Only in My Arms (45 page)

Ryder put down the mirror, lifted Mary off her feet, carried her to the narrow bed, and tickled her helpless. Laughter marked their lovemaking this time and Mary embraced the sheer joy of it.

Still smiling, albeit a little weakly now, Mary lay back. "Have you thought about children?" she asked.

Ryder stopped punching the pillow under his head, no longer caring if it conformed to a comfortable shape. He sat up and studied her face. Was that smile just a little smug? he wondered. A bit secretive? "Are you—" He stopped. It wasn't possible. At least not that she would know. She had had her flow just after they left Tucson. It had been the source of some embarrassment to her and a disappointment to him. The truth be known, he
had
thought about children. "I want children," he said quietly.

Mary lifted her hand and touched his forearm, stroking it lightly. She heard the faint echo of grief in his words. "Tell me about your daughter," she said. "What was her name?"

He told her the Apache word. "It means One-Who-Smiles. It was her baby name. The Apache are given a name at birth and take another when they are older. It's part of the passage from child to adult." Ryder looked away from Mary, his gaze becoming more distant with the rush of memories. "Her little face was as round as the moon, and her eyes were dark, like her mother's. Her hair was every bit as black as mine and softer than corn silk. It seemed she was born smiling. That smile was contagious, like laughter, and the old women in the tribe always remarked on it. She was interested in everything around her, curious to the point of being in trouble several times a day. She was the child who would go too close to the fire, or climb too high, or wade too deep. She
had
to touch a cactus spine to be certain it was as sharp as she was warned. Everyone indulged her, though. I think it was her smile. She won us all over."

When Ryder glanced at Mary again he saw there were tears in her eyes. He touched the corner of her eye with the pad of his thumb. "Dear, dear Mary," he said softly. "Yes, I want to have a child. You've made room in my heart for one again."

He held out his arms and made room for her there.

* * *

There were telegrams waiting for them in Pittsburgh. The porter slipped them under the door of their private car soon after their arrival. All of them were addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, but Mary suspected that from the volume of messages, Rennie and Jarret had told the rest of the family what she was up to.

Mary found a letter opener in the desk and sliced the first telegram open. She sat on the edge of the desk to read.

"Well?" Ryder asked. He was stretched out comfortably on the bed, reading a Wilkie Collins mystery, but when Mary remained silent for so long, curiosity drew him away. "Is it Rennie?"

She shook her head. "This one is from Mama," she said slowly. She read it aloud. " 'You must love him. I pray you know I understand.' " Mary looked up. There was a soft smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I think this means she's come to terms with my decision."

Ryder closed the book and set it aside. "It sounds as if she's come to terms with her
own
decision," he said. When Mary looked at him oddly, he explained. "I only know what you've told me, but it seems that your mother was not so certain of the choices she made. She hid it from herself, so it's no surprise that she was successful in hiding it from everyone she loved. Well, perhaps not everyone. You, more than the others, seemed to suspect that her long affair with your father had deeply personal ramifications. She did find solace in the fact that you had made your vows with God."

"And when I told her I was leaving the sisters..."

He nodded, reading the expression on her face, knowing what was in her thoughts. "It opened the Pandora's box of uncertainties. Moira had to revisit her decision all over again." He pointed to the telegram. "I think she's telling you that if she were to do it over, her choice would be exactly the same."

Mary read the telegram again before slowly folding it. "I think you're right," she said. "In fact, I'm quite sure of it."

As pleasurable as it was to bask in the glow of Mary's satisfaction, Ryder's attention turned to the other telegrams. "I doubt your father's message will be so welcoming."

Mary plucked another telegram at random and sliced it open. "This is from Maggie. She wishes us success and hopes you are doing well. She's even given me the name of three medicines to try if your leg is not completely healed." Mary shook her head, amused. "It seems Rennie couldn't wait to fill them all in on the details. It might as well have been my sister who found us in the cavern as Jarret. And I'm certain Rennie embellished that business at that mining camp. Maggie asks if it's true that I stood toe to toe with Geronimo."

Ryder laughed. "What else do you have there?"

Mary opened another. "From Ethan and Michael," she said. " 'WIRE US IF YOU NEED HELP.' " She grinned. "Ethan's a federal marshal. That could indeed assist us."

"It couldn't hurt."

"And don't forget that Michael's a reporter. She knows how to get a story published. That could mean a lot when it comes time to publicly clear your name."

"You have quite a few family connections."

"More than you know," she said serenely. Michael's godfather was a judge. Rennie's, a bishop. Maggie and Skye had godparents in politics, and her own godfather was the director of one of the largest financial houses in New York. She told all this to Ryder and added, "Jay Mac wanted to see that we were all protected from some of the censure society coldly reserves for bastard children. His foresight didn't make us respectable, but it did make us respected—more or less." She paused. "Why are you smiling?"

"I'm imagining you as a child, bloodying the nose of someone who dared to whisper you were a bastard. And God help the person who said it about one of your sisters within your hearing." He saw by Mary's pink cheeks that he had hit the mark perfectly. "You may have tormented the other Marys—and I'm sure they tormented in turn—but I'll wager that when it came to society's cold censure, the five of you closed ranks so tightly cannon shot couldn't have breached your defenses. I should think that in time Jay Mac discovered all his protection was superfluous."

Mary nodded. "Poor Jay Mac," she said without a hint of pity in her voice. "He loves us all to distraction."

There were two telegrams left unopened. One of them, Mary knew, had to be from her father. Her hand wavered between them. She picked the one on the left and opened it. Her sigh was audible. "It's from Rennie and Jarret," she said, glancing at the last line first. She scanned the contents quickly and then went over it again, filling Ryder in. "The search for us has all but been called off. Rennie says General Gardner thinks we left the area a long time ago and isn't willing to commit so many men to our capture. Rennie is battling him on it, of course." She glanced at Ryder. "Can't you just picture her insisting that Gardner muster all his forces for another search and all the while she knows we're somewhere east of the Mississippi?" Mary went back to reading. "Rosario's dead," she said, her voice deep with regret. "Apparently he tried to escape and fell into one of the vertical mine shafts."

Privately Ryder wondered if there were more to the story than Jarret or Rennie cared to share. For himself, Ryder had no regrets, but he watched Mary struggle with this news. "Do they write anything of Geronimo?" he asked.

Mary inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly, composing herself. "Only that he still evades capture. There have been no more raids on the mining camp." She frowned. "This is strange. Rennie wants to know about the map. She's interested in it and wants to survey. What's she talking about?"

Ryder shrugged. "Hell if I—" He stopped, his brows drawn together, remembering. "When we were leaving the mine... the man who stopped you, thinking you were Rennie... didn't he want a map?"

"Oh, God, yes. I forgot. I gave him one of the ones from your saddlebags."

Ryder jumped off the bed and went straight to the wardrobe. He took out the saddlebags, opened them; and removed the two remaining maps. The map that showed the largest geographical area was still there. So was the one that charted the caves and passages of the Cavern of Lost Souls. "You gave him Joe Panama's map of Colter Canyon. And he gave it back to your sister."

Mary was relieved. "Well, that's not so bad. For a moment I was afraid Rennie had taken it in her head to survey the cavern. I don't think she should go around blasting a burial site, do you?"

"I was thinking the same thing." He folded the maps and put the saddlebags away. "At least there's no harm in her having Panama's map. She's welcome to it." He gave Mary a knowing look. "As if either one of us could stop her."

"Welcome to my family." She put aside Rennie's telegram and picked up the last one. "Do you want to open it?" she asked hopefully. "He's your father-in-law."

"Pass." He did walk over to Mary's side. She made room for him on the edge of the desk, and he read over her shoulder when she unfolded Jay Mac's telegram.

HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND STOP

ON MY WAY STOP

HAVE SHOTGUN STOP

"Your father does not mince words," said Ryder.

"It
is
succinct."

"At least he hasn't notified any authorities. He could just as easily have turned me in."

"That's not Jay Mac's way," Mary said, sighing. "No, I'm afraid he wants to kill you himself."

"That's how I read it, too."

They were silent for more than a minute, simply staring at the neatly phrased telegram before they burst out laughing. Not that there was anything remotely funny about John MacKenzie Worth's questioning his daughter's sanity or stalking Ryder with a loaded shotgun. It was just that the tension needed a release, and Ryder and Mary could find it in the most unlikely of places.

Mary replaced the telegram carefully in its envelope and wiped the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. "If Jay Mac's coming, then you can be certain he's not alone. The cavalry is coming with him."

The same thought had occurred to Ryder. It didn't matter that none of the other telegrams mentioned it, the rest of the family would be there if for no other reason than to prevent Jay Mac from committing murder. "I suspect the Marys are about to close ranks," he said.

"Be thankful we're closing them around you."

He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. "I give thanks every day."

It wasn't until they reached Baltimore that Ryder told Mary about his uncle. He didn't expect anything to dissuade her, so he simply put off the unpleasant task until time ran out.

Mary had bought a newspaper at the Baltimore station, and she was reading it, her eyes intent. He took the paper out of her hands when calling her name had absolutely no effect on her concentration.

"What is it?" she asked. She was not successful at masking her annoyance. "I was reading that, you know."

Ryder folded the paper and tossed it on the desk. It slid across the surface, teetered on the far edge, then fell to the floor. Mary started to rise to get it, but he stopped her. "I want to talk to you," he said.

It was his grave tone more than the words themselves that had Mary sitting again. She looked at him curiously, her annoyance vanishing.

"I know you've put a lot of stock in my uncle's help," he began. "Indeed, you can't imagine that he wouldn't come to our aid. That's easy to understand when you've been privileged to have your experiences. Wilson Stillwell—that's how I think of him, not as Uncle Wilson—we've never been on close terms. He was my mother's stepbrother. They were the same age and not particularly close themselves although they were raised together from the time they were eight. When my mother married, Wilson was already in the state legislature. By the time my sister was born he was a congressman and except for obligatory visits back to Ohio for campaigning and fund-raising, we rarely saw him."

Ryder ran a hand through his hair. "He never took much interest in us or we in him. It's not anything anyone's ever regretted. It's just the way it was... the way it is."

Mary was silent, waiting for Ryder to make his point.

"I know you think he was present for my trial because he cared what happened to me. Given your experiences, that's a reasonable assumption. But it's not an accurate one. He was a character witness at my trial; he testified on my behalf."

"Surely that—"

He held up his hand. "He needed to do it to absolve himself. Wilson Stillwell wields a lot of power in the Senate. He sits on a number of important committees and has the ear of the President. He was largely responsible for my assignment to the Colter Canyon patrol. He saw that I got good assignments, that I came to the attention of people who could further my career. In fact, he had a lot to do with my favored status among the Army commanders."

"I don't believe that," Mary inserted quickly. "If your status was favored it's because you earned it. I'll never believe anything else. Anyway, if there weren't some feeling on his part, why would he want to give you important assignments or see that you enjoyed any privilege?"

"To absolve himself of more guilt." Ryder sat in the chair behind the desk, turning it so he could stretch his legs out to the side. The curtains in their private car were drawn back. Sunshine filtered through the weather-stained windows and touched the side of Ryder's face, highlighting his austere, angled features. "I hold Wilson Stillwell responsible for the death of my daughter, my wife, her family, and the thirty other Chiricahua who were massacred at Antler's Ridge."