Turner's Vision

by Suzanne Ferrell

  The slip of a woman put a protective hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Slowly, Micah smiled at her actions. “Miss Davis, I presume?”

  She nodded in response. “May I ask who you are, sir?”

  “Micah Turner, ma’am. And your young friend there is correct. I do have a letter for you.” He took a step up the porch stairs.

  A pistol cocked behind him.

  Hand in his breast pocket, Micah froze.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Move very carefully, Mr. Turner. My friend, Adam, is rather new to the use of firearms. I would hate for him to get excited and blow a hole through you.” Claudia arched a brow as she looked down on the man.

  He was tall. Viking tall. Even though he stood with one foot on the ground and the other on the lowest porch step, he looked directly into her eyes. Moonlight shimmered on his shoulder-length blond hair, but his features remained indistinguishable in the night shadows. Feeling vulnerable, she tightened her grip on Joey’s shoulder, grasping her robe firmly in the other hand. “You have something for me, sir?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He drawled the last word out in a deep southern accent. Warmth tingled across Claudia’s skin. The stranger carefully pulled a note from his pocket, holding it out to her. “I made a promise to your friend that I would give this directly to you.”

  She made no move to take the proffered letter, instead, watching a tall, lean figure step up behind the stranger.

  A second gun being cocked sounded in the night.

  The man before her did not move a muscle.

  She nodded to the older boy standing just behind Micah. “Henderson has the situation under control now, Adam. Lower your weapon.”

  The taller of her charges came around the stranger at a wary distance to stand next to Joey on the porch, his pistol pointed at the ground. Claudia nodded at Adam reassuringly. With her oldest friend and butler, Henderson, standing guard behind the big man, she felt a little more secure. Her attention returned to the stranger. “Might I ask exactly who this friend is?”

  “Laura said you would be a bit suspicious. She told me to tell you that she has always loved her cousin Clara’s singing.”

  Claudia couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “Laura always did have a rather odd sense of humor.” She reached out to take the letter. “Won’t you come inside, Mr. Turner?”

  Joey hurried to hold the door open as she led them through the dark kitchen and hall, into the parlor. She signaled for Micah to take a seat on the large, wingback chair. Striking a match, she lit the second oil lamp in the room, increasing the soft, amber glow of light.

  Once Henderson arrived to stand guard near the only exit, his pistol pointed to the ground but ready if the need arose, she took her seat on the horse-hair settee opposite her guest. Both boys flanked her just behind her chair.

  Claudia read the handwriting on the letter’s front. It truly was from Laura. Tears sprang to her eyes. The lettering blurred. To stem their flow, she pinched the bridge of her nose. It had been a year since she’d last seen her dearest friend. She missed her immensely.

  In fact, it was over Laura’s cousin Clara’s poor singing the two became friends as young girls. The day they met, Claudia had been seated in the large church’s back pew where she and her father attended, waiting for him to finish his meeting with the reverend. A young girl sat several rows ahead, listening to another girl standing at the podium practicing a solo. Whenever the singer hit a sour note—which was almost every note—the girl in the pew would raise her hand. On one particularly bad note, Claudia couldn’t hide a giggle. Laura turned around and winked. Leave it to Laura to use the incident as a code to let her know she could trust the man seated across from her.

  But could she truly trust him to treat her as an equal partner?

  Micah steepled his fingers in front of him, his elbows propped on the arms of the chair. Crossing one leg over the other, he suddenly resembled the lord of the manor. One who would brook no interference by a mere woman.

  Well, she wasn’t about to let him just assume control over her household!

  Claudia stood. So did Micah. “Please be seated, sir. If you would care to wait, I would like to change into something a bit less comfortable.”

  With a slight nod to Henderson to keep their visitor in the parlor, she hurried up the stairs to her room. She wasn’t quite ready to turn back into the doormat she’d been for thirty-one of her thirty-two years.

  Once inside her room, she threw her robe on the four-poster bed, perched on the edge and opened Laura’s letter.

  Dear Claudia,

  The man delivering this letter is my husband’s oldest friend and partner. I am sending him to you because we believe you, Henderson, and the boys are in grave danger.

  Claudia, Nigel Blackwood is dead. We do not know why he killed Senator Anderson last winter, but we do know he wasn’t working alone. Please, inform Micah of all you have learned and allow him to take over the investigation.

  I could not live with myself if anything happened to any of you. As for me, I am as happy as any woman should be.

  All my love,

  Laura

  Claudia read it again. As happy as she was for her friend, Laura could not possibly know what she asked. All her life, Claudia had dreamed of adventure. For years her father had held her a virtual prisoner in her own home. He treated her like a possession, not a thinking, functioning human being. After his death, she continued to stay in this house, doing little of the adventuring her heart yearned to do. With Laura’s knock on her door, late that fateful night a year earlier, the resulting inquiry into the senator’s murder quite literally landed at her doorstep. Her whole life changed that night. At last, she was doing something exciting, something where she was in charge, something that made her feel alive.

  Allow him to take over the investigation.

  Now her dearest friend wanted her to hand all that over to some stranger? Some man?

  She skimmed over the letter once more. As much as she loved Laura, she wasn’t ready to quietly submit to a man again, even one Laura trusted.

  Folding the letter in half, Claudia tapped it on her chin.

  For years, she’d seen Laura’s cousin and other young women at church manipulate men for their own purposes. Surely, a man, any man, would succumb to the wiles of a woman, even her, if she acted like the right kind of woman. How difficult could it be?

  She crossed over to her armoire, ignoring the woman in the mirror. There was no need for her to examine herself, she knew exactly what she’d see reflected there—a rail-thin woman with hardly any of the round curves men seemed to crave. Her skin was tanned from time spent out-of-doors this past year, not the pale hue society held in high esteem. Her copper locks were outrageous and unmanageable, as her father always said they were.

  Hadn’t he taunted her for years about her ugliness? Long ago, she’d learned to accept that painful truth.

  In her armoire she searched through her myriad disguises. Who would she be tonight? It would take someone special to trick the stranger into revealing what he knew about the murder. She pulled out a blue gown. Eyeing it for a moment, she shoved it back in among the others.

  Someone who could wrap a man around her finger.

  Claudia grinned, her fingers running over the gold dress’ rich velveteen. She pulled it out. Someone who could make a man think he was the only man in the world for her. Someone who could make him think she had little brains, so he would tell her important facts without fear of her understanding them.

  Hurriedly, she pulled on the low-necked gown, sucking in her breath as she worked the buttons up tight in front. The dress’ deep cut forced the little endowment of her breasts fully up into the v-cut of the bodice. The sleeves clung to her arms, all the way down to her fingertips. She stepped into soft kid slippers, scooped her hair up into a loose chignon, letting some tendrils hang down to her bare shoulders. Closing the door in front of her, she smiled at the vision of her newes
t creation. She craned her head from one side to the other, fanning herself in practiced coyness. This woman was just the one she needed to take on Micah Turner.

  The dim-witted debutante was born!

  * * * * *

  Claudia almost laughed when she swept into the parlor. Micah surged to his feet. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought she was society’s raging beauty by the look on his face. But the amazement on Henderson, Joey and Adam’s faces surprised her. She took their astonishment as a compliment. None of them had seen this costume before. If the occasion arose, she would use it again.

  “Please be seated, gentlemen. How is Laura, Mr. Turner?” She smiled as she sat on the settee opposite him.

  He settled back into the chair, not quite as sure of himself as before. She fought her own amusement.

  “When I left her, she, her husband and the children were well, ma’am.”

  Claudia blinked, trying to think like she really was a dimwit, but finding her heart touched by Laura’s newfound family instead. “Children. So she had the baby then? All went well?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And Master William is about the most pleasant baby I’ve ever had the pleasure of holding.”

  “William.” The name slipped out before she could hide the wistfulness in her voice. No, no, the debutante would not become weepy over the mention of children, she reminded herself. She looked up at Henderson. “She sounds very happy.”

  “That is good to hear, Miss Claudia.” The older man nodded briefly. “Does she say anything about Nigel Blackwood?”

  “Apparently he is dead.”

  Both boys let out war whoops.

  “The crum is dead!” Joey shouted.

  Adam grabbed him by the arm and they danced an impromptu jig. “Yippee!”

  Claudia stared at the man across from her. The noise from the boys faded away. Her eyes slowly took in his appearance, starting at his feet in new boots up over the dark suit, barely concealing the powerful thighs beneath the material. His broad chest in the suit coat and the starched white shirt stretched beneath. His bearing appeared relaxed, but power radiated from behind his posture. Her eyes traveled upward, across his strong jaw, and the thick, darker-blond mustache, then up over his Romanesque nose, which bent just slightly as if broken in a fight. Her breath left her when her gaze collided with his intense grey eyes. Her soul stood bare before his gaze. Time seemed to drift all around her. She sensed his strength—and something else—a well-controlled dominance. She inhaled deeply as her pulse quickened.

  A cough from the doorway broke the spell. Claudia glanced at Henderson once more. “Did the letter say how Blackwood died, Miss?” he asked.

  “No. No, it didn’t.” Her gaze shifted back to the man across from her. This time he didn’t hold her quite so entranced.

  Flirt, she needed to flirt with this man.

  She tilted her head to the side, smiling inanely. “Were you there, Mr. Turner?” That sounded silly, even to her own ears.

  “Please call me Micah, ma’am. And yes, I was.”

  “And?”

  He shrugged off her gentle prodding for details. “He is dead ma’am. That’s enough for a lady to know.”

  “Sir, I can assure you I will not grow faint or squeamish at the details.” Resentment welled up quickly in Claudia, her character completely forgotten in her anger. “I truly wish to be assured in my own mind that this man is no longer a threat to my friend.”

  She met his gaze with a determined one of her own. For a moment she thought he would ignore her request and treat her like some schoolgirl miss.

  Finally, he raised one eyebrow at her. “Nathan and I trapped him in an old abandoned mine. We both shot at the same time. Then, to be sure he would never bother Nathan’s family, or anyone else, we dragged his body to a deep shaft, and threw it down.” He paused a moment, and Claudia thought he did so simply for effect. “It was a long time before we heard it hit bottom.”

  Claudia gulped hard. She saw both boys staring at Micah in a mixture of awe and admiration. “Well, then,” she said, clearing her throat. The letter seemed to burn her hand.

  He nodded toward the letter she held in her lap. “Did Laura tell you why I am here?”

  Allow him to take over the investigation.

  No, no. She could do this. She let a little girl’s giggle escape her.

  When she stood once more, Micah again followed suit.

  “Henderson, will you and the boys see to the animals?” She walked over to the mantel and removed the key to the liquor cabinet from the ornate wooden box there. “I would like to speak with Mr. Turner, alone.”

  Henderson looked pointedly at the key she held in her hand. “You are sure, Miss?”

  “Yes, quite sure.” She knew he questioned her decision to offer liquor to a virtual stranger, more than her decision to question him in private.

  The day her father finally went to his bed never to get out, she’d locked away all the whiskey and brandy, along with the terror they’d brought to her. From that moment on, the cabinet remained locked.

  “Very well, Miss.” Henderson motioned to the boys, who put up a momentary fuss, until he reminded them that the horses were their responsibilities.

  Claudia took out the decanter of whiskey and a large crystal tumbler. She smiled as sweetly as she could over her shoulder at Micah. “Please have a seat, sir. Such manners as yours are rare these days.”

  “My mama would be pleased to hear you say that, ma’am,” he drawled, seated once again.

  She poured the tumbler half full of dark, amber liquid. Remembering to put a soft sway into her walk, she carried the glass over to him. “How long was your journey to get here from Colorado?”

  “With the railroads crossing the country as they have, the trip wasn’t nearly as long as it once was.” He accepted the drink with a wary look on his face.

  Claudia bit back a laugh. This was going to be so easy.

  Sauntering over to the settee, she let her hips sway even deeper. She turned, imitating the graceful swoop that she’d watched Laura’s cousin perfect over the years of their childhood and fell gracefully onto the settee. Finally, Clara was good for something.

  Tilting her head off to one side, Claudia cast as seductive a look as she could imagine at him. “Have you learned anything further about poor Senator Anderson’s demise?”

  Micah took a long, slow drink of the whiskey, enjoying the burn as it trailed down his throat to his stomach. He eyed the minx sitting across from him. This wasn’t the same woman who left this room with tears in her eyes to read her friend’s letter. What game did she play at now?

  “Perhaps you could tell me what you’ve learned, ma’am,” he countered.

  She widened her eyes, resting one hand against her long neck, giggling softly. “Why, sir, I really don’t know anything at all.”

  “You wrote Laura that Senator Anderson’s body washed up on the Potomac River shore last spring, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. I did mention that little article in the newspaper, didn’t I? How silly of me to forget.” Again she giggled.

  Micah took another sip of whisky, enjoying her performance. It had been years since an actress entertained him so well. “What exactly did the article say?”

  “Why, I really couldn’t say, sir.” She leaned forward, whispering to him conspiratorially. “It was such a long time ago.”

  “Please try,” he insisted.

  “Well, it talked about how the body that washed up was so badly decomposed they had a hard time identifying him. Except Senator Anderson had that one missing finger from the war between the states, well, they identified him by that.” She closed her eyes, giving a very convincing shudder. “It’s just too gruesome to even think about, sir.”

  Fighting hard not to laugh at her performance, Micah arched one brow in her direction. “Did the article mention anything else about Senator Anderson?”

  “Oh, just that he was the foreign affairs committee chairman,
or some such thing.” She rose and approached him once again. “Some more whiskey, perhaps?”

  “If you please.” A past mistake had taught him well the lesson of moderation, but Micah let her bring him another drink. Another chance to watch her round little bottom sashay across the room again was worth holding a full glass for a while.

  “Did that terrible man, Blackwood, give you any clue as to why he murdered the poor senator?” She smiled sweetly at him. Her eyes, the exact color of the amber liquid in the tumbler, warmed him more than the whiskey ever could. As she returned, he bit back a groan, concentrating on her question and not the swell of her breasts so generously displayed above the gown.

  “He did rant about the men he worked for being powerful enough to take over the government.” He accepted the glass she handed him. Her fingers trailed lightly across his when she released it. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Gracefully, she sank to her knees at his feet, batting her eyelashes up at him. “Please call me Claudia, Micah. Do you have any idea why he would say something like that?”

  Obviously, she wanted to get information from him, while revealing little on her part. In fact, she hadn’t told him anything he couldn’t read in the newspapers. The minx wanted to play the flirt, did she? He wondered exactly how far she intended to go.

  Setting aside the glass, he reached a hand down to stroke her hair. A shadow of fear crossed her features. She schooled it quickly.

  “Well, Claudia, Blackwood seemed to think once he disposed of Laura, no one would connect him to the murder.” He let his fingers trail down the smooth skin of her cheek. She trembled, but didn’t move away. “I would imagine someone, or a group of people, with enough power to cover up the senator’s death for six months could be in on the conspiracy, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose that’s true.” The pulse at the base of her throat quickened against his fingers. “Did that terrible man mention any names?”

  Micah let his fingers tip her chin upwards. “No, he didn’t.” Holding her head still, he leaned forward. “Has anyone new or unusual shown up at the library?”