Lisa Plumley (20 page)

Evidently, she’d only gotten strong enough to hurt him.

“Come now! Don’t look so sad!” Adeline broke into her downhearted thoughts with a cheerful poke. “You still have a lot to look forward to. It’s not every day that an heir to a world-renowned industrial fortune invites you to his soirée.”

“Heir?” Baffled, Violet wrinkled her nose. “Who’s an heir?”

“Mr. Blackhouse, silly!” Adeline tilted her head. “You honestly don’t know? You’ve never heard of him? He’s notorious.”

At her friend’s tone of scandalized delight, Violet perked up. “Well, Cade
did
mention that his friend was an infamous layabout,” she considered. “But that’s as far as it went.”

“Typical male.” Adeline tsk-tsked. “He left out all the most pertinent details. Everyone knows about Simon Blackhouse—he’s been in all the newspapers back in the States. He’s the black sheep of the Blackhouses. They’re famously estranged.”

Violet frowned. “He sounds like a bad influence on Cade.”

At that, Adeline laughed. “I can’t believe you’re still worried about your gambler’s well-being! You really are too kind, Violet.” She smiled fondly at her. “Anyhow, I reckon Mr. Blackhouse is a bad influence on everyone. Men like that usually are. Not that
I
care, now that I have my beloved Clayton by my side.” She flashed her new engagement ring in genuine elation, having gotten very practiced at that showy gesture lately. “But when it comes to you—well, you’re long overdue for a proper dose of adoration and flirtation! You deserve it.”

Her friend’s loyalty was touching. Her concern was sweet. And Adeline
did
have a point about Violet being overdue for her turn as the belle of the ball. Over the past weeks, she’d received invitations of carriage rides and picnic lunches and sightseeing excursions to Morrow Creek in the company of local gentlemen. She’d turned down all those offers in the interest of spending time with Cade. But if
he
thought of her only as a starchy, prudish Goody Two-shoes—if he didn’t love her, to boot, then why
shouldn’t
she enjoy herself at a party for once?

Belatedly, Violet recalled Cade’s insistence that Simon Blackhouse had been flirting with her. Well, maybe he had been!

Tentatively, Violet glanced at the nearby rocking chair where she usually stowed her knitting. Today, in place of balls of yarn with knitting needles stuck through sat a gorgeous spray of apple blossoms, wrapped with greenery and organza ribbon, all done up in a festive bow. Beside it perched an engraved card.

“Well...Mr. Blackhouse
did
deliver all those lovely things with his invitation,” Violet divulged, nodding toward them. “He genuinely does seem to want me to attend his fancy party.”

Adeline looked too. Her mouth formed an O. She rushed to the chair, then returned a heartbeat later cradling everything.

“A corsage? Ribbons?” A gasp. “An
engraved
card?” Holding it clasped to her bosom, Adeline let everything else fall. “Oh, Violet. You simply
must
attend this party. Do it for all of us.”

“But what will I wear? What will I do? What will I talk about?” Clutching her most recently examined ledger to her upraised knees, Violet frowned at her threadbare, well-loved quilt—and the very ordinary calico dress she had on beneath it. “Who am I to go to a party like Simon Blackhouse’s party?”

“You are Violet Benson, a
wonderful
person,” Adeline said. She took away the ledger, then seized the quilt to wrest it away as well. It billowed across the mattress. “You will wear your best dress—the one that brings out the stunning red in your hair. You will have a nice time. And you will talk about—”

Here, her friend hesitated. Violet feared she’d run out of steam. Heaven knew,
she
was stumped on this issue.

But then Adeline came through, just as she always did.

“You will talk about your search for Mrs. Larkin,” her friend suggested brightly, “and maybe even enlist Mr. Blackhouse’s help in your quest. How about that?”

“Well...I can scarcely resist an opportunity like that, now, can I?” Violet asked, feeling cautiously cheered. “It would be churlish of me to pass up any chance, however remote, to help Tobe find his mother,” she told Adeline. “Besides, Cade did tell me that Mr. Blackhouse has buckets of money. Maybe he
can
help!”

“That’s right. It’s decided, then.” Looking pleased, Adeline shooed Violet to the wardrobe to select her gown. “You’ll be doing a good deed, as usual,
and
I’ll bet you manage to do a little dancing, too. So let’s get going!”

* * *

“
Judah?
” Cade repeated. “You’re really here?”

His brother laughed. “You’d better believe it.”

Their host, Blackhouse, laughed, too. “You didn’t see that one coming, did you, Foster?” Jovially, he returned Cade’s mescal. “Have your bottle. No, wait! I can do that one better.” Blackhouse hastened to the sideboard, then rattled around inside it. “We’ll have a toast to celebrate. Just as soon as I find—”

“Don’t strain yourself with looking.” Cade shifted his gaze briefly to Blackhouse before feeling his attention drawn inexorably back to his younger brother. He stared in wonder. “You’ve already wearied yourself with opening the door, Simon,” Cade said abstractedly. “You’d better call Adams. Quick.”

At that, Blackhouse grumbled. But he didn’t mention Cade’s lapse—he’d uncharacteristically called Blackhouse by his first name—and for that, Cade was grateful. He was also damn humbled.

How had Blackhouse known that seeing Judah was exactly what he needed? Not as a push to find Whittier, not as a threat of having his search usurped by his younger brother, but simply as a means of remembering...everything that meant anything to him.

He wished then, foolishly, that Violet was there, too.

In the sudden silence that fell next, Judah shook his head. He hauled Cade close for a hug—a hug that felt far too brief.

His brother felt thinner, taller... Hell. He had to be imagining those changes in him, Cade decided roughly, just the same way he was imagining the dark circles beneath Judah’s eyes.

With a final hearty clap on the back, they ended their embrace. Judah gazed at Cade, doubtless in the same dumbfounded fashion that Cade himself gawked just then—as though he couldn’t believe they were standing face-to-face again after so much time apart. Unwilling to let go completely, Cade put both hands on his brother’s shoulders. He shook his head in wonderment.

“It’s in here somewhere!” Blackhouse said jollily. “Hang on another minute, and we’ll have a proper reunion toast.”

Cade quirked his mouth. “I think I hear Adams laughing in the next train car. You’ll never find anything by yourself.”

“Aw, ease up, Cade.” Judah grinned. “Simon was kind enough to bring me here, after all. I arrived on the train just today.”

“But you’re not well enough to travel,” Cade protested instantly. Protectively, he looked downward. “Your leg is—”

“Almost healed,” Judah insisted, “which is more than I can say for my pride.
That’s
pretty well trampled, thanks to that rampaging stallion.” He shook his head, undoubtedly remembering the horse that had gotten spooked, thrown him, then accidentally stomped his leg to pieces. “So...where’s that drink, Simon?”

Judah pulled away abruptly, ending Cade’s contact. He maneuvered, only a little awkwardly, to the sideboard just as Blackhouse emerged triumphantly with a whiskey bottle. Cade stood alone, wondering how it had come to pass that Judah was here at last. He hadn’t known how much he’d needed him till now.

From nowhere, it occurred to Cade to wonder: Did Tobe have a brother? Or a sister? He couldn’t remember if he’d ever asked the boy those questions. Although they’d spent a bit of time together, Cade had always kept himself at arm’s length. He’d been afraid to hurt the little sharper by getting too close...then leaving him behind one day.

Maybe, Cade thought for the first time while watching Judah and Blackhouse salute each other with their whiskeys, he’d been wrong about Tobe. Maybe Violet had been right. Maybe the boy
did
need hope. Even if that damnable emotion had kicked Cade in the teeth a time or two, it might be different for a child.

Especially for a child whom Violet was intent on helping.

Decisively, Cade cleared his throat. “Simon—”

Again, his lapse in calling Blackhouse by his Christian name went unremarked upon. It was almost as though Blackhouse had expected Cade to soften eventually, all along.

“If you were going to find a missing woman,” Cade pushed on, ignoring his own newfound pliancy, “where would you begin?”

Blackhouse blinked, whiskey in hand. “Have you mislaid one?”

“Not again!” Judah clucked in disapproval. “How many times have I told you? If you’re going to juggle women, you have to have a system for keeping them straight in your mind.”

Cade leveled his brother an inquiring look. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.” Judah drained his whiskey, then held out his glass for more. He watched with relish as Blackhouse poured a refill. “You have to assign them code names or numbers, something like that. Otherwise you’ll be—” Catching sight of Cade’s frown and Blackhouse’s inquisitive expression, his brother regrouped. He cleared his throat. “A missing woman, you said? Who is missing?”

For a moment, silence descended. Blackhouse caught Cade’s eye. “It seems your brother isn’t the innocent you described.”

Cade couldn’t believe it. But that was a problem for another day. “The missing woman is Mrs. Larkin,” Cade said. “She’s the mother of a friend of mine.” Briefly, he described Tobe’s predicament and his mother’s disappearance. “If you were to track her, with all your resources, how would you begin?”

Blackhouse arched his brows, still nursing his first whiskey. “What makes you think I’d succeed? After all, I’ve been on the hunt for Whittier for years now with little success.”

At his mention of that name, Judah went still. He shot Cade an anxious look. “You’re not still looking for him, are you? Simon told me you’d quit. He told me you’d fallen for a titian-haired saint and were out of the manhunt business for good.”

Titian-haired saint.
That was one way to describe Violet.

Wielder of cruel kindnesses
was another, more accurate way.

Cade wished he’d never swept her into that first dance they’d shared. Maybe then he wouldn’t have learned to love her at all. Maybe then he wouldn’t have learned to hope for more.

“I’m not still looking.” Cade delivered that assurance brusquely. He’d always told himself he was on the hunt for Whittier because Judah wanted it—because Judah needed it. But the truth was...Cade had wanted and needed it enough for the two of them combined. There had been times Judah had tried to make him quit. Cade had refused to take them seriously.

“Good.” Judah nodded. “That search was killing you.”

Shocked by that, Cade stared at his brother. Belatedly, he remembered that this wasn’t the first time Judah had said something like that. But it
was
the first time Cade listened.

In that spirit, Cade aimed a supplemental frown at Blackhouse. “That means I won’t be taking you up on your latest offer, Simon. I’ve given up on Whittier.”
And, by extension, on Violet, too.
Without Blackhouse’s money, Cade would not be able to support her the way she deserved, anyway. “And I think you can find Mrs. Larkin,” he added, returning to the matter at hand with a determined edge to his voice, “because unlike Percy Whittier,
she
is not trying deliberately
not
to be found.”

Seeming content with that, Blackhouse nodded. “All right, then.” He set aside his whiskey, then began pacing. He wheeled about to confront them both. “If I were searching for a runaway mother, I would begin by wiring the police, the hospitals and the mental institutions. I would hire a detective. I would—”

“I doubt she ran away, turned loony or got herself stuck in the clink,” Judah grumbled. He poured himself more whiskey, evidently growing tired of waiting for Simon to offer another glass. “That’s putting a grim spin on the situation, wouldn’t you say? Maybe she’s just been...misplaced, as Cade suggested.”

Helpless not to remember their own mother’s untimely passing, Cade frowned. “Mrs. Larkin might have gotten robbed or attacked. Even now she could be trying to get back to Tobe.”

“‘Robbed or attacked’?” Blackhouse repeated with a frown. “Nice. And you two think
I’m
the grim one?” He shook his head, then delivered Cade a more serious look. “If you’re asking me to look into this, I will. All I need are the details.”

“For that, I’d have to ask Violet. She knows all the facts about Mrs. Larkin.” No one remarked on the fact that Cade had accidentally quit calling his lost love “Miss Benson.” “Or I’d have to speak with Tobe. But he’s staying with the Bensons right now, so that would mean confronting the reverend. Or Violet.”

Caught, Cade hesitated. He never should have embroiled himself in that little sharper’s troubles. From the moment he’d agreed to a game of craps, purposely lost his warm overcoat...

“Your lady friend is a
reverend’s daughter
?” Judah boggled. “Damnation, Cade. That ought to be as easy as pie! You just pull out the charm and take whatever information you need from her.”

Blackhouse saw the situation differently. “Miss Benson isn’t your typical reverend’s daughter. And if Foster’s pie-eyed appearance—and the mescal he’s murdered—are any indication, he’s had a falling-out with her anyway. We need another course.”

“No, we don’t.” Suddenly resolute, Cade straightened.

As a boy, he’d wished someone had stepped in to help him. He’d wished he hadn’t had to shoulder the burdens and concerns of raising himself and Judah all alone. If he’d had a lost parent out there somewhere, if they could have been reunited....

Hell. He’d have wanted that more than anything. He still wanted the family he’d never had. How could he stand in the way of seeing Tobe brought together with his long-lost mama now?