Velvet Thunder (33 page)

“He won't know I'm along.”

“You've lost me.”

“I figure if I can keep him in sight, I can follow him to New York. Sight unseen. Once I get there, I'll find the rotten bastard.” There was no doubt she referred to Judge Jack. “And when I do, I'll kill him.” Blue looked as if she would argue. “For Jeff” was all Stevie needed to say.

“What'll you use for money?”

“I still have the five hundred dollars I withdrew from the bank to hire Heath.”

“That'll take care of your finances. But what'll you tell your pa?”

“Nothing. Now that we've got the ranch back, he's out scouring the countryside, searching for hired hands. By the time he returns to Adobe Wells, I'll be long gone.”

“Pilar will sit on you if you try to leave again.”

“She won't know I'm leaving. She rode out to the Boone's with Sully before daybreak. Mrs. Boone's having her baby. By the time Pilar gets back to town, I'll be gone.” She continued methodically, telling Blue that she planned to throw her few belongings in a soft-sided valise, find Heath and tell him a final good-bye, then take a carriage to Delgado's after he left town. She would hire a horse when Heath boarded the stage, and follow him to Kansas City. She would catch the same train as he and keep him in sight all the way to New York. She wasn't a complete fool. She knew women didn't travel cross-country alone. With Heath nearby, albeit unaware of her presence, she should be safe.

“Are you going to tell him you're carrying his child?”

Stevie gasped. “How did you know?”

Blue merely smiled. Instead of answering Stevie's question, she asked one of her own. “Stevie, why can't you trust Heath? As far as I can tell, he's never done anything to deserve your mistrust. And if your problem is that you're Indian . . . well, I heard how the townspeople accepted you at the dance. Why can't you just commit to him, take the train with him, and go to New York as his fiancée?”

Those were excellent questions, questions Stevie had no good answers for.

Just then Winter entered the room, saving her from having to reply. Sympathetic to Stevie's dilemma, Blue left them alone. It was nigh onto impossible for Stevie to tell her child good-bye without breaking down. “I must do this. Judge Jack has insulted our honor and I must make him pay.”

Winter tried to be brave. “Please let me go with you,
pia
. I will protect you.”

Stevie wrapped him in her arms and sat on the end of the bed. “I know you would. But I need you here, to help Blue with your little sister. Can you do this for me?”

Both mother and child were crying freely now. “I can do this for you,” Winter vowed with a raspy whisper. His next question nearly broke her heart. “Will you bring Heath back when you come home? He lives in my heart.”

She couldn't make promises regarding Heath, promises that she might not be able to keep. So she hedged, “He lives in my heart as well.” Smiling sadly, she brushed Winter's tears away. “We have to go tell him good-bye. You must not tell him that I plan to go along and help him. It might insult his honor.”

Winter understood. Sliding to the floor, he took her by the hand and led her to Summer's cradle. With the baby snug in her arms, they went in search of Heath.

 

 

Heath stepped inside the foyer as Stevie and the children topped the staircase. They moved slowly toward him. He noticed that both Winter and Stevie had been crying. For a moment he feared that his hard-won equanimity would dissolve and he would embarrass them all.

“We've come to say good-bye,” Stevie said more calmly than Heath would have wished.

Heath dropped onto one knee before Winter. With love shining in his sapphire eyes, he touched the child's cheek. “I will miss you.”

Winter covered his heart with a small hand. “You will be in here.”

Heath wrapped the child in his arms and held him close. “That pleases me,” he said against Winter's hair. They held each other, man and boy, for a moment. Heath leaned back and stared down into eyes as black as midnight. “I will come back. You have my word.”

Winter nodded tersely before wrenching away and running out the door.

Stevie stood breathlessly still. The guilt of leaving her children warred with the elation that she was not really saying good-bye to Heath. “He'll be all right.”

He came to his feet. Smiling off center, he quipped emotionally, “But will I?”

She smiled sweetly. “Yes. You'll be fine.”

With a low moan issuing forth from his lips, he wrapped his arms around her and Summer just as he had Winter. Rocking back and forth, he dropped kisses into Stevie's hair. His hand trembled as he stroked the baby's head. “I'm going to miss you so damn much. But I
will
be back. I don't know how long it'll take me, but I will be back.” He kissed Stevie almost violently, dropped a kiss on Summer's head, then held Stevie at arm's length. “You promise to wait for me?” Unaware, he shook her shoulders for emphasis.

“If you mean do I promise not to get married while you are in New York, then yes. I promise.”

“Promise,” he asked again against her lips.

“I promise,” she breathed into his mouth.

He held her so tightly, he felt her heart beat. “I love you. You know that. Don't you?” There was an edge of desperation to his voice.

She almost told him that she planned to go along. “I know.”

His heart aching, he released her, pushed through the door, mounted his horse, and rode away.

He couldn't bear to look back.

As Heath made his way to the telegraph office, he realized he missed Stevie already. But years of forcing himself to do what lesser men found impossible provided him the wherewithal to leave his heart in a dusty western town. Temporarily.

Stevie bid Blue a hurried farewell, thanking her for watching after the children in her absence. Satisfied that Heath was on his way to Delgado's, she made the short walk to the Silver Dollar and boarded a hired carriage.

A newly married couple sat across from her. The thin young man tapped on the roof of the carriage and the conveyance lurched forward. Stevie leaned out the small square window and watched Adobe Wells until it was a mere speck on the horizon.

The ride to Delgado's was far from comfortable, but Stevie was unaware. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears and emotions that threatened her composure. One by one she mourned the family members she left behind. Doubts and fears assailed her, but through it all the single thought burning in her mind was that Judge Jack was responsible for her brother's death.

On the backs of her lids she saw her brother Jeff, smiling back at her, mischief shining in his black eyes. She rubbed her closed lids, trying to banish the vision. She had to stop torturing herself like this. He was gone. All she could do now was avenge his death.

But they had never found his body, a hopeful voice reminded her. Shaking her head against that futile hope, hope that would only tear her apart, she whispered good-bye to him in her heart just one more time.

Then she renewed her vow to find Judge Jack and make him pay. If it was the last thing she ever did . . .

 

 

As she told Blue, Stevie had thought to hire a horse at Delgado's and ride along behind the stagecoach upon which Heath traveled—at a discreet distance of course. But there were no horses for hire at Delgado's.

She needed to catch a different stage from Heath. There were two stages per day, morning and night. But she couldn't let Heath get too far ahead of her. Traveling alone would be too dangerous. So how was she going to take the same stage without him recognizing her? She couldn't imagine. Tired and disheartened, she took a room for the night.

She spent an almost sleepless night, fearing that the ruffians downstairs would burst through her door at any moment. Or worse, that Heath would discover her presence, discern what she was about.

But the night passed with Heath unaware of her presence . . . and her person mercifully unmolested by strangers. The coach rolled in just before sunrise. She stood at the side of the main building, waiting for Heath to emerge.

She had yet to formulate a plan, when a group of women floated out the front door. Her eyes widened into ebony moons. They were nuns. Apparently, on their way to the outhouse. For some reason, it never occurred to her that nuns used the outhouse.

Shaking herself free of the inane thought, a plan formed in her mind. A quick glance through the swinging doors reassured her that Heath and the other men were still occupied with their breakfasts. She hurried down the path behind the building, close on the sisters' heels.

As good nuns are wont to do, they were waiting their turn single file outside the small wooden building patiently, three outside, one inside. Stevie approached them at a dead run, dressed in her buckskins, her hair tucked beneath a pert Stetson.

Seeing her, the nuns cloistered together for protection, supposing that she was a marauding male with libidinous designs on their chaste persons.

Stevie skidded to a halt, casting a harried glance over her shoulder. “Could I have a word with you?”

The sister Stevie supposed was the head nun spread her hands and addressed her companions en masse. “There's no need for concern, Sisters. It's a girl.”

Stevie was insulted. “Well, of course I'm a girl.” She tried valiantly to ignore her wounded pride. “And I'm in terrible trouble.” She affected her best poor, pitiful, frightened orphan look. “I have to take the stage. But I'm all alone.” She dredged up a crocodile tear and silently asked God's forgiveness for manipulating these brides of the church. “I'm scared of all those men.”

That set them in motion. As a unit they swarmed over her, clucking and cooing like soothing winged creatures. They all spoke at once.

“Poor dear.”

“There, there.”

“We'll help you.”

Even the sister relieving herself had miraculously appeared at Stevie's side.

Fast talking and fifteen minutes later, the party of four nuns had swelled to five. But none of the men, least of all Heath, noticed the newest addition. Men didn't regard nuns very closely. It was almost as if they feared giving offense by just touching the Lord's vessels with their worldly eyes.

Had they paid scant attention to the fifth nun, a painfully shy child, they would have seen that she was quite small. Her headpiece rode low on her forehead.

Even if they had been inclined to view her closely, the other sisters kept her all but hidden from their sight. Stevie appreciated the nuns' help, but they were almost suffocating her. Everyone aboard would have been scandalized to hear the irreverent oaths the little nun uttered to herself, cursing what she called these infernal holy clothes. A nun's habit might be comfortable if one were born on the sun, she decided. Otherwise, it was damned hot, a tool of torture. Long before she reached Kansas City, she told the good Lord that these kind women deserved his richest rewards if for no other reason than wearing such horrendous uniforms without complaint.

She was not as self-sacrificing, however. When they reached Kansas City, she thanked the women profusely and assured them that she would be quite safe now. She donned her buckskin outfit in the depot outhouse, passed the black wool habit through the door to Sister Mary Christopher, and bid her saviors a muffled farewell.

Once alone, she followed Heath to the Kansas City Hotel. He stood looking cool as a cucumber in the lobby of the elegant building, much to her irritation. From her vantage point behind a large potted palm, she studied her environs and declared the room a thing of beauty. Black marble floors covered with exquisite Oriental rugs. A chandelier overhead sparkled with hundreds of tiny gas jets, casting flirtatious lightning bolts down upon the elegantly clad ladies who perched lightly on the deep wine brocade settees and matching wing chairs.

Unconsciously, she brushed the worst of the dirt from the seat of her trousers as one person in particular caught her eye. He was a middle-aged gent who carried himself as if he were royalty—or at least in the employ of royalty. She decided that he was the cleanest man she had ever seen. From carefully coiffured hair to glossy slippers, he looked like he'd been spit-shined and polished. Totally out of place in the West.

His knee-length frock coat was of the finest cloth, as ebony as Summer's eyes. His blinding-white shirt and elaborately tied neckcloth rested against creamy pale skin that had never been kissed by so much as a ray of sunlight. He glided across the carpeted floor as if he floated on air, heading Heath's way.

When he reached Heath, he bowed at the waist. “Master Heath. May I say, you're looking well.” He spoke with a decidedly British accent, just loud enough for Stevie to overhear his greeting.

Heath glanced down at his worn jeans, leather vest, and scuffed boots. He grinned and slapped the man on the back. “If you say so.” He didn't dare offer to shake his valet's hand. Poor Jeevers would die of heart seizure if his employer behaved so familiarly. “It's damn good to see you, Jeevers.”

“And you, sir. Dr. Turner received your telegram. I arrived this morning. You'll find everything is in order.” The report was crisp, concise, yet not totally impersonal.

“Good man.”

Something flickered across Heath's face that Stevie read as anxiety. Her heart warmed.

“My father?”

Jeevers's expression never changed. “General Turner is much improved.”

“Really?” Heath could scarcely believe the welcome news.

“Certainly, sir. He told both Drs. Turner that he would make a full recovery. Of course, they did not dispute him.”

Heath's face broke into a grin. He uttered something that might have been a curse or a prayer.

“He asked me to convey a message to you, sir.”

When Jeevers reddened slightly, Stevie suspected that the show of emotion was unlike him.

He cleared his throat. “He said to tell his wayward son to get his sorry a—” Uncomfortably, he halted and glanced at the ladies milling about them.

“You needn't finish the message, Jeevers. Knowing the general, I can imagine the rest.” Heath's grin widened. “I'm hungry as a bear.”

“I anticipated your needs, sir. Regretfully, your usual suite was unavailable”—Jeevers sniffed disdainfully—“but I've engaged comparable accommodations. Room 202.” He handed Heath the room key. “A bath and a light repast have been ordered.”

“Whatever you ordered to eat, double it.”

“Very good, sir.”

Stevie studied Heath intently. This was a side of him she had not seen. To have a servant anticipating his every whim . . . and to watch him accept . . . no, expect, the fawning attention was disconcerting. It occurred to her then that this was his real life, not the hard existence in the West. Obviously, he had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. The difference in their upbringing was even more diverse than she had thought. She felt very sad.

“Heath darling!”

Heath, Jeevers, and Stevie turned toward the enthusiastic voice as if their heads were connected by a string. Bearing down upon Heath was an exquisite creature dressed in emerald-green tulle. Stevie wanted to cut her into little pieces and feed her to Sweetums. Heath just wanted the woman to disappear. Jeevers discreetly moved away.

When Stevie turned back toward Heath, she saw that he was standing stock-still, a strained smile on his face. The beauty walked right up to him and kissed him full on the lips. He pulled away, but not as quickly as Stevie thought he could have.

He held the woman at arm's length. “Christina, what are you doing here?”

Blood coursed through Stevie's ears. She failed to hear the displeasure in Heath's voice.

“I was visiting your mama when Chap sent Jeevers after you. It's been so long . . . I couldn't wait to see you. I thought you might like some company on the trip home.”

Stevie almost choked on jealousy and rage. Had Heath really pined for her all the way to Kansas City, all the way to his floozy? One look at the woman wrapping herself around him, and Stevie sincerely doubted Heath ever meant to return to Adobe Wells. Had all those sweet professions of love been a lie? Even what he told Winter? A small voice deep in her heart said that she was being ridiculous. That she should trust Heath. And she almost had her jealousy under control so that she could think rationally when Christina launched herself into Heath's arms again.

Unable to bear more of the touching reunion, she turned to flee. Her boot caught the rim of the planter, upsetting the shiny hunk of brass, dumping dirt, greenery, and herself on the marble floor. The sound reverberating through the room sounded as if the roof were caving in.

Along with everyone else in the lobby, Heath and Christina turned toward the noise. “Stevie,” Heath breathed, a myriad of emotions coursing through him: elation, rage, anticipation, confusion, suspicion.

Stevie scrambled to her feet. Just as she tried to burst through the front door, a strong hand circled her arm, pulling her against a chest as hard and wide as a brick wall.

“Let me go!” she snarled.

“Unless you want me to tan your hide in front of all these people, you had best keep your mouth shut and come with me.”

Without responding, she allowed Heath to guide her through the lobby, up the carpeted stairs, Christina's irate voice ringing in their ears. When they reached Room 202, he unlocked the door, shoved her into the suite, and slammed the door behind them.

Stevie refused to look in Heath's direction. Instead, her gaze wandered throughout the room. She noted with disgust that the place was fit for a princess.

It was certainly too grand for her—a half-breed hellion who had been raised on a cattle ranch with no one save a rough-cut pa, a Comanche orphan, a half-breed brother, a crotchety old cook, and a host of malcontent and ne'er-do-well cowboys to call family. She engaged in a full thirty seconds of self-pity before she mentally pulled herself up by her bootstraps and turned and faced Heath head-on.

He was leaning against the wide oak door, arms crossed over his chest. He looked as impenetrable as Sherman's front line. “You have some tall explaining to do.”

“Drop dead” was all she said.