Susan Amarillas (13 page)

Her words, her truth, hit him like a fence post in the chest. And just as though he’d been struck, he dragged in a lungful of air, then another, letting the words penetrate his mind as the oxygen did his body. “Oh, God, Becky. I didn’t know. I
swear,
I didn’t know.” This time he did close on her, and, taking her shoulders in his hands, he lifted and turned her to face him. She refused to look at him, and that was the worst hurt of all.

She twisted away easily. “How could you not know? Did you think I was in the habit of having sex with every man I knew?”

“Becky, don’t.” His expression was grim. Of all the things he’d expected—accusations, threats, denial—he hadn’t expected this, and he wasn’t quite certain how to deal with it. Was this the reason she pulled away every time he got close?

He cursed himself for every kind of a selfish fool. She had loved him.

You had it all, Scanlin, and you walked away. Now it’s too late.

The hell it was, came the resounding answer. If he’d had her love once, then he would win it again.

With all the tenderness and honesty he possessed, he said, “I was barely twenty. I’d been on my own since I was fourteen. I didn’t know anything about love, about how it was between a man and a woman who cared for each other. All I’d ever known were whores, and—”

“And still do, I see.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice, and his temper overcame his good sense.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Look at me!”

She did, and the hurt and distrust in her eyes was like a living entity. It was enough to make him pull her into his embrace. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry for a great many things,” he said against the top of her head. Her hair was silky on his cheek, and the scent of her rose perfume tantalized his nostrils.

Gently he put her away from him, never releasing his hold completely. She was limp in his arms.

“I was not with another woman today. Not the way you mean. Yes, I was in a saloon. Actually I was in several. Yes, I talked to a woman. I did not,
did not,
make love to her.”

For a full ten seconds, she studied him, and he held her gaze, refusing to look away, wanting her to know, to understand, the truth of his words.

Then, just when he thought perhaps she did, she looked away, and he felt his heart sink. “I believed you once. I can’t, I won’t, risk it again.” She dropped down onto the piano stool, lifted the cover and began to play a sad, melodic tune. He didn’t know its name, but the tone was clear. She was giving up on him. But he damned well wasn’t giving up on her, or them.

“No, you don’t, woman. You’re going to believe me if I have to—”

The hollow thud of bare knuckles on wood caught their attention. Rebecca hurried to the front door, Luke close on her heels.

A young boy, not more than ten, stood there. His face was smudged, his dirty blond hair unkempt. His blue shirt was about two sizes too big, and his brown britches were riding a little high at the ankles.

“Yes?” Luke snarled. He wanted to finish his conversation with Rebecca. “What do you want?”

“I want the lady,” the boy said firmly.

“What lady?”

“That one.” He gestured with fingers that hadn’t seen a washbowl in days.

Ruth joined them. “What’s going on?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Luke returned, exasperated.

The boy pulled a wadded-up piece of paper out of his pocket and offered it to Rebecca.

Her heart stilled, then took on a frantic beat. She knew this was it, this was what she’d been waiting for, praying for, yet she couldn’t seem to take the note.

When she didn’t, Luke did.

One eye on the boy, he scanned the note.

Bring ten thousand dollars at 9 tonight to the alley behind the So Different saloon, or the boy will be killed.

“Who gave you this, boy?” Luke demanded.

“A man down on Broadway. He gave me a silver dollar to fetch it up here to you.”

“And I’ll give you five more if you’ll tell me the man’s name.” Luke fished in his pocket and snapped the greenback temptingly in front of the boy’s face.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Ain’t nobody givin’ names down there, mister.”

“Have you ever seen him before?”

Even as Luke spoke, the boy was shaking his head and inching backward toward the open door. Luke caught him by one small shoulder. “Tell me what the man looked like.”

The boy’s brown eyes widened in fear, and he struggled to twist loose from Luke’s grip. “Let me go, mister. I ain’t done nothin’.”

Luke held firm, but he did drop down on one knee to look the lad in the eye. “Look, a boy, a little younger than you, is in trouble. We’re trying to help him. Do you understand?”

The boy stilled and nodded.

Cautiously Luke released his grip. “Please—tell us what the man looked like.”

“Honest, mister. I’d help you if I could. The man come up to me and says to take the note here and he gives me the dollar.” The boy produced the shiny coin, as if to validate his statement.

“But you must have seen him.”

The boy shoved the coin back in his pocket. “He was tall...like you. I ain’t never seen him before. Honest.” He held up his hand in a pledge. “He was wearin’ a hat and a black coat, kinda fancy-like. I couldn’t see his face, ‘cause it’s dark out, and—” He took an instinctive step backward again.

“Okay.” Luke fished in his pocket and produced a two-fifty gold piece, which he tossed the boy. “If you see the man again, come and tell me, and there’s another one of these for your trouble.”

The boy beamed. “Yes, sir, Mr.—”

“Marshal Scanlin.”

“Marshal Scanlin,” the boy happily repeated before he turned and ran off into the night.

Rebecca turned to Luke. “Is Andrew alive?” Her voice was a tremulous whisper.

“Yes,” he said adamantly. He handed her the note and watched as she read and reread it. She kept staring at the crumpled yellow paper until finally he slipped it from her fingers.

To no one in particular, she said, “They want money, a lot of money, or they are going to...kill Andrew.” Her voice broke. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. She dragged in some air and told herself in no uncertain terms that she was going to get him back.

Then reality hit her. “It’s Saturday night. The banks are closed,” she mumbled. She turned a terrified gaze on Ruth, who was looking as pale as winter snow. Rebecca continued, “I don’t have that kind of cash in the house.” Or anywhere else, she suddenly realized.

“Where am I going to get the money?”

S
he needed money, and she had three hours to get it.

“What about the bank?” Luke prompted.

“The bank is closed.” She paced away toward the bottom of the stairs and back.

“They’d open for you,” Luke suggested. He wished like hell
he
had the money. He didn’t. He had about forty bucks in his pocket, and another fifty in his saddlebags. Hardly a drop in the bucket.

“Open the bank,” she repeated numbly.

“Yes. Of course. I mean, they do that kind of thing for—” for rich people, he meant to say, but couldn’t.

“There isn’t that much cash.” She turned to him, her eyes wide as a frightened doe’s. “Everything is tied up in stocks, bonds, annuities, mortgages. Why would they wait until the banks were closed, until I didn’t have a chance to borrow—” Her expression lit up. “Borrow,” she repeated. “Yes, that’s it!” Grabbing her coat, she charged for the door.

Luke was so startled, it took him a couple of seconds to react. When he did, he snatched his hat and jacket from the mirrored hall tree and raced after her. “Where are you going?” he demanded, keeping pace with her as she went to the stable.

She ignored him, ordering the stable boy to hitch the buggy.

Luke circled around in front of her. “Where are you going?”

“Edward.” She paced back and forth like a caged tigress, straw crunching under her shoes and clinging to her hem. “Edward can give me the money.” Then, to the stable boy, she said, “Hurry, John. Hurry.”

“You mean that pompous—” He ground his jaw shut to keep from finishing the statement. She was in trouble, and now was not the time to evaluate her...friend. It stuck in his gut like a lump of dried mush, this helpless feeling. Needing to keep busy, he helped the stable boy finish the hitching.

As he snapped the last ring, she was already climbing up onto the black leather seat.

“I’m coming with you,” Luke said in a no-nonsense tone, and swung up beside her as the stable boy ran and opened the double doors.

She gave him the briefest of looks, as though to say, “Are you sure?” or “Thanks”—he wasn’t certain which. He only knew that there was no way in hell he was letting her go alone.

With a sharp snap, he slapped the leather reins on the horse’s rump, and they lurched out of the stable.

“Which way?” he shouted as they cleared the gate.

“Left!” She grabbed the edge of the seat as they made the turn at breakneck speed. The horse’s hooves beat a tattoo on the pavement as they careened through residential neighborhoods. Rebecca shouted directions at every turn, praying that Edward was at home and not out at some meeting or social fund-raiser for his upcoming campaign.

They turned on Jackson, then Leavenworth, the oak trees whizzing past like silent sentinels. The only light was from the moon and the lights that shone in the windows of houses.

“There!” She pointed. “The pale blue one near the corner!”

Luke reined up sharply, the horse skidding so hard he nearly sat down in the harness.

She was out of the buggy and up the sidewalk before he could help her.

Luke stayed in the buggy. He might have driven her here, but he didn’t have to watch. He hated that she had to do this, hated it even more that she was going to another man for help.

Rebecca pounded on the door, her heart in frantic rhythm with her urgent knocking.

“Edward! Come on. Come on.” She shifted from one foot to the other, the wood planks creaking and giving with each motion. Why didn’t they answer the door? This was taking too long, and—

The door swung open. She pushed past a uniformed butler with gray hair and a gaping expression. “Ma’am?”

“Edward,” she demanded, already handing the butler her coat. “Mr. Pollard. Where is he?”

“Ma’am, I—”

Edward stepped out of the dining room, a dinner napkin in his hand. His white shirt was in stark contrast to his midnight blue suit. “Rebecca, what a pleasant surprise!” He dabbed at his mouth. “Won’t you join me for—”

“Edward, thank goodness you’re home!” Heart pounding in her chest, she rushed toward him. Her hair came down from her pins, and she blew it back. “You’ve got to help me.” Her tone was desperate.

“Certainly.” His fine blond brows drew down in concern. “Rebecca. What’s happened?”

She allowed him to wrap her in the curve of his arm and escort her into the parlor. She could feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric of her blouse. Oddly, his touch was not comforting, and she stepped free and circled around a burgundy settee.

The room was dungeon-dark, paneled as it was in walnut. Not at all to her taste. The furniture was equally dark, burgundy brocade. Matching crystal gas lamps on either side of the mantel provided the only illumination. The drapes were open, as were the French doors.

Night air and the first traces of fog wafted into the room, like mist in a graveyard. She snatched back the direction of her thoughts.

“Edward, please. I need money. A great deal of money. I need it now!”

“Is it Andrew?”

“Oh, Edward...” Gut-wrenching fear consumed her until she thought she would surely collapse from the pain. “I’ve received a ransom note.”

“Oh, no.” He sank down on the settee.

“They want ten thousand dollars.
Tonight.
”

He visibly stilled. “Do you have that much cash?”

“No.” She paced to the double doors. The camel-back mantel clock tick-tocked, losing pace with her increasing urgency, and she turned back to Edward.

“You know I’ll help you any way I can.” He stood and went purposefully to his desk. “I have some cash here, and I could write a check—” As he produced the dark blue checkbook, he looked up in sudden realization. “That won’t help, will it?”

“No.” She shook her head again. “They want
cash,
or they are going to kill Andrew.” She clenched and unclenched her fists until her hands ached. “Please, Edward. You’ve got to go to the bank and get the money.”

Their gazes met, but then he looked away. Eyes downcast, he lowered himself into his chair. “You know I’d do anything for you, but—”

She raced to the desk. “It’s a loan, Edward. You know I’m good for it.”

“Rebecca...” he began already shaking his head. “That’s a great deal of money. The bank is closed until Monday.”

“Yes, I know that,” she snapped, impatiently wondering if he was being deliberately dense. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. You are a vice president of the bank. Surely you can—”

“But that’s just it. I don’t own it. The board of directors would have to make such a decision, and they’re...well...” Frowning he absently fingered some papers there. “I don’t know if they can be reached.” Even in this dim light, he refused to meet her eyes. “I know Mr. Wilson left town yesterday for his daughter’s wedding in Los Angeles, and I think Mr. Rubens was planning to accompany him. Without them...” He made a helpless gesture.

“Edward, please.” She braced her hands on opposite sides of the desk. “This is my son.”

“I know. I know.” He reached in his desk and produced a small metal box, flipping open the lid to reveal cash. “I’ll give you all that I have on hand—about eight hundred dollars.”

“Not enough.” She slammed her hand on the smooth walnut surface of his desk for emphasis.

“I’d help you if I could, you know that. I mean—”

“I’ve got to have that money!” she raged.

“Isn’t there some other way? Something you could sell, perhaps?”

“Sell? What would I sell at this time of night? My house? My jewels? My— Of course!” She turned on her heel and rushed from the room. Snatching her coat from the hall tree, she didn’t bother to put it on as she practically ran up the walk toward Luke.

It struck her then that she was somehow glad he was there waiting for her, strong and tall and steady. It felt reassuring to see him there.

Luke saw her bolt out of the house and tear down the steps. Moonlight filtered through the oak trees, casting the ground in moving shadows, and he strained to see her expression. That damned bastard had better have given her the money, or else he—

One close look at her face, and he knew the answer.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

“Edward can’t give me the money without the board of directors’ approval, and they’re unavailable.” She struggled into her coat and shoved her disheveled hair back from her face.

“Why, that son of a bitch...” He started toward the house. He’d get that money for her, one way or another. “I’ll tell him about approval,” he snarled. She stopped him with a touch.

“No, Luke, there isn’t time.”

He helped her into the buggy. He’d remember this night and that bastard, and sooner or later their paths would cross again.

He swung up on the buggy seat. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll figure out something. Hell, just say the word and I’ll rob that damned bank for you.”

“This is no time for jokes. I—”

“I’m not joking. I’ve never been more serious. You need money, and I’ll get it for you.” His expression was as hard as granite. “Whatever it takes to get the boy back.”

“I believe you’re serious,” she said into the sudden quiet.

“Damn straight. Hell, I’m half outlaw anyway. Gotta be, in my line of work.”

She believed him. Believed he’d rob a bank for her if she asked him. Not because she asked him, because he was determined to help her and Andrew, with no thought for himself.

In that instant, everything changed. Fears faded and were replaced with a new emotion, familiar yet vague. But there was no time to examine it more closely now.

She touched him on the arm, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard tendons of the work-toughened muscles beneath. “Thank you for your offer,” she said softly, sincerely. “It’s not necessary. Just get me home.”

“All right.” Luke slammed back into the seat, slapped the reins hard on the horse’s rump, and they took off. The wheels made a high-pitched whine that was the melody to the pounding staccato of the horse’s hooves as they retraced their path.

All the while, the clock was running out. “Okay, how about this?” he said, making the turn onto Pine Street. “I’ll go to the meeting place. I’ll pretend to have the money. Then, when they hand over the boy, I’ll—”

“No! I’m not taking any chances. I can get the money.”

“How?”

They pulled into the stable, and Rebecca jumped down the instant the buggy stopped. The horse pawed the straw-covered floor, seeming to sense the tension. “Leave him,” she instructed the stable boy and, hitching up her skirt, she ran full out for the house. Luke followed.

He caught up to her in her office. She was rummaging through papers.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t even look up. Papers scattered like leaves until she found the one she was looking for. She held it high like a trophy. “This.” She waved the paper. “It’s an offer to buy the paper. I’ve had it for several weeks. It’s exactly enough money, and they said the offer was good indefinitely.”

Luke eyed the proposal suspiciously. “How’s that help?”

“Because they offered cash. Some eastern group who want to branch out. See?” She waved the papers under his nose, her finger tapping the pages. “If they want it, they can have it, but they’ve got to give me the money
tonight.
”

She scrawled her name on the document in the required places. “Let’s go.” She breezed past him, and he fell in step behind her.

“Where to?”

“The lawyer’s office.”

Ruth was halfway up the stairs when they started down. “Did you see Edward? Did you—” She turned as Rebecca and Luke charged past.

“No,” Rebecca called over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

“No?” Ruth shouted from her place on the stairs. “What do you mean, no?”

Rebecca stopped long enough to give Ruth the barest details. “Edward can’t help without the board of directors’ approval.”

“What are we going to do? I’ve got some cash upstairs. Maybe they’ll take less, or—”

“I’m selling the paper.” She waved the documents in verification of her statement.

“No, Rebecca, you can’t! That paper is every—”

“It’s nothing if I lose Andrew. We’re on our way to the lawyer’s house. They offered cash, and if he’s got it, then we’re set.”

“And if not?”

Rebecca stood very still. For a full ten seconds, she didn’t speak, didn’t move. Then she said simply, “He must.”

With Luke at her side, they drove out of the yard.

She gave instructions, and Luke followed them. Occasionally he stole a quick glance in her direction. Her delicate face was bathed in moonlight. Her chin was set, rigid, actually, and she kept her eyes focused straight ahead.

He could only begin to imagine what was going on in her mind. Perhaps the realization that she could have her son back in a few hours if, and only if, she could raise the money.

Damn, he wished he could do this for her. He wished he’d found the boy days ago, but it was a big city, and looking for one small boy was like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

It galled him that he was so helpless in this, that he could only drive her around and wait while she begged for help, for money. A fierce protectiveness welled up in him—not that it did much good.

There wasn’t anything he could do except stand by and wait, and waiting was not something he did well. No, Luke Scanlin was not known for his patience, nor was he known for his willingness to forgive and forget. He wouldn’t forget this night, or that bastard, Edward, who wouldn’t help her.

There were only two things that mattered in her life, and now she’d have to sell one to save the other.

This goddamned lawyer better have the money.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up at the lawyer’s home—white clapboard with dark green gingerbread trim.

This time, when she bolted from the buggy, Luke jumped down and went along. This time, they were getting the money. There’d be no taking advantage of her—not now. It was the least he could do.

Ten long steps up the front walk to the wooden porch. A hideous little gargoyle stood guard outside the door. Luke knocked on the door. He could see lights on through the stained-glass panels.