Taylor didn’t have to tell Lucas to take his guns with him this time. He and Hunter helped her check into the hotel room. They stayed less than a minute. After tossing her valise on the bed, Lucas grabbed his gunbelt, loaded his guns, and strapped the belt around his hips on his way out the door. He didn’t even waste time saying good-bye.
She paced and fretted for over an hour, then decided to do mundane chores to keep busy. She had a bath, washed her hair, unpacked her clothes, and then stretched out on the bed in her robe. She thought to rest for just a minute or two and then get dressed again.
She slept for a good four or five hours. She awoke feeling disoriented. It took her a full minute to realize where she was. Part of her sleepy confusion was due to the fact that the room she was in was almost identical to the hotel room in Boston. The owners had obviously decided to build an exact duplication of the original. There was the same seating area with a divan and two chairs, the identical alcove housing the bed, and there were even two wardrobes in the room, both set against the same long wall. The colors in the room were somewhat different, however. This one was done in pale shades of gold with white accents. There was also one other difference. There were two doors on the left of the wardrobe instead of one. The first door led to the washroom. The second was an opening to the room reserved for Victoria. The adjoining area was smaller in dimensions and the focal point was a large four-poster bed covered with a royal blue spread. A chair, chest, and wardrobe took up the rest of the space. While the room didn’t give the same feeling of intimacy as the alcove did, it had its own charm. It was certainly just as exquisitely appointed and really quite lovely.
Taylor was pleased that the second room she’d reserved was so close to this one. Victoria would be pleased with her accommodations. She’ll be exhausted when she arrives, Taylor thought. She wished she had thought to ask Victoria to send a wire ahead telling her of her arrival time, but she’d been in such a state, she hadn’t had time to think about such particulars.
Her stomach was suddenly grumbling. Taylor hadn’t eaten in a good long while, yet the thought of food made her ill. She was still too churned up with worry and fear to eat anything, and so she went back to her pacing and her praying. A minute seemed as long as an hour. She checked the hour at least a dozen times. It was after eight in the evening. Lucas and Hunter had been gone over seven hours now. She didn’t know if they’d come back this evening or not. When she grew too weary to pace, she went over to the window, leaned against the ledge, and stared out into the night. It was pitch black outside, for the moon was covered by rain-swollen clouds.
Where were Lucas and Hunter now? Had they found the babies yet?
There were a couple of possibilities. Hadn’t Hunter said just that to Lucas at the train station? Oh, why hadn’t she asked him to explain what he’d meant? She’d behaved like a timid little mouse, that’s why. And he’d fairly overwhelmed her, she silently added. She wouldn’t dwell on her shortcomings now but would focus on the possibility that they had already found the little ones. Why, they could be on their way back to the hotel with her babies in their arms.
Taylor tried, but she couldn’t will the children back. Lucas and Hunter arrived at her door several hours later. They were both empty-handed.
She wanted to push the two of them out and demand they continue their search. Reason prevailed, however. Both Hunter and Lucas looked exhausted.
“Are you going out again soon?” she asked.
“In a while,” Lucas answered. “There’s a bed in there,” he told his friend.
Hunter nodded, then turned and disappeared into the second bedroom. Taylor chased after Lucas. He was on his way to the alcove where their bed was located.
“Did you find out anything? Anything at all?”
Lucas removed his gunbelt, looped it over one of the bed posters, then started to unbutton his shirt. Taylor moved closer to his side. The smell of gunpowder was on his clothes.
“You fired your gun.”
He acted as though he hadn’t heard the remark. “Hunter and I will start again in the morning. There are a couple of possibilities still to be checked out.”
“Do you think they’re still in Cincinnati?”
She was wringing her hands together in anxiety and trying without much success to remain calm. He didn’t know if they were still in the city or not. Every lead thus far had turned into a dead end. He didn’t think he needed to share the dour news with her, however. “We’ll find them,” he said.
Taylor sat down on the side of the bed. Lucas left the alcove and went to the washroom. He returned a few minutes later, looking clean and refreshed. He smelled of soap now, but there was still a lingering scent of gunpowder. Odd, but she didn’t find the smell offensive at all; however, it did remind her he had fired his gun.
“Did you have to kill anyone?”
He was clearly exasperated by the question. “No,” he answered, his tone abrupt.
She wasn’t intimidated. “But you did fire your gun.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Just wanted to get a little attention,” he told her.
She was beginning to hate his half answers and thought about telling him just that, then changed her mind. She didn’t want to get into an argument. Lucas was tired. He needed his rest so he could go back out and look for the babies again.
“You won’t give up, will you?” She blurted out her worry and gripped her hands tight while she waited for an answer. Lucas towered over her. The expression on his face told her he didn’t like the question. She was quick to guess the reason why.
“Did I just insult you again?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t look placated by her apology. Taylor let out a sigh and got out of his way so he could pull the covers back on the bed.
God, she wanted to believe in him. She should get down on her knees and thank her Maker for giving her Lucas Ross. Whatever would she have done without him to help her? He really was her Prince Charming and hadn’t Madam known that all along?
Heavens, her emotions were getting out of hand. She suddenly felt like weeping. She didn’t give into the urge, however, because crying would upset Lucas, and after all the trouble he’d gone to over the past several days, the last thing she wanted to do was make him fret about her. The man needed rest, not more worry.
However, she was too upset to sleep. She decided to go into the other room so Lucas could have some peace and quiet. She turned but had only taken a step or two away from him when he captured her in his arms and pulled her down on the bed with him. He rolled over, keeping her in his arms, until she was flat on her back and he was looming over her.
He shifted his weight so he wouldn’t crush her, then braced himself up on his elbows.
“You want to believe I won’t ever give up looking, but you’re still afraid I might. Isn’t that right?”
“If you say you won’t give up, I’ll believe you.”
He gently brushed her hair away from her brow. “Know what I’m going to do?” She shook her head.
“I’m going to tell you a bedtime story.”
What had come over him? she thought. He was being so gentle and tender with her. “You need your rest, Lucas. You shouldn’t have to try to soothe my fears.”
He leaned down and kissed her. Then he rolled to his side, pulled her up against him, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Once upon a time . . .”
The story he told her was about a young boy whose only possession had been stolen by an Indian. The treasure was an old, dull-bladed paring knife the boy used for hunting, and while it would have been pretty useless in anyone else’s estimation, it was all the boy owned and extremely important to him.
Taylor turned so she could face him. She wanted to ask him where the boy had gotten the knife and why was it all he possessed, but Lucas silenced her by brushing his fingers across her mouth. Then he continued on with his
yarn. The boy, he told her, went looking for the knife. He followed the Indians to their wintering home. The lengths the boy went to, to get his knife back were surely exaggerated, for according to the tall tale, he chased the Indian from the back hills of Kentucky all the way to the center of the Ohio valley. Taylor was certain Lucas was making the story up as he went along. No one, especially a young, inexperienced boy, would spend a year and a half chasing after a useless knife.
Lucas certainly knew how to tell a story, however. She was captivated. The tests of courage the boy was given on his journey were fascinating. She laughed out loud when he told her a black bear had run the boy up a tree.
“Bears can climb trees,” she reminded him. She wondered how he would get the fictional boy out of that dilemma.
He didn’t give her the details. He simply told her the boy was forced to kill the bear before he could go on with his quest.
Taylor didn’t scoff. It wouldn’t have been polite. And Lucas didn’t actually end the story the way she thought he would by telling her he finally found his treasure. He only said the lad eventually found the Indian.
The knife, she supposed, had been lost forever, and the moral of the story was a lesson in courage. She was too practical minded to believe the yarn, of course.
She remembered how tired he probably was when he yawned. Lucas leaned close and kissed her good night. His mouth lingered over the task, and when he at last pulled away from her, she was shivering for more.
He wasn’t going to accommodate her. He pulled her up against him again and closed his eyes. He liked to fall asleep inhaling her fragrance. And holding her close. Her back was nestled against his chest, her backside was pressed against his groin, and his arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. She fit him perfectly. It was his last thought before he fell asleep.
Taylor could barely move. Her husband’s heat enveloped her. And his strength, she thought with a sleepy yawn. She couldn’t stop herself from relaxing against him. She would only rest for a few minutes, she thought to herself . . . just a few minutes.
She awakened an hour later. She eased herself out of the bed so she wouldn’t disturb Lucas and went into the other room. She didn’t know why, but she felt the need to look in on Hunter, just to make certain he was still there, she supposed.
Taylor didn’t make a noticeable sound when she walked into the second bedroom. Hunter was where he was supposed to be. He was sound asleep on top of the covers. Because he was such a tall man, like Lucas he slept diagonally across the bed. He rested on his stomach, one hand down at his side, the other hidden under one of the pillows. He was barefoot and bare chested. Taylor noticed the chill in the room when she started shivering. One of the windows was open, its curtains billowing inward from the stiff breeze. She assumed Hunter had wanted some fresh air, buf he surely hadn’t realized how cold it would get inside the room. Why, you could almost see your breath. She tried to be as quiet as possible as she walked over to the window and closed it halfway. Then she went to the wardrobe in her room and got one of the blankets stored on the top shelf. She hurried back to Hunter’s room and covered Lucas’s friend from top to bottom. She noticed the scars on his back and shoulders when she tucked the covers around him, and wondered how he’d come by the marks. His hand moved ever so slightly near the pillow, but she didn’t think she woke him. She was shivering by the time she finished her task and went back to her own bed so Lucas could warm her again.
The minute she left the room, Hunter put his hand back on the handle of his gun he’d tucked under the pillow. He was wide awake the second she’d crossed the threshold and had stayed awake all the while she fussed over him. The little act of kindness stunned him. It was thoughtful and caring and sweet.
And damned stupid. He could have blown her head off. He let out a sigh. No, he wouldn’t have accidentally shot her. He’d know all the while it was Taylor. He’d heard the rustle of silk first when she walked into the bedroom, then caught the faint scent of flowers in the air when she leaned over him to spread the covers and felt her gentle, feminine touch when she touched his skin as she tucked the blanket around him.
He couldn’t frown his reaction away. The pleasure wouldn’t leave. He felt . . . comforted, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. He wanted to smile and all because of a simple act of thoughtfulness. It was a new experience for him and it fairly overwhelmed him. She’d fussed over him.
If that didn’t beat all. Hunter fell asleep with a smile in his heart.
Taylor fell asleep with her husband on top of her. He had a rather peculiar habit of rolling over until he was completely covering her, then nuzzling the side of her neck while he slept. She could barely breathe, so crushing was his weight. She could have pinched him into moving away from her. She didn’t. In truth, she liked. having him plastered on top of her. She closed her eyes and pretended he was wide awake and knew exactly what he was doing. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist, held tight, and went back to sleep.
Morning came all too soon. Taylor woke up hugging a pillow. She was all alone in the bed. From the silence surrounding her, she knew both Lucas and Hunter had already left.
She stayed in bed a few more minutes while she formulated her plans for the day. The very first thing she would do was check the train schedule and try to guess when Victoria would arrive. If things had gone according to their plan, she thought her friend would probably be on the four o’clock train.
Her thoughts kept trying to turn to the babies. Were they being cared for? Were they getting enough food? Were they warm? Oh, God, what if they were being hurt now, this very minute, while she . . .
Taylor forced herself to stop the thoughts by saying a prayer that God and his guardian angels would look after the babies until she could find them. She knew she would go out of her mind if she dwelled on all the terrible possibilities, and so she frantically tried to think of something pleasant.
Lucas’s story came to mind. It was a blessed diversion. And full of poppycock, she added with a shake of her head. He’d told her a tall tale indeed, and now that she had time to think about it, she decided he was either teasing her or was under the misconception she was a country bumpkin who would believe anything he told her. She wasn’t naive, and she’d tell him so when he returned to the hotel. The boy in the story had lived through a bear attack and a windstorm that whistled like a train and lifted full-grown trees out of the ground and hurled them across a valley. Who could even imagine such a thing? Oh, yes, she remembered, the boy had almost drowned, too, and had shared a makeshift barge with a . . . What had he called the animal? She pondered the question a minute or two, then smiled when she remembered. A mountain cat, he’d told her. Necessity and survival had kept the cat too preoccupied to attack the boy.
And if she believed that nonsense, he’d probably try to convince her dirt was as valuable as gold.
The story hadn’t simply been a tale of courage. He wasn’t just telling her to hold onto her courage, he was also explaining that some people never give up. It was a sweet parable.
God help her, she was feeling teary eyed again. Lucas Ross was an easy man to love. “Enough,” she whispered to stop her errant thoughts. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start wishing for something she could never have.
Taylor tossed the pillow aside, then swung her legs over the side of the bed and started to get up. She spotted the knife then. It was on the bedside table. She couldn’t imagine how the thing had gotten there.
And then came recognition. Taylor was suddenly filled with hope. She stared at the knife a long minute. She didn’t need to touch it. She knew it was a useless, dull-bladed paring knife a boy would hunt with.
Lucas was the boy in the story, of course, but he had surely embellished the tale to make it more interesting. And to have more of an impact, she realized. It didn’t matter. She understood the message. This morning Lucas had given her his answer to her question from the night before.
He would never give
up.
12
The nature of bad news infects the teller.
—William Shakespeare, Anthony and Cleopatra
Victoria wasn’t on the four o’clock train. Taylor waited at the station until all the passengers had departed. She was disappointed but not worried. Everything would have had to go extremely smoothly for Victoria to have finished up all their business in Boston so quickly. Tomorrow, Taylor told herself. Her friend would arrive tomorrow.
It was unfortunate, but while she waited at the station, several men did try to accost her. A simple reminder to behave like a gentleman dissuaded one man. Two others weren’t so easily discouraged. Taylor ended up having to be downright rude. They didn’t seem to mind. She didn’t become alarmed until they followed her outside. She fell in with the crowd of people walking down the street but kept glancing back over her shoulder to see if they were still behind her.
The two men were there all right and looking quite determined. Their clothes were filthy. So were their faces. The taller of the two kept smacking his lips together. He wore a dark wide-brimmed hat down low over his forehead. The other kept snickering. Taylor could feel herself panicking inside. She frantically looked around her for an avenue of escape.
She had already made one foolish mistake when she’d left the safety of the station. The cabbies were all waiting there for their fares, and why in heaven’s name hadn’t she jumped into one of the vehicles when she’d had the chance? The safety of the crowd she was hiding herself in was diminishing with each step she took. More than half the number had turned into several buildings, and when they reached the intersection, the group split in half again. Several turned to the left, and more turned to the right. Only an elderly couple continued on straight ahead.
Taylor decided to stay with them. She didn’t want to go down any side streets. Not only was she certain she’d get lost, she also knew there was a good possibility one of the streets would turn into a dead end.