Kissing Comfort (48 page)

She took off the dou lì and used it to shield their parting kiss from Sam. She thought she heard his light laughter, but she and Bode ignored it. They separated after Sam was through the hatch. Bode took the hat from her and set it properly on her head.

“Tonight,” he promised.

Comfort hurried off before she thought better of it.

 

 

Tucker Jones leaned forward in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. He'd been feeling unsettled and edgy since he woke. Newton hadn't helped by being alert to every one of his fidgets and commenting on it. Now was no exception.

“Is that a prickle?” asked Newt. “Looks as if it might be.”

“It's a pain in my neck,” Tuck said. “Same as you.”

“Never known you to be bothered quite so much.” He checked his pocket watch. “It's not even noon.”

Tucker swept aside the documents on his desk. “Too early for a drink?”

“Probably too early to get drunk, but there's nothing wrong with a drink.” He stood. “Don't trouble yourself. I'll get it.” He rounded both desks and headed for the Hildesheim safe. He removed two glasses and a bottle of whiskey and set them on top of the safe. “Will one finger do the trick?” He looked back at Tucker for the answer. His partner was holding up two fingers. Nodding, Newt gave each glass a generous pour and carried them back. He handed Tucker one and returned to his side of the desk with the other. “I miss her, too,” he said. “Hate it that I can't go down the hall and count how many pencils she has in her hair. I usually win that bet.”

Tucker's smile was rueful, even a little wistful. He didn't feel much like the soldier who had been at the battle for Monterrey or even the one who'd stood at his post drinking tequila while Newt negotiated terms with a fiery Mexican
puta
at the bar. “When do you suppose we stopped being the ones who found her and started being the ones who fathered her?”

Newton knew exactly what Tuck meant, and he didn't have to think about his reply. “For me it was the first time I braided her hair. Knew it right off. She put a slippery blue ribbon in my hand and just sort of expected that I would know what to do with it. She was real patient, too. Stood there as stoic as a Spartan and waited me out. I was all thumbs, and that ribbon wriggled in my hands like a worm on a hook. Still, she looked pretty when I was done. I remember that like it was yesterday. What about you?”

Tucker considered his answer before he spoke. “We were living in the mining camp? Remember?”

Newt nodded. “Too well.”

“We were barely scratching out a living for ourselves at that point, and we had this extra mouth to feed, only it didn't occur to me that it was an extra mouth. Having her there gave me a purpose, you know, and I sort of realized that I was doing it for her. It felt right. I wanted to do it for her, like I would my own. Guess I knew then that she was my own.”

“Seems like it wasn't so long ago.”

“I know, and it's been twenty years.”

“Did you ever think we should've done more to find out if she had any family?”

“Nope. Never once. Always thought we did enough. We're her family.”

Newt sipped his drink. “It's the same for me. I never did want anyone else to braid her hair. Not even you.”

Laughter rumbled from deep in Tucker's chest. He just shook his head. “Some tough old soldiers we turned out to be. Guess we'd be the talk of every man in B Company if they knew.” He put a hand to the back of his neck again and rubbed. He felt Newt's eyes on him. “What?”

“You're doing it again. It's a prickle.”

“It's a damn sight more than that.” He rolled his shoulders. It was impossible for him to get comfortable in his own skin.

“What does it mean?” asked Newt.

“You know what I know. Something's coming our way.”

“Good fortune? Bad? Can't you tell?”

“It'll be what we make of it. That's always how it is. Twenty years ago we happened upon a massacre and found a daughter. You tell me. Good fortune or bad?”

Newt didn't answer. His attention was directed to the soft footfalls in the hallway. He hadn't heard anyone on the stairs. He swiveled in his chair and faced the open door as Suey Tsin stepped into view. Setting down his drink, he started to rise. A deepening frown pushed his dark eyebrows together. “What's happened?” he asked. “Are you all right?” He could see that she was trembling slightly. Across from him, Tuck was also getting to his feet. “Suey Tsin. Look at me. What are you doing here?”

Comfort barely glanced at Newt before she threw herself at him. She felt him rock back on his heels and bump the desk. She simply held on. There was an infinitesimal pause, and then his arms came around her. She smiled. It had taken him no longer than a single beat of his heart to recognize her. She pressed her face into his neck and clutched him, giving up the embrace only so she could make Tuck part of it.

“It's you,” Newt said, his throat thick. “It's her, Tuck. It's our girl.”

Comfort could hardly draw a breath for the fierceness of Newt's hug, but the light-headed, giddy feeling that accompanied it kept her right where she was. Tucker's hug was only marginally less enthusiastic. When they finally released her, she stepped backward and lowered herself into the nearest chair. She tilted her head up and looked them over, wondering if her smile was as drunkenly happy as theirs appeared to be.

“Can we go home?” she asked. “I really want to go home.”

 

 

Bode usually made it a point to knock when he visited Alexandra or his brother. It was his way of reminding them he didn't live there any longer. He did it more for his mother's benefit than Bram's, because Bram had never cared, and Alexandra had cared too much. He was already halfway up the stairs when Hitchens appeared in the entrance hall.

“Mr. DeLong! Sir! Can I take your—”

Bode paused only long enough to direct the butler. “Tell my mother I'm here. I'll be with Bram if she'd like to come up.”

Bram couldn't say what woke him so abruptly. He blinked several times, disoriented but aware that his heart was racing. He wondered if he'd had a nightmare, but nothing came to him. He couldn't even recall when he fell asleep. He'd been roused for breakfast but ate very little of it. He'd allowed his new valet to tend to him, bathing him and seeing to his needs, and then he'd sent the man to Chinatown. Was he back? Was that what had wakened him?

Bram pushed himself up on his elbows. His vision was finally clear enough to see that someone was standing in the doorway. “Bode.” His voice was pleasant if still a bit groggy. “You're back.”

Bode shut the door hard, jerking Bram to attention. His brother's focus only lasted for a moment. Bode watched Bram's shoulders slump. The rest of him followed suit until he was as inert and shapeless as warm candle wax on the white linens.

“You look like hell, Bram.” He walked over to the bed, glanced around for the laudanum, and then began a careful search between the mattress and the headboard and under the sheets. Bram didn't protest until Bode began patting him down, which was how Bode knew he was getting close. He found two small bottles tucked away in Bram's splint. He pocketed them. The droopy look of alarm on his brother's face would have been comical if it weren't so damned pathetic.

Swearing softly, Bode grabbed Bram by the collar of his shirt and twisted hard. Bram clawed at Bode's wrists, but Bode held on. “Get yourself together, Bram. You find your wits, or I swear I'll yank you right out of this bed and make you look for them.”

Bram choked out something that Bode didn't understand. He loosened his grip a fraction. Bram gasped and kept trying to break Bode's hold. “You're choking me,” he ground out.

“Good. That's what I want to do.”

“Jesus! Bode!” Bram felt himself being lifted off the bed. He held on to Bode's wrists. “Put me down. My leg. You're—”

“Killing you? How would you know? You can't feel a damn thing.”

“I can! I swear I—”

Bode shoved Bram hard against the headboard and let go. The bed frame shuddered. The back of Bram's head bounced off the dark wood, and then he was still, dazed but conscious. Disgusted, Bode stepped back. He wanted to break something, and at the moment, Bram's head was the easy target. Turning his back on Bram, he went to the window and opened the drapes. It was satisfying to hear his brother's pained groan as late afternoon sunlight flooded the room.

“Are you awake yet?” Bode asked, turning around to face Bram again. “Ready to answer questions?”

“God, Bode. What the hell—”

“My questions, Bram. You don't get to have any.” He took a threatening step toward the bed and stopped when Bram nodded quickly. “Good. I spoke to Samuel Travers this morning. I know what you told him, and I know what it meant. Now I want to hear the rest from you. So help me, Bram, it had better be the truth. Why did you send Sam out to get me that night?”

“Jesus, Bode, someone delivered a message to me about Comfort. Mother told me that afternoon that Comfort had been taken away by the Rangers. I didn't hear another thing about it until I got the message. It was a ransom demand. They wanted money. You know I don't have any. The threat was explicit. The note was clear. They wanted me to know exactly what Comfort's fate would be if I didn't meet their demand.”

“Do you still have the note?”

Bram shook his head.

Bode's eyes narrowed faintly. “Why send for me? You know I don't have any money. Why didn't you send for Newt or Tuck?”

“It was too late for that.”

“Too late? Didn't you say it was a ransom note? How could it have been too late to ask them for money?” When Bram merely stared at him, Bode said, “You can't help yourself, can you?” He went to the foot of the bed and studied the apparatus that held Bram's leg at the correct elevation and tension. He set his hand on the crank and began to slowly turn it. Bram flailed wildly and shouted for him to stop. After one full turn, he did. “Try again, Bram.”

“No one asked for ransom,” he said quickly. “The note only told me what was going to happen to her.”

“I see. And what was that?”

“The Rangers were going to put her on the block. Sell her off to the highest bidder.”

“Why would they do that, Bram?” He rested his hand lightly on the crank and waited.

“They wanted to prove they could.”

It was a partial answer at best. “Most people would take a threat from the Rangers seriously the first time they heard it. You didn't, though, did you?”

“I
did
,” he insisted. “I did. But I thought I could hold them off.”

“Because you were engaged to Comfort.”

“That's right. They knew I'd be good for what I owed them. They
knew
it.”

“Apparently not. Apparently they didn't trust you.”

“I didn't know. I thought they accepted the arrangement.” Bram pressed a hand to his forehead and massaged it. Sweat beaded on his brow. It was so damnably difficult to concentrate. “Can you at least take your hand off the crank?”

“Take it off? I was considering giving it another turn. You gave her up, Bram. You told someone where she could be found. That's how the Rangers were able to take her on the way to my office. You did that to her.”

Bram groaned softly and closed his eyes. “God, Bode. No. It wasn't like that. You have to believe me.”

“Actually, I don't.” He looked his brother over. Bram's eyes were still closed, and he looked childlike, as if squeezing them shut made him invisible to others. Bode stepped away from the machine so he wouldn't be tempted to turn the crank for no reason other than spite. He sat in the chair at Bram's bedside and nudged the mattress with his foot so Bram would know he'd moved and open his eyes.

Bram turned his head and looked at Bode. His eyes were damp. “I thought you could get her back. That's why I sent for you. You always think of something. Nothing was supposed to happen to Comfort. It should have been a ransom. That's all. I love her, Bode. I would never do anything to hurt her.”

“Except make her your fiancée,” Bode said dryly. “And then dangle her like shark bait. Do you even know what happened to her?”

“I know she got away.”

“How do you know that?”

“I've heard from her since that night. Her uncles wrote to me on her behalf.” He stared at the ceiling. “She ended our engagement. They said she doesn't want anything to do with me. With any of us, really. None of the DeLongs.” Bram glanced at Bode again. “Where were you that night? Why didn't you come?”

Bode didn't answer. There wasn't anything he was going to tell Bram that he didn't have to. “I spoke to John Farwell this afternoon. He had as many interesting things to tell me as Sam.”

Bram rubbed his eyes until he saw color swirling behind his eyelids. He couldn't think properly. He needed more laudanum to clear the fog from his brain. “I don't care about Farwell. Where's Sam been? He never came back.”

“You told him not to, not without me.”

“Did I? Maybe I did. I don't remember.” He took his hand away from his eyes. His sigh was shaky. “So where was he?”

“It doesn't matter. He was finally able to deliver your message, and here I am.”

“I don't need you now.”

“You don't? Did you pay off your debt? That's what all of this is about, isn't it?”