the Dennehy series, I would like to thank you. I appreciate your commitment in sticking with the stories. I know you had a long wait between each sister. For those of you who read hundreds of romances each year, I was especially flattered that you were able to keep track of all the Marys. Although that probably says more about your brainpower than my ability to spin a tale, I choose to be flattered. The opportunity to present this series again, this time in ebook format was not one I could pass up, and for readers who have asked me when it will finally happen—this is for you.

  Page forward for an excerpt from

  MY STEADFAST HEART

  The Thorne Brothers Series

  Book One

  Excerpt from

  My Steadfast Heart

  The Thorne Brothers Trilogy

  Book One

  by

  Jo Goodman

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  MY STEADFAST HEART

  Reviews & Accolades

  "Difficult to put down. Ms. Goodman gets better and better."

  ~Old Book Barn Gazette

  London, October 1820

  They came for the baby first. Colin remembered because he was eight—old enough to grasp the loss, too young to prevent it. He had expected it would happen but expectation alone did not prepare him. He had not been able to prepare his brothers.

  Not that Greydon could have understood. He was the baby they came for. With his round face and engaging smile it was natural that he would be chosen. Grey had no real knowledge of his circumstances or surroundings, Colin thought. At five months he did not know he already had a family, albeit a smaller one than he had had three months earlier. Young Greydon was all gurgling laughter and chubby, flailing limbs. He charmed without effort and without conscience, as naturally as breathing and eating and crying.

  So when Grey sighed contentedly as he was lifted into the woman's arms, Colin tried to remember that it didn't make his baby brother a traitor.

  Beside the doorway, just inside the headmaster's office, Colin stood holding his younger brother's hand. Decker was only four but he was willing to stand at Colin's side, his small body at attention while the couple from America made their decision about the baby.

  The next minutes were an agony as the headmaster indicated the two boys and asked the question of the couple with careless indifference: "Will you have one or both of the others?” The man turned away from his wife and seemed to notice the boys for the first time. The woman did not glance in their direction.

  "They're brothers," the headmaster said. "Colin. Decker. Come here and stand. You will make the acquaintance of Greydon's new parents."

  Colin's last hope that the couple would not choose Grey vanished at the headmaster's words. Dutifully he stepped forward, Decker in tow. "How do you do, sir," he said gravely, extending his free hand to the man.

  There was a surprised pause, then a low, appreciative chuckle from the man as he returned the handshake and greeting. Colin's narrow hand was swallowed in the man's larger one. In later years, try as he might, Colin could not put features to the man's face. It was the dry, firm handshake he remembered, the deep, lilting chuckle, and the momentary surge of hope he felt.

  The man looked at his wife who was coaxing another smile from the baby in her arms. It was easy to see she was already in love with the child. There would be no difficulty passing the baby off as their own. No one among their family or friends would have to know it was an adoption.

  "I'm afraid not," he said, letting go of Colin's hand. "My wife and I only wanted a baby." Because he was uncomfortable with two pairs of eyes looking up at him he added to the headmaster, "You shouldn't have brought them here. I told you from the first we were only interested in an infant."

  The headmaster did not flinch under the rebuke. Instead he deflected it, turning his head sharply toward the boys and ordering them out of the room. His stiff, accusing tone made it seem that their presence in the office had never been his idea at all, but theirs.

  Colin released Decker's hand. "It's all right," he said quietly. "You go."

  Decker's wide blue eyes darted uncertainly between Colin and the headmaster. It was at Colin's urging, rather than the headmaster's stony glare, that Decker hurried from the room.

  "I would like to say farewell to my brother," Colin said. He had a youthful voice, but the dark eyes were old well beyond his years and he stood his ground as though planted there.

  The headmaster was prepared to come around his desk and bodily remove Colin. He looked to his guests for some indication of their wishes in the matter.

  The man raised his hand briefly in a motion that kept the headmaster at bay. "Of course," he said. "Dear? This child would like to say good-bye to his brother."

  With obvious reluctance the woman pulled her attention away from the baby. Her generous smile faded as she looked down at Colin. The dreamy, captivated expression in her blue eyes slipped away. "Oh, no," she said flatly. There was a hint of gray at the outer edge of her eyes, like the beginnings of ice on a lake. "I don't want that boy touching my baby. Look at him. Anyone can see he's sickly. He may harm the child."

  It was as if he had been struck. The impact of the words caused Colin's thin body to vibrate. He could feel heat creeping into his cheeks as he flushed deeply with equal parts anger and shame. In that moment he knew he was standing there because he couldn't move, not because he didn't want to.

  "Is the boy ill?" the man asked the headmaster. "My wife's right. He's very thin."

  "He doesn't eat," the headmaster said. The glance he leveled at Colin darkened considerably and the warning was clear. "He's really had little appetite since he arrived. My wife believes the... um, incident... affected him more than the others. It's understandable, of course, being the oldest."

  As if there were no other conversation in the room, Colin said again, "I'd like to hold my brother." This time he held up his arms.

  The man prompted his wife gently. "Dear? Where can be the harm?"

  She did not accede immediately, but considered her options for several long seconds. Colin watched her eyes shift briefly toward the door as though she were toying with the idea of fleeing the room. In the end she gave him the baby accompanied by a stiff, icy admonishment not to drop him.

  Colin held his infant brother to his small chest, cradling the boy as he had on so many other occasions these past three months. Turning away from the adults, ignoring the woman's sharp intake of breath, Colin adjusted the baby's blankets and smoothed his muslin gown. "I'll find you," he said, his lips barely moving around the words. "I promise, I'll find you."

  Greydon cooed obligingly and beat his small fist against Colin's shoulder.

  "I think that's long enough," the man said as his wife took a step forward to hover over the brothers.

  The headmaster addressed Colin. "Give Greydon back now."

  Colin did not so much return his brother as his brother was taken from him. He did not wait to be dismissed a second time. He could not leave the headmaster's darkly paneled office quickly enough. His gait was stiff and his spine rigid. Only his lower lip trembled uncontrollably as he crossed the floor. He barely heard the woman's words and at the time didn't fully comprehend the impact they would have.

  Tickling the baby's chin, she said softly, "I don't think I care for the name Greydon at all."

  * * *

  It was only three weeks later that Decker left Cunnington's Workhouse for Foundlings and Orphans. Colin had thought he would have a longer time with Decker. It was not so usual for four-year-old orphans to be placed with a family. The ones who could understand their fate at so young an age were reconciled to the prospect of servitude or apprenticeship. It seemed an infinitely more desirable alternative than remaining at Cunnington's until twelve years of age, then being put on London's unforgiving streets. A boy who didn't know how to fend for himself might be taught thievery if he was judged to be quick-witted and light-fingered by one of the London bands. If he
caught a pimp's eye, however, he was more likely to learn the skin trade and ply his wares until his looks faded or disease wasted him.

  Colin wanted none of those things for Decker so he was resigned to the fact that Decker's departure from Cunnington's was necessary, if not welcome. He wanted to be happier for his brother, thought he should be happier, but in his heart of hearts he knew he was also jealous. And afraid. And now alone.

  The couple who chose Decker among the score of other children were a more satisfactory pair in Colin's eyes than the couple who had taken Grey. The wife was handsome, not pretty, but she had a serene smile and a quiet way about her that smoothed the anxious lines between Decker's brows and eased Colin's mind. Her husband was reserved but polite, a bit uncertain what to make of Decker's constant questioning until his wife said indulgently, "Why, answer him, cher. Just as you do me." That was when the man spoke. His voice was a deep, rich baritone, the edges of his words crisp and defined. It was a voice that inspired confidence and Colin guiltily wished that he might be chosen in place of his brother or at least that he might be permitted to accompany him.

  The headmaster tried again. "Perhaps you will consider Decker's brother also?"

  The woman's kind eyes alighted on Colin. Sadness and pain warred in her expression and then Colin flushed deeply, recognizing pity when it was turned in his direction. "We'd take them all if we could," she said to the headmaster. "Ce n'est pas possible."

  Her husband nodded. "She means it all," he said. "We would if we could. And the child must be healthy. There's the voyage to think of. We have a long trip ahead."