The Devil's Daughter (19 page)

Lucy almost laughed. She didn’t need food; she needed someone to stop this searing pain in her heart. Before she could object, Jed ushered her inside the half-full restaurant and held her chair while she settled herself.

The air around her seemed thick, almost suffocating.

“Order whatever you like.” He grinned. “We’re celebrating.”

Celebrating. Yes, of course. They – no,
she
– had plenty to celebrate.

“I’ll have coffee,” Jed said to a gray-haired woman in an apron who came to take their order. “And tea for my wife, please.”

Lucy sat silently staring at the menu. She didn’t want anything to eat. She didn’t even want the tea when it arrived. But she couldn’t very well let Jed know there was anything wrong. He didn’t want a weak wife; he wanted a strong woman who’d help him work.

And if that’s what Jed wanted, that’s what she would give him.

Jed ordered their food, then sat sipping his coffee and staring at her over the rim of his mug.

“Have you given any thought to what kind of dress you want?” he asked.

“Dress?” Lucy frowned.

“You’ve probably got the color and style already picked out in that pretty little head of your, haven’t you?”

What was he. . .

A faint light of memory glimmered in her mind. That’s right – he was going to buy her a new dress. And a coat.

She forced another smile, which oddly caused him to frown, before she nodded.

The gray-haired lady arrived with their food then, giving Lucy a moment to find her wits again. The soup was hot and salty, the bread soft and covered in far too much butter for Lucy’s liking. Jed all but inhaled it.

Several people nodded toward them, whispered to their fellow diners, then went back to their meals. Lucy seared a glare at one particularly loud whisperer, then froze when the door opened next.

The proprietress offered the newcomers a broad smile and said, “Good day to you, Reverend. Mrs. Conroy.”

A spoonful of soup lay on Lucy’s tongue. She could neither swallow nor spit it out. All she could do was stare in complete terror.

“Lucy?”

She could feel Jed’s eyes on her, could hear the concern in his voice, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the man. Men of the cloth were sneaky. The truly spiritual ones could blast a soul to Hell with little or no warning.

The man and his wife moved closer, following the gray-haired lady to a table nearby.

“Lucy?” Jed’s voice was like a whisper in a fog.

All she heard was the crunch of the man’s boots against the wood floor. All she felt was the icy cold fingers of Hell closing in on her again. And all she saw was the clouded look that fell over the man’s narrow face when he looked back at her.

His pace slowed as he neared their table. Lucy averted her gaze, and lifted her tea cup to her lips.

She needed to get away from him. Far away. If he so much as suspected who she was. . .

The preacher’s wife wrapped her beefy hand around his elbow and tugged him forward. “Come along, dear, I’m about famished.”

The preacher frowned, blinked, then stumbled after his wife. Lucy was on her feet before the couple settled at their table.

“Can we leave, please?”

By the time Jed had scrambled to pull some money from his pocket, Lucy was outside, taking in great gulps of air.

“Lucy.” Jed’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his embrace. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head against his chest.

“Don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ You look like a ghost.”

Again, she shook her head, her fingers scrunched in fists around his shirt front. It seemed like forever before she was calm enough to speak.

“I’m sorry, Jed,” she managed. “I don’t know what came over me. I-I just had to get out of there.”

He stroked the back of her head, ever so gently, and whispered softly against her hair. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

He brushed his lips across her cheek, bringing several gasps from a group of women nearby, but Lucy didn’t care. In fact, she wished he’d do it again.

“Come on,” he said with a grin. “Let’s go see what Miss Celia has for you to buy.”

She offered a feeble smile, one she didn’t feel at all, and let him lead her toward the dress shop.

 o0o

Jed had never been inside the fancy dress shop before. It was as though he’d walked into a whole new world. Long narrow rods hung against each wall, weighed down by dresses of every style and color imaginable. Plain cotton day dresses hung on one rod, riding habits on another, and the longest rod held the fancy ones; silks, satins and all sorts of lacey frocks trimmed in pearls and other finery.

Yessir, that’s the rack they wanted.

Rectangular wooden tables filled the middle of the huge room. Two were covered in bolts of fabric, one held a good supply of shoes and slippers and the last one, smaller than the others, displayed an assortment of earbobs and pins.

A man could easily get lost in such a place with so many choices.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Caine.” Miss Celia appeared from a back room, a tape measure around her neck and a bolt of bright blue fabric tucked under her arm.

In her advanced age, Miss Celia was plenty fair enough to look at, with her soft blue eyes and piles of white hair, twisted on top of her head.

“Hullo, Miss Celia.” Jed twisted his hat between his hands. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Lucy. Lucy, this here’s Miss Celia, best dressmaker in town.”

“I heard you’d finally married.” Miss Celia smiled, then extended her hand toward Lucy. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Caine.”

“Please,” Lucy said, smiling back, “call me Lucy.”

“Lucy it is.” She set the bolt of fabric on the counter and folded her hands in front. “What can I help you with today?”

“Lucy’s in need of a pretty new dress,” Jed answered. “She’ll need a coat, too.”

“Very well.” Miss Celia nodded slightly, then cleared her throat. “Did you have a price in mind? We have a fairly wide range to choose from.”

“Not much,” Lucy started, but Jed interrupted.

“I want something pretty.” He nodded toward the long rack at the back of the store. “But not outrageous.”

“Jed, I don’t think that’s. . .” Lucy began, but again, he interrupted with a raised hand.

“Nothing plain, nothing boring, and. . .” he hesitated. He risked offending Lucy if she had her mind set, but he knew what he wanted. And what he didn’t. “Nothing pink.”

Both women’s eyes widened.

“No pink?” Miss Celia repeated with a nod, eyeing Lucy thoughtfully. “Yes, I do believe you’re right.”

“About what?” Lucy glanced down at her dress, worry puckering her brow.

“You’re not a pink kind of woman,” Miss Celia answered matter-of-fact. “You need bold colors. Pink is for unassuming women who don’t want to stand out.”

A slow smile spread across Lucy’s full mouth.

“And you, Mrs. Caine, are a woman of distinction. You must stand out.” Miss Celia didn’t say it to flatter. It was the truth.

“Is that why you don’t want me in pink?” Lucy asked, turning to Jed.

He grinned broadly and nodded. “I was just going to say you look good in bright colors, but what Miss Celia said sounds better, so let’s use that.”

The women laughed and set to looking through the dresses hanging nearby. Jed wandered aimlessly around the store, fingering the various silks and earbobs. How did a woman ever decide? Being a man was a helluva lot easier.

“Mr. Caine?”

“Hmm?” He turned to find both women watching him, each fighting back a smile.

“We’ll be a while here. Is there something else you’d like to do in the meantime?”

Thank God
.

“’Course.” He exhaled his relief. “How long?”

Miss Celia shrugged, glanced at Lucy, then back at Jed. “An hour?”

An hour!
He could buy himself four sets of clothes and enough supplies to last a month in less time it took Lucy to buy a single dress.

“Fine.” He shot Lucy a wink, grinned at her blush, then nodded to Miss Celia. “Be back in an hour.”

He was almost out the door, when he poked his head back inside.

“And maybe throw in one of these pretty feather bonnets you have here in the window, too.”

“Good bye, Jed!” Lucy laughed over her warning glare as he ducked outside.

Grinning like a fool, he jammed his hat down on his head and started toward the mill. With his herd arriving next week, that barn was going to need to be up and ready sooner than he’d thought. And he’d need a couple good sturdy pens to keep the bulls in.

He’d been over the plan in his head enough times that he knew the measurements by heart, even down to how many nails he’d need. But he’d have to replan the house. Simple would never do for Lucy. She needed better, fancier. Might take a little longer to build, but once the herd was tended and some of it sold off, he’d be able to give her that.

And more. So much more.

This wasn’t practical. He should be thinking of ways to save money, not spend it. He should be happy to get along with what they needed, not what they wanted. But hell if he could help himself.

His wife had bewitched him, simple as that. She’d walked into his life and in a matter of days had turned it upside down. How had he let that happen?

He had intended to live a quiet life, a practical life, with a quiet and practical woman. A modest life in a modest house.

But somehow in the short time he’d been married, he’d changed his plans. He wanted more. So much more.

And he’d do whatever it took to get it. He’d sell his soul to the devil if it made Lucy happy.

“Good day to you, Jedidiah.”

Jed blinked through his haze to find Deacon blocking the boardwalk. He looked as fresh and clean as he had the other night, dressed head to toe in another fancy suit, this one gray with a black vest. His animal. . .whatever Lucy had called it. . .lay curled around his neck, its long twitchy nose sniffing the air.

“Deacon.” He bobbed his head in a short nod, but didn’t offer his hand.

“Are you here alone?” Deacon asked, glancing over Jed’s shoulder.

“No.” He forced his tone to remain civil. “Lucy’s at the dress shop.”

“Of course.” Deacon gave a short, icy laugh. “Spending all your money, no doubt.”

“It’s not my money, Deacon. It’s
our
money.”

“Of course,” he repeated. His blue eyes flashed, much the same as Lucy’s. “It’s just odd that you do all the work and she does all the spending.”

Jed bit his tongue until he was sure it would bleed. Deacon couldn’t know anything about him and Lucy. And he sure as hell couldn’t know what they did with their money or how hard either of them worked.

But he was Lucy’s brother. He was. . .family.

Jed forced an even breath. “I’m on my way to the mill right now to spend a bundle. Care to join me?”

Deacon glanced back over his shoulder toward the mill at the end of town. Even at this distance, the squeal of saws and banging of hammers could be heard over the sounds of the bustling town.

A cloud of dust hung in the air around the mill, as it did every day. No way in hell Deacon would risk his fancy clothes in that.

“No,” Deacon answered. “I think not, but perhaps we’ll see each other again before you leave.”

Not if I can help it.

“We’ll see.” Jed started past, then stopped. “You’ll not be bothering Lucy while we’re here.”

“Bother her?” Deacon adjusted his stupid bowler hat. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I hope not.” Jed leveled a pointed glare at his brother-in-law. “I won’t have her upset again.”

A cocked brow was Deacon’s only response, and the whole way to the mine, Jed fought the urge to go back and smack it off his face.

Something about that man got under Jed’s skin. No question they disliked each other, and even though Jed was willing to look past it for Lucy’s sake, he wasn’t near stupid enough to believe Deacon would do the same.

But God help that man if he upset Lucy again.

“Whoa up there, Caine.”

Jed looked up from his wool-gathering to find himself charging through the open workspace of the mill, right toward its owner, Charlie White.

He chuckled softly and threw a silent curse back at Deacon.

“Hiya, Charlie,” he said. “Was wondering if we could do a little business today.”

The crashing hammers made him yell it a second time before Charlie nodded and pointed toward his office. Even inside with the door closed, the noise level was ear splitting.

“Heard you up ‘n married a gal at that auction the other week.”

“That’s true.” The mention of Lucy made him grin again.

 Charlie chuckled. “An’ I heard she ain’t like no woman we ever seen ‘round these parts, neither.”