Prince Charming (34 page)

Taylor hadn't realized how worried she was about his safety until she saw he looked quite all right.

“Thank you, God,” she whispered.

She heard the driver let out a loud groan. The man sounded ill to her. “We'll be leaving in just a moment, my good man,” she called out. She didn't turn around to look up at the driver when she gave her promise. Her attention was fully directed on her husband. She was trying to discern from his expression if he had good or bad news.

He wasn't giving her any hints. He'd just reached the roadway when a figure suddenly appeared in the doorway of Westley's house. It was a man, and when he shifted his bulk into the light, Taylor could see Henry Westley quite clearly. Lucas had obviously punched the man in his nose, for blood trickled down from the injury and covered his mouth and his chin. She watched as he wiped the blood away with the back of his left hand. His right hand was behind his back. He was staring at Lucas, a look of hatred on his face, and when he raised his right hand, she spotted the gun. What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion, yet only a second or two passed before it was over. Westley brought the gun up and took aim. His target was Lucas, his intent unquestionable. He was going to shoot him in his back.

There wasn't even time to shout a warning. Taylor took aim just as Lucas suddenly whirled around. He fired a scant second before she did. Taylor's bullet struck Westley in his left shoulder. Lucas was more accurate. He shot the gun right out of his hand.

The gunshots shook the driver out of his stupor. He straightened in his seat, grabbed hold of the reins, and was just about to slap the horses into a full gallop when Lucas reached the carriage. He swung the door wide, literally tossed Taylor inside, then followed her. The door closed on its own when the vehicle rounded the corner on two wheels.

Taylor straightened in her seat across from her husband. She was so rattled she didn't even realize she was still holding her gun in her hand. She was pointing the weapon at her husband. He reached over and took the gun away from her before the vehicle hit a bump and she accidentally made a eunuch out of him. Taylor watched him without saying a word. He put the gun in his pocket, then leaned back against the cushion and let out a long, weary sigh.

“How did you know?”

She'd whispered her question. “Know what?” he asked in a much louder tone of voice.

“That Westley was going to shoot you,” she explained. “I didn't even have time to call a warning . . . but you knew he was there. Was it instinct? Did you feel him behind you?”

He shook his head. “You warned me.”

“How?”

“I was watching you. Your expression told me all I needed to know,” he answered. “And when you raised your hand—”

She didn't let him finish. “You shot him before I did.”

“Yes.”

“I should have killed him.”

“You could have, but you didn't. It's simple, Taylor. You chose not to.”

“As did you,” she replied.

“Yes,” he answered. “But for an altogether different reason.” He went on to explain before she could question him. “You didn't kill him because of morals I suppose and I let him live because I didn't want to get involved with the authorities. Killing him would have made things complicated. Boston is different from the mountains.”

“How?” she asked.

“You don't have to answer to anyone in Montana. It's still . . . uncomplicated.”

“You mean lawless.”

He shook his head. “No, not lawless. But the law's different out there. Most of the time it's honest. Sometimes it isn't.”

Lucas was stalling because he didn't know how to tell her what he'd just learned. It was going to break her heart, and he couldn't think of a way to ease the torment he was going to cause.

“I hate the smell,” she blurted.

“What smell?”

“Guns. I hate the smell after you've fired. It stays on your hands and your clothes for hours. Soap doesn't get rid of it. I hate it.”

He shrugged. “I never noticed it,” he admitted.

Taylor took a deep breath. Her voice was strained when she whispered, “Did you find out anything?”

“Yes,” he answered. He leaned forward and took hold of her hands. “The woman taking care of the children . . .”

“Mrs. Bartlesmith?”

He nodded. “She's dead,” he told her then. “But it wasn't cholera. According to Westley's wife, the woman keeled over and was dead before she hit the floor. She had a history of heart problems.”

“What about the babies?”

“Westley admitted they cleared the house of all valuables and sold off everything. They also took the little girls home with them.”

“I see,” she whispered. She gripped Lucas's hands.

Lucas couldn't stand to witness her pain. “Listen to me, Taylor. We're going to find them. Do you understand what I'm saying? We will find them.”

“Oh, God,” she said. She could tell he hadn't told her everything and she was suddenly too frightened to ask.

“They aren't with the Westleys any longer.”

“Are they still alive?”

“Yes.” His voice was emphatic. She took heart.

“Then where are they? What have they done with my babies?”

Lucas let go of her hands and pulled her into his arms. He settled her on his lap and held her close. He wasn't simply offering her comfort. Honest to God, he didn't want to see her expression when he told her what the bastards had done.

“We're going to find them,” he promised once again.

“Tell me, Lucas. Where are the babies? What did they do to them?”

He couldn't soften the truth.

“They sold them.”

—William Shakespeare,
Richard III

 

 

 

 

S
he didn't get hysterical. For a long while she didn't say a word. In truth, she was too stunned to show any reaction to the news. Then anger such as she had never felt before took control. It invaded her mind, her heart, her very soul. She became rigid with her fury. She wanted to kill Henry and Pearl Westley, and in those horrible moments of desolation and whitehot rage, she thought she might be capable of cold, premeditated murder. She would rid the world of such vile, contemptible animals and send them to the fires of hell where they belonged.

Reason finally prevailed. The devil would certainly thank her for the gift of two more souls, but then he would also own her soul as well. Murder was a mortal sin. Dear God, she wished she didn't have a conscience. She wanted to make the Westleys suffer the way she was suffering, but in her heart she knew she couldn't become both judge and jury and kill them.

Taylor wanted to lean against her husband's chest, wrap her arms around his neck, and demand his comfort. She suddenly longed to be dependent upon his strength but was so appalled by the notion, she immediately pushed herself off his lap and moved to the opposite seat. She adjusted the pleats in her skirts, all the while praying she would be able to find a few threads of her composure.

“I must be strong now. I can weep later.”

She hadn't realized she'd whispered the plea out loud until Lucas agreed with her.

“We'll get them back, Taylor.”

He sounded so certain that she took heart. She said a prayer that the little ones weren't being mistreated.
Keep them safe,
she silently chanted to God.
Please keep them safe.

She suddenly realized Lucas was talking to her and tried to concentrate on what he was saying. Wire his friend? Why? She leaned forward and implored him to start over.

“The little girls were being taken to Cincinnati,” he explained a second time. “There's a buyer there.”
Waiting,
he silently added.

“How long ago?”

“Two days past.”

“Oh, God, they could be anywhere by now.”

He shook his head. “It takes forty hours by train to reach Cincinnati, Taylor. If we're lucky, my friend will meet the train.”

“But if they didn't go by train?”

“Then it's going to take them longer to get there,” he reasoned.

“Yes.”

“As soon as we get back to our hotel, I'll wire Hunter.”

“Is he in Cincinnati?”

“No, but he's close enough.”

“Are you certain you can find him?”

He nodded. “If your nieces aren't on the train, we'll need Hunter more than ever. He's the second-best tracker in the states and the territories combined.”

“Who is the first best?” she asked, thinking she wanted Lucas to hire that gentleman as well. The more experts they had looking, the better their chances were of finding the little ones before anything more happened to them.

“I am.”

She sighed with relief. “While you wire your friend, I'll get the train schedule and have the concierge purchase the tickets for us. We should leave as soon as possible.”

He knew better than to try to talk her into waiting in Boston. Cincinnati could well have been only a stopping-off point and nothing more. There was the real possibility the little girls were already there. Westley said two days ago . . . forty-eight hours. Yes, they could have already reached Cincinnati and be on their way in any number of directions. If they were headed into the hills of Kentucky or the wilderness beyond the Ohio valley, Lucas would insist Taylor stay in Cincinnati and wait there. The city was safer and more civilized. If there was time, he would hire someone to look after her.

“You shouldn't be left on your own.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

“Lucas, I'm going with you. We're going to find them together. I won't slow you down.”

“I haven't argued,” he countered. “You can go with me.”

“Thank you.”

She closed her eyes. She was suddenly racked with tremors. “Why is there such evil in the world?”

He stared at her a long while before answering. “Because there's such goodness.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I don't understand,” she admitted. “Are you saying that if there's one, there must be the other?”

“Seems so,” he replied.

She shook her head. “I'm not seeing any goodness now.”

“I am,” he replied gruffly. “I'm looking at it.”

She didn't understand what he meant. Lucas became uncomfortable with the compliment he'd given her the second the words were out of his mouth. They sat in silence for a long moment.

“What are you going to do about Victoria?” Lucas asked finally.

“I'll go to her room tonight and explain everything to her.”

Neither spoke again for a long while. Lucas was busy plotting his course of action and listing the items he would need for the journey. Taylor was occupied praying for the babies.

“Lucas?”

“Yes?”

“I know this isn't your battle. The babies are my responsibility, not yours. I want you to know how thankful I am to have your assistance.” Before he could respond, she continued. “I'm so sorry this was forced on you. You got more than you bargained for when you married me, didn't you? You should be compensated at the very least, and just as soon as . . .”

He interrupted her. “If you offer to pay me for my services, I'll throttle you.”

She was pleased by his anger. She needed a champion now, and Lucas was proving to be just that.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to be insulting. I'm grateful,” she said again. She could tell from his expression he didn't want to hear about her gratitude, and so she changed the topic. “Children aren't simply property.”

“No, they aren't.”

“Most adults believe they are. Most certainly don't believe children have any rights, but they do have rights, don't they?”

He nodded. “They should have the right to loving, protective parents.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Her mind jumped to another topic then. “Will the Westleys go to the authorities and bring charges against us?”

“What would they charge?”

“Injury,” she answered. “We both shot Henry Westley.”

He scoffed at the notion. “They'd have to do some fancy explaining if they talked to anyone,” he reasoned. “Do you want to call in the authorities?”

“No,” she answered. “It wouldn't do us any good to involve them. Georgie and Allie have already been taken. There would be too much of a delay explaining and filling out forms and . . . unless you think we should, Lucas.”