The Circle Eight: Nicholas (18 page)

“Do you know who Fuller is?” Nicholas’s arm was stiff as an oak tree beneath her hand.

“As it happens, I do. Mr. Troxler was active in society circles in Houston. I think I might have met Mr. Fuller when I was a child.” Memories of the man flirted at the edge of her mind. Fortunately Mr. Fuller hadn’t been one of the men her father had offered her to. If she remembered him correctly, he’d been a widower who had lost his wife and never had children of his own. He’d taken it upon himself to help the orphans, which had only intensified during the war with Mexico.

“Do you know where he lives?”

“No, but that will be easy to discover.” She had to focus on what she could do and not what she couldn’t. If she started to think too hard, she might do something stupid. Like snatch her daughter and run like hell.

“Good, then let’s start with him. Maybe Fuller was in it to make money after all.”

Winnie frowned at his suggestion. The man she remembered was kind and grandfatherly, not at all an evildoer like the feed storeowner.

“Or
he is a kind man who Bertha feels she can go to for help.” Winnie didn’t want to believe everyone involved with the orphanage was a bad person.

“I ain’t believing a thing anyone says anymore. Let’s go to your home and get our messages out.
” He helped her onto the horse. “We need help to sort this out Winnie. This is bigger than we thought.”

She could tell by the set of his jaw that asking for help was not something he looked forward to. She didn’t blame him. She had a lot of pride herself and knew the pinch of admitting she needed assistance.

“Then we will send out the battle cry and get help.” She was not without resources. There weren’t many she counted as friends, but she had many acquaintances, some from the lower end of the social scale.

The trip back to the boardinghouse was significantly different than their trip out that morning. Both of them were lost in their thoughts
; the somberness of their predicament weighed heavily.

As soon as they reached home, Winnie set out pen and paper and the two of them wrote missives. Winnie went to Consuela’s house and paid her sons to deliver the notes. The trip to the Circle Eight was the longest and she happily paid more for that mission.

It was nearing suppertime again. Winnie turned down the offer of food from her cook and instead went home, weary of heart and mind. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Nicholas sitting on the stairs again. Memory of their sensual encounter on the very spot the night before.

Tonight, however, he looked at her with a mixture of sadness and sympathy. She was so very weary. He stepped down and picked her
up. Being held by Nicholas Graham was an experience she cherished. The very first time she’d found herself falling in love with him was in that very same position.

He started up the stairs and she thought to protest, but instead, she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would think about all she had experience that day. For now, she had to rest her body and mind.

Their battle had just begun.

Nicholas had taken care of his younger siblings as they grew up. He was no stranger to undressing a woman either. However, what Winnie needed was comfort. The shock of what they’d discovered, combined with her guilt
, had devastated her. Her eyes held a haunted look, one he knew well.

He undressed her as he would have a child, with care and efficiency. Now was not the time to be aroused by her incredible
, lush figure. Her blue eyes followed his every move until he had her safely in a lacy nightdress and tucked into bed.

She looked up at him. “Join me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, Nicky. I need you to hold me. That’s all.” She lifted the corner of the blanket. “I can’t be by myself tonight.”

Another experience he also understood well. Nick shed his clothes and climbed in beside her. She snuggled up against him and to his surprise, he didn’t feel uncomfortable. Instead he felt as though he was home. Perhaps it wasn’t so much where he was as whom he was with.

The only sounds in the room were the gentle exhales of the woman currently attached to him and the thump of her heart against his rib cage. He closed his eyes and
, within moments, sleep tugged at him. Without a shred of reluctance he let it claim him.

He was home.

The knocking
on the door woke him. Nick opened his eyes and was on his feet in a flash. He yanked on his trousers and shirt. As he checked his pistol, Winnie woke.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s making a racket at the front door. Stay here and let me check. With all the shit that went on yesterday, I don’t trust a damn soul except you and my family.” He buttoned his shirt as he went down the stairs. Should have put his boots on but at least he was decent and armed.

He yanked open the front door
to find a boy outside, no older than ten. His olive-toned skin blanched and his eyes widened at the sight of Nick, pistol in hand.

“What do you want?”

“I, uh, where is Miss Winnie?”

“Busy. I’m here
, though.” Nick gestured for the boy to get on with it. “Speak.”

“I have a message for her.” The urchin held up a crumpled paper.

“Fine. I’ll take it.”

The boy hesitated, clearly torn by his loyalty to Winnie. Even the little ones were in love with her.

Nick squatted down until he was eye level with the scamp. “I promise you I am keeping her safe. You can trust me. I won’t let any harm come to Miss Winnie.”

The boy had the audacity to scowl as though he were assessing Nick’s worthiness to protect the beloved
woman. “All right.” He released the paper as though it were a historic document.

Nick got to his feet and patted the boy’s head. “Now get off with you.” He hustled the child out the door and closed it.

Winnie called to him from upstairs. “Who was it?”

He scowled. “Your smallest protector.”

Nick turned to return to bed but before he went two steps, someone pounded on the door again.

“Dammit to hell.” He opened it again only to find an older version of the original little boy. This one eyed him with borderline menace. “What do you want?”

“Miss Winnie!” he shouted into the house.

“Enrico, is that you?” Winnie
responded, followed by a series of thumps from upstairs. “I’ll be right down.”

Nick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The boy clenched his fists as though preparing to fight for Winnie’s honor.

“I haven’t done away with her.” Nick leaned against the doorframe. “I am an invited guest.”

“A boarder? You look mighty suspicious to me.” The young man narrowed his gaze.

“Not a boarder. A guest.” Nick widened his stance, although the bare feet detracted from his ability to be tough with the young’un.

“Hmph. I’ll believe that when Miss Winnie tells me.”

“You related to the little scamp who was just here?” Nick held up the paper. “He gave me the paper that was meant for your Miss Winnie. He trusted me.”

“He’s stupid.” The older boy had a lot of
gumption.

Winnie clambered down the stairs, her hair still
down around her shoulders. Her face shone as though she’d just washed it. She wore a yellow dress the color of a buttercup. The sight of her, still disheveled from spending the night in his arms, made his body clench with need. He wanted to see that every morning, every day every night.

“Enrico, good morning!” She turned her sunshine to the obnoxious boy on her porch.

The little ragamuffin had the gall to smile back at her. “Miss Winnie!”

“Did you get the information I asked you for?” She inspired everyone to do their best.

“Yes, ma’am.” Enrico held out a paper to her.

She didn’t open the paper. “Thank you. And did your cousin leave for the ranch
yesterday?”

Nick stood up straighter.
This topic involved him and his family.

“Yes, ma’am. Borrowed one
Mr. Sylvester’s fastest horses.” Enrico looked quite proud of himself. He might have beat on his chest in triumph when Winnie patted his shoulder.

“
Thank you so much.” She handed him something and he continued adoring her with his gaze. “Please tell your mother I’ll come to your house later if I need any more help.”

After more stomach-turning
foolish glances at Winnie, Enrico left them. Nick resisted the urge to kick the boy’s behind as he walked down the porch steps.

Winnie opened the paper. “This is good news. It’s the information on Fuller we need. And Conklin.”
Her smiling face had turned serious in only moments.

“Good, let’s have some
coffee and read what you got.” He held up the other paper. “We’ve got double the news.”

She took the paper and
headed for the kitchen. He closed the door and followed. Today they would speak to Fuller and perhaps find a way to retrieve Martha from Conklin. He found Winnie in the kitchen with the papers laid out on the table, leaning over them.

Without asking, he set a fire in the stove, pumped water into the coffee pot and tossed in some ground beans. By the time the brew was on t
he stove heating, Winnie had sat at the table, still staring at the papers the boys had brought.

“What do the papers say?”

Winnie glanced up at him. “Fuller is dying. He has a wasting disease like Josie.”

“That can’t be a coincidence.” Nick didn’t believe there was such a thing as fate.

“You can’t think my friends were part of this.” Winnie looked stricken at the thought. “I refuse to believe that.”

“I don’t believe a lick of what anyone says except you or my family. Everyone else isn’t to be trusted.” He
had let Winnie take the lead in finding information about her daughter. Now it was time for Nick to take control back.

“Josie isn’t the type of person to sell children.”

“Her sister sells women’s bodies every day. I don’t think it’s a big leap to think they might want to make money off the babies that result from their first sales.” Nick didn’t want to shock her but he had suspected the sisters were involved.

“No, I won’t believe it. Not Josie and Ruby. They saved my life. You don’t know them like I do.” Her face flushed with anger. “Ma
ny people get a wasting sickness. That doesn’t mean they all know each other.”

The coffee started bubbling behind him. “Then we go see Fuller and see if he knows anything about Josie or Bertha.”

“Fine. When you discover you’re wrong about my friends, I expect an apology.” She pointed at the paper. “Bertha seems to have disappeared, but there is information about Conklin. He has taken in six children over the last fifteen years. Aside from Martha, the rest of them are dead.”

That hit him like a punch.
His brother Benjy had escaped before a fate like these children. Different man, different situation, same innocent children involved. “Six? Damn, he’s worse than we thought.”

“Promise me we won’t leave her there.” Winnie’s chin trembled. “No matter what.”

His annoyance with her defense of her friends disappeared in an instant. He knelt beside her, ignoring the bubbling coffee and his growling belly.

“I promise. I’ve got a gun and a bad attitude. There ain’t nothing I can’t do if I s
et my mind to it.”

She touched his face. “Thank you.” Winnie lea
ned forward and kissed him softly. Her blue eyes held a myriad of emotions. He could hardly take it in and his own self-doubt bit him on the ass.

Nick jumped to his feet. “Let’s get some coffee in our bellies and then get moving. We can see Fuller straight away.”

He ignored the sigh from behind him and took down the cups from the shelf above the sink. He told himself he wasn’t scared. Not a whit.

Mr. Fuller lived in a large house, not as palatial as the Fritz mansion on the hill, but larger than most folks’ homes. He had enjoyed a moderate success, which allowed him to donate money to what he deemed worthy. His favorite was orphans and the Fuller’s Home for Children had stayed open for many years, until Mr. Fuller grew ill and had to cut off his funding to pay for medical care.

Winnie hoped he remembered her. It would make their conversation much easier. Her stomach twisted as she and Nicholas walked up the steps of the house. The house was lovely but paint chipped on the shutters, the stairs were covered with dirt and stains, the bushes were overgrown and the entire building had an air of neglect.

The knocker on the door was missing, in its place a plain steel ring. Mr. Fuller had definitely fallen on hard times. She wanted to feel sorry for him, but held back until she knew of the part he played in selling children.

Nicholas squeezed her arm. “Are you ready for this?”

“Yes, more than I can tell you.”

He nodded with his familiar grim expression and knocked on the door. And waited.
And waited.

“Should we knock again?” Winnie tasted the tang of disappointment.
“What if he’s not here?”

A shuffling came preceded a creaking noise and the large wooden door swung open a few inches. Shadows danced across the person on the other side.

“What do you want?”

Winnie couldn’t tell if the speaker was male or female, twenty or two hundred. She opted to put on her best smile and hope for the best.

“Good morning. My name is Winifred Watson Graham and this is my husband, Nicholas.” She ignored the grunt from the man beside her. “We have come to call on Mr. Fuller.”

A few painful moments passed. “Graham, eh? I heard about the Grahams. Rough lot
of ranchers.”

The stranger sounded female. Winnie stepped closer to Nicholas. “My husband isn’t rough. He is here to escort me as I call on Mr. Fuller. He used to know my father, Mr. Troxler. I understand he’s been ill.”

“Yep, he’s dying so he ain’t wanting no visitor.”

“Then now is the time to pay my respects before he can no longer hear them.” Winnie kept the desperation from her voice but it danced at the edges of her mind.

“I reckon that’s true.” The door opened a little wider. “We hadn’t had visitors for some time. I ain’t got time for more than taking care of the old man.”

Winnie took a deep breath before she stepped into the gloomy interior. The smell of decay, human and otherwise, mixed with the
acrid scents of piss and vomit. She could finally see the woman and struggled to keep her smile in place. The stranger was of indeterminate age still, ancient with wrinkles, stooped in a brown drab dress. She was small, barely reaching Winnie’s shoulder.

“You’d best wait in the sitting room until I talk at him.” The woman hadn’t introduced herself or told them where the room was, yet she turned and disappeared into the gloom.

“Happy place.” Nicholas spoke, breaking the silence.

“I don’t need your cynicism. I need your strength.” She walked to the right and found a locked door, then another. He walked behind her, a quiet but solid presence. She turned around and
tried two other doors, and to her surprise, one opened.

“Hope there aren’t any spiders in there.”

His statement forced a bubble of hysterical laughter up her throat. She slapped her hand across her mouth to stifle it. When she frowned at him for a chance, he shrugged.

The room had been a library but there were many empty spaces on the bookcases. Her instincts told her the books had been sold to pay bills. It was a sad house, a sad room and a sad fate. Perhaps he deserved it, but perhaps he didn’t.

“This house stinks.” Nicholas peered at the books that were left. “Rome’s greatest conquerors? Sounds boring, no wonder he didn’t sell it. Nobody would’ve bought it.”

Winnie agreed with him but she wasn’t about to tell him. He w
ould continue with his nonsense and she needed to keep her wits about her, not fall into a pile of foolishness.