Only in My Arms (58 page)

"No. I don't have a sense of it one way or the other." She studied his face. Did he want a boy because he'd already had a daughter? Was the memory still too raw, even after so many years? "Does it matter?"

He shook his head. "A daughter would be fine, Mary. I'll cherish her as much as I do her mother." He raised his hand again, but Mary brought it back to her belly quickly this time. Her expression cautioned him to be still. Beneath his palm he felt the surprisingly firm kick of his child.

"That's approval," Mary said softly.

Ryder laughed lowly. He removed his hand and lay back. Mary nestled her head in the curve of his shoulder and laid her arm across his chest. Blanketed by stars in a midnight blue sky, they enjoyed this moment in silence. Too many times over that last five months they had wondered if they would ever reach the sanctuary of this Hudson Valley clearing. The thought of being here, in just this place and in just this way, was the vision they each had held as they'd faced down their critics and accusers.

Mary Michael's story in the
Rocky Mountain News
had gone a long way to helping Ryder and Mary, but it hadn't cleared every obstacle. The story was too big, the scandal at once abhorrent and compelling. Even John MacKenzie Worth couldn't stop the Army from interrogating Mary. She'd endured hours of questioning, days of defending herself for assisting Ryder in his escape and for every subsequent action that she'd taken on his behalf or at his side.

She still struggled with the irony of having to lie about helping Ryder escape the stockade in order to be in a position to be believed about everything else. Florence Gardner herself had come East with her son when the general had been summoned to Washington by the War Office. She had met with Ryder and Mary, had offered to admit the role she had played, but they had declined. General Gardner's career, already under a great deal of scrutiny because of his handling of the Colter Canyon investigation, would have suffered considerably more if it had been known he couldn't control his own mother.

From the moment Mary's family had crowded the wine-cellar stairway, it seemed there had been no end to the activity and to the lack of peace.

Ryder's memory of the commotion in the cellar was clearer than Mary's. In spite of her sister Maggie's immediate attention, Mary sported a lump the size of a plover's egg for a week. Mary was the first to admit it was an insignificant consequence of her encounter with a wine bottle. Anna Leigh Hamilton had not been so fortunate. Maggie's timely intervention only meant that the chance of infection had been reduced. The shards of glass had been painstakingly removed from Anna Leigh's face and throat, and Maggie had bathed her eyes with a steady flow of water, but no amount of skillful suturing would ever restore Anna Leigh's complexion to its former flawlessness, nor would the bathing restore sight to her eyes.

Anna Leigh Hamilton made a tragic, sympathetic figure as she testified against Wilson Stillwell. It was not difficult for her to twist the truth and paint herself as a victim of an older man's promises and power. She cleared Ryder McKay, but she leveled charges at his uncle. Anna Leigh's suffering on the stand made it almost impossible for any of the other defendants to point their fingers at her. Still, they tried... and failed. The efforts of Lieutenant Rivers and Senator Stillwell to portray Warren Hamilton's daughter as a temptress only succeeded in reminding the press and the public and the politicians that the woman had been a vibrant, spirited beauty, vital to dressing up the dullest Washington dinner party. The senator and the lieutenant could say nothing against her that didn't go against themselves.

Lieutenant Rivers and a handful of key conspirators were hanged in April. The full entourage of soldiers who had committed the massacre at Colter Canyon were sharing prison cells in and around Washington and were scheduled to hang in groups of three or four over the course of the summer. They were mostly forgotten now as the nation began to put the Colter Canyon tragedy out of its memory with the suicide of Wilson Stillwell. Editorials in
The Times
and
The Herald
all but came out and thanked him for his decision to end his life and let the nation move on. The publisher of the
New York Chronicle
was a lone voice in naming him a coward.

The senator died without giving up the location of his share of the gold shipment. While all the others involved in the theft had turned over their unspent bullion, Wilson Stillwell never admitted he had received any of the gold.

Mary thought long and prayed hard before she decided to confess that she knew where the senator had hidden his Judas payment. Before she shared what she knew, she struck a deal that a portion of the vast treasure would be turned over to the families of the men who had died at Colter Canyon. She also secured the War Office's agreement that Ryder McKay was done answering their questions. To her way of thinking the Colter Canyon affair was closed. The Army was in no position to argue with her.

She led her husband and Army officers back to Senator Stillwell's home and into his wine cellar. "Revelations 21:21," she said. When no one moved, she added, "The streets of the city were of pure gold, like translucent glass." Ryder began to smile at that point, but the entourage of officers continued to regard her blankly. They sincerely hoped they hadn't followed her to be quoted scripture. Sighing, Mary said, "Don't look at me, gentlemen. The answer is under your feet."

Ryder was the first to understand and the first to remove a penknife from his pocket and dig at the bricks on the wine-cellar floor. Gold was a soft metal, so he had no difficulty chipping through the paint and revealing the precious metal beneath. The edge of his knife was flecked with gold. He held it up for the officers to see. They worked hard at not being impressed. The Army had already scoured the senator's home, including the wine cellar, a half-dozen times, and had found nothing.

"How did you know?" Ryder asked her as he led her away.

So she told him how, during his interrogation of Anna Leigh, she had kept tracing the mortared edges of the bricks in the cellar floor, and that when she had looked at her hands much later she had seen flecks of gold under her nails.

Like the good poker player she was, Mary had kept the secret to herself, not showing anyone her cards until she was certain she knew when and how to play them.

Ryder McKay was not acquitted as loudly as his uncle was denounced. The Army absolved him of all wrongdoing and offered to reinstate him if he wished. He didn't, for which no one in the War Office was sorry. They felt they had lived up to their agreement with Mary and were happy to finally end this affair. His presence was an embarrassment, a reminder of the shoddiness of their organization and of the rampant prejudice in the government's Western policies against the Indians. Ryder McKay was cleared, but he wasn't a hero.

He was satisfied with that. He preferred exile to the property he and Mary had purchased at Flagstaff to a life of notoriety in Washington or New York. They had more than enough money to make a good start at ranching. His savings had bought the property, and Mary had her trust from Jay Mac to purchase cattle and hire hands. Then there was the unexpected news from Rennie just a few weeks ago: Ryder's prospecting map had led her and Jarret to a mother lode. Rennie arrived for the wedding carrying deeds and mineral rights and rights of way for Northeast Rail. She negotiated a deal with Ryder and Mary that would set them up handsomely for the rest of their lives.

And, as Jay Mac pointed out, it did no harm to Northeast Rail either.

"What is it?" asked Mary. She felt Ryder's soundless laughter as his chest vibrated softly against her arm. "What are you thinking?"

"That your father's a crafty man."

"In business they call that successful."

"Mm." He bent his head and kissed the crown of her head. "He was making noises about retiring. I heard him talking about it to Judge Halsey at the reception."

"I know. I overheard some of it." She shook her head. "I imagine he'll always keep his hand in some way, but he's been grooming Rennie and Jarret for a long time to take over Northeast. They're ready for it, and Mama would be happy to spend her days traveling the country and visiting her grandbabies. Jay Mac doesn't seem as averse to the idea as he once was."

Ryder agreed quietly that it was true. He felt Mary relax against him, her arm becoming a little heavier across his chest. Her breath was soft and her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn't sleeping yet. Her lips were moving almost imperceptibly. Ryder could feel the whisper of her mouth against his skin. He smiled. This was the time of night when she protected him with prayers and gave thanks for every good fortune that was hers to share.

He had been wrong to suppose that Mary had placed her trust solely in him, that she had been certain he would protect her. He knew that now and was able to recognize the real source of her great strength and of her love.

Mary had placed her trust solely in Him.

The End

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A Note from the Author

The publication of
Only in My Arms
represents the end of the Dennehy saga. When I first began writing about Mary Michael Dennehy, I had no idea that she came from such a large and interesting family or that I would be committed to writing about them for the next five years. I certainly didn't anticipate developing a story around Mary Francis. Letters from readers (and some gentle prompting from my editor) convinced me to complete the chronicle with Jay Mac and Moira's first daughter.

Readers who were kind enough to write to me and let me know how much you enjoyed the Dennehy series, I would like to thank you. I appreciate your commitment in sticking with the stories. I know you had a long wait between each sister. For those of you who read hundreds of romances each year, I was especially flattered that you were able to keep track of all the Marys. Although that probably says more about your brainpower than my ability to spin a tale, I choose to be flattered. The opportunity to present this series again, this time in ebook format was not one I could pass up, and for readers who have asked me when it will finally happen—this is for you.