by Cat Cahill
“One who loves you would gladly take that risk,” Dora said, squeezing Caroline’s hand.
Her heart nearly shattered. Could Thomas have been that man? She would never know now. It was too late. She had let him go. It’s better for him, she thought. He didn’t deserve to be tied to such a mess.
No, her place was in Boston, where she would do her duty to her family. She wouldn’t know love again, but maybe she could find her own sense of peace.
If you survive, the voice in her head reminded her.
“You can’t return,” Millie said. “If you marry that man, you’ll never be happy. And . . . and . . .”
“Your life will be in danger,” Penny finished for her.
“I’ll be fine. My family has a summer home in Newport. I can always go there if I need to get away.” Caroline spoke the words even if she didn’t believe them. “My father’s company will survive.”
“Who cares about his company?” Penny threw up her hands. “What about you? What about the rest of your life?”
“It’s already determined.” She felt like a husk of herself; all of her emotions had gone, and all that was left was a dutiful daughter and fiancée. Maybe that would be how she survived.
Before Penny could speak another word of protest, the door opened, and in walked Quentin. If he was surprised to see the group of women surrounding his sister, he didn’t show it. Instead, he smiled and inclined his head to each one of them in turn as Caroline introduced them.
“Please,” he said. “Join us for dinner downstairs.”
“Our driver is returning to the hotel at six,” Penny said.
“Then you must be going.” Caroline stood and ushered her friends to the door, even though it was still over an hour until six o’clock.
Penny glowered at her. “Think about what we said.”
“Please,” Dora said.
“It isn’t too late,” Millie added.
Caroline hugged them each in turn, and when she shut the door, Quentin fixed her with a question mark in his expression.
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “I must rest before dinner.” She retreated to her room, determined to focus on the future and not the past.
Despite what her friends said, it was indeed too late. Not that it mattered, though. She was born into a certain kind of life, and it was time she stopped running from it.
Even if it meant she wouldn’t have much life left.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The Cañon City jail was not a welcoming place. It was warm enough, and Thomas was thankful the only other occupant at the moment was a man sleeping off a drunken night in the next cell, but the only window let in just a sliver of light and the bars served as a constant reminder of his fate.
He’d only been in here since late the night before. He’d left willingly, and no one in the Crest Stone Hotel lobby had been any the wiser. He couldn’t have taken McFarland or anyone else seeing him so demeaned. They’d immediately ridden north, and several hours later, Thomas found himself installed in this jail cell. He hadn’t seen Frank since they’d arrived. Presumably, he’d run off to telegraph Barrett Mountain and celebrate. Thomas had been mostly alone, minus the drunk next door and one of the Cañon City deputies, who checked in on them from time to time.
His stomach rumbled as he lay on his back along the narrow bench in the back of the cell. He hadn’t eaten anything since the meager breakfast the deputy had brought him this morning. There was no sense of time in this place, but he guessed it was growing close to evening. Although what did time matter now? Everything he’d hoped for was gone. He hadn’t gotten his proof. Caroline was likely on a train north to Denver by now. All of his work in Crest Stone was for naught.
His future was a prison or the noose.
Thomas sighed and pulled his hat down over his face. If only he’d left sooner, he might have what he needed to clear his name. If only he’d convinced Caroline . . . of what? His own worth? He snorted. That was unlikely. He didn’t even know why she was returning home to a future she’d said she didn’t want, willingly leaving behind everything she’d worked for here. None of it made any sense—this woman who’d gone from kind and warm to cold and haughty. He wished he’d been able to speak with her again, put his hands on her shoulders, break through that wall of ice she’d formed around herself, and demand to know why.
Don’t waste yourself on moneyed women, son. His father’s advice from years ago echoed in his head. He’d followed it gratefully over the years, until now. But Caroline was different, or so he’d thought. Even when she’d been so cold to him in the dining room, there was something sad that hung about her like a shadow. As if she was forcing herself to act that way. As if she felt—as Thomas did now—that her fate was inevitable.
He sat up. That would explain why she’d changed character so quickly. But was it true or was it his own wishful thinking? After all, she’d blinded him to his own father’s advice, advice he’d heeded for years after seeing what his mother had done.
He slammed his hat on the bench. He’d never know the answers to these questions. Instead, he was doomed to let them spin in his mind for years while he was locked away for simply defending himself and the company’s goods. Maybe he’d be lucky if they let him hang instead.
“Drexel.” Rayburn’s voice, sounding as if it had shorn the edges off itself from speaking too much for too long, echoed through the room.
Thomas sighed. Exactly what he needed right now—Frank Rayburn crowing again about his grand deeds and Thomas’s imminent demise. Thomas had heard enough of that on the ride up from Crest Stone.
“I trust you’ve found yourself at home here.” The man stopped in front of his cell, hat in his hand. He was dressed well in what looked like a new suit and a black tie knotted around his neck.
Thomas didn’t reply. Instead, he stood, leaning with one hand against the bars on the side of the cell as if he didn’t give one whit about Rayburn or the future he faced. He refused to give Rayburn that satisfaction.
“They’ll bring you something to eat soon. Can’t have you starving before your appearance in front of the judge. That’ll be a day I’ve looked forward to for a long time.” He eyed Thomas, who held his gaze. Rayburn watched him for a moment before tapping his hand against the bars. “Get a good night’s sleep,” he said with a slight grin.
Then he turned and left, reaching into his pocket for something that glinted in the dying light.
Thomas let out a lungful of air. What he’d give to punch Frank in the face, just once. Yet another thing he’d never get the opportunity to do.
He’d just sunk back down onto the bench when the deputy called down the short row of cells. “Drexel! You got visitors.”
That made him stand back up. He didn’t know a soul in Cañon City, much less anyone who’d visit him. He clutched the bars and tried to peer down toward the deputy.
Not a few seconds later, three ladies appeared.
And Thomas was lost for words.
Chapter Thirty
The hotel restaurant was much more grand than Caroline had expected. She and Quentin had arrived first, but it wasn’t long before their dining companions joined them.
“Ah! Mayor, good to see you again.” Quentin rose to greet the four men who had arrived. He introduced the mayor to Caroline, along with the owner of the largest mercantile in town, and the local sheriff, Ben Young.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Beauchamp.” Sheriff Young inclined his head, the star on his jacket winking in the gas light. “This is Sheriff Frank Rayburn. He’s here briefly from a mining town farther north.” He gestured to the fourth man.
Caroline stifled a gasp. It was the tall, broad man who’d saved her and Penny from the drunken man at the small restaurant several weeks ago. The man who was looking for Thomas.
He apparently recognized her too. His eyes lit up and he smoothed his greased-down rust-colored hair before extending a hand to her. Caroline steadied her breathing and allowed hi
m to take her hand.
“I believe we’ve met before, Miss Beauchamp,” he said, letting her hand go.
She shoved it into her lap, thankful for the white gloves she hadn’t yet removed. “Yes, we have, Sheriff. Thank you again for your assistance.”
Quentin looked at her quizzically, but before she could explain, Sheriff Rayburn did it for her.
“They let you run about this . . . town without a chaperone?” Quentin asked when the sheriff had finished.
Caroline clenched her hands in her lap. Trust her brother to latch on to the one unimportant thing in that entire explanation. “The McFarlands trusted us to keep together and only visit appropriate establishments.”
Quentin still frowned, and she knew nothing she could say about the Gilbert Company would satisfy him. He was determined to believe the worst. It was hard to fault him, though, when the only thing he was familiar with was Boston society.
“I am happy to say,” Sheriff Rayburn said as the men sat, “that just yesterday I arrested the outlaw I told you about, Miss Beauchamp.”
Caroline froze. It couldn’t be. She must have heard him wrong.
“Miss Beauchamp?” he said.
“Are you well?” the mayor asked from next to her.
She forced herself to speak. “Yes, I am, thank you. I apologize, Sheriff. What were you saying?”
He smiled benevolently from across the table, as if she were a child who needed everything explained slowly. “Remember I told you and your friend I was searching for one Tom the Cat?”
She nodded. Her throat was parched, but she didn’t dare reach for the glass of water that sat in front of her. Her hands were shaking too hard.
“I journeyed to your hotel, the Crest Stone, I believe? And there he was, working for the place, plain as day.”
“Unbelievable,” Quentin said. “You made the right decision, Caroline, leaving that place. Had we known you were there, living alongside such ruffians . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“I wouldn’t fault the company, Mr. Beauchamp,” the local sheriff said from farther down the table. He gave Caroline a quick smile. “I’ve heard they hold the highest standards for their employees. I’ve no doubt that man lied his way into working there.”
“What—” Caroline stopped and pulled in a breath to steady her nerves. “What will happen to him now? This man you caught, I mean.”
“You shouldn’t concern yourself with such matters,” Quentin said. He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, inquiring after a criminal.
“I’ll transport him to the court in Denver where a judge will decide his fate,” Sheriff Rayburn said, ignoring Quentin’s comment. “It’s likely he’ll hang for murder and thievery.”
Hang. The word sounded almost hollow, as if the meaning had disappeared from the middle of it. Hang. Hang. Hang. Caroline dropped her eyes to the table setting in front of her. The waiter arrived at that moment, which, happily, distracted the men. Irritation shot through Caroline when Quentin ordered for her, even though he’d always done so in Boston. But Caroline was no longer the same girl she’d been in Boston. Thomas had been right—the old rules didn’t apply here. She’d pushed him away. And now Thomas could likely die for protecting himself and the company he’d worked for. Caroline’s heart ached with a ferocity she hadn’t felt since her father had told her she’d be marrying Mr. Wiltshire.
The conversation veered into business matters, with Quentin inquiring about the town’s needs for various goods. Caroline watched Sheriff Rayburn across from her. He was jovial, unconcerned that an innocent man might die. Of course, he didn’t know the truth.
She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t simply return to Boston and leave Thomas here to face this alone. But what could she do? She could hardly flounce down to the town jail and pay him a visit. Quentin would never allow it.
She wrapped a hand around her water glass, trying to think of something—anything—that would help. Something shiny glinted through the water, blinding her momentarily. Caroline glanced away, blinking away the burst of light in her eyes. When she turned back, it was still there, though less bright. What was that? She followed the light to the lamp on the table that sat just to the right between herself and Sheriff Rayburn. The sheriff had his left hand resting on the table. Something gold glinted from his little finger. It caught the light from the lamp and sent it through Caroline’s water glass.
Caroline squinted at the ring, as a memory Thomas had shared with her tumbled through her mind. It was almost impossible. After all, many successful men wore gold rings, and the sheriff hadn’t impressed her in any way that would indicate he was of a lesser moral character than he appeared to be. Still . . . Thomas had said the man was present right after he’d shot the sheriff. He’d discounted the idea that the now-sheriff could have been the one who’d stolen the money, since he’d had no way to transport it. But there was a possibility, as slim as it was. And if she didn’t pursue it, she knew she couldn’t live with herself.
“Excuse me, Sheriff,” she said quietly over the mercantile owner going on about fabrics and weapons.
Sheriff Rayburn turned his gaze from the men to Caroline. “Miss Beauchamp?”
“I was admiring your ring,” she said slowly to keep her voice from trembling. “May I see it?”
“Of course.” He pulled it from his finger and handed it across the table.
It felt heavy in her hand, as if it were filled with secrets. There was a small filigree that wrapped around the band. She searched her memory for what Thomas said about his father’s ring, and came up with nothing, except that it was gold and was worn on the pinky. She turned it sideways, looking along the inside of the band. And there, small and worn but still legible, were three letters.
TJD.
She almost gasped, but kept her face impassive. She didn’t know Thomas’s father’s name, but it was likely they shared one. She forced herself to hand the ring back to the sheriff, who replaced it on his finger. “It looks old. Is it an heirloom?”
“No. It’s something I found,” he said, looking up at her. “Someone clearly didn’t care much for it if they couldn’t be bothered to keep it in their possession.”
“Clearly,” she repeated as her mind raced.
This was Thomas’s proof, right there on Sheriff Rayburn’s finger.
Chapter Thirty-one
The man in the next cell snored as Caroline’s friends from the hotel crowded around Thomas’s bars. He assumed Caroline would be in Denver by now, if not already on a train east to Boston. Thomas couldn’t land on a reason why her friends would be here, in the Cañon City jail, standing outside his cell.
“Ladies,” he said before fixing his eyes on Miss May, the only one of the three with whom he’d ever spoken with at length before. “Might I ask what I’ve done to deserve this unexpected visit?” He was afraid to ask how they knew where to find him.
“We’re here because of Caroline. She’s not thinking straight.” Miss May tapped the side of her head.
“I never had the opportunity to see her.” He gripped the bars. “But you spoke with her? Is she still in town?”
“Yes,” Miss May said as if he were slow in the head. “I couldn’t piece together why you said you’d come to talk her but fail to do so. I asked around and discovered you’d been arrested. So . . . here we are.”
“What did Caroline say?” He’d hoped she would come if she knew he was here. But she hadn’t. That could only mean the worst.
“She doesn’t know you’re in jail. We didn’t find out until after we left her hotel. We were trying to talk sense into her, but she won’t hear it. She insists she’s better off if she marries this Mr. Wiltshire her family promised her to.”
Thomas swallowed hard. “That was the entire reason she left home. None of this makes any sense.” He turned and crossed the small cell, running a hand through his hair. Why would she change her mind? It was exactly what he’d hoped to ask her when he saw her. Even
if she didn’t want him, she couldn’t marry someone she didn’t love.
Unless she did love that Mr. Wiltshire.
He felt ill. It couldn’t be possible. Not with how despondent she’d looked when she told Thomas about her father’s plans for her marriage.
“I can tell you she certainly doesn’t love this Mr. Wiltshire.” It was as if Miss May had read his mind.
He let out a huff of air. He’d been ready to push these bars aside barehanded and board a train to Boston, all for the pleasure of knocking this Wiltshire to the ground. “Then why would she agree to return home and marry him? Did she tell you?”
“Yes.” Miss May pushed her lips together before speaking again. “Well . . .” Miss May looked to the girl with red hair and a ruffled yellow dress. He’d never seen her at a loss for words.
“He’s evil,” the other girl said.
“My mother would say he’s the devil come down to earth,” the quiet girl with the olive complexion said. She hid just behind the other two, and he had the feeling that when she spoke, it was important to listen.
Miss May drew a deep breath and turned to face Thomas again. She clutched a small reticule between her hands, which she squeezed as she spoke. “This man has been married twice before. Both of his wives met untimely deaths. Caroline indicated she was afraid he might hurt you if he knew of her fondness for you.”
Thomas fixed his jaw. “I need out of here,” he said, mostly to himself. He was useless inside this cell.
“That’s why we came. We tried to talk her out of going. After all, she’ll always have a place at the Crest Stone. But she wouldn’t hear of it. It’s almost as if she’s resigned herself to this horrible fate to save her father’s company and to protect you.” Miss May wrapped a gloved hand around one of the bars. “What are your feelings toward Caroline?”
