If Morgan Hudson could run to a stranger’s aid, to notify him of danger, she could most certainly unlock the door of the fortified castle in which her heart lived, and let him in.
Chapter 15
Morgan followed Dad and the sheriff through the hotel’s double doors, his Colt drawn.
The night manager met them at the foot of the stairs. “Sheriff. Gentlemen. We don’t want trouble. Our guests are sleeping.”
Sheriff Talmadge stared the manager down. “One of ‘em might not be breathing. If he is, we aim to keep him that way.”
“Well—”
“What room is Ferwinckle in?”
The manager blinked. “Two-twelve.”
“Git.” Talmadge motioned with his pistol. “Away. We men have a job to do and you’re holding up justice.”
The manager scurried behind his desk, and Morgan took the lead. Youth on his side, he was the first to clear the stairs, his boots nearly silent on the thick carpet.
Outside two-twelve, Morgan listened, his ear to the door until Talmadge and Dad arrived. He shook his head—hadn’t heard a thing.
He had a really bad feeling about this.
The sheriff pressed his ear to the panel, then held up three fingers. Folded one in—two. One.
A well-placed kick—Sheriff Talmadge had done this before—and the door thundered against the inside wall. Light from a single lamp spilled over the scene.
The odor of blood, vomit, sweat, and fear hit Morgan’s nostrils.
Two men, one seated and rope wound about his torso and legs made sure he stayed that way. Ferwinckle, but Morgan only knew that because of the suit and once-fastidiously polished shoes he’d been wearing at the jailhouse. His face was swollen, battered and bleeding.
An assailant, a pistol pressed to the tender underside of Ferwinckle’s jaw, whipped his head toward the door.
Morgan had the villain in his sights, as did Dad and the sheriff.
“We won’t miss,” Talmadge informed him, as if saying howdy on the boardwalk at noon to a fellow he liked. “Throw it down, if you want to live.”
Ferwinckle moaned.
Faster than a rattler strike, the varmint spun, raised the pistol, and fired.
Morgan ignored the reflex to duck.
More than one target practice prepared two gunsmiths and one lawman to handle the threat.
The collective boom of three firearms erupting simultaneously nearly deafened.
Whoever he was, the varmint dived for the open window, devoid of a screen, and would have made it, too, had he not gone up against the three best shots in Mountain Home.
Spent powder covered the unpleasant odors, but Morgan’s stomach kicked anyway. He’d never intentionally shot a man before. Never had reason to.
“If he ain’t dead, I’ll eat my hat.” Sheriff Talmadge kicked the revolver free of the fallen man. It spun, thumping against the wall.
In the hallway, voices sounded, raised in alarm. Muffled thumps of running feet on carpet.
“He dead?” Morgan had to know. He wouldn’t holster his hand-cannon ‘til he knew for sure.
Talmadge grunted. “Can’t live with one perfect hole in the heart, now can he?”
Had two shots gone wide? One hole?
Ah—three bullets. One hole.
One more look at Wardie’s swollen, bruised face and Morgan set aside his doubts. Anybody who’d beat on a man deserved what he got.
Wardie opened his mouth and tried to speak. Two teeth tumbled from his mouth.
“Hard to talk,” Talmadge said, “with a broken jaw.” The lawman had cut through the ropes binding Wardie Ferwinckle to the chair, “So skip to the important stuff. That yahoo alone? Or are there more we should know about?”
Wardie held up one finger—broken, at an odd angle.
Morgan winced. The boy might not practice dentistry for a good long time.
Dad, always calm in situations like this, turned to the crowd at the door. “Don’t stand there with your mouths open—go get a doctor. Maybe two.”
Chapter 16
The following afternoon, Zylphia lay in bed, aggravated at Elizabeth Louise’s constant badgering.
If Zylphia wanted to come downstairs and socialize with the family, she would have.
If she wanted to be downstairs where temperatures were at least ten degrees cooler, she would have.
If she wanted to come downstairs and allow George to see her—like this…
She choked on emotion too big, too immense.
…she would have.
Didn’t Elizabeth Louise comprehend a thing? Zylphia’s entire life was stolen from her when that…that villain had murdered Elijah and tried to murder Wardie Ferwinckle.
And why? For money.
That hired gun, the one caught in the hotel and shot to death, accepted money to kill Elijah.
Why? Because Elijah had invested a goodly amount of money with them, anticipating a healthy return. But the investment company had been a fraud—and Elijah had discovered as much.
The hired man had beat sweet Mr. Ferwinckle, forcing him to disclose financial details of the business—and of the Speare family. Turned out the money Ferwinckle had withdrawn and carried all the way to Mountain Home had been planted by the fraudulent investment firm, with the purpose of following Wardie Ferwinckle to Zee and Elizabeth Louise.
Such evil designs. She shivered all over whenever she thought about it.
The sheriff believed the photographs and detailed description of the villain would help other police forces. They’d weigh, measure, describe distinguishing marks, and share all over the country.
All Zee cared about was that the horror behind Elijah’s untimely death was somewhat resolved.
“Mother. You cannot remain in bed any longer.”
“Elizabeth Louise.” Zee fought the tears and attempted—again—to dry her eyes. “Please, no more pleading with me to do something I don’t want to do. Be a good daughter and sit quietly.”
“I’m going downstairs, Mother. You come down when you’re ready.”
“But—” Stunned, she pushed into a sitting position to better see her daughter’s face. Had she misheard? “I can’t be alone, Elizabeth. You know that. It’s your duty to remain with me. I’m terrorized. I’m grieving.”
Elizabeth, beautiful, lovely girl that she was, took both of Zee’s hands. Yes, this attention, this closeness was precisely what she needed from her daughter.
“Actually, Mother,” Elizabeth said, her tone even, soft, and yet filled with steel. “No.”
Zylphia couldn’t have heard correctly. Elizabeth Louise never sassed her mother. “What did you say?”
“I said no. I love you and I’ve stood by you through everything, but it’s time for me to live my own life.”
“You—you can’t leave me.” Panic sliced through Zee’s chest. Sobs erupted. She couldn’t help it. An attack of hysterics strangled, twisting off her air.
“You’re safe now, Mother. That man is dead. He can’t hurt you, or anyone you love, ever again.”
Fighting to breathe, to shove aside the horrors, the details she couldn’t stop thinking of, she had to admit Elizabeth was right.
Wardie Ferwinckle recovered in the nicest room the hotel had to offer, the doctor paying calls three times a day.
Dear, wonderful, patient Geo had seen to it that man, that horrible man, could never hurt her again. He’d risked his safety—his very life—to save Mr. Ferwinckle, and by so doing, had certainly saved her and Elizabeth Louise.
And what did Geo want in return? Only to see her. To hold her hand, to sit at her side, to ensure she was well.
But—
She flung herself back onto the pillows and covered her tear-stained face with her hands.
If Geo saw her—like this! In her nightgown, eyes red and swollen, hysterical and out of control—he won’t show her the love she desperately needed from him. He’d withhold the kindness she needed…
“We have to
go.” She threw back the sheet, pushed her feet into her house slippers, and dashed to the chest of drawers. “You sneak out the back door. Find a driver to take us—”
“No.”
Dumbfounded, she stared at this woman—this woman she didn’t know. “What has gotten into you? Why are you so disobedient?”
“Listen to me, Mother. Listen very carefully.” Elizabeth put an arm about Zee’s shoulders, took her hand in a sweet, tender hold, and walked her to the settee before the window. Together, they sat.
“I know my father would have seen you as you are now and refused to hold you.”
A tremendous sob wrenched free from Zee’s throat. She slapped a hand tight over her mouth and fought to remain quiet.
“He wouldn’t have allowed you to grieve.” Elizabeth’s gentle touch upon Zee’s back gave her a sense of calm—but how could she feel calm? Her daughter, her good girl refused help, refused the solace she needed…
Just like her father, like Elijah. That man never put his arms about her and assured her he loved her, despite her nerves. That man never let her talk through her fears. He’d never held her hand when she was afraid and assured her he’d take care of things…
…Not like Geo. Geo had done all of those things. And more.
“Everything you want is right here. A man who loves you. A daughter who loves you.”
Zee surged to her feet. “I have to go.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do.” She made it to the chest of drawers before Elizabeth was there, naughty girl, holding her hands and preventing her from finding something to wear.
“You know how badly it hurt when Father died and left you, though he didn’t mean to. Mr. Hudson still feels that pain. Do you want to do that to him, again?”
Zee’s tears erupted, again.
“He loves you.” Elizabeth put her arms around Zee and held on. “Why are you scared to stay, accept that he loves you, and be happy?”
“I’ve—” She fought for air. “Ruined everything. I-I already told him I’m…I’m leaving.”
“So change your mind. March over to the first house, hug him, and beg his forgiveness.”
“I don’t know how! I don’t know how to ask anyone to love me—I’ve tried, my whole life, I’ve tried. And I’ve always done it badly because no one ever loved me.”
“Mother—stop. Listen to yourself. You know that’s not true. You don’t need to ask for love. People love you back, simply because of who you are and because you loved them first.”
“No.”
“Father loved you, but he couldn’t express love the way you needed.”
Angry, Zee dashed away the tears clinging to her eyelashes.
“Your sons love you. You loved Junior, Sidney, and me—you loved us first. And we love you.”
Zee shrugged. But at least the tears had slowed.
“My brothers love you—and they grew into men. It’s only natural for men to leave their mothers and make their own way in the world. They were simply ready to live lives of their own. At their ages, they well should. And me too. I’m age 26. It’s time for me to live my own life.”
Truth hurt.
Like the dickens.
She’d held this daughter back, prevented her from finding love and companionship and a family of her own—all because she’d been too scared to let go of the family she’d so desperately wanted.
“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.” Elizabeth stood and walked to the door. Grace and dignity. Confidence and strength. “You’re wrong to go, but I won’t stop you. You’re allowed to make your own decisions.”
At the door, Elizabeth waited, but Zee couldn’t find the words. How could she admit she’d been wrong? How could she beg Elizabeth Louise’s forgiveness?
“I’m staying here, with Morgan.” Elizabeth opened the door. “If you were brave, you’d stay too.”
With that, she shut the door, softly.
Zee gasped in outrage.
But she hadn’t any right to that emotion. Nor did she have a right to the disappointment she’d clung to. She’d done a very bad thing.
Zee rushed to the door, wrenched it open. The hallway was empty—had her baby girl gone so quickly? Rushed outside, to the first house, and into the arms of the man she loved? “I’m sorry, Elizabeth!”
She rushed down the hallway, toward the staircase. “I hurt you. I loved you more than you can possibly imagine, and I hurt you.” She picked up the hem of her robe, and hurried down the stairs. “Most of those beaus weren’t good enough for you! Some were terrible, like that Raymond Cresswell.”
Breathing heavily, she burst into the entry hall, and found her daughter leaning against the front door, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
“Oh, Elizabeth.” She took one halting step toward her daughter, then two. “And some of them were. Good enough for you.” Pain. So much pain—in her heart, in her head, in her very soul.
Had she ever been in such a state?
With great care, she took Elizabeth Louise’s beautiful face between her hands and searched her daughter’s blue eyes. “Will you forgive me?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“So easily?”
“You’re my mother, and I love you.” Elizabeth’s hug was certain and powerful and full of healing.
Would Geo forgive her so easily? Only one way to find out.
“Wash your face, Mother. Bathe. Dress your hair, and put on that lovely pale green dress. You will go with me and visit Mr. Hudson. You will let him see for himself that you’re well. He’ll be over the moon when he realizes you’ve changed your mind and the wedding is on.”
“I have? Changed my mind?”
“Absolutely.”
Chapter 17
With her mother at her side, Elizabeth raised her hand to knock. Before she’d rapped even once, the door of the first house opened and they were nearly run over by two Hudson men in a hurry.
Elizabeth searched Morgan’s features, soaked up every line and curve and hollow of his dear face. Long shadows cast by the setting sun sent golden sheets of sunlight through Morgan’s hair, putting her in mind of an archangel.
Last night had been all about business, with the shooting and all that came after it. Photographing the dead man and seeing the corpse under lock and key at the undertaker. The sheriff had a feeling the varmint was on more than one wanted poster.
Tonight was about family. And love. And salvaging anything that remained from the ashes.
“Ladies?” Mr. Hudson said, bowing slightly to each of them in turn. “We see you have something on your mind. Would you care to come in?”
Mother nodded, then immediately shook her head no.
“Do you mind if we come out?” Mr. Hudson truly was a remarkable man—just what Mother needed.
If she could change…
Elizabeth stepped back, giving them egress.
Last night, about this time, Morgan had vehemently refused to marry her. Despite that, the time had come to lay herself bare, and take the risk of a lifetime.
Morgan would never laugh at her expense, but he’d also never do what he didn’t want to do. She couldn’t find the words to so much as begin.
Speaking with him, telling him everything that was in her heart, had seemed like a good idea, until now…
She glanced at Mother, who took baby-steps toward Mr. Hudson. “Geo?”
Mr. Hudson opened his arms and Mother threw herself into his embrace. Mother sobbed, Mr. Hudson squeezed her tight and kissed her brow. “Don’t go, Zee. I love you. Don’t you see that?”
Mother laughed through her tears. “I love you, Geo. Can you forgive me?”
“Darling Zee, all is forgiven. Say you’ll stay and marry me.”
Elizabeth clamped a hand over her mouth. Just like that—in the exchange of thirty seconds, Mother and soon-to-be stepdad had said exactly what she couldn’t find words to say.
Bless Morgan’s generous heart. She saw the moment he d
ecided to make this as easy on her as possible. How she loved him.
He drew near, touched her waist and her jaw, tipping her face up to his. “Let’s leave the sweethearts alone, shall we?” He spoke near her temple, his breath a caress.
Surely he wouldn’t touch her like this…as if they were more than friends, more than soon-to-be siblings, if he didn’t want another chance. Would he?
Her heart pounded and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. He’d barely escorted her around the corner of the first house when he caught her up in his arms and kissed her.
With more desperation, more intensity than the first time—if that were possible.
“We have something special, you and I.” He stole another kiss. This one brief and emphatic. Like an exclamation point. “You can’t deny it.”
“You did.”
Confusion interrupted his train of thought. “I what?”
“You denied it. You kissed me, like that, the sheriff saw us, and you adamantly refused to marry me.”
“A mistake. And I regret it. I’m a man, Lizzy. That means I’m going to say and do stupid things now and again. But one thing’s for certain—I’d wed you right now. This instant.”
Wed? Shouldn’t they finish making up first?
Her stomach lifted and seemed to tangle up with her heart. She couldn’t find a single word to respond to that ridiculous non-proposal.
She’d never actually heard a proposal of marriage in her rather poor experience, but that didn’t seem to be a very good one.
“But you deserve a courtship, attention, a wedding of your own. Last thing I’m fool enough to do is expect you to share your wedding with your mother. And my Dad.”
She opened her mouth, entirely unsure what to say. Nothing came out.
“I know that’s foolish. Arrah, selfish creature that she’s always been, would’ve insisted on her own everything, her due.” He shook his head as if trying to clear the mental image of that spoiled woman—what had he ever seen in her?
“But… I…” She shrugged, utterly lost. “I don’t know much about proposals of marriage, mind you, but I don’t think a man is supposed to compare me to the woman he’d almost married.”
Gunsmoke and Gingham Page 27
