Hawk's Prize (13 page)

“Dear Chantalle . . .”

Galveston was bathed in early morning sunlight that filtered gracefully through the window blinds of Gault Shipping, but Bruce did not feel the warmth of its rays. Instead, his throat dry, he stared at Simon Gault across the wide expanse of Gaunt’s mahogany desk.

“He spoiled everything, boss!” Bruce complained. “I waited in the closet hallway for hours, but that damned Childers didn’t leave Collins alone for a minute. He even fixed it so’s some woman would stay with Collins while he was gone.”

Bruce waited for the explosive reply that he knew was coming. Unable to sleep, he had arrived at the offices of Gault Shipping as the sun rose. He had hoped for time to prepare himself in some way for the report that he knew he must make to his boss, but Gault had been waiting for him. Gault had not spared a moment before calling him into his office.

Bruce took a shaky breath. The boss was enraged. Bruce had never seen his face that apoplectic color before. Nor had he ever before seen Gault shake so violently as he did when he shouted, “I don’t want to hear your excuses, do you hear? I want you to do your job!”

“I can’t, boss . . . not the way things stand. I’m telling you that Childers doesn’t leave Collins’s side for a minute.” He took a breath. “I can take care of Collins for you later, after he leaves Chantalle’s house, but making it look like he died of natural causes in bed isn’t going to work.”

“Why not?”

“I just told you. Childers doesn’t leave his side for a minute.”

“It’s important that Drew Collins’s death appear natural.”

“But Childers—”

“Get rid of him, then.”

“W-what?”

“Get rid of Childers! He’s a nobody and nobody will care. Make it look like a robbery. You’re good at that. You said he goes to check on his horse in the evening. Take care of him then. It’ll be dark. You can take his money pouch and gun—whatever he’s carrying of value—and everybody will just assume he was killed by a thief.”

“But—”

“I want it done, Bruce, do you understand?” Simon was breathing heavily. “I want Collins out of the way, and if you have to dispense with Willie Childers to do it, that’s all right with me.”

“But, boss—”

Bruce’s protest came to a halt when Simon’s face flushed darker. Giving up, Bruce said in a rush, “All right, anything you say, boss. It’s as good as done.”

“Don’t disappoint me, Bruce. As you know, I don’t take disappointment well.”

“Right. Don’t worry, boss. It’s as good as done.”

Shaking, Bruce left the inner office and walked to his desk. He sat down hard and swallowed.

He knew he wouldn’t get another chance.

“I brought your supper.” Tricia forced a smile as she carried the tray into Drew’s room. Willie stood up immediately and walked toward her. Taking the heavy tray, he said, “This sure smells fine, ma’am. Drew and
me are going to get fat eating all this good food and sitting around like we are—but we sure appreciate it.”

Tricia was wearing a simple blue dress, but the sight of her had the force of a blow to Drew’s stomach. She approached and reached toward his forehead, but he shook away her hand.

“I don’t have a fever. I’m fine.”

Tricia drew back and Drew cursed silently—but it would have been a mistake to let her touch him. It had been a long day and his impatience with his debility was growing. Dr. Wesley had come to see him that morning. Both he and Tricia had watched as he had gotten out of bed and limped across the room with Willie’s help. No one had to tell him that it would be another few days before he’d be strong enough to walk well on his own—just as no one had to tell him that his resistance to Tricia lessened with each passing day.

He had originally believed that Willie’s presence would cure his malady, but it had not. The truth was, he missed Tricia’s concerned advice, feisty comments, and occasionally angry retorts—but most of all, he missed her. She was young, but she had none of the mindless naiveté of youth. She was beautiful, but she seemed totally unaware of the effect of her beauty. She was inexperienced, but her observations were thought-provoking. They agreed on very little about the war, and she had angered him with several of her comments, but the exchanges had made him realize that there was more to Tricia Shepherd than physical appeal.

As if physical appeal weren’t enough.

Drew looked again at Tricia.

A blue dress.

His angel.

Hardly aware that he was staring, he saw Tricia flush and then stammer, “You both seem to be all right, so I think I’ll be going. I’ll send Polly back for the tray. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She was going.

Damn.

Well, maybe it was better that way.

She had to get out of there!

Tricia walked out into the hallway, then stopped to catch her breath. The truth was that she had been waiting for suppertime so she’d have an excuse to visit her former patient. She had worked in the kitchen of the bordello and had spent some time with Chantalle’s books, but the hours had passed slowly. Strangely enough, Chantalle still seemed to be avoiding any discussion of her future at the house, and Tricia was glad. She needed time . . . space . . . something to—

“Ma’am, can I talk to you?”

Willie stepped unexpectedly out of Drew’s room behind her, and Tricia turned toward him. Seeming embarrassed, he said, “I need to ask a favor of you, ma’am.”

“A favor?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Willie took a breath and said, “Drew is my friend. He’s like a brother to me, but he’s been acting like kind of a bastard—if you can excuse the expression, ma’am.”

“A bas—” Tricia took a step back. “What are you trying to say, Willie?”

“I mean I ain’t never seen Drew act like this before. But then, I ain’t never seen him flat on his back like this either. What I’m trying to say is, he’s been sick, ma’am. He’s anxious to get back on his feet. Doc Wesley says another few days and he’ll be fine enough to mount up and ride off like nothing ever happened. Well . . . almost, anyway.”

“So you’re saying?”

“I’m trying to apologize for him like he’d do for me if he needed to. And I’m asking you to excuse his behavior, because I know he’ll regret it.”

“Of course. I’ve taken care of injured men before and I understand.”

“That’s right . . . in Yankee hospitals.”

“Willie—”

“I know, the war’s over.” Willie smiled his boyish smile as he added, “But if you wouldn’t mind staying with Drew when I go down to doctor my horse again later tonight, I’d appreciate it.”

Panic touched Tricia’s mind and she said, “Couldn’t you tell him ahead of time what you’ll be doing later this evening?”

“Ma’am, I have the feeling Drew’s going to try getting up by himself before the doctor says he can. He’s been saying all day that he’s all right, that he’s well enough to ride out no matter what the doctor says. If he tries it, he might break open that wound again, and we’ll be right back where we started. And the truth is, ma’am, I’m kind of anxious to get him home with me.
I figure that crazy family of mine is just what he needs right now to make him see that life goes on.”

“Willie—”

“I’d consider it a real act of kindness if you’d do it.”

Tricia said softly, “You’re a dear friend to Drew, Willie. Of course I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Willie’s smile broadened. “I’ll see you later, then. And thank you again, ma’am.”

Tricia stood staring at the door that had closed behind Willie for long moments after he had gone back into Drew’s room. She was uncertain of the reason for the tear that strayed down her cheek. Hastily, she wiped it away and returned to her room.

“You did what?”

“I arranged for Tricia to come and stay with you while I go to the stable to doctor my horse.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need anybody to sit with me.”

“Maybe you do and maybe you don’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Willie shook his head. “It means I need to go down and doctor my horse because we’re going to be leaving here in a few days, and he needs to be healthy when we do. It also means that I ain’t as dumb as you think I am.”

Drew did not respond.

“Dammit, man, I’ve seen the looks you’ve been giving that lady, and I’ve seen the way she’s been trying to avoid them. You’ve got something to say to her, and it’s not going to get said with me here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t, huh? Well, then I guess you two won’t have too much to talk about when I go downstairs later tonight.”

“I don’t need to talk to her, Willie.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You need to talk to her, if only to thank her for what she did for you.” Willie frowned. “Doc told me how she practically saved your leg. If it wasn’t for her—”

“All right, I need to thank her.”

“Among other things.”

Drew frowned and said more softly, “You know the situation I’m in. I can’t stay in Galveston. The longer I do, the greater the chances are that the Yankees will realize who I am. I need to get out of here as soon as possible. Whatever I might say to Tricia wouldn’t change the fact that she isn’t the kind of woman who would take kindly to a man who is living on the run.”

“Well, she’ll be here later anyway.”

“Willie—”

“Like I said, I need to go to the stable to doctor my horse. The rest is up to you.” Willie ended the discussion by adding, “Right now I’m hungry and I’m going to eat while the food’s hot.”

Drew remained silent as Willie’s spoon clicked against the dish. His friend was no longer listening.

Simon paced the elegant confines of his home study. He had already called his servants into the room
countless times with countless inane requests so they would remember clearly that he had remained home that evening, just in case they were asked to confirm his whereabouts. He knew that possibility was practically nil, but he was not a man to ignore precaution—most especially since he had sent Bruce on a particularly important mission that night.

Simon glanced out the window at the shadows that stirred in the hot evening breeze. His patience was short. Willie Childers was an obstacle that would soon be removed. Drew
Collins
would be next, and Simon would be free to follow through with his plans for the future. Once he was comfortably ensconced in Houston in a position of greater wealth and prestige than he had ever known in Galveston, he would make sure every one of the Hawks paid the price of their heritage.

But first things first.

Tonight was a necessary step. Bruce was probably in place to follow through on his orders by now.

It wouldn’t be much longer.

Willie smiled to himself as he walked toward the stable. Behind him, Chantalle’s bordello was ablaze with light, but the far backyard where the stable was located was poorly lit.

Willie stumbled on the uneven path and mumbled under his breath. He supposed the stable hands knew the walkway well enough so they didn’t suffer because of the poor lighting, and it probably wasn’t very often they had visitors there. But then, the present situation in the bordello’s spare room was not the norm.

Willie frowned at that thought. He knew Drew well enough to realize that there was more to the relationship between the beauteous Tricia Shepherd and him than he was ready to let on. He also knew that Drew did not form attachments easily. His friend had demonstrated that fact clearly during the time they had spent together during the war. Willie knew most clearly of all that however Drew wanted to handle the situation, he needed time alone with her before they left Galveston. He’d done his best to make sure Drew had that opportunity. He hoped Drew would take advantage of it—

Willie’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound behind him. He turned around.

No one.

Willie paused and searched the shadows for long moments before becoming amused at his own behavior. Sometimes it was hard to forget that the war was over and threats against Confederates had ceased.

Turning back to the dimly lit trail ahead, Willie continued on toward the stables. Thunder would welcome him. The old fella would stand patiently while he tended to his injured hoof. He had no doubt that he would—

That sound again.

Once more, Willie stopped. A sixth sense turned him toward the shifting shadows nearby.

The silence between them was strained to the point of discomfort as Tricia looked at Drew, lying in the satin-covered bed. She said awkwardly, “I suppose Willie is
taking care of your needs and you don’t want anything from me right now.”

Drew looked up at her, but he did not reply. Tricia stammered, “I mean, you seem to be as comfortable as he could make you.”

Drew’s look darkened.

Tricia took a breath and said in a rush, “You seem to be recuperating well. You should be encouraged by Dr. Wesley’s assessment of your condition. He thinks you’ll be able to get back on your feet soon.”

“I’ll be back on my feet sooner than he thinks.”

Tricia took a wary step toward him. “I don’t think that would be wise. Dr. Wesley knows what he’s doing and he says your wound needs more time to heal.”

“More time isn’t what I need.”

Tricia swallowed. Somehow the next logical question stuck in her throat.

Breaking the silence between them, Drew said, “Why aren’t you asking me what I do need?” He paused, his gaze locking with hers as he questioned, “Afraid?”

“I’m not afraid,” Tricia responded with more confidence than she felt. “I know you’ve been ill—very ill—and that I was the first, and occasionally the only face you saw. I know you feel an attachment to me because of it.”

“Right.” He mumbled more softly, “My angel.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re right, I suppose. I do owe you for the time you spent with me those first few nights, even though Dr. Wesley more or less said you’d be wasting your time.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Drew replied unexpectedly, “I figure that’s true, too, especially since you did the same for men who might have put me in this bed in the first place.”

“I don’t think that’s the right way to look at things, either.”