Prince Charming (32 page)

Taylor smiled. “Oh, yes, he was almost as taken as I was by all the stories about the wild, savage land. We used to argue about living there. I told him I would someday, and he said he didn't know if I had enough gumption.”

“And that is why he built the soddie?”

“Yes. We had both read that settlers often lived in mud soddies, and so he had his servants build one for me. They put it right on his front lawn. He directed his staff. I didn't think he would really insist I live in the thing, but he did,” she added with a laugh. “And so I moved in and stayed almost a full month. It was horrible at first. Every time it rained, mud would lop down from the—”

Victoria interrupted her. “Do you mean to say the ceiling was made of mud?”

Taylor nodded. “The entire roof was fashioned out of sod. The floor was dirt too, unless it rained. Then it turned to mud. I had. a single window without any covering. Anything could fly inside.”

“It sounds dreadful,” Victoria replied. “Will we have to live in a soddie do you suppose?”

“Not if I can help it,” Taylor promised. “But if we have to for a little while, then we will. I learned how to make a soddie into a home. Now that I reflect upon it, I learned quite a lot. After a while, it wasn't completely horrible. By late June, the roof had turned into a garden of lovely pink and purple and red flowers in full bloom. They spilled down over the sides like vines of ivy. From the distance, the soddie was breathtakingly beautiful. Inside, however, was a bit like living in a flowerpot.”

“I do hope we'll have wooden floors and a real roof someday. I won't complain if we have to live in a flowerpot though. I promise I won't say a word.”

“You won't have to,” Taylor replied. “I'll do enough complaining for the both of us.”

The two friends continued to formulate their plans for several more minutes. Then they went back to their rooms. Victoria was eager to start her list. Taylor wanted to write a letter to Mr. Sherman, outlining her instructions. Everything had to be settled before she left for the wilderness. She labored over her letter a good long while, and when she was satisfied with the content, she affixed her signature, and then reached for a second sheet of paper. She knew she needed to be as clear and concise as possible. The document would have to stand up in a court of law, she reasoned, and it therefore had to be completely understandable. There couldn't be any nebulous requests or explanations.

Taylor let out a sigh. She didn't relish this task. She found herself imagining she was attending a fancy ball in London and almost burst into laughter. What a different direction her life had taken. She sighed again, then got down to the business at hand and put her daydream and her past behind her. She picked up her pen, dipped it into the ink well, and began to write her last will and testament.

—William Shakespeare,
Cymbeline

 

 

 

 

L
ucas fell asleep waiting for Taylor. He thought about walking down to Victoria's room and dragging his wife back to their bed, then changed his mind. She knew what time it was, and if she wanted to stay up half the night talking to her friend, he shouldn't mind.

He did mind though. Taylor needed her rest, and he wanted her to sleep next to him. He liked the way she cuddled up beside him. He liked holding her in his arms and falling asleep inhaling her sweet fragrance. Yet there was more to his need to have her close than the mere physical comfort she offered. When he was sleeping, he was vulnerable. In the past his nights had been as predictable as thunder following lightning. The same nightmare would grab hold of him and squeeze until he felt as though he was being ripped apart. He would wake up with the shout trapped in his throat and his heart feeling as though it were going to explode.

The nightmare never varied. Each night was the same as the night before. Until Taylor, he qualified. Lucas didn't know how it had happened, but she had become his personal shaman. His dreams didn't have any demons sneaking into them when she slept close to him. If he were a foolish, fanciful man, he'd believe her goodness and her purity of soul kept the nightmares at bay.

He shook his head then, trying without much success to push his thoughts aside. Only a fool would let a woman hold such power over him. If he didn't start guarding against her, she'd have him believing he would have it all. He might even start thinking he could be like other men and grow old with a family surrounding him, wanting him, loving him.

Lucas was a realist. He knew better than to embrace such hopeless thoughts. He let out a weary sigh. Maybe Hunter was right after all. Perhaps there had been a reason why he'd been spared. His friend was the only one Lucas had ever confided in after the war. Hunter knew all about the murders of the men in his unit. The other soldiers had all had families waiting for them to come home. Lucas hadn't had anyone waiting for him. Of all the men, he was the most unworthy. He'd been born a bastard and lived like one for most of his life. He shouldn't have survived.

And yet he'd been the only one spared. Hunter insisted there was a reason and that time, and God, would eventually let him know what it was. Time Lucas understood. But God, well, he wasn't so certain about that notion. He believed in His existence, but he couldn't even begin to understand His reasoning. And in a corner of his mind, he still harbored his childhood belief that God had forgotten all about him.

If his own mother couldn't love him, how could God?

Lucas refused to think about the matter any longer. The past was the past. It couldn't be undone. And just where in thunder was Taylor? It was after midnight now. She needed her sleep, he thought again, and he wanted her rested in the morning. And that, he told himself, was the only reason he was worrying about her. The two of them were in dire need of a long discussion about their future. They needed to make plans. He couldn't just leave her alone in Boston, for God's sake, without knowing what was going to happen to her. She told him she had relatives living here. Where the hell were they? Why hadn't they met her at the dock? One question piled up on top of another. Lucas decided he was going to insist upon meeting these relatives. He was going to make certain Taylor would be safe with them before he left her in their company.

He needed to leave Boston soon. The walls of the city felt as though they were pressing down on him. The longer he stayed with Taylor, the more difficult it would be to walk away from her. God, she was making him crazy. She put thoughts into his mind he knew were impossible. Dreams, he thought. Impossible dreams.

Lucas drifted off to sleep thinking about his wife. He'd taken his shoes off, his jacket as well, and had fallen asleep on top of the covers.

He was wide awake the second the key was slipped into the lock of the door, but he kept his eyes closed. A few seconds later, the door was slammed shut. He frowned in reaction. Taylor wasn't being considerate, and that, he realized, wasn't at all like her.

Something was wrong. He sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side just as she came tearing around the corner of the alcove. One look at her face told him something godawful had happened. She looked frantic. Since she'd spent the evening with Victoria, he assumed something had happened to her friend.

Taylor didn't give him time to ask questions. “Do you have your gun with you?”

He couldn't hide his surprise over the bizarre question. “Yes. Why?”

“You have to go back with me. Hurry, Lucas. Put your shoes on and get your guns. I've got one in my valise. Thank God I didn't pack it in one of my trunks.”

She turned and ran to her wardrobe. She found the weapon at the bottom of the case. The small box of ammunition was on top of the gun. Taylor stood up, but she was so rattled, she dropped both her valise and her gun. She picked the weapon up first, shoved it into the pocket of her coat, then reached for the box of ammunition. She dropped that, too. Bullets went flying everywhere. Taylor knelt down again, swept a handful up, and put those into her other pocket. She left the rest of the bullets and the overturned valise on the carpet.

Lucas stood next to the alcove watching her. She was muttering something, but he couldn't make out all the words. Something about vermin . . .

“Taylor, what is going on?”

“Put your shoes on,” she ordered once again. “You have to hurry.”

He wasn't going anywhere until she started explaining. She was obviously beside herself with fear. He needed to calm her down and find out what had caused her panic. If someone had hurt her, he wouldn't need his guns anyway. He'd kill the bastard with his bare hands.

He walked forward, intent on catching her in his arms and demanding some answers. She evaded his grasp, however, and went running across the room. She was determined to get him to do what she'd ordered.

She spotted his jacket on the foot of the bed, swept it up in her hands, and threw it at him. “Don't just stand there. For God's sake, get your guns. You might need two. He'll tell you where he's hidden them. You'll make him tell you. We can't let him get away. I'll never find them.”

Her words were tripping over each other. Lucas had never seen her behave like this. She acted as though she'd lost her mind. The look in her eyes showed her terror. She was sobbing now and pulling at his arm, whimpering one word, screaming the next, demanding and begging at the same time.

She knelt down and tried to put his shoes on him. He grabbed hold of her and pulled her up.

“Try to calm down, Taylor,” he ordered. “Who won't you be able to find?”

He kept his voice soft, soothing. She shouted her answer. “My babies. He's hidden my babies. Please, Lucas. Help me. I'll do anything if only you'll help me.”

He put his arms around her and held her close. “Listen to me. I'm going to help you. All right? Now calm down. You aren't making any sense.” He couldn't quite contain his exasperation when he added, “You don't have any children.”

“Yes, yes, I do,” she cried out. “I have two babies. He's taken them away. My sister . . . she's dead now and I'm, oh, God, please trust me. I'll tell you everything once we're on our way. I know he's going to run away. We can't take the chance.”

She was tearing at his shirt while she pleaded with him. He finally caught her urgency. He didn't waste any more time trying to get the straight story out of her. He collected his weapons, checked each to make certain the chambers were fully loaded, then strapped the gunbelt around his waist. He knew his jacket wouldn't cover the guns, and so he went to his wardrobe and put on his black rain duster. The length of the coat, well below his knees, would conceal his weapons from anyone watching as they passed through the lobby of the hotel.

Taylor ran after him carrying his shoes. He put them on at the door, then took hold of her hand and started down the corridor.

“You better start making sense once we're on our way, Taylor.”

He sounded as menacing as he looked. The somber black coat echoed his mood. The collar was up around the lower part of his face.

He suddenly looked very much like a gunfighter. Taylor began to have a glimmer of hope. The coldness in his eyes and the mean expression on his face comforted her.

And all because he was on her side. She needed cold and mean now. Lucas, willingly or not, had just become her avenger.

“Please walk faster,” she begged.

She was already running to keep up with him. She was still too terrified to realize what she was saying. She was so shaken, she didn't even realize she was crying until he told her to stop it.

He didn't say another word until they were outside the hotel. Taylor gave the address to the cabbie waiting at the entrance.

“Fort Hill? I ain't taking no fare to that part of town,” the driver announced. “Too dangerous,” he added with a nervous nod toward Lucas.

The muscle in her husband's jaw flinched when the driver denied the request a second time. Taylor promised to triple the fare, but it was Lucas who finally gained the driver's cooperation. He reached up, grabbed hold of the man's jacket, and almost tore him off his perch.

“You drive or I will. Either way we'll all be leaving in ten seconds flat. Taylor, get inside.”

The driver was quick to recognize his tenuous position. “I'll take you,” he stammered out. “But once I get you there, I ain't waiting around.”

Lucas didn't debate the point. He didn't waste any more time on the man. He got inside and took his seat across from his wife.

Taylor had her gun out. It was a Colt, he noticed, and as shining and unblemished as a new one in a showcase. He concluded she'd only just purchased the weapon.