Susan Amarillas (8 page)

He glanced over at the well-worn Bible lying on the round walnut table near the bed. The cover was creased, and one corner was torn off. It was his mother’s Bible. It was all he had of her. He’d taken solace in that book many a long, cold night by a campfire.

He chuckled and said aloud, “Never thought you’d get me to read it, did you, Ma?”

He could almost hear her laugh.

She’d had a nice laugh and a warm smile. The kind that made you want to laugh even if you didn’t know why.

Rebecca had that kind of smile—not that she had anything to smile about these days.

He started pacing. A vision of Rebecca filled his mind...the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen in a woman, and hair the color of sunshine.

Well, Scanlin, you gonna get it right this time?

* * *

Edward Pollard arrived shortly after eight that evening. It was really too late for a proper call, but he was confident that under these distressing circumstances allowances would be made.

He rang the bell twice and shifted anxiously from one foot to the other as he waited for the housekeeper to answer the door.

“Rebecca,” he said, his eyes widening at the pleasant surprise, “where’s Mrs. Wheeler?”

“Hello, Edward. She’s down with a cold,” she told him, stepping aside. Edward breezed past her. Oddly, her first thought wasn’t that she was glad to see him, but that he was wearing another new suit, gray gabardine with a matching vest. Edward was always the very picture of the well-dressed gentleman. “I’ve just heard the terrible, terrible news about your son.” He put his hat and gloves on the hall table. “I’m in shock. If only I’d been in town when this happened.”

She allowed him to lightly kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Edward. I appreciate your concern.”

“Is there any new information?”

“None,” she said, preferring not to discuss speculations with him. She led the way into the parlor.

Edward was a frequent visitor, and so made himself at home. “You poor dear.” He spoke as he walked to the liquor table by the hearth. “Let me get you something. Sherry, perhaps?”

“Yes, sherry,” she agreed, thinking a drink was just what she needed after the day she’d had.

Rebecca’s hand was surprisingly steady as she accepted the delicate crystal glass. She drank the thimbleful that Edward had poured her in one large swallow and handed him the glass. “Pour me another, please, Edward. Considerably more this time.” She held up her thumb and forefinger to indicate how much.

He looked surprised, but he obliged, returning a moment later. “Now sip that slowly. We don’t want it going to your head.”

“Edward, liquor doesn’t `go to my head.’” She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she never got that fuzzy feeling that people so often spoke of. Tonight, though, she thought she’d like to be fuzzy, or foggy, or anything else that would keep her from thinking of the man who was no doubt asleep in her guest room.

She leaned back against the fine rose silk of the settee, but she wasn’t relaxed. They sat in companionable silence for a long moment, and she absently adjusted the folds of her black skirt, making creases with her fingers where there shouldn’t be any.

Outside, the night was still. A few brave crickets made a halfhearted attempt at chirping. It was too late for them. Was it too late for her, as well?

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Edward take another swallow of her best bourbon. He had delicate hands, she thought, watching the way his fingers curled around the glass. And he had delicate features.

She vowed she wouldn’t make comparisons and, ten seconds later, she did just that.

Edward was blond, neat, and always the height of fashion. He was polite and courteous to a fault. Luke was dark and handsome and provocative as sin. His hair was overly long, and his clothes were those of a cowboy, entirely out of place here. Yet when he walked into a room he had a commanding presence that made people turn and stare. She knew that firsthand.

She took another swallow of sherry to soothe her suddenly jumpy nerves.

Edward was everything a lady wanted in a man. Half the mothers in San Francisco were trying to tempt him with their daughters. Edward was considered quite a catch, and she understood that perfectly.

Oh, not that Rebecca thought of him that way, as a catch. She wasn’t interested in anyone. She had her life all nice and neat, and she liked it just fine. As soon as Andrew was home, they—

She finished off the sherry in one long swallow, putting her glass on the side table with a delicate clink.

“How did it happen?” Edward’s voice broke into her musings.

“I don’t honestly know. He was playing on the porch, and then he was gone.”

“I’m so sorry.” His expression was serious, grave.

“Thank you, Edward. I appreciate your concern, and your coming here at this late hour.”

“Anything for you, Rebecca.” He faced her fully. “You know that, don’t you?”

“You are a good friend, Edward.”

She’d known Edward ever since she’d married Nathan. He had been an occasional investor with Nathan, and had always been their friend. Why, it was Edward who had held the first party for them after they returned from their honeymoon.

Oh, she knew that since Nathan’s death Edward had wanted them to be more than friends. That was very apparent. He’d taken her to parties, the theater, anywhere she wanted to go, really.

She liked that. Edward was always the perfect gentleman. Unlike
someone
she could think of.

Unfortunately, thinking of that nameless someone made her fingers tremble and goose bumps skitter up her spine with a deliciously pleasant sensation. And the fact that it was so delicious annoyed her and, yes, frightened her a bit.

So she smiled, twisted in her seat and focused on her company. “I’m glad you’re here,” she told him, and was rewarded with a smile that had absolutely no effect on her pulse.

“Now, my dear, tell me everything that happened.”

They had known each other long enough that he’d taken to using an affectionate term occasionally, in private only.

Rebecca related the entire story—her search for Andrew, how she’d sent for the police, their efforts. Then she said, “Captain Brody is a difficult man, and I don’t think he would have helped me much if Marshal Scanlin hadn’t arrived.”

Edward paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. “Who?”

“Marshal Scanlin,” she repeated nonchalantly, not bothering to mention that he was sleeping upstairs, in the room next to hers.

“I assume you mean a U.S. marshal?” Edward said casually, and sipped his drink.

She nodded.

“What’s a marshal got to do with this? I mean, isn’t this Captain Brody’s jurisdiction?”

He took a large swallow of whiskey, draining the glass.

“True, but Edward, you know Brody. The man’s hostile, argumentative and, well, perhaps worse.”

“No,
my dear,
” he said in that patronizing tone that he used sometimes, the one that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “You’ve got Amos all wrong. He’s been police captain quite a while, and he does a good job. He’s just not very good with people, especially ladies, is all. I’m sure he’s competent.”

Rebecca stared at him in open surprise. “I know you and Brody are old friends, but surely you realize that we’ve been at odds for months. I’ve told you that there is every indication that he’s taking bribes, looking the other way for gambling and...and women and who knows what else!” She made an impatient gesture.

“Rebecca, I don’t know how you can say that.” He shook his head adamantly. “You’re treading on dangerous ground. It’s a miracle you haven’t been sued, or worse, with all these thinly veiled accusations in your paper. Fortunately, I’ve been able to persuade people that it’s all harmless, and that you’ll soon lose interest and move on.”

“I will not move on, as you put it. Crime is up, and anyone with half a brain can figure out why. And I don’t need you to defend me. I take care of myself.”

“Of course you can, dearest. Of course you can. It’s just that you’re so obsessed with this Barbary Coast business. Surely there are more important matters to write about than who was in a fight in some saloon.”

“Edward, how can you say that? This isn’t the
Police Gazette
I’m running, this is a respected newspaper,” she said proudly, “and it’s my job to expose crime and corruption wherever I find it.”

“What are you going to do, go down to the Barbary Coast and ask if anyone’s been giving money to Captain Brody?” he retorted sharply.

“Maybe I will,” she told him, ignoring his sarcasm.

“Rebecca!” His thin brows shot up. “I absolutely won’t allow it! You can’t possibly mean—”

“Oh, honestly, Edward. Don’t be such a...a...banker. Don’t carry on so.” She wisely decided against being too pointed and telling him his worrying was beginning to annoy her greatly.

He toyed with the gold charm that sparkled on his watch chain. She was braced for another lecture when he surprised her. “Now, Rebecca, your determination to find a story is admirable, of course. And I’m certain you think you’re doing good, but—”

He broke off and strolled to the piano, putting his empty glass down on the gleaming surface. “I’m sorry, my dear. This is neither the time nor the place to discuss this. I’m only upsetting you. Please forgive my thoughtlessness. Come. Walk me to the door.”

As he picked up his hat, he said, “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything at all?”

“No, nothing. Thank you, Edward.” She offered her hand, which he took. “Marshal Scanlin’s helping, and the police, too. There’s really nothing for you to do.”

She was reaching to open the door when, without a word, Edward kissed her—and not on the cheek this time.

Surprise flashed in her eyes. “Edward, what’s come over you?”

“I detest leaving you,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “If we were married, dearest Rebecca, I’d be here for you all the time. You wouldn’t have to go through this, or anything else, alone again.”

“Edward, surely you can’t expect me to think about marriage
now?
”

He pressed her hand against his heart in a gesture that was more dramatic than effective. “Why not? If we were married, I could hold you in my arms all through the night....”

“Edward! Please, remember yourself!” She pulled free of his grasp.

“You care for me, I know you do—”

“Yes, but—”

He tried to pull her to him again, and she braced both hands against his chest in denial, her fingers digging into smooth gabardine. “Edward, we’ve been friends for years.”

“Liking each other is important, don’t you think?”

“Well, yes, but...what about love?”

His blue eyes softened. “You know that I love you.”

She sighed. “Yes, but I don’t feel...I don’t think—”

“You will come to love me, in time, I’m certain,” he said. “We have the same interests, the same goals. It’s so much more than most have, starting out.”

“Edward,” she said firmly, easily pulling free of his touch and stepping out of his reach. “I can’t think now...not about this.”

“All right, Rebecca. I understand.” His tone contradicted his words. “It’s just that seeing you reminds me how wonderful it could be. Think of what we could do together, with you at my side. The Tinsdale name linked with mine. I’m certain to be the next mayor.” He shrugged and smiled. “All you have to say is yes.”

Rebecca touched his arm affectionately, yet with regret, too. “You are the dearest man I know. You were my friend when Nathan died and I was so lost. Without you and Ruth, I couldn’t have managed. And I do care for you, but not—”

“Let’s put this conversation aside, and we’ll take it up later, after Andrew is home and everything is back to normal,” he interrupted. “You’ll see. Andrew
will
be home safely, and we
will
be together.”

With a light brush of his lips on her cheek, he left, closing the door with a gentle snap.

For a long moment, she stood there, staring at the smooth wood, wondering what the devil was wrong with her. Edward was dear. He was right when he said they were good together. And she was certain that Edward would follow his dream—perhaps even to the governor’s mansion and beyond.

What woman in her right mind wouldn’t dream of accompanying a man on such an exciting journey? She should be thrilled. Perhaps she should even love him. Trouble was, she didn’t.

She started up the stairs, then stopped abruptly. “How long have you been standing there?”

Luke stood on the landing. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the banister as if he owned the place, and her. He had an infuriatingly arrogant grin on his face. “So that’s the competition.”

He straightened. It was then that she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. The man was half-naked, and heart-stoppingly gorgeous. It gave her heart a lurch. A warm blush popped out on her cheeks, like two rosebuds. She was staring right at his chest, and at the provocative curve of black hair that arched over each nipple, then plunged down his chest and disappeared into his waistband.

Her gaze flicked to his face. He had a wicked look in his eyes—hot enough to boil water.

Rebecca tore her gaze away, but stayed firmly rooted to the bottom stair. She wasn’t going up there now. Not now! And she wasn’t going to let him know that looking at him was turning her knees to oatmeal.

So, with as much firmness as she could muster, she said, “
You
don’t have any competition.”

His grin was immediate and devastating. “You’re right about that, Princess. I don’t, and thanks for the reassurance.”

Her temper shot up. Before she could object, Luke turned sharply on his heel and strode down the hallway. Still smiling, he went to bed, and this time he knew he’d sleep.

R
ebecca didn’t sleep well. In fact, she couldn’t remember when she’d last slept. Oh, she was sure she had dozed once or twice—the nightmares were proof of that. Even now, if she closed her eyes, the terrifying dreams would return—Andrew frightened, cowering, crying for her, while she struggled in vain to get to him.

With a sudden intake of breath, she surged to her feet and left her bedroom. Heart pounding, she marched down the hallway. With each firm step, she willed her fears under control.

Stay calm. Andrew needs you. He’ll be all right. Luke said so.

She stopped still, one hand steady against the smooth surface of the plastered wall near the closed door to his room. Abruptly she jerked her hand away.

His
room.
His
promises.
His
plans.

What the devil was happening to her? Since when did Luke Scanlin matter so much to her? Since when did she need his word to make things right?

Since the moment he walked in here and looked at you with those devil black eyes of his.

No! You’re not doing this to me. Not again.

Curling her hand into a fist, she prepared to knock on his door.

She stopped.

What was she going to say? Don’t look at me in that way that makes my body pulse? Don’t talk to me in that low, caressing way that soothes and excites me at the same time? Don’t be so damnably tempting that for breathtaking moments I forget everything, including my son?

Guilt overcame fear, and she let her hand fall to her side, took an unsteady half step backward, then turned.

If he was right, and Andrew, her darling Andrew, had been kidnapped, then she was going to need him even more. She knew Brody wouldn’t do more than “keep an eye out,” which was as good as doing nothing at all. While she didn’t trust Luke with her heart, in some strange way she trusted him to do the job he’d set out to do. After all, he was a U.S. marshal.

She was trapped. To send Luke away could put Andrew’s life at risk. To let him stay could put all their lives at even greater risk.

One thing at a time, she told herself. Get Andrew back first, then deal with other...matters. She’d kept her secret from everyone, all this time. She would keep it forever. Feeling a little more confident, she went to check on Ruth.

“Are you awake?” she said softly as she peeked around the edge of the door.

“Come on in.” Ruth was propped up in the bed and had a breakfast tray balanced on her lap. She fussed with the ruffle on her bright yellow nightdress, then twisted her gray hair up into a bun.

“You’re looking better,” Rebecca said as she crossed the room to stop at her mother-in-law’s bedside. “There’s a little color in your cheeks. I was awfully worried yesterday.”

“I know, honey, and I am sorry.” Ruth shifted to a more comfortable position in the bed.

“Any pain today?”

“None,” she replied happily. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

“A little,” Rebecca muttered, and sat on the edge of the bed, holding the tray to prevent spilling.

“Very little, would be my guess. Am I going to have to send for the doctor again?” Ruth’s tone was loving. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?”

“Yes. I think we are.” Rebecca smiled and covered Ruth’s hand with her own, her fingers tightening in a way that expressed the love and reassurance she felt. “When Andrew’s home, I’ll sleep.”

Ruth tossed back the coverlet and scooted toward the edge of the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rebecca asked sternly.

“Lying around here isn’t going to find Andrew, and I—”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Rebecca yanked the covers free and gently nudged her back into bed. “There’ll be no repeats of yesterday. Besides...” She made a show of smoothing the quilt. “Luke—Marshal Scanlin—thinks that Brody is right. That Andrew has been kidnapped.”

Ruth stilled, surprise and fear reflected in her eyes. “What do you think?”

“I think...it’s true,” Rebecca returned in a barely heard whisper, and blinked hard against the tears that threatened.

Ruth squeezed Rebecca’s hand. “You know, in some strange way I actually feel better knowing—thinking—that. I mean, if all someone wants is money, then they can have it. They can have it all. I just want my only grandson back.”

“I know.” Rebecca sighed inwardly. She, too, hoped that Luke and Brody were right, that it was a kidnapping, that all someone wanted was money. It was a strange, perverted kind of hope, but it was all she had, and she clung to it. Because if that was true, then it meant that Andrew wasn’t dead. And Andrew couldn’t be dead. The pain would be too much to survive.

Glancing up, she saw Ruth watching her, her mother-in-law’s big brown eyes filled with concern. She forced a smile. “Why don’t I take that tray down and let you get a little more sleep?”

“Rebecca, we’ll get him back. At least you’ve got Marshal Scanlin.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean, I’ve got Marshal Scanlin?” Feeling suddenly edgy, she released Ruth’s hand and stood.

“Why, nothing, dear. I mean you’ve got someone you can count on to help you, to help us both.”

“Help us...yes.” She strolled over to the walnut dresser and fussed with the doily there.

“He seems a very passionate man...about his work, I mean.”

“Passionate” was an understatement, Rebecca thought. It was heaven in his arms, she remembered with a sudden racing of her heart. She needed to keep her feet firmly anchored to the ground. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she said, “I suppose so. This is the first time I’ve seen him in a long time.”

“How long?”

“A little over seven years,” she returned vaguely. “Why?”

“Oh, just wondering.” Ruth gave a casual shrug. “I never knew any of your friends from before you married Nathan. Was the marshal a beau?”

“Certainly not!” Rebecca snapped quickly—maybe a little too quickly.

“I see.” Ruth looked into the distance. “He’s very handsome. There’s something about his eyes... I can certainly see how a woman would be attracted to him.”

“What woman?” Sudden apprehension inched up Rebecca’s spine.

“Oh, any woman.” Ruth’s tone was innocent. “I mean, he’s strong and dark, and much too charming. Oh, and exciting. After all, he earns his living in a dangerous profession. Almost like a knight, don’t you think?”

“No, I most certainly don’t think. He’s selfish and arrogant, and he acts like he—” Like he has a right to make love to me, she almost said. A lush feeling moved through her, low and warm, making her knees tremble a bit.

Good Lord, he’d been here a day, and it was as if all the years had not intervened. Well, she wasn’t going to give in to him. She wasn’t going to let him shatter her life again.

Her chin came up in a determined gesture, and it was then that she realized that Ruth was staring at her with unconcealed surprise.

“Marshal Scanlin is only here to help find Andrew. Then he’s leaving.” Rebecca’s tone was firm, as much for herself as for Ruth.

“I see,” Ruth muttered again, in a way that was making Rebecca both anxious and annoyed. Her temper was short after her confrontation with Luke last night, and she wasn’t looking forward to seeing him over the breakfast table this morning. She’d almost asked for a tray in her room, but that had felt too much like retreat, and that she refused to do.

Wanting to end this conversation, Rebecca crossed to the bed and picked up the tray. “I think I’ll take this down and get a cup of coffee for myself.” She was halfway to the door as she spoke. “Do you want anything else?”

“Why, no, dear. I think you’ve given me all I needed.”

Rebecca arched one brow questioningly, but decided not to press the issue. “You just rest. I need you to get better. When Andrew comes home, I’ll never be able to manage without you. That boy has enough energy for an entire company of cavalry.”

Ruth chuckled. “That’s true. Why do you think I taught him how to play checkers? It was the only way I could get him to sit still for a while.”

They shared a smile, remembering the little boy they loved and the times they had shared.

“It’ll be all right,” Ruth added. “Andrew is coming home. I feel it.”

Rebecca dragged in a steadying breath. “I keep telling myself that, but—”

“No buts.”

“Okay,” Rebecca agreed with a firm nod. “Now you get some more rest. And I need you and Andrew.” Her voice was unsteady. “Don’t you worry, Ruth. No one is going to take away your grandson.”

With that, she headed for the kitchen.

* * *

There was a place set on the dining room table—crystal, silver, and sparkling white china. A dark blue napkin, folded in a triangle, accentuated the paleness of the blue linen tablecloth.

Rebecca paused near the mahogany sideboard. One place setting—obviously for her. Where was Luke?

She went into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Rebecca said to her housekeeper, Mrs. Wheeler, who was drying a plate near the sink. The smell of cooked ham and fresh-baked biscuits gave the large, square room a warm, comfortable feeling.

“Ma’am,” the cook said by way of greeting. “Your egg will be ready in a minute.”

“That’s fine. Thank you, Emily.”

Mrs. Wheeler promptly sneezed, then gently blew her nose in a lacy white handkerchief, which she kept tucked in the cuff of her stiff black uniform. Her slender cheeks were flushed a bright pink, and her pale blue eyes looked a little watery.

“Mrs. Wheeler, are you certain you’re feeling all right?”

“Oh, yes...” She sniffed. “Fine.”

It was Rebecca’s habit not to stand on ceremony and, as she’d done every morning since she’d married Nathan, she went to the stove and helped herself to a steaming cup of coffee. More than any other room, she liked the kitchen. There was something homey, almost comforting, about the room. Since Nathan’s death, sometimes she would slip down here late at night to make a cup of sassafras tea and reflect on her past, and her future—which didn’t include a dark-eyed devil, no matter how handsome.

“Mrs. Tinsdale?”

The housekeeper’s voice roused her from her thoughts. Snatching back her shaky emotions, she took a sip of coffee, smiled and said, “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying how sad I am...” She glanced at the cook, and back to Rebecca again. “How sad we
both
are to hear about Master Andrew.”

“Thank you both.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Rebecca tried to sound optimistic. “No, nothing. The police are working on it, and Marshal Scanlin... By the way have you seen—”

“Oh, yes, the marshal,” Mrs. Wheeler said, and grinned. A small breeze fluttered the bright yellow curtain at the window behind her. “He was here this morning.”

“Really?” Rebecca kept her tone nonchalant as she strolled over to the kitchen table. She dragged out a ladder-back chair and perched sideways on its edge, coffee cup still in hand. “And do you know where the marshal is now?” she asked, as though she’d just asked when the milk would be delivered, revealing none of the excitement that he’d stirred in her when he kissed her.

Sunlight poured through the open window above the sink and glinted off the silver, laid out on the table, obviously ready for polishing.

Mrs. Wheeler sniffed, then coughed, then sniffed again. She dabbed at her red nose with her hanky. “He said he had to leave.”

“Leave?” Abruptly Rebecca put the cup and saucer down on the scarred pine surface of the table. “Luke’s gone?” she asked softly, not bothering with formality.

“Yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper continued, edging sideways, away from the stove and the spattering butter. “He was here when I came down at six.” She tucked an errant lock of graying hair back into her topknot. “I was surprised to see a man in the kitchen. He introduced himself, and he already had coffee going and was about to cook some eggs.” She walked over to the table, her leather heels drumming on the flooring. “Seems like a nice man.” She started to inspect the silver and continued talking. “You know, he offered to make eggs for me.” She chuckled. “Can you imagine? Of course, I told him—”

“Where—” Rebecca’s stomach clenched. Disappointment warred with desire. “Where has he gone? Did he say?”

“No, ma’am, he didn’t say. Oh,” she said, arching one brow, “I think he mentioned something about important business.”

“Did he say when—if—he was coming back?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t believe he did.”

“I see,” she mumbled, and reached for her coffee again in an attempt to be casual. All the while she felt like screaming. Damn the man. This was so typical of him—to breeze in here, try to seduce her and leave when she refused him.

She took too large a gulp of coffee, and burned her tongue.

Thank goodness she was smart enough to hold him off. And so what if he was gone? She didn’t need him anymore. If he was right about Andrew being kidnapped—and she was more and more certain he was—then all she had to do was try to remain sane until the ransom note arrived. She’d pay the money and get her son back.

She sipped her coffee, more cautiously this time. No, she didn’t need Luke. In fact, the less he was around, the better for everyone.

“Mrs. Tinsdale, your breakfast is ready.” The cook’s voice startled her, and she looked up.

“Why, thank you, Emily,” she said, and stood and carried her cup toward the dining room doorway.

* * *

Luke paced back and forth in the governor’s elegant suite in the Palace Hotel. His booted footsteps were muffled by the patterned carpet. He’d spent part of the morning at the police station, trying to find out if there had been any other kidnappings in the area in the past year or so.

The police were about as friendly as a pack of coyotes. Luke didn’t mind much. He knew how to deal with varmints. So, after a few minutes of getting acquainted, which, in this case, meant pushing and threatening a little, he’d gotten the information he wanted.

There had been no kidnappings in the past year or so. They had no suspects. They had not heard any rumors, and they didn’t know where to begin to look.

Disgusted, Luke had made a quick swing through the Barbary Coast, just to get the lay of the land. He was planning to go back later, maybe tonight, do a little looking, ask a few questions.