An Inescapable Attraction

by Sydney Jane Baily

  Mouth agape, but with nary a sound, he slumped slowly then tumbled over the side onto the dock below. Thaddeus scrambled down to the ground and approached him. Silent. Dead. Perfect.

  Retrieving his knife, Thaddeus wiped it on the grass and slipped it back in its scabbard. With no one in sight, he had no idea how many others were on board. The man on the port side, hopefully mesmerized by the water, posed no immediate threat. Then there was Blackheart Bart, probably standing guard inside.

  Stepping soundlessly over the gangplank and onto the boat, he made his way to the upper deck.

  A few feet away was the double-door entrance to the main stateroom, standing wide open. Crouching below the line of windows, he could hear Ellie and Stoddard inside, arguing.

  "You cheated," she said loudly.

  Thaddeus gritted his teeth at her tone and held his breath. Would she never learn?

  "That's the wrong thing to say, little lady. Here, on my boat at my table. I won."

  "Fair and square?" she challenged.

  "I won," Stoddard repeated. "I own Spring City." Then he laughed. "And I own your life and Sanborn's, too."

  Thaddeus heard a loud noise, perhaps a chair being shoved back and falling over. He could picture Ellie doing that, maybe standing up in a huff. And then Stoddard's voice filtered out the open windows and doors, "Put it down."

  "No. You gave it to me." What had Stoddard given her?

  "Stop where you are," Stoddard commanded, and Thaddeus heard another chair push away from the table.

  Apparently, Ellie declined to follow any of Stoddard's orders. Thaddeus heard her ask, "Why? Are you going to shoot me in the back?"

  A chill raced through Thaddeus. Hell! Why would she taunt Stoddard that way? Shooting her in the back was exactly something that man would do!

  He held his weapon ready, but before he could take a step closer, Ellie appeared on deck, clutching a large revolver that she waved around as if it were a handkerchief or a lady's fan. Stoddard hounded her heels.

  Unfortunately, Ellie blocked Thaddeus from getting a clear shot at him, and Stoddard was too short to even be seen over her head.

  Hurrying toward the stairs and straight toward him, Ellie drew up short and stopped stock still, visibly astonished to see Thaddeus blocking her path.

  At that point, everything happened so fast, Thaddeus wasn't sure he'd ever recall it correctly. With his roundish belly, Stoddard bumped into the back of Ellie, pushing her forward while he bounced back a step.

  Distracted by Ellie's movement for the briefest second, Thaddeus focused again on Stoddard only to see the gambler had already raised the fancy silver derringer he favored and was aiming it right at him.

  Thaddeus heard a popping sound, once—and he felt a slice of fire burning into his side—then twice—this time, a sting to his chest. Ellie screamed.

  Move, he told his feet, and incredibly, they did. He lunged sideways, grabbing for the railing, determined not to fall over the side to his death next to Stoddard's man.

  Crack! He heard a louder gun shot, but this time, he felt nothing. Clutching a hand to the burning sensation that seared his side, he tried to find Ellie through the odd darkness that closed in on him. He could feel his own blood, sliding over his fingers.

  Damn it! Where was Ellie? Someone moved into his narrowing line of vision—Blackheart Bart, pointing a gun to Thaddeus's left. At Ellie?

  With his last measure of awareness, Thaddeus raised his gun, which seemed to be growing heavier by the moment. He aimed and fired. The bullet struck Bart squarely in the chest, but the man stayed on his feet, swaying slightly, as his head swiveled toward Thaddeus, his mouth pulling into a sneer.

  Firing again, Thaddeus watched Bart drop, mirroring his own descent, as the deck rose up suddenly to greet him, knocking him senseless.

  Chapter 14

  Eliza's hands still shook, perhaps from the weapon's reverberation, but that didn't explain why the rest of her was shaking so hard. Even her teeth were chattering. Around her, she was the sole person still standing. Jack lay where she'd shot him, blood pouring out of his chest and covering his fancy suit. Thaddeus had brought down Blackheart Bart before they'd both crumpled to the deck.

  Thaddeus! She dropped the ugly revolver she'd snatched from the gaming table and rushed toward him. She could already see the blood seeping out from under his torso.

  Struggling to turn him over, she was relieved to feel the warmth of his body and to see his chest lightly lifting and falling. He was alive. Thank you, Lord.

  But how to keep him that way? She had next to no experience with wounds or injuries. If only Riley were here. Still, she knew enough to understand that she had to slow down the bleeding if she could figure out how.

  "I'm just going to take a look, Thaddeus. All right?" she said, even though his eyes were firmly closed, and she didn't think he could hear her.

  Gingerly, she opened his jacket and saw that he bled from his side, next to his ribs, but nowhere else. In the moments of confusion, she'd been certain Stoddard had shot Thaddeus twice. Could both bullets be in the same wound? Or better yet, had they gone clean through him?

  She realized she could hardly see because of her own tears, and she brushed her face on her sleeve. Thaddeus was bleeding to death. She had to do something!

  Running back inside the boat, she grabbed a tablecloth off the nearest table. But as she crouched beside him again, she heard footsteps on the stairs. Another one of Stoddard's men was coming up from the lower deck.

  Almost without thinking, she snatched up Thaddeus's gun from where it lay beside him, and with as steady a hand as she could manage, she pointed it toward the steps. By the time the man saw her, with his own gun raised hip high, she was aiming right at his heart.

  He seemed to take quick stock of the situation, particularly Stoddard's prone position, then Bart's body.

  "Lower your weapon," she demanded, wishing her voice wasn't quivering.

  He hesitated, but he didn't argue. Then he lowered his gun.

  That was promising, she thought. He didn't wear the malicious expression she'd seen on Bart's face, nor did he seem simple-minded as some of Stoddard's men.

  Still, if this man began shooting, he'd no doubt be a better shot than she was. Perhaps there was another way out of this.

  "Jack Stoddard's dead, and I killed him," she admitted, refusing to surrender to the nausea that was pushing bile into her throat. "I'm free now and you're free, too. This is all yours." She gestured around her with the tip of Thaddeus's gun.

  "Take this infernal boat and..." Eliza paused, then on her hands and knees, she scooted over to Jack, lifted his pudgy, cold hand, and pulled off his diamond ring. "Take his blasted ring, too."

  She tossed it toward the man, who caught it, snatching it out of the air and enclosing it in a tight fist.

  Feeling the tears slipping down her cheeks and her throat closing with sorrow, she sunk down next to Thaddeus again. "But let me live and help me get this man into Stoddard's carriage. Then I'll ride away from here and you can have everything."

  He'd said nothing, this stranger with the dark hair and even darker eyes; he opened his hand and looked at the jeweled ring resting on his palm. She wondered what he was thinking—that two more bodies meant nothing to him. Or perhaps, that the killing could stop now.

  Frustrated, she struggled to get the tablecloth under Thaddeus, so she could tie it tightly around his middle and over his wounds. He might not be dead, but his body was completely inert and so heavy, she couldn't imagine how she would get him off the boat.

  Looking back over her shoulder at Stoddard's last man, she pushed her hair out of her face and pleaded with him. "For the love of God, I'm carrying this man's baby. Help me. Please."

  Finally, he made a decision. She watched him shove the diamond ring in his pocket, and in two shakes of a horse's tail, he was beside her, helping to bind Thaddeus's wounds.

  "Wait here," he said after he staunched the flow of blood,
disappearing inside the boat. He was gone so long, she thought he wasn't going to bother coming back. When he reappeared, he had a leather pouch tucked in his pocket. Wordlessly, he bent down and picked up Thaddeus, cradling him like a child.

  "Let's go," he said, the veins bulging in his neck from the strain of holding an unconscious man.

  When they reached Stoddard's carriage, he laid Thaddeus down gently on one of the plush seats. Climbing up onto the driver's perch, Eliza thanked him, but he shook his head at her words.

  "I never held with Stoddard's way of doing things," he said. "Lotsa people didn't." He pulled the pouch out and set it on her lap.

  "For you and your baby," he said, and then he gave the horse a slap to get her on her way.

  Eliza kept a white-knuckled hold of the reins, hearing Thaddeus groan behind her with every bump in the road. It was many minutes later when she relaxed enough to hold the reins in one hand and open the pouch with the other.

  Money, and lots of it. More paper money than she'd ever seen in one place.

  "Sweet Jesus!" she muttered aloud, realizing for the first time precisely how lucrative a gambling operation could be. No wonder men killed for and died over cards. She had the sinking suspicion, however, that the stranger had been so generous because he didn't think Thaddeus was going to survive.

  Eliza knew only one place to direct the horse, and a short while later, she pulled up outside The Pork and Swallow. Jumping down off the carriage seat, she ran through the open door, feeling fortunate to see Jo leaning against the bar.

  "Please, Jo," Eliza implored, ignoring the men who slumped at various tables; she grabbed the woman's sleeve. But she choked on any further words, a ball of terror and tears stuck in her throat.

  Jo swung her gaze toward her and for a moment she smirked, looking Eliza up and down in her disarray, but then she noticed the blood on her gown.

  "Honey, what is it?" Jo asked, straightening up, a frown on her otherwise unmarred face.

  Feeling desperation whip through her, Eliza managed to utter, "It's Thaddeus. He's been shot." She gestured behind her, indicating that he was outside.

  Jo's lovely face went ashen. "Pete," she called to the bartender, alarm lacing her voice. "Can you assist my friend here? Quickly."

  * * *

  Within minutes, they had transferred Thaddeus from the carriage to Jo's bed and stripped him to the waist. Eliza noticed his skin had become colder and his face, pale. Though she felt certain the tablecloth had helped, he was bleeding freely again, no doubt from being bounced around on the short journey over the bridge from Hamilton to Keokuk and then being carried up the stairs.

  Having already sent one of the boys who worked at the saloon to fetch the doctor, Jo, herself, efficiently set to cleaning Thaddeus's wound, and then pressed a bleached towel against it until the bleeding stopped again.

  "You're good at that," Eliza admitted, with no grudge. She didn't care who helped Thaddeus, as long as he survived.

  "I have three brothers, and one or the other was always getting shot up," she said, as if she was talking about a splinter and not a mortal wound. But Ellie saw Jo's hand was trembling, too.

  "Look at that," Eliza said, pointing to a red mark on the skin below his left nipple, close to his heart.

  Jo touched one finger to the sore-looking spot that was coming out in a bruise. "Looks like something stopped a bullet from taking Teddy straight to the Pearly Gates."

  Eliza grabbed up his discarded duster. Sure enough, from the coat pocket over his heart, she retrieved a few coins, not regular ones like she would hand over for a loaf of bread, but gold ones, an inch in diameter at least and thick as a slice of cheese. Only four of them. But that had been enough. And wonder of wonders, she spied the spent bullet. Clutching them all in her hand, she said a prayer of thanks under her breath.

  Jo moved the basin of bloody water from her lap to the floor, keeping her hand on the towel against Thaddeus's side. He neither moved, nor even moaned.

  Eliza felt the tears well up in her eyes, looking at his handsome face, so vulnerable, his dark lashes feathering his shadowed cheeks. Her heart felt heavy. She had to stop herself from saying to Jo, if you can save him, you can have him. But she couldn't. She wanted him, both as her man and the father of her baby.

  A few minutes later, a skillful young doctor arrived, reminding her of Riley. He removed the derringer's bullet and administered disinfecting powders before sewing up the wound and bandaging Thaddeus.

  When eventually she stretched out on a lumpy bed in another room, Eliza thought she'd never been more tired. Jo had claimed the place beside Thaddeus—after all, it was her bedroom. And for the time being, Eliza hadn't argued, too tired and too grateful that Thaddeus's life had been spared. Ignoring her hunger pains, she gave in and let sleep claim her.

  * * *

  The first thing Eliza saw when she opened her eyes was Jo, who'd apparently tossed the door open and awakened her. Before she could ask after Thaddeus's health, Eliza's stomach heaved; she jumped up, looking wildly around.

  A washstand yielded a large bowl and she wretched into it, even though nothing came up but bile. When the retching stopped, Eliza looked at Jo, who was staring, eyes narrowed, hands on her hips.

  "Is it Thaddeus's child?" she asked.

  Eliza nodded, using a towel to wipe her face.

  "Does he know?" Jo's voice was low, not her usual brassy bold tone.

  Eliza shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't tell him."

  Jo paused, considering. "You want to tell me how he got shot?"

  Her question made Eliza come over all weepy again, but she took a deep, raggedy breath.

  "It was my fault. He was saving me."

  "Again?" Jo said, tossing up her hands. "Honey, you're more dangerous to that man's health than any bullet."

  What that true? She hadn't asked Thaddeus to save her. "How is he?"

  "Sleeping but no fever. Just regular slumber from exhaustion. He'll probably be hungry when he wakes up."

  Jo turned to leave but then looked back. She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "What about you? Can you keep something down?"

  Eliza didn't know. She was starving and nauseated at the same time. "I'd like some tea and toast. Please," she added, thinking of Charlotte. She ought to send her a telegram immediately and let her know what had happened.

  Without another word, Jo left her alone. Now that she was on her feet, Eliza wanted desperately to see Thaddeus. She didn't bother to look at herself in the mirror, or use the brush and comb on the washstand. She was past caring whether she looked appealing or like something a mountain lion had dragged into its den.

  Tiptoeing across the hall to Jo's room, Eliza found the door ajar and everything quiet. Thaddeus was lying in the same spot as she'd seen him the night before, but now his skin was infused with color and the pinch of pain around his mouth had vanished.

  He looked so good despite everything, as if her were just resting, like Jo said. She recalled that moment, that terrifying moment, when Stoddard fired his gun and she'd been certain she'd never see Thaddeus Sanborn take another breath.

  But here he was—his broad shoulders, strong arms, and sculpted chest were bare, though the rest of his torso was bandaged in clean bleached-white strips. Someone, maybe Jo, had folded the blanket neatly above his waist.

  Eliza sat down beside him on the mattress's edge, careful not to let the bed dip and move him. Ever so lightly, she swept the hair off his forehead and then touched his firm lips with her fingertips. He didn't stir. He didn't miraculously awaken and grab her to him. He had no strength to capture her and kiss her and make love to her.

  Emotion, strong and fierce, caught her by surprise. A sob tore out of her before she could tamp it down. And then another. She couldn't stop. She'd loved him for so long and then nearly lost him. Having him ride off and not look back was one thing. That was painful. But to have his life flow out of him at her feet, that was excruciating. She tried to stem the tide of
tears but failed.

  "Good Lord, woman. Get ahold of yourself."

  Jo stood in the doorway, an expression of disdain on her attractive face. "If he wakes to that caterwauling, he's gonna think he's dying for sure. Why don't you go downstairs and eat? Your food is on the table. No one else is in the bar right now." Her voice was firm but not unkind, and she held out a handkerchief.

  Eliza got up and took the proffered square of cloth, wiping her cheeks and dabbing her eyes, ignoring the heavy scent of perfume. She hiccupped.

  "Thank you," she murmured and went downstairs.

  * * *

  Thaddeus came to in a haze of confusion; his first thought was that he couldn't believe he was waking up at all. In swift succession, he remembered seeing Ellie and Stoddard and then being shot. He was dead, wasn't he? But the bed was soft and smelled good. In fact, it smelled familiar. Maybe he was in Heaven.

  Turning his head, he took in his surroundings. He was in Jo's room. Heavenly things had occurred there, that was for sure, but he definitely wasn't dead.

  "You're awake." Jo's voice. A pang of disappointment pricked him. She was not Ellie. He wanted Ellie. Where the hell was she?

  In short order, he felt the panic begin to rise. Had she been injured?

  "Where's Ellie?" he asked, getting the words past his dry tongue with difficulty.

  Jo didn't answer. Instead, she handed him a glass of water. When it was obvious he wasn't going to be able to drink it while lying on his back, she lifted his head with one hand and brought the glass to his lips, her hand wrapped over his to help him.

  That's how Ellie found them as she stood, halted in the doorway. They looked like a couple who cared for each other. Intellectually, she knew Jo was a saloon girl who let men buy her favors, but her heart ached knowing that Thaddeus had been one of those men, more than once.

  Why, that was practically a relationship, and more than she had ever had with him.

  She stepped back soundlessly so neither would know she'd been there. She was Eliza Prentice, dagnabbit, and she would not go join his whore to help tend to him, not in that room where he'd been intimate with Jo.