by Day Leclaire
“Just watch your back,” she retorted. “Or you’ll find out which it is.”
It took a whole thirty seconds for him to discover the truth behind Wynne’s warning.
Mrs. Marsh, a fragile-looking woman in her early forties, took a dainty sip of tea, fixed guileless powder-blue eyes on Jake and flashed her dimples. “I do hate wasting precious time on preliminaries,” she announced. “Why don’t we get right down to business?”
Jake lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you and I had any business.”
“We didn’t.” She stared pointedly at Wynne. “Until very recently.”
He shrugged. “So talk. I’m listening.”
“You have a very fine ranch here.” She wrinkled her tiny nose as though smelling something unpleasant. “Assuming you like ranches.”
“I gather you don’t.” Not that there was much doubt about her opinion.
“No,” she confirmed. “But my sources say this is one of the better ones, which must be why you went to such lengths to keep it. I refer, of course, to your marriage.” She returned her teacup to its saucer and lifted a finely arched eyebrow. “A condition of your grandfather’s will or some such thing?”
The dragon-lady had been busy making inquiries. Who had she spoken to? Or perhaps the better question was…who hadn’t she spoken to? “Yeah, it was a condition of his will. So?”
“So…Now that you have legal control of your inheritance, you don’t need a wife anymore.”
His eyes narrowed. “According to you.”
“And according to most everyone in town. Wynne and the boys are excess baggage and it’s only a matter of time before you toss them out the door.”
“Did you hear that, elf?” Ignoring proper decorum, he propped a booted foot on the coffee table. “Folks around here think I’ll be putting you out with the garbage.”
Wynne muttered something uncomplimentary and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was aimed at the Marsh woman—or at him.
“Please, Mr. Hondo. Let’s be frank.” Kitty Marsh leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Now that your inheritance is secure, you don’t need the pretence of a family anymore. Sooner or later, you’re going to get rid of them. I’m willing to make it worth your while to make it sooner.”
“How much?” he asked out of curiosity. Wynne gasped in disbelief, but he ignored her, keeping his gaze trained on the viper seated across from him. He’d learned long ago never to take his eyes off a snake poised to strike and he didn’t intend to start now.
The Marsh woman smiled in triumph. “How much would you like?”
“I can’t say,” he confessed, running a hand across his jaw. “To be honest, I have just about all the money I could ever hope to spend.”
“Then perhaps I can offer something else.” Her smile turned provocative. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Don’t bother trying to seduce him,” Wynne snapped. “He’s not interested in married women.”
“Well…Only one,” Jake said with a lazy grin.
“Then we’ll stick to material assets,” Mrs. Marsh retorted, her smile fading. “What will you take in exchange for the children?”
“Why do you want them?” he countered.
She shrugged. “Why does a person want diamonds or furs or a new car? It’s an uncontrollable urge. Maternal instinct or something.”
Maternal instinct in a pig’s eye. He’d never met a woman less cut out for motherhood than this one. “Forget it,” he stated flatly, tiring of her game.
“I didn’t answer that right, did I?” she asked in amusement. “Okay, how about this…?” Crocodile tears welled into her eyes. “They’re all that’s left of my poor, dear brother. I have so much to offer them, so much to give. And since I could never have children of my own—”
“Oh, please!” Wynne.cut her off. “You never wanted children. You said they’d ruin your figure, that they were messy.”
Her tears vanished as quickly as they’d come. “But don’t you see? That’s what makes it all so perfect. No horrid pregnancy, no smelly, squally babies. And best of all they’re housebroken.” She turned on Jake. “Now, how much?”
“I’m not for sale and neither are they.”
“I don’t think you understand.” Her voice hardened. “I’m really quite desperate here. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my hands on those boys.”
“Brad wants them, doesn’t he?” Wynne guessed shrewdly.
Fury robbed her face of all beauty. “Yes. After all these years, my dear husband has decided he wants kids and I suspect he’s looking around for someone young and nubile enough to provide them. Buster and Chick are my only hope.”
Jake laughed. “I’m all broken up over your marital problems, lady. But that doesn’t change my mind. The boys stay here.”
Her eyes darkened, the blue turning as dull and garish as fake sapphires. “Assuming that’s your final word on the matter, we’ll move on to threats.”
He didn’t look worried. “And what would those be?”
“If you don’t give me the children, I’ll take Wynne to court.”
“On what grounds?”
“I think my concern for the safety of the children should do the trick. Since arriving in Texas, they’ve been forced to stay in a run-down shack when they could have been housed here. They’ve attempted to ride the most dangerous horse in several counties. And they’ve come within a breath of being bitten by one of the deadliest snakes in the country.” She tilted her head to one side. “Have I overlooked anything?”
Panic appeared in Wynne’s eyes. “How did you find out about that?”
Jake didn’t need to ask. “Randolph! The son of a b—”
“Yes, Mr. Hondo?” Mrs. Marsh prompted with a cold smile. “You were about to say?”
He gritted his teeth. “Never mind.”
“I’ll be sure to add your vulgarity to my list of concerns—assuming I can find the room. It’s a very long list.” She switched her attention to Wynne. “I’m here to offer you a choice. You can turn the children over to me now and I’ll allow you to continue seeing them. Or you can force me to endure the cost and annoyance of a court hearing. In which case I’ll make sure you never see the boys again.”
“That’s not a choice,” Jake snapped. “It’s a threat.”
“Actually, Mr. Hondo, it’s a promise. One I intend to keep.” She gathered up her purse. “I believe that concludes our business. I’ll give you some time to discuss my offer, not that there’s anything to discuss. When you reach your decision, I can be contacted in town at the Bluebonnet Inn. Dreadful name, but pleasant enough accommodations considering I’m in Texas.”
“Don’t you want to see your nephews before you leave?” Jake questioned with heavy irony.
“No need. I’ll see them soon enough. I plan to have them home with me by Thanksgiving.” She stood. “Please don’t get up. I can find my own way.”
“And do me out of the pleasure of showing you the door?” Jake snarled as he gained his feet. “I wouldn’t hear of it.”
She drew back. “Are you threatening me with physical harm?”
“I don’t threaten, either, Mrs. Marsh. Like you, I only make promises.”
Her composure shaken, she backed toward the door. “Is that how you broke your hand, in a brawl? My list gets longer by the second. And my concern for my nephews grows along with it.”
Predictably, Wynne leapt to his defense. “If you think he’d ever do anything to harm them, you’re sadly mistaken. He’s the sweetest, kindest, gentlest man in the world.”
A reluctant grin snagged Jake’s mouth. “Give it up, elf. Even I have trouble swallowing that one.”
“As would anyone who’s met him,” added Mrs. Marsh. “I look forward to your call.” Gathering the shreds of her dignity, she marched from the room. A moment later the front door banged close, signaling her departure.
The boys crept silently up the steps to their room.
“C
ome on, Chick. I’ve got a plan,” Buster said with grim resolve. “She can’t take us away if she can’t find us. So we’ll just hide until she goes away or finds some other kids to be nice to or something.”
Chick whispered a question.
“Yeah, I guess they will be worried.” He brightened. “We’ll leave them a note. But we won’t tell them where we’ll be. That way nobody can make us go with Aunt Marsh if she wins the fight.”
“What are we going to do?” Wynne asked, struggling to keep the panic from her voice.
“For now, we wait.”
“But what about her threats?”
Jake shrugged. “Even if she takes us to court, I doubt she’d win. For one thing, we’re still together, despite local gossip.”
Wynne frowned. But for how long? Too bad she didn’t have the nerve to ask. “What about her other complaints—you know, about Mad Dog and the snake?”
He grimaced. “I admit, the boys have gotten into a scrape or two, but it hasn’t hurt them any. And as Mrs. Marsh pointed out, this is Texas. There’s not a single kid around these parts who hasn’t been bucked off a horse or come toe to fang with a rattler. I’m hoping the judge will see her as a sweet, if unduly apprehensive relative.” His expression turned sour. “I assume she can play the sweet and caring aunt when it’s in her best interest.”
“She’s a master at it,” Wynne assured grimly. “The dimples alone could convince a card-carrying pessimist that the glass is half full. And if they don’t do the trick, she turns on the waterworks.”
“So I saw.” He shuddered. “Heaven protect me from weepy women.”
Wynne glanced at her bare left ring finger and bit her lip.
He caught the direction of her glance. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said with a sigh. “I didn’t mean you. You had cause to shed a few tears. I just wish I could have found the darned thing.”
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “I should have had it sized.”
He tugged her into his arms. “Let me replace it. We can go into town and buy one that actually fits. It might even help convince Mrs. Marsh—” He broke off at her expression. “I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?”
Tears threatened, but she refused to let them fall. “It wouldn’t be the same. That other ring…It was part of the Cinderella Ball, part of how we met.” She gave a forlorn shrug. “I don’t think I can explain.”
Jake shut his eyes. She didn’t have to explain. He understood better than she knew. She was hurting and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. She wouldn’t agree to a replacement and he didn’t have a hope in hell of recovering the original.
He thought about it all through that long afternoon as he worked outside with his ranch hands, setting a grueling work schedule for himself in the vain hope of easing his guilt. Toward the end of the day, a possible solution occurred to him, one he filed away for future consideration.
“Ready to call it a day?” Dusty finally asked, “or haven’t you punished yourself enough?”
Jake lifted an eyebrow in question. “The men complaining?”
“Not yet. But that’s not why I’m asking.” Dusty stared pointedly toward the north. “Any man who doesn’t keep one eye on the weather is just askin’ for trouble.”
Jake followed the direction of his foreman’s gaze, then stowed his tools and went in search of Wynne. He found her in the library. “Come with me. I have something to show you,” he said.
She looked up from her book. “What is it?”
“Ever seen a blue norther?” he asked, tugging her from the chair.
She laughed. “I don’t even know what it is.”
“It’s a weather front. A rather impressive weather front.”
He walked out onto the front porch with her and pointed north. “That’s a blue norther.”
A broad bank of steel-blue clouds chewed at the horizon. Even as she watched the ominous ridge consumed still more of the crystalline sky, roiling toward them like some airborne blight.
She shivered. “Is it serious?”
“Can be if you’re not paying attention. Northers come in fast and hit hard. One minute it’ll be seventy, the next near freezing. Top that with a nasty wind and chilly rain and—”
“And I better have the boys pull out some warm clothing.”
“Good idea.” He snagged the collar of her shirt and tugged her closer, his golden eyes glittering with wicked intent. “I think this calls for another fire, don’t you? That way you won’t need to bother with warm clothes. Hell, you won’t need to bother with any clothes at all.”
She gave him an innocent look. “How in the world will I keep warm?”
“I’ll think of something,” he replied, grinning. “After dinner, how about we get the boys settled for the night, open up a bottle of wine and celebrate the coming of an early winter?”
She slid her arms around his waist, settling into the cradle of his hips. “What sort of celebration did you have in mind?”
“We can try one of those pagan rituals. You know, the ones where the participants are all buck-naked and chase each other around in circles. You can play the woodland nymph and I’ll be the wicked satyr.”
She moistened her lips. “I thought that was a springtime ritual.”
“Okay.” His mouth nuzzled the side of her neck. “We’ll also pretend it’s March.”
Her eyes drifted closed and a helpless moan slipped from her throat. “Call the boys and I’ll get dinner started.”
He pushed her collar to one side, baring a creamy shoulder. “I thought they were in the house with you.” She stiffened beneath his hands and he pulled back. “They’re not?”
She shook her head, apprehension reflected in her eyes. “They said—they said they were going to help you.”
“When?” He shot the word at her.
“Hours ago,” she whispered. “Right after Mrs. Marsh—”
He swore. Pushing past her, he charged into the house, taking the steps to the boys’ bedroom two at a time. Even before he found the note, he knew they’d run. Dresser drawers hung open, clothes formed a telltale trail from closet to bed. And most telling of all, the picture of their parents was missing from the nightstand.
Wynne entered the room behind him. He watched as she crossed to Buster’s pillow and picked up the note. She read silently, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. Then she turned and walked into his arms.
“We’ll find them,” he tried to reassure. She felt so cold, as though all the zest and life had been frozen into an impenetrable ball of ice. Briskly he ran his hands up and down her arms. “I’ll organize the men. They can’t have gotten far.”
“You said those fronts move in fast. How long do we have?”
“A couple hours,” he lied without hesitation.
They wasted thirty minutes searching the house and outbuildings. It didn’t surprise anyone that the boys were nowhere to be found. Jake pulled Dusty to one side, speaking fast, his face set in grim lines. “Have the men mount up and fan out,” he said, glancing at the sky. “That front’s moving in faster than I’d anticipated. We don’t have much time.”
“Why don’t I drive over to Lost Trail and see if they’re holed up there?” Dusty offered.
“Good idea.”
“Jake—”
“I know. I’ll take care of it.” Without another word, he turned and headed for the house. He’d delayed long enough. Now he had to act. For the first time in his life, he was going to ask for assistance. He only prayed the people of Chesterfield would be willing to give it. Snatching up the phone, he punched in a number.
“Belle Blue here. What can I do you for?”
“It’s Jake Hondo.” He took a deep breath and said, “Belle, I need help.”
Dead silence met his request. “You want help?” she repeated. “You, Jake?”
He gritted his teeth. “Yeah, me.”
If she found his request amusing, she hid it well. “Sure thing. What
’s the problem?”
“It’s the boys. They’ve run off.”
“Oh, my heavens,” she said with a gasp. “Jake, there’s a norther movin’ in.”
“I know that!” He closed his eyes, struggling just this once to keep his temper in check. “Will you round up a search party for me? We need to find those boys. Fast.”
“Consider it done. And Jake?” She spoke with more warmth than he’d ever heard before. “Don’t you and your missus worry none. We’ll track ‘em down.”
“Thanks,” he whispered and cradled the receiver. He didn’t doubt for a minute the boys would be found. The question was…Would it be in time?
CHAPTER TEN
EVENING HAD SET IN when the door to the kitchen opened. Wynne watched anxiously as Jake stepped across the threshold and tossed aside his rain-soaked Stetson. He shook his head in answer to her silent query.
She turned away, fighting for control. “What are we going to do, Jake?”
“What else can we do?” Exhaustion filled his voice. “We keep looking.”
Her hands balled in frustration. “It doesn’t make sense that they haven’t shown up. The boys may be foolhardy, but they’re not stupid. They wouldn’t stay out in this weather. What about Lost Trail? Perhaps they—”
“Dusty searched it earlier.”
“It’s a long walk.” Desperation tainted her words. “Maybe they weren’t there, yet. Or maybe they hid from him.”
“Okay,” he said evenly. “I’ll go check the house again.”
She turned around, setting her chin at a defiant angle. “I’m going with you.”
To her surprise, he didn’t argue. Perhaps he knew how desperately she needed to act, to do more than wait, worry and brew coffee for the search party. “Get coats,” he instructed. “And some blankets. If we find them, they’re going to be half-frozen.”
Jake’s broken hand prevented him from driving a stick shift, so Wynne slid behind the steering wheel of the truck. Not wasting any time, she started the engine, ground into first gear and spun out of the driveway. Fifteen minutes later she pulled into the dirt road leading to Lost Trail. Jake leaned forward, peering through the windshield.
