In a Cowboy’s Arms (24 page)

Though her hair was pale as wheat and her eyes were wide, she didn’t favor anyone in his family.

“That’s not Daisy,” he said.

“I thought the same until I noticed this.” She tapped the picture, or more specifically, the broach the young beauty wore at her throat. “Look familiar?”

No, it couldn’t be. “That’s Ma’s.”

“I found the one Daisy was wearing, remember? This has to be a duplicate.”

He studied the picture more closely. “You think that’s her?”

“It could be. Daisy might have realized she’d lost her broach long after we’d moved on,” she said, toying with the locket at her throat. “If Miss Jennean adopted her, perhaps she had a new one created as close to this one as possible.”

If
Miss Jennean adopted her. Changed her name to Isabella.

It was possible that Daisy hadn’t lost her broach. There hadn’t been any photos inside it.

He only had Maggie’s word that the inscription he recalled was on the locket she wore. Why hadn’t he demanded to see it?

She could have talked Nowell into buying a similar broach for her. She could’ve planned it that way all along so she could go on pretending to be Daisy Logan.

He flicked a glance at the broach pinned at her throat and tried to remember if the stones in his ma’s had glistened so. Too many years had passed since then.

Allis Carson had told him that Maggie Sutten had stolen a family heirloom worth a pretty penny. Dade was mighty sure the one his pa had given his ma was nothing more than tinned jewelry. But it was all she’d had, and she’d cherished it.

Dade had thought his pa had buried it with her until that day he left him and Daisy at the orphanage. Clete had pinned it on Daisy then and reminded her it was her ma’s–reminded Daisy that he’d given it to her ma when Daisy was born.

Damn, who was he to believe?

“Isn’t she stunning?”

Dade jerked around to face the newcomer. Miss Jennean stood in the parlor doorway, as elegant as any well-to-do lady that he could imagine.

“Who is she?” he asked, knowing he was being rude but just not giving a damn right now.

“Isabella, my daughter.”

Isabella. But names could be changed–he’d learned that much from his foster brother Reid who’d come back from England with a new surname.

He booted that memory aside, not willing to waste time on the past. If this lady had adopted his sister, he damn sure wanted to know about it. Or had she taken her in to fatten her stable?

It was all he could do not to grit his teeth over that very real possibility. Respect for the fairer sex was all that kept him from demanding if she’d taken children in and raised them to earn their keep on their backs.

“Did you name her?” he asked.

“Yes, after my mother,” Miss Jennean said, which told him nothing. “And you are?”

“Dade Logan, ma’am.”

She turned to Maggie. “Are you Mrs. Logan?”

Maggie’s chin came up. “I’m Maggie Sutten, his sister’s childhood friend.”

“I see.” She stared at him and looked more than a bit unnerved. “Are you any kin to the Logan Gang?”

“Yep, Clete is my pa.” Though he surely wasn’t a caring father, even before their ma passed over. “You know him?”

She gave a throaty laugh. “Our paths have never crossed, but I’ve learned that an outlaw’s notoriety is the only thing greater than a madam’s.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, but he didn’t argue the point either.

“As you’ve likely surmised, I’m the proprietress of the Crossroads. A discreet gentlemen’s parlor.” The madam sent him an assured smile. “I’m also the owner of the Cedar Hill Ranch.”

“Mighty fine place,” he said.

“Thank you.” She took a seat across from Maggie, sparing her a smile before facing Dade again. “Now, what’s this about you looking for a girl who was taken off the orphan train?”

“My sister Daisy was the only orphan taken off it here back in ‘74,” he said, removing his hat when she pointedly frowned at it in clear disapproval.

“That was the only time the orphan train stopped here,” she said. “It was prearranged.”

“By you?”

Miss Jennean laughed. “Hardly. I had one daughter and had no desire for another.”

“If there’s a grain of truth to that,” Maggie said with heat in her voice, “then how did your daughter end up wearing Daisy’s broach?”

“I can assure you that the locket you see in that photograph was given to me by a tinker from Ohio years before Isabella was born,” she said, smiling as if the memory was a fond one.

“Was it inscribed?” Maggie asked.

“Why, yes, it was,” she said. “Before you ask, it read, ‘Love endures.’ Isabella fancied the broach and thought that was a good creed to live by, so I gave it to her.”

He believed her. It wasn’t his ma’s broach after all, just one that looked like it. Admitting that affirmed his belief in Maggie’s story. But his trust might’ve come too late, if that cold look Maggie pinned on him was any indication.

“Whatever gave you the idea that I had taken an orphan in?” Miss Jennean asked.

“Because I was there and saw it,” Maggie said, and Dade knew from the glint in Maggie’s eyes that there was no holding her back this time. “I was there, Miss Jennean, when they herded us off the train onto that platform down by the cattle pens. I saw the man take Daisy. She put up a fuss the likes I’d never seen before, but when she broke free of him, she fell off the platform and knocked herself out. He picked her up, put her in his fancy buggy anyway, and drove here. He went in like he owned the place.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Miss Jennean pressed her fingers against her mouth, her expressive eyes wide. “You have a remarkable memory.”

“Does that mean you remember Daisy now?” Maggie asked.

“I’ve never forgotten that poor child, though I didn’t know her name,” Miss Jennean said.

“How could you not know that?” Dade asked.

Miss Jennean sighed. “When she finally woke up, I asked the child her name. She just stared at me and cried and said she didn’t know.”

Again, Maggie’s story held water. She’d told him Daisy had taken a bad fall–so bad she’d feared she was dead.

Maggie faced Dade with what could only be genuine worry. “She’d known who she was up until then, even if she couldn’t recall much else. Gracious, this is worse than I expected.”

He silently agreed. He just hoped she’d gotten her memory back at some point. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he reasoned that had never happened.

It explained why Daisy had never attempted to find him. Why the only news he’d heard of Daisy Logan was traceable to those times when Maggie Sutten had assumed her name.

“Please tell me what you recall,” Dade said to the madam.

Miss Jennean fussed with her skirts, her frown carving deep lines that showed her age in her elegant face. “As your lady friend stated, the child was brought here late one afternoon, limp as a dishrag and pale as death except for the large red knot forming on her forehead.”

“Why did the man bring her here?” Dade asked.

“Back then, there was just the trading post and the Crossroads,” Miss Jennean said. “Bringing her here to seek my help was the best choice.”

A new thought struck him, as sharp and unwelcome as a punch to his gut. “Did she recover?”

“Eventually,” she said. “At the time, I thought she would die. When she finally did wake up, I tried to reason with her, calm her, but all she did was cry.”

“Poor Daisy! She must have been scared to death,” Maggie said, voicing the thought going through his mind.

“That she was, and I could do nothing to console her.” Miss Jennean’s smooth brow pulled into a disapproving frown again. “I surely don’t know what broke my heart more. Hearing that child wail when she first woke up, or watching her cower and just stare at us.”

Dade swore under his breath. Daisy had always been a fearful child. He could imagine the terror she suffered when a man took her away from Maggie. It had to have been even more horrifying for her to have lost her memory and find herself around strangers, not even knowing who she was.

“This man who adopted her. Surely the custodians on the orphan train told him Daisy’s name,” he said.

Miss Jennean shrugged. “If he knew it, he didn’t share it with me. I can only guess that he intended to change the child’s name. He was an austere man.”

The idea of gentle Daisy under the control of a strict man got Dade pacing, needling him with the same old guilt for not being there for her. By damn that would change.

“Did he scold her? Hurt her?” Dade asked.

“He did absolutely nothing, which was what terrified the child more,” Miss Jennean said. “I suggested that he comfort the little girl and gain her trust. He informed me that that task was up to his wife.”

So Daisy had been taken in by a family. Oddly enough Dade didn’t feel relieved knowing that.

“What’s his name? Where can I find him?” he asked.

“Vance Jarrett,” Miss Jennean said. “He owned a freighting firm in Dodge City.”

That was all Dade needed to know. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

He rose, and Maggie did too. He didn’t look forward to another long ride tomorrow, but now that he knew who’d taken Daisy, he wanted to get there as soon as possible.

“Vance didn’t keep your sister,” Miss Jennean said.

Those five words froze Dade to the spot. He turned back to the madam, noting Maggie looked as worried as he felt.

“Why not?” he asked.

Miss Jennean shook her head and sighed. “Vance and his wife lost their only child–a daughter–six months before he took your sister into his home. At the time, his wife was nearly out of her mind with grief. He thought bringing another child into the home to replace their daughter would snap her out of it.”

“But it didn’t,” Dade guessed.

“No,” Miss Jennean said. “When Vance passed through here a few months later, he told me that his wife had gotten worse after he’d brought the little girl home. He said his wife wouldn’t even look at the child.”

“Poor Daisy, stuck in a home where she wasn’t wanted,” Maggie said.

Dade knew Maggie was also thinking of her own fate when she made that statement. While he believed she’d been truly unhappy with Nowell, he wasn’t convinced yet that she’d been abused. Not that it mattered now...

“What happened to my sister?”

“Vance told me he found someone to give her a home,” she said.

“You know this person’s name?”

She shook her head. “I asked, but he refused to speak of Louise again. That’s what he named your sister.”

“This Jarrett still in Dodge City?” he asked.

“You won’t get any help from him.”

“I can be mighty persuasive, ma’am.” He’d pound the answers from the man if he had to.

Miss Jennean laughed at that, and he knew she understood what he meant. But her humor died as quickly as it started.

“I have no doubt of your ability to wrest the truth from anyone,” she said, “but Vance Jarrett came down with the ague and died a year ago.”

“What about his wife?” he asked.

Miss Jennean gave the barest shrug. “You can ask her, but I doubt she knew where Louise went.”

He threaded his fingers through his hair and swore to himself. Damn, he hoped somebody in Dodge City remembered the girl Jarrett gave up. How else would he find out who the hell took her in?

“Thank you for your help, ma’am.” Dade settled his hat on and waited for Maggie to take her leave.

Before she got to her feet, Miss Jennean said, “I realize you are eager to find your sister, but you won’t get far today before you have to stop for the night. There aren’t many places to rent a room between here and Dodge City.”

“We came prepared to camp out,” he said.

“I assumed as much, judging by the state of your attire. But considering the time of day and the distance you likely rode getting here, you’d do well to spend the night and start fresh.” Miss Jennean smiled at Maggie. “I’m sure your traveling companion would appreciate a bath and the comfort of a bed.”

Put that way it was hard to refuse. But he’d leave it up to Maggie to decide whether to spend a night with him alone on the prairie or here in a notorious brothel.

“Your decision, Maggie,” he said.

“Well, Miss Sutten?”

Maggie smoothed her hands over her soiled skirt, and

Dade knew that she’d prefer comfort over haste. “We’d be grateful to spend the night.”

“Excellent. Mrs. Wray will show you to your rooms,” Miss Jennean said. “You’ll have sufficient time to bathe and rest before dinner is served at six.” “Thank you, ma’am.”

It took every ounce of poise and determination that Maggie could summon up to walk up the wide horseshoe shaped staircase. She hoped the room given her was one of those at the top of the stairs. But the housekeeper struck off down a hall, passing door after door.

Were they all occupied? Would Miss Jennean’s girls entertain men tonight? Would Dade be one of them?

Her stomach rebelled at the last question, which was a stupid reaction. He wasn’t her man and wasn’t about to be hers. But last night, as she slept in her bedroll beside him under the stars, she’d dreamed of remaining his for the rest of her days.

Whenever she thought of Dade, her entire body tingled with the memory of that one stolen kiss. Then there were those accidental brushes of his arm against her bottom or his hand grazing her bosom when he helped her on and off her mare.

Or this morning when she awoke to find they’d rolled together in sleep, and he’d slipped an arm around her waist. She’d been so awash in heat that she felt as if she’d touched the sun.

She certainly hadn’t wanted that moment to end, but before she could find the courage to lift her face to his in shameless invitation of a kiss, he had pulled away from her and gotten to his feet. And she was left with a longing so keen she ached.

The housekeeper finally stopped at a door and threw it open. “This is your room, Mr. Logan.”

Maggie hid her disappointment. Surely her room must be one of the two left at the end of this hall.

“Thank you, ma’am, but please call me Dade.”

“As you wish, sir,” the housekeeper said, but Maggie doubted the woman would be informal around a guest.