Tall, Dark, and Determined (42 page)

Every bit of information he'd uncovered pointed to Lacey Lyman as the mastermind behind the mine collapse. But that didn't mean Chase couldn't hope his suspicions were wrong.

That he even entertained the thought proved she was dangerous.

And intuitive enough not to engage him in conversation while his well-founded suspicions raged against his foolish hopes. They didn't speak even as he pushed the ashes aside and allowed her to drop two clay-covered partridges into each pit. In silence he prodded ashes over the birds to cook all through.

“Hello!” The rest of their party, toting an assortment of canteens, boxes, and baskets cleared the woods and moved into the meadow. They obviously had no trouble following the rope markers he looped around easily spotted branches along the way.

Immediately Williams broke away from the pack and hastened to Miss Lyman's side. He glared at Chase in accusation even as he hovered at her side. “Are you hurt? Did you fall on the way?”

“What makes you—oh!” She looked down at her hands, streaked with red-brown clay. “No, I'm fine. It's from our cooking.”

“Here.” He offered her a bandanna and his canteen to wash up. If anything, he looked disappointed at the news that she hadn't fallen. Or maybe Williams took exception to her use of “our,” allying herself with Chase. Either way, the man's hackles rose high enough he could've jousted with porcupine quills.

For some reason this cheered Chase considerably. Instead of examining it too closely though, he turned to the rest. Lawson, the only man not carrying a parcel, supported his ungainly sister and trailed behind the rest. The glower he aimed at Williams should've left a hole in the back of his shirt.

It was the first time Chase would've sided with Williams in a fight. Williams might be a bully, but he'd won his way to the picnic fair and square. Lawson egged his sister into a clearly ill-advised trip just to sneak his way in. He not only lacked the honor to play by the rules and accept his defeat, but he also was willing to put Mrs. Nash's health in danger to get near Lacey.

Miss Lyman
. Chase shook his head to clear the unwanted familiarity. Obviously, keeping company around riffraff like this made it easier to forget his own boundaries with her.

Aside from Williams stalking after Lacey Lyman's every move and Lawson resentfully tracking his rival's progress, everyone seemed in high spirits. When they began unpacking Miss Thompson's additions to the celebration, Chase understood why.

One box cradled plates, mugs, and cutlery. Out of another came jars of water and cool, sweetened tea. An entire basket overflowed with dozens of cornbread squares. Another basket boasted crocks of butter and jars of jam. Two dutch ovens, immediately tucked in the fire pits to stay warm, held fried parsnip balls. And the last basket, well bundled and tucked in the coolest shade well away from the fires, guarded a custard.

“It all looks wonderful!” Mrs. Nash exclaimed from where she'd been seated in the thick of things by her brother. The brother, of course, joined Williams in hovering by Miss Lyman.

“Quite a sight,” agreed Draxley as he sank down next to her. His mustache twitched even more speedily than usual as he tried to situate himself atop the log without falling back.

“An unparalleled view.” Lawson offered her a slight bow.

The sycophant bows to her in the middle of the mountains. At a picnic. While she wears a smudge of clay on one cheek
.

Actually, Chase liked that smudge. She looked even better slightly mussed. But the bowing … Chase held back a snort.

Williams showed no such compunction. He lumbered forward, inserting himself between the other two. “Don't grovel, Lawson.”

“Back up a wee bit and let Miss Lyman breathe, Williams.” Riordan sauntered over. His sheer size, along with his status in town, worked in his favor. The massive Irishman loomed over the shorter, balding man for mere minutes before Williams conceded.

“Where's your food, Dunstan?” Clump peered around as though expecting it to magically appear on the ground before him.

“Almost ready.” Chase crouched between the first two fire pits, using a well-curved branch to push the clay pods out of the heat. “I'll pass it out when everything else is served.”

Grumbles of disbelief and curiosity followed him as he freed the partridges and corralled them in one area. Soon that spot was littered with thirteen clay pods—but Chase counted only eleven people present at the picnic. They were one short.

One of the birds was earmarked for the supposed Braden Lyman, but where was his doctor? Chase wouldn't be able to gather any information from a man who didn't bother to show up. “Where's the doctor?” he asked of Miss Thompson while she finished dotting butter and dishing up the fried parsnip balls.

“He doesn't enjoy the outdoors,” the younger Miss Thompson answered. “We asked him to come, but he chose to stay behind.”

No checking the mines, no interrogating the doctor …
The afternoon was swiftly looking to be a great waste of time. The only man who might make the day worthwhile sat next to Mrs. Nash, looking supremely uncomfortable and unforthcoming.

“A shame. I'd think that a doctor would be more in favor of exercise.” Inspiration struck. “Maybe we can all go for a walk after lunch, explore the area closer to the mines. It makes for interesting hiking, now that the ground has settled again.”

“Absolutely not!” The forceful protest came from Draxley, who looked as surprised at himself as everyone else was. Mustache twitching and glasses slipping, he stuttered, “I mean, that is to say, it's dangerous that way. Dips and ridges and who knows what all. Mrs. Nash shouldn't take such risks.” He gave her a look both anxious and adoring. “We must stay safe.”

“Makes no never mind to me.” Clump sat down like a bag of bricks between Miss Thompson and Miss Higgins. “We can walk around it, over it, or in the other direction. So long as we talk about it after we eat all this good-smelling food!”

And that quickly, Chase lost the chance to do any investigating. He couldn't slip away and leave Miss Lyman the veritable prize in a tug-of-war between Lawson and Williams. But why didn't she protest poking around the collapsed mines? Did she simply not get a chance when Draxley voiced his anxiety?

Now that the partridges had cooled, Chase vented his frustration on the first one. He brought the heavy branch down with precise force, watching with satisfaction as the clay cracked open to reveal a feather-lined cook pod. The tasty white meat of the bird lay pristine and steaming atop its broken bed.

He pulled away the top half and handed the first bird, still dished in the other half of the pod, to Miss Thompson. Usually she cooked and served everyone else, so Chase thought it a fitting tribute to the chef of eggs in overcoats and clangers.

“I've never seen the like!” she exclaimed then promptly began firing a barrage of questions at him about how he did it.

“Ask Miss Lyman—she helped hunt the birds and then cook them.” Chase gave her the opportunity to extract herself from the competitive conversation of the men bracketing her, and Miss Lyman hopped up in an instant to join her friend.

She cast him a grateful look, which Chase couldn't stop thinking about.
If I'm right and she wants a husband so desperately, why would she jump at the chance to avoid suitors?

It made no sense.
But then again
… Chase eyed the woman as she pointedly ignored the men trying to win her attention.
Nothing about her makes much sense
.

    THIRTY-FIVE    

I
t's almost over
. After three weeks of travel and an expedited hearing, Jake couldn't wait to go back to Hope Falls.

He stood beside his mother and father, watching as the officials took Twyler back to the jail. After everything it had taken to get to this point, Jake expected to feel more of a sense of triumph. His brother's murderer didn't escape justice. Edward would no longer be remembered as a gambling cheat, and his parents had begun to openly mourn for their firstborn.

“Justice is finally served.” His father sounded satisfied.

Finally?
It still angered Jake to think that they'd ignored the notice of Edward's death, refusing to announce his passing so long as the story reflected poorly on the family. They'd gone on as though he'd never died—as though he'd never lived.
There should be some sort of punishment for parents who view their children as extensions of their reputation and nothing more
.

But the Grangers did everything in their power to suppress any mention of scandalous events, trying to hide Edward's “dishonorable death” after being told he'd pulled a gun over a cardgame. Jake's father went so far as to pay Twyler hush money in an attempt to keep the story from spreading.

I could have tracked him down sooner if he'd not had the money and head start to run
. Jake still hadn't spoken to his father about this, too conflicted to broach the subject. If he'd found Twyler early on, he wouldn't have found his Evie. Besides, his father finally put good use to his riches by greasing the wheels and pushing the trial through the system. It landed before the judge far sooner than Jake ever would have expected.

“He won't hurt anyone again,” Jake agreed. In fact, after hearing about the murder and the kidnapping afterward, the judge—whom Jake made sure his father didn't go anywhere near—didn't hesitate in his ruling. Twyler's established history of continuing crime made him an ongoing threat, and placing him in a prison wouldn't provide adequate protection to society.

When the prison wagon drove out of sight, Jake turned to his parents. “It's finished now. Everyone knows Edward was a good man.”
Instead of thinking he'd run off with some of Father's money to fund a new life out West, as you let them believe
. He didn't speak the accusation—the time for blame had ended. The way his parents handled things would always spark some anger, but forgiveness wasn't a feeling.
It's a choice
.

“I don't know if I can watch,” his mother fretted as they headed back home. “There's no time to consider it either.”

“We're going.” His newly vengeful father didn't share her reservations. “The wretch killed our Edward. We'll see this through until Twyler no longer twitches on the end of his rope.”

“But to go into the prison …” His mother grew pale. “Even staying in the portion with no prisoners … it's so tawdry!”

“They don't do public hangings anymore,” Jake reminded her. “It's a good thing. The sight of them didn't instill fear, it drove people into a frenzy and inspired even more violence.”

“Hanging in the prison yard sends a message to the criminals held there without exposing the sight to more delicate sensibilities.” His father opened the door. “I know it will be difficult tomorrow morning, my dear, but we must go.”

“I'm going tonight.” Jake made the decision that moment.

“It's not until the morning.” They looked confused.

“I mean I'm going back to Hope Falls,” he clarified. He'd hunted Twyler down—literally shot the man to bring him back. “There's nothing left for me to stay for now that it's over.”

“You'd dishonor your brother's memory by not attending?” His father drew himself to his full height. “Unthinkable!”

“I honored Edward by believing him to be the brother I'd always known and tracking down the man who murdered him.” Jake kept his voice level, stating facts rather than throwing the comparison in his parents' faces. “My part is complete.”

“What do you mean, you're going?” His mother clutched the door frame, eyes darting down the streets as though gauging how much the neighbors might hear. “With this finished, you'll be able to step in and help your father with Granger Mills.”

“No, Mom.” He'd told her before. “I'm going back to Hope Falls to build a sawmill—with the woman I'm going to marry.”