Love Inspired Historical June 2014 Bundle: Lone Star Heiress\The Lawman's Oklahoma Sweetheart\The Gentleman's Bride Search\Family on the Range (88 page)

The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Langdon to change his mind.

With thoughts of Josie and Lou crowding her mind, images of them playing at the picnic, riding on the train, she finally slept.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I
t wasn't hard to find his mark, even in a city the size of Portland. The bloke's eyes and coloring, combined with his accent and odor, brought Lou to the Willamette River's docks. He'd left the hotel long before sunrise to get a head start on the dockworkers.

He wanted to see who showed up. The man claimed to be leaving town, but experience had taught him that people usually stayed with the familiar, even at their own risk. Unless he was in immediate peril, Lou doubted the man would just give up his job and leave the state.

Water lapped at the dock, dank and noisy. A heavy mist coated the air and made him glad he'd worn his coat. He watched the sun slowly start its trek upward. A hazy orange that brought new hope to some, new despair to others.

He shook the maudlin thoughts away. He was a man of action, seeking out criminals, pursuing justice, not pondering the mistakes he might've made. Or the people he'd hurt.

He hadn't missed that look on Mary's face last night when they'd exited the alley. There'd been a fraction of a second where her calm facade slipped and he'd seen hurt...but from what? Maybe he'd misinterpreted things. Still, when he'd dropped her at the hotel door, guilt had turned him into a brusque person, and he'd skedaddled before she could stir his emotions up any more.

Things had been better when she'd kept house while he'd traveled. Whenever he went home and life started feeling too cozy, he headed out. She'd been right about that unconscious pattern.

Frowning, he watched as mist dissipated simultaneously with the arrival of men. Heavy boots clomped down the docks. English was the primary language spoken, but every so often he'd hear some Mandarin or Gaelic.

Such diversity. As a young man, he'd thought God was incredible and brilliant. One of the things that had attracted him to Sarah was her artwork. His wife had used wild colors in her paintings, scattering them across the canvas, her thick brushstrokes laying claim to the proof of God's beauty with her talent.

He'd loved her so much.

She'd been a vibrant fire, and their Abby was just like her. Alive and beautiful.

And then snuffed out before their lives had barely begun.

He blinked hard and studied the men. Most were small framed and sinewy like the man he'd met, but no one shared his towheadedness. Of course, the guy could've gotten a new hat to cover his blondness, but Lou doubted that. This kind of work was too physical. A hat might fall in the water and waste someone's hard-earned money.

These men worked long hours. He worked hard, too, but in a different way. Sarah had appreciated him, but she'd wanted him to come home. To be always home for her.

Just like Mary.

And yet they were different. Sarah had been a flame, hot and exciting with a quick temper and ready tongue. She'd challenged him defiantly...and he'd loved it.

Mary wasn't like that. She reminded him of a steady warmth, careful and secure, but no less exciting. Her flame was like that deep blue kind, the color beneath the bright oranges, the kind you needed to keep a stove cooking.

He grimaced at the mental analogy and decided to keep his focus on scoping out dockworkers, not beguiling beauties who had no trust for men and no taste for travel.

Forty minutes later he located his quarry.

Clamping his jaw, he strode toward him. Raucous laughs filled the air; grunts and the sounds of things hitting various spots filled the previous silence.

Lou dodged people and continued stalking his man. A foot away, the guy spotted him and took off at a run.

Just great.

Uttering a groan, he sprinted after him. His feet pounded against the uneven wood of the dock. Faces blurred as he raced past. He managed to jump an outstretched foot and couldn't resist whipping a grin at the offender. He paid for that, though, when his right foot connected with a bucket. It flew forward, landing to his right.

“Hey,” the guy next to it sputtered. Lou ignored him and kept going, hopping over a pile of salmon, never taking his sights off the man in front of him. The docks shuddered under his gait, but his breath stayed easy. Good news for the old wound.

Sucking in another lungful of fish-scented air, he rounded a corner in time to see the bootlegger duck into an old brick building. The place looked unsteady, but Lou followed. At the door, he drew his gun and edged in.

“I'm not going to hurt you, I just have a few questions,” he called out.

A clatter echoed through the room in front of him. Filthy windows allowed little sun to cut through the dimness of the place. It appeared to be a dilapidated warehouse, no longer used. Sliding forward, he moved behind a metallic-looking contraption and then peered around it.

Shafts of light hit the wooden floor, highlighting dust motes that danced in lazy abandon. Undisturbed. He couldn't see the floor well enough to track prints. He'd just have to convince the guy of his intentions.

“I'm going to step into the light,” he said. His words carried well. Unless the man had slipped out, he had to hear him. “My gun is in the holster. I just have some questions about that hat I bought from you.”

Sweat tickled the back of his neck and his scar burned. It was step out in faith or do nothing. But faith in what?

Banishing the thought, he forced his limbs into motion. Slowly and carefully, he inched onto the floor while holstering his weapon. His ears strained for the slightest indication that someone aimed to shoot him. Planning to dodge a bullet put an ache in a man's gut, that was for sure.

He made it out in the middle just fine, though. He exhaled a long breath. And waited.

The guy didn't make him wait long. A shuffle and a stirring of air, then the man who'd given him the bowler hat appeared in his peripherals, hands up.

Lou's neck relaxed a tad, but he kept his hands at the ready. He turned slowly. “We need to talk.” Carefully, he gestured at the empty space surrounding them. “This place safe?”

“Yeah.” The man appeared conflicted, edgy. His gaze shot around before his posture shifted to a more relaxed shape. He walked forward and held out his hand. “The name's O'Leary. I've been undercover, working the smugglers, trying to get a lead on which boats are bringing the hooch into Oregon. A few weeks ago I heard some blokes talking about a hit. It was put out you were going to die.”

“Almost,” Lou muttered.

“So I started digging because I recognized your name from a few years back. You helped take down that kidnapper, Mendez. It was a real coup. I've been in the bureau for a while now and I remember how he kept giving us the slip.”

Lou gave O'Leary a look and his throat bobbed.

“Anyway,” he hurried, “I tried to meet up with you, give you a tip, but I was there at the wrong time, too late.”

“You risked your cover to keep me from dying? That's a dangerous move.”

“Not quite. I'd had a hunch the smuggler in charge of this operation was nearby. I wanted to get a look at those arrested. I saw you by chance and recognized your likeness from a bureau photograph. I felt like God was prompting me to give you a heads-up.”

“God?”

“Yeah, you know the Big Guy who loves us?”

“Don't tell me you're religious.”

“Me and the Big Guy, we talk a bit. So I went to find you, but I guess someone was tailing me, or maybe lying in wait for you....” O'Leary's mouth twisted. “These bootleggers, they're talking about big money getting dished out. Well, people around here with big money include politicians and smugglers. I listened closer and found out you bumped off someone's cousin, and that someone has had a contract out on you for over a year.”

“That long?”

O'Leary grinned, his teeth flashing in the muted light. “Your reputation doesn't do you justice. You're like a shadow, which is why it took me so long to get to you. People know you have a hideout, but no one knows where it is. If the higher-ups have any idea, they're not saying.”

“Why didn't you take this information to them?” Lou reached in his pocket and drew out the paper that had been hidden in the bowler.

Fear flashed across O'Leary's face. He backed up. “Why'd you bring that?” His glance swiveled across the room.

“Relax.” He tucked the hat away. “I figured it would be safer on me than in any hiding place.” Lou studied O'Leary. “Are you sure the information in it is correct?”

“Pretty sure. I jotted things down as I heard them.... Your lady... I don't know her name, but you should keep a watch on her. Keep her near. They have spies everywhere.”

“Who? I need names. More than what you gave me.”

“Look, I've done more than I should. If anyone hears, I'm a goner.”

Probably true. Lou rubbed the back of his neck. Mary was by herself right now at the hotel. No one knew where they were, but maybe he should have brought her with him.

No.
The docks were no place for a lady.

“I appreciate this, O'Leary, but I have to ask again. Why didn't you take it to my supervisor? He could have safely relayed the information to me.”

“I didn't even know you were still alive until I saw you by chance at that hotel restaurant. And then...well, I told you, sir, ears and eyes, everywhere.” O'Leary blinked, looked around, then held out his hand again. “It's an honor to meet you.”

Lou gave a curt nod and shook his hand. “And you. Thank you for your service to our country. You're a real credit to the bureau.”

O'Leary acknowledged the compliment with a flush and tilt of his chin, then he swiveled and melded back into the shadows. Lou backed up, too, until he knew he was no longer discernible.

The paper burned against his thigh. O'Leary had given him the name of the smuggler he thought wanted him dead. It wouldn't take much to find out if he was related to Mendez.

His gut told him if he found the smuggler, he'd find his shooter.

The man had messed him up good, not just laying him up for weeks, but putting him through a bunch of emotional weirdness he wanted no part of. He had his plans, and they didn't include a beautiful woman, a sweet kid or a God he'd stopped trusting long ago.

* * *

Mary's head throbbed when she woke up.

The lady means nothing to me
.

Perfect. Now Lou's words were following her into the morning. There really was no reason for them to still be in her head. Of course he hadn't meant them. She rolled out of bed, went to the water room and splashed her face clean. A clean towel at the side of the sink felt like bliss against the headache pounding her skull.

If only she were home, baking. Sinking her knuckles into floured dough, creating nutritious perfection. Inhaling the warm aroma of cinnamon and yeast. And when she took this job, she might be given the opportunity to work in the kitchen.

Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, she prayed for wisdom and set about getting ready for the day. She left the hotel, head slightly clearer and walk brisk. Morning fog hugged the streets. Her luggage felt heavy without Lou to help her.

But he hadn't been in his room. Not in the lobby. And she was through relying on him. Through being the poor girl who'd been kidnapped. Sleep and reading the Bible had refreshed her spirit. She no longer wished to be taken care of but to step out and take care of others.

Determined, she asked someone for directions to a post office. After sending a telegram to her mother explaining the situation, she hopped aboard a streetcar and began her journey to Mrs. Silver's.

Closing her eyes, she leaned against her seat and thought of Josie's smile and endless chatter. Such a stubborn, sweet little girl. Her arms ached to hold her. Then Lou's smile invaded her thoughts. Her eyes shot open. The car shuddered to a stop and she realized she was near Mrs. Silver's home.

By the time she walked to the house, the mist had receded, but clouds rolling overhead warned of coming rain. The heavy scent of it filled the air. She let herself into the gate and moments later, faced a sour-looking Mr. Baggs.

“I'm here for employment,” she said, the words wobbling out of her. She'd never applied for a job before. She forced her shoulders back. “Mr. Langdon told me to come this morning.”

Mr. Baggs's eyebrows lowered. “Servants go to the back.” He shut the door in her face.

Oh
. She frowned. Perhaps she should have known that. She hefted her luggage and found her way to the back. Mr. Baggs opened the door as she neared. He must have been watching for her.

Lord, give me strength.

Her nerves thrummed a frantic tune as he let her in. The walls closed in on her. She followed him down a narrow, gray hallway. An odd smell permeated the place, and it was so very quiet.

Finally, they climbed stairs and then passed through a door that opened into a spacious room with pleasing blue wallpaper and regal furniture, and at last she felt she could breathe.

“Mr. Langdon will be right with you. Have a seat.” Mr. Baggs gave her an odd look, his brows crinkling together like fuzzy caterpillars. The unexpected image caused her to smile, which prompted a disapproving grunt from the butler.

“Wait here.” The door closed behind him with a grim finality.

Mary clutched her luggage to her chest. Was she doing the right thing? The enormity of this choice settled on her shoulders like extra weight. She sank onto a couch someone had positioned against the wall.

Pain in her knuckles caught her attention. She looked at her hands. White and strained. Her breaths quickened. This would be different, so different than anything she'd known. Her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly.

She'd agree to work for Mr. Langdon, but wanted nothing to do with the man except for him to fulfill his part of the bargain. He'd promised to pull up a contract. Perhaps she should have involved Lou after all.

But what could he do? This was employment. Yes, Mr. Langdon scared her, but that did not mean he'd breach the contract or try anything inappropriate. Especially in his sister's house.