Scarlet Lies (Author's Cut Edition): Historical Romance

by Jo Goodman

  Robert's words were indeed prophetic. In less than twenty-four hours he was able to confirm Ryland's suspicions about the reason for the attack. Tears came to Drew's eyes as he held Brook's hand, assuring himself she was not part of his nightmarish dreams, and begged her not to think badly of him for being so weak that he finally gave up her location. Brooklyn stayed with him until he fell deeply asleep and the innocence returned to his face.

  Three days after Brooklyn began sharing nursing duties with Louise, Drew was sitting up in bed, eating full meals, and stubbornly insisting he was no invalid. He had recovered to such a degree that he had begun taking credit for bringing Ryland and Brooklyn together. It was then that Ry knew his cousin bore him no ill will and was genuinely happy for him.

  "What's her name?" asked Ryland as he took a chair by Drew's bed and propped his feet on the edge of the mattress.

  Drew's grin was fulsome. "Her name?" he asked, pretending ignorance.

  "Her name," repeated Ryland. "Who is the woman you're so in love with that you don't begrudge me Brooklyn?"

  "Amy Catherine London." He laughed at Ryland's smug look. "I'm that obvious?"

  "To me at least. Why hasn't Amy come to visit you?"

  "I doubt that she knows what happened. I've not been exactly forthcoming with information about myself." His smile was sheepish. "I wanted her to like me for me and not for my money."

  "Does she?"

  "I think so, though she's probably thinking I've lost interest in her."

  "I could contact her and let her know what happened."

  "You can stay away from her," he warned, teasing and serious at the same time. His eyes became gravely earnest. "I really thought I loved Brooklyn."

  "I know you did."

  "And I went a little crazy when I saw you with her. Has she forgiven me for abducting her?"

  "Yes."

  "And you?"

  "Yes."

  Drew nodded, pushing back a lock of hair. "Sending me back here with my tail between my legs was the best thing you ever did for me, Ry. It woke me up. I've been working on a project for the railroad. Did Father tell you?"

  "He says you have some clever plans."

  Drew shrugged modestly. "I never slept with Brooklyn," he said in a rush. "I wanted you to know that. I was never even alone in her room until the night I asked for her hand, and then John Nathan was outside her door. I don't know what she's told you, Ry, but I don't think she was ever alone with anyone save you until I made her go with me to Virginia City. Brooklyn sometimes lets people think what they want even if it isn't the truth."

  "I wish I had understood that sooner. She tried to explain it to me but I was too busy being righteous to listen to her."

  "I don't think it matters now. She never looked at me the way she does you," Drew confessed. "I think you must make her very happy."

  "I want to. Sometimes... God, I don't know... I hurt her and then I want to cut out my tongue. But I love her, Drew. I have for a very long time and I know that she makes me happy. If anything happens to her..." He shook his head, his voice drifting off.

  "I wish you'd let me go with you to New Orleans, Ry. I want to help. If I hadn't told those men where to find her... well, I want to make it up to both of you for endangering your lives."

  "No," Ryland said firmly. "It was the sheerest luck that you didn't die trying to protect her. She inspires loyalty. You could have ended up like Phillip Sumner or Bill Maine. No one wants that. If I could bear to let Brooklyn out of my sight I'd leave her behind and go to New Orleans alone. But we all know that she's safer with me, and I need her physical presence to prove kinship with Abby Gordon. Also, for obvious reasons, Brooklyn's frightened that staying here will ultimately hurt the rest of you."

  "Have you wired Mrs. Gordon that you found her granddaughter?"

  "No. I'm concerned she won't get the message. I want to present Brooklyn to her myself. Once my wife's identity is established it will be more difficult, if not impossible, for her cousins to make a move against her without exposing themselves. She doesn't want any part of her inheritance; she only wants to meet her grandmother."

  "What if her cousins aren't convinced that she's not interested in her inheritance? You'll have to tread lightly, Ry. They're still responsible for at least two murders and an attempt on my life."

  "I don't know that it's both of them. It may be that Chandler is innocent of Preston's machinations or the other way around."

  "But you plan to find out," Drew said.

  "I do," Ryland said softly. "I certainly do."

  Brooklyn was with Louise in the parlor when Ryland came downstairs after seeing Drew. He was proud of his aunt for setting aside her misgivings about his marriage long enough to come to know Brooklyn in her own right. It helped that Drew had told his parents everything about abducting Brook when he returned to San Francisco. Louise had been mortified by her son's behavior but nonetheless shocked to learn later that Ryland had married the Brass Slipper's hostess. The shock had passed, though, replaced by a grudging admiration and finally respect.

  Both women were laughing conspiratorially as Ryland entered the room. He supposed they were engaged in their favorite pastime—sharing stories about him. Clearing his throat, he tried to look severe as he slouched in the thickly padded armchair opposite them. "Do I want to know what you're talking about or is it better kept a secret?"

  Louise dabbed at her damp eyes with the corner of a handkerchief, and amusement engraved deep lines at the edges of her cupid mouth. "Brooklyn was telling me about the sort of woman you planned to marry," she said. Her hands moved through the air, describing the voluptuous figure Ryland had set his mind on. "Really, Ry, that was outrageous. Even for you."

  "So I've been told," he said dryly.

  "Good for you, Brooklyn," Louise said tartly, patting the back of Brook's hand.

  "Please don't encourage her, Aunt. She manages to keep me in my place quite nicely without your assistance."

  Brook's smile was perfectly serene. "How's Drew?"

  Ryland sat up a little. "Tired of being in bed. He offered to come to New Orleans with us."

  "You told him no, didn't you?" Brooklyn asked anxiously as Louise stiffened slightly.

  "I did."

  "When do you leave?" Louise asked Ryland.

  "Brooklyn and I discussed it last night. Now that Drew's recovering we think we should go by the end of the week."

  "But that's only three more days," Louise protested. "We've hardly had any time with you."

  "I think you know there's no other way. For everyone concerned, it's best that we leave quickly."

  "I'm thinking of everyone," Louise said. "But I'm especially thinking of your baby." Two surprised expressions greeted her simultaneously. "Of course I knew. I admit I was looking for it because... well, because I'm not a very nice person sometimes and I told myself there had to be a reason you would marry Brook."

  "There was a reason," Ryland said with deep conviction, unconsciously touching the faint scar at his temple. "I love her."

  Louise blushed. "I know that now. But I couldn't imagine it at first. I'm sorry. It was petty of me to think that way, and I'd like to believe I'm a better person for realizing the truth at last." She looked apprehensively from Ryland to Brooklyn.

  Ryland got out of his chair and kissed his aunt's cheek. "I do love you, you know."

  Louise sniffled and groped for her handkerchief again. "What about the baby?" she asked as Ryland leaned against the mantelpiece, his brow furrowed in thought.

  "Brooklyn?" he asked.

  "I'm going with you," she said steadily. "I wouldn't feel safe anywhere else, even here with your family."

  Ryland addressed his aunt. "Not only wouldn't she feel safe, she wouldn't be safe. If her cousins are convinced I've found her, one or both of them will arrange to have her killed. None of us can be certain what was learned from Jordan and Kittridge. If the bounty hunters wired New Orleans of their progress, then whoever hired th
em may know more than I want him to already. Brooklyn and I can't hide. We have to move in the open and make a direct confrontation."

  Louise would have liked to argue, but no sound argument came to her mind. She recognized that neither Ryland nor Brooklyn could be swayed from going east. Resigning herself to the inevitable, Louise vowed silently that she would pray every day for their safe return.

  Brooklyn sighed wistfully as Ryland captured her queen. "I know," she said, disgusted with herself. "I left her vulnerable again. By the time we reach New Orleans I plan to have that problem well in hand." The wooden chess pieces wobbled slightly as the train swayed, picking up speed to make the first grade at the foot of the Rockies.

  "You've beaten me four games to six as it is. Please," he implored, "don't correct the trouble with your queen."

  Though Brooklyn heard the lightness in Ryland's voice, she also sensed that he had strained for it. Since leaving San Francisco each passing day had brought another layer of tension to him. He spent long hours pretending to read or simply staring out the windows of their private car at the swiftly changing landscape. Their train had already passed Virginia City, Ogden, and Cheyenne, and now they were climbing toward Denver. At each stop in the larger cities Ryland's guard went up and he didn't visibly relax until the train was underway again. There was never any question that Brooklyn would not be allowed to leave the car. She didn't press his already frayed nerves by bringing up the subject.

  "Tell me about my grandmother," she said, abandoning the game and circling him so that she could rub his shoulders.

  Ryland accepted her hands and leaned back. His head was pillowed against the full softness of her breasts. "What do you want to know?" This was the first time Brooklyn had expressed any curiosity about her grandmother, though several times she had asked about Chandler and Preston, revenge a very real gleam in her brilliant eyes.

  "Did you like her?"

  "Very much. She's sharp, even shrewd, and I think she has a rather wicked sense of humor. Miss Abby's something of a flirt, too. I imagine your grandfather wasn't as delighted by that as other men were. Like you, she's quick with numbers and has a keen memory. I admit I'm looking forward to seeing you together. I'll be surprised if you don't recognize part of yourself in her and she in you."

  "Will I like that, do you think?"

  "I would hope it would make you proud. She's a remarkable woman—just as you are."

  Brooklyn pressed a kiss to Ryland's temple. "Have I any of her features?"

  He nodded. "Her eyes. They're faintly almond-shaped, like yours. She has your same clear profile, and you share that chin you like to tilt when you're cornered or just feeling defiant."

  "Do I do that?"

  "Yes."

  "Is that how you know when I'm lying?"

  "No."

  "Oh," she said, disappointed that he wouldn't tell her how she gave herself away. "What else?"

  "I suppose your bone structure is very similar."

  "In the face?"

  "Everywhere. She's tall and slender."

  "Imagine that," Brooklyn said, laughing. "And she bore four children."

  "You're never going to let me forget what I said about the woman of my dreams, are you?"

  She hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her cheek next to his. "Never." Brooklyn batted her eyelashes coyly. "I'm so happy you settled for poor skinny me."

  Ryland tugged on her arms and brought her around, settling Brooklyn on his lap. He feigned a groan. "Not poor any longer and certainly not skinny." His hands curved around her breasts. "I would say your body is rising nicely to the challenge."

  Brooklyn moved sinuously on his lap. "So is yours."

  "Mm. Let's do something about that."

  And they did. Their bodies merged in splendor as Engine No. 849 crested the Rockies, and for that time at least Ryland was able to convince Brooklyn there was nothing on his mind but loving her.

  "This wire just came for you, Mr. Brookes." The young bank clerk placed the telegram on the corner of the large walnut desk and quickly slipped out of the owner's office. Mr. Brookes had given him no more acknowledgment than an uncivil grunt. Shrugging, he returned to his cage and began tallying the funds in his drawer.

  As soon as the clerk was gone Brookes reached for the wire and swiftly tore it open. His eyes skimmed the tersely worded cable, and then read it again, more slowly this time. SHOOTING ACCIDENT STOP HUNTERS DEAD STOP NORTH EAST STOP WILL NOT ARRIVE KANSAS CITY STOP.

  There was nothing to indicate who had sent the wire, but Brookes knew. Leaning back in his smooth leather armchair, he tore the wire into small pieces and dropped them in the basket beside his desk. He swore softly under his breath.

  Ben Giddings had not only come highly recommended, but his services cost a great deal. He had been given Phillip Sumner's name as a starting point and the license to proceed as he saw fit. Giddings had assured Brookes that he would not be implicated in anything that happened, because Ben intended to act as a buffer between Brookes and the men who would ultimately kill Brooklyn. But it seemed to Brookes that something had gone terribly wrong. The men Ben had hired appeared to have been killed, and worse, the cable implied that Ryland North was coming east. That could only mean North had actually found Brooklyn and was bringing her with him.

  Brookes swiveled in his chair and stared out the window without seeing any of the activity in the square. It was about time Giddings took sole responsibility, he thought angrily. His scowl altered slightly, becoming an uneven smile as he considered what method Ben Giddings would use to prevent Ryland North and Phillip Sumner's whore from reaching Kansas City. Giddings was reputed to have a sense of the dramatic. Anything was possible.

  Just the same, he congratulated himself on having had the foresight to devise an alternative strategy.

  Brooklyn stretched lazily and turned on her side, reaching out for Ryland. He was no longer in their bed, and when she glanced around she realized he was no longer in their car. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Brook slipped into her robe and fastened the crimson satin sash below her breasts and above the faint swell of her belly.

  The train had stopped moving, and Brooklyn went to one of the curtained windows and peeked out. Because their private car was situated at the end of the train Brooklyn didn't have a clear view of the Denver station. She opened the window and leaned out, taking great pleasure in watching passengers milling around on the platform up ahead. She felt rather like a prisoner, although she had to admit her prison was exquisitely appointed and her appointed jailer was exquisite.

  Brooklyn waved to the brakeman as he made his rounds, checking the link-and-pin couplings and examining the wheels.

  "G'day, Mrs. North," he said, tipping his dark blue cap in greeting. He stopped below her window and looked up. "Taking a breath of the air, are you?"

  "What there is of it," she agreed amiably. "My husband warned me the air was thin here. I feel as if I'm merely sipping it."

  "First time in Denver, then?"

  She nodded. "You're probably used to it."

  He chuckled, revealing two rows of teeth that were as crooked as his smile. "Never get used to it, ma'am. Is Mr. North with you? I've got a message for him from the telegrapher."

  Brooklyn held out her hand. "He's gone somewhere. You can give it to me." She wondered at the brakeman's flash of irritation. Did he feel put upon because Ryland wasn't here to take the message personally? She supposed he had his orders and took his job very seriously. "Really, you can give it to me. My husband won't mind."

  He hesitated, and then the moment of indecision passed. "Of course," he said, smiling again. He handed the telegram up to her and gave Brooklyn a jaunty salute with his cap. "G'day, ma'am. Hope the rest of your journey is pleasant."

  "Thank you." He started to walk away, but Brooklyn called him back. "Just a minute. Let me give you something for your trouble."

  "Not necessary."

  "No, I insist. It will o
nly take a moment." She withdrew from the window and took two bits from her reticule as well as the derringer Ryland had bought for her in San Francisco. Keeping the weapon out of sight of the brakeman, Brooklyn handed him the money. When he raised his arm to get it she saw the same thing she had seen when he had given her the telegram. Now that she knew she wasn't imagining the shoulder holster she confronted him. "Why are you carrying a gun?"

  The brakeman blinked in surprise. "Ma'am?"

  "The gun," she said tersely. "Why are you carrying it?"

  He glanced down at himself and realized he had opened a few buttons on his wool jacket. He fastened them quickly. "Indians," he said succinctly, lowering his voice to a whisper. "It's not unheard of for them to attack a train crossing the plains. Course we're not supposed to let the passengers see that we're armed. Worries them, you know. I'm sorry you noticed it. The conductor will have my head on a platter when he finds out."

  Brooklyn relaxed slightly. "I won't say anything," she promised. "I didn't understand."

  "I'd appreciate that, ma'am. A brakeman like myself has to be 'specially cautious. Indians like to pick us off while we're running across the tops of freight cars to set the hand brakes."

  Brooklyn's lips parted in surprise. "I had no idea your job was so dangerous. I thought the brakes were at the front of the cars, right outside the door."

  "That's where they are on passenger cars like the one you're riding in. But you've got a dozen or so freight cars separating you from the four passenger cars up yonder, and those brakes are set on the tops. All the brakes have to be applied evenly or the boxcars will break and plunge off the track. Course, if you apply them too hard-handed then a wheel gets flattened in a skid and they fine us a month's pay for damaging it."

  "How much is month's pay?" asked Brooklyn.

  "Forty-five dollars."

  "It doesn't seem enough."

  "No, ma'am, sometimes it doesn't." He grinned halfheartedly. "Perhaps you'd speak to your husband about that."

  "I think I will. Thank you. You've been very informative." Brooklyn retreated from the window, put away her gun, and rummaged through the fruit basket that Louise had packed for their journey. She selected an orange and peeled it, thinking on what the brakeman had told her. The image of the train careening off the tracks was a gruesome one. It was unthinkable that so many people's safety depended upon men who made only forty-five dollars a month and risked their own lives in the process.