He could get through this. For Addie and Bella, he would get through this.
The viscount strolled into the study as if arriving for afternoon tea. He sketched a bow to Gideon and smiled at James and Miguel, who flanked either side of the desk, rifles in hand, revolvers in evidence at their sides.
“Gentlemen, I assure you there is no need for weapons. We are here for civilized discussion, nothing more.”
Gideon forced his lips into an answering smile. “Forgive my lack of manners, my lord, but someone recently tried to kill me. You will understand if I’m a little wary of visitors.”
“Of course. Such a regrettable circumstance. I do hope you are recovering well.”
Gideon gestured for Petchey to take a seat. “My doctor tells me the injury is less severe than was originally feared. It is fortunate that the man behind the incident wasn’t a better strategist.”
When the lines around Petchey’s mouth tightened ever so slightly, Gideon knew the barb had found its mark. José was no strategist, and they both knew it.
The viscount’s smile remained glued in place, however, as he lowered himself into the chair in front of the desk. “One of the many perils of making one’s home in the wilds of this barbaric country. I hope you do not find yourself in such a nasty predicament again anytime soon.”
Gideon nodded, taking the veiled warning to heart. In the background, he noticed Juan forcing Petchey’s assistant into a chair along the wall. Juan cradled his rifle across his arm, the end of the barrel directed at the other man’s chest. The fellow yanked a handkerchief from his coat pocket and blotted his neck and hairline while he edged as far from the gun as the seat would permit.
“I imagine you know why I’ve come.” Petchey reached into his coat, and immediately three guns were cocked and pointed at his heart.
“I would recommend you extract that hand with caution, my lord,” Gideon said. “I would hate for one of my men to cut your visit unnecessarily short.”
“They are only papers. Nothing to cause such great concern.” He did have the good sense to pull them free slowly, holding them by a single corner. James uncocked his weapon and stepped forward to retrieve the documents.
Petchey released his grip with a sardonic grin. “Good to see you again, Mr. Bevin. I would be remiss if I didn’t thank you for arranging that private rail car. My journey was quite comfortable.”
James unfolded the papers, barely sparing the viscount a glance. “Glad to hear it, Mr. Church. Or should I call you Lord Petchey?” He speared the man with a hard look then, but Petchey merely shrugged.
“This is a contract, Gid,” James said as he stepped back into position beside the desk. “Petchey is offering you twenty thousand pounds in return for signing Isabella’s guardianship over to him.”
“That amount is from my own funds, not a drop from my niece’s trust,” Petchey said, as if he were a man of honor. “I appreciate your taking the child in, Mr. Westcott, but she belongs with her family. Her father was my brother. I owe it to him to see her raised as he would have wished, as a Petchey. After the court ruling, I came to see that you had grown attached to the girl and were reluctant to resign custody. Therefore, I thought to offer compensation. You have a lovely ranch here, one that could benefit from the capital I could provide.”
He let his words hang in the air for a moment, then leaned forward and rested an arm upon the edge of Gideon’s desk. “Do the right thing, Westcott. Return the girl to her family. You would be welcome to correspond with Isabella and visit her whenever you were in England. However, you must recognize how much better off she would be with me. I would see to it that she received the finest education and all the privileges a girl of her class deserves. It is more than you can offer her on this barren ranch, an ocean away from true civilization.”
“Not interested.” Gideon had no time for justifications or debates. Petchey’s face was starting to blur before him, and he feared he’d lose consciousness if this went on much longer. He forced a strength he didn’t feel into his voice. “Bella is my daughter—in the eyes of the law and in my affections. I will sign no agreement. Now I must ask you to leave my property. You are no longer welcome here.”
The polite façade finally slipped from Petchey’s face. “You will not even allow me to see her? To—”
“No.” Gideon barked out the denial. “Miguel? Escort Lord Petchey out of my house.”
“Sí, señor.” Miguel stepped forward and grabbed hold of Petchey’s elbow. The viscount jerked his arm out of his grasp and surged to his feet on his own accord.
“You’ll regret this, Westcott. When I get back to England, I’ll ruin you—you and the rest of your family. You steal my family, I’ll steal yours. Your mother and father will no longer be accepted in polite company when I get through with them. I’ll personally ensure that no one invests in your father’s enterprises. Your mother will be shunned by her closest friends and excised from every hostess list in the country. Your brothers will find themselves unable to cultivate the business relationships they previously enjoyed. And all because of your selfishness.”
Gideon cringed at the picture he painted. Was he just throwing empty threats or did he really have the influence he claimed? Gideon hated to think of his family suffering because of him, but he didn’t doubt for a second that they would willingly bear the strife if they knew doing so guaranteed Bella’s safety.
“Do your worst, Petchey. I’ll not reconsider.”
The viscount let loose with a string of curses and stormed from the room, his assistant scurrying after him.
“Follow him, Miguel—all the way to the railhead in Lampasas. I want to know for sure that he’s leaving Texas.”
The vaquero nodded and left.
“James?” Gideon blinked, the edges of the room fading into a gray haze.
“Yeah, Gid?”
“Don’t let my head hit the desk.”
As if from a long distance away, he heard his friend call his name. Then he slumped forward into the oblivion he could no longer hold at bay.
Chapter 37
A week after Miguel witnessed Petchey’s departure on an eastbound train and reported back that the man’s tickets had been purchased all the way through to New York, Adelaide finally felt safe to venture outside again. Gideon had slept for two days straight after the confrontation, scaring her worse than the viscount’s appearance had, but her husband had improved much since then. He was eating solid food and gradually regaining the weight and strength he’d lost. He moved around the house under his own power, albeit slowly, and grumbled about not being able to check on his sheep. Adelaide concluded he was on the mend if he had sufficient energy to grouch at her and the servants.
But there was a blessing to be found in Gideon’s forced convalescence, too. It afforded him time to reconnect with Isabella. The two spent hours together every morning, Gideon reading aloud to her or helping with her arithmetic. The girl smiled and laughed, talked and sang songs until Adelaide actually found herself hushing the little magpie on occasion.
And the evenings? Well, they were the best of all. Gideon held her snug to his chest, whispering love words in her ear and dropping kisses on her neck that sent shivers coursing through her. He had yet to fully make her his wife, but she could see in his eyes that the time would come soon. Each day he grew stronger, and each night his kisses grew more ardent.
Today, however, was a day for the girls. As a reward for Isabella’s excellent work in the schoolroom, Adelaide had promised to take her riding, and they were both looking forward to the excursion. They’d been cooped up in the house too long.
“Wait, Miss Addie. You’re walking too fast.” Isabella’s legs pumped at a furious pace, leaping every few strides to make up lost ground as they made their way across the yard.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Adelaide slowed, tempering her enthusiasm. She hadn’t ridden Sheba in weeks and was more than eager to get in the saddle again.
When they entered
the stables, Adelaide collected Sheba’s bridle from the tack wall and a lead line for Isabella’s pony. After she had both animals saddled and ready, Adelaide lifted Isabella atop the pony and led her out to the yard. Keeping hold of the lead line, she swung up onto Sheba’s back and set off at a mild walk. Sheba tossed her head and strained at the bit, but Adelaide held her with a firm hand.
“I know, girl. I know.” She leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck. “I want to run, too, but Izzy’s with us, and we have to look out for her.”
Adelaide glanced over her shoulder to check on her daughter. She seemed secure in her seat, rocking gently with the pony’s motion.
“Should we try a trot?” she called out.
Izzy nodded and reached for the saddle horn. Adelaide clucked to Sheba and loosened her hold on the reins. The mare shifted into a jogging gait, and the pony followed. Izzy bounced around on her saddle like a rubber ball, but her giggles proved she was enjoying it.
After a while, they returned to a walk and meandered along a trail formed by a dry creek bed. The morning sun had already turned the day quite warm, but the wind blew over them now and again, cooling their cheeks.
“Can we stop for a minute, Miss Addie? I need to use the necessary.”
Adelaide hid a grin. She doubted Izzy had ever had to relieve herself without benefit of a water closet or chamber pot. But a rancher’s daughter would have to learn sooner or later. Might as well be today.
She pointed toward a large live oak a short distance to the west. “That looks like a good spot. We can rest there for a while before heading back.”
“All right.”
At Adelaide’s urging, the horses climbed out of the creek bed and ambled over to the tree that stood at the bottom of a small rise. Once there, Adelaide dismounted and helped Isabella down, leaving the animals to forage in the brown summer grass. A shallow ravine lay a few yards beyond the tree, and the two girls made their way there to tend to business.
When they returned to the tree, the shade was so inviting that Adelaide encouraged Isabella to explore while she rested against the tree’s trunk.
“Look, Miss Addie! See the bird with the funny tail?”
Adelaide straightened and followed the direction of Izzy’s gaze. A small cream-colored bird with dark wings and a long, skinny tail perched on the tip of an exposed branch. Adelaide picked her way across the uneven ground to join her daughter. She placed her arm around the girl’s shoulders and pointed up at the bird.
“You found a scissortail,” she said. “When he flies, his tail opens up in a big V, like a pair of scissors.”
“I want to see! I want to see!”
Isabella’s enthusiasm must have startled the bird, for he took flight and swooped over their heads as if shooing them away. Isabella ducked and giggled with delight, chasing after the bird.
Adelaide laughed, too. “Catch him, Izzy!”
She gave it a valiant attempt. She followed his erratic pattern until Adelaide decided she’d better give chase before Isabella got too far away. Finally the bird lit on a sumac bush halfway up the rise, having easily outdistanced its pursuers. Isabella plunged after it, scrambling up the slope while Adelaide massaged the stitch in her side and paused to catch her breath.
Before Isabella could reach the bush, however, the scissortail let out a shrill cry and flapped off into the sky. Something had frightened it. Perhaps a mule deer was approaching to browse on the sumac leaves. Isabella would enjoy seeing the deer up close. Adelaide set out to intercept her daughter, but drew up short when a large figure crested the rise above her. Her eyes widened. That was no deer.
A rider topped the hill and reined in his mount. He hesitated only a second before kicking his horse into a fast lope. On a path aimed directly at Isabella!
“Izzy, run!” Adelaide yanked up the fabric of her riding skirt and sprinted toward her daughter.
Isabella looked up and screamed. She stumbled as she turned to flee. Adelaide’s heart pounded against her breast as she ran. Get up, Izzy. Get up!
Adelaide took in the form of the rider bearing down on Izzy. She’d seen him before. From the schoolroom window. Lord Petchey! But how could that be? He was on his way back to England.
The rider urged his mount closer. Adelaide sprinted as fast as her legs would carry her, but she knew she’d never make it in time. Help me, Lord!
Isabella pushed to her feet and started down the hill, terror etched into her face. Adelaide fought to close the gap between them. The horse’s hooves ate up the ground faster.
Petchey pulled abreast of Isabella and leaned down, scooping her up with one arm.
“Noooo!” Adelaide cried.
Isabella thrashed about in an effort to free herself, but the man’s hold was too tight. Adelaide continued to charge up the hill toward them, one thought dominating her mind. She had to get to Izzy.
Oddly enough, the viscount cooperated. Instead of galloping off with his prize, he pulled his horse to a stop and waited for her. She didn’t care why. All she cared about was getting to her daughter.
When she was about a dozen feet away, he drew on her. Sunlight glinted off his nickel-plated revolver. Adelaide floundered to a halt. Her chest heaved. Gasping breaths moaned in and out. Her eyes fastened to the barrel of the gun; her arms inched upward.
“That’s close enough, my dear.” The man spoke in aristocratic tones. British tones. Much like Gideon’s. But instead of moving through her like warm honey, as her husband’s did, this man’s accent chilled her like a bath of melted snow.
“Petchey.”
“Ah. So you know who I am. Excellent.” He bowed his head to her as if he were greeting her in London’s Hyde Park, not holding her daughter hostage. Adelaide’s fear began to recede in the wake of a rising anger. She stiffened her backbone and lowered her arms to her sides, balling her hands into fists.
“Let the child go, Petchey. You have no legal claim to her.”
“Not yet. But I will.” He smiled at her, and the look turned her stomach. He reeked of confidence and strength, towering above her atop his horse. But he was just a Goliath, and Goliaths had a tendency to fall when confronted with tiny people armed with stones and God’s power. She was fresh out of stones, but she figured God could improvise.
Praying for the courage of David, Adelaide jutted out her chin. “Give Isabella to me. Right. Now.”
“I don’t think so.”
Isabella sobbed and renewed her struggles. “Miss Addie, help me!” The young girl’s arms reached out for her and Adelaide responded. She took one step. And another. Then Petchey’s revolver clicked as he cocked the weapon and pointed it directly at her head. She stopped, her heart aching at Izzy’s continued pleas for help.
“That’s enough bravery for one day, Miss Addie,” he said, using the name Isabella had called her. He must not know of her marriage to Gideon. Hope surged in Adelaide’s breast. She could use that to her advantage.
Petchey tightened his hold on the child’s middle, and Isabella’s cries softened to whimpers. “Go get on that sad little mare of yours and scamper back to Westcott like a good little mouse. Tell your employer he can either sign guardianship over to me or bury the girl. His choice. I’d prefer to keep the brat alive—she is my niece, after all—but I’ll let him decide. I will send my man to the ranch this evening to inquire after his decision.”
Gideon would never turn Isabella over to Petchey. He would go after the man himself. And in his still-weakened condition, he would be no match for the viscount. She couldn’t let that happen. Yet she was in no position to help either Gideon or Isabella. She had to play along. For now.
Adelaide met Petchey’s cold, taunting eyes. “You better not lay a hand on her.”
“That’s up to Westcott.” His mocking smile ate through her like acid.
Adelaide shifted her attention to Isabella’s tear-streaked face. “Be a brave little soldier for me, Izzy. I’ll come get you as soon as I can.” She stared into her d
aughter’s eyes for a long moment, trying to instill confidence and hope. Then she pivoted and strode down the hill.
“Miss Addie, don’t leave me! Miss Addie!”
Isabella’s tortured cries broke Adelaide’s heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she kept walking. She collected Isabella’s pony’s lead line and mounted Sheba. With back straight, she trotted off toward home, going slow enough to keep Petchey in her line of sight. She couldn’t leave Isabella alone with him, not with the child’s life hanging in the balance.
The moment he turned to the west and spurred his horse into motion, she unlatched the pony’s lead and slapped him hard on the hindquarters to send him running back to the ranch. Then she spun Sheba in an arc that put her on a path to intercept Petchey’s buckskin.
“Time to run, girl.”
Chapter 38
Reginald urged his buckskin into a canter, eager to put some distance between himself and Westcott’s base of operations. He’d been pleased to see that the mouse of a governess wasn’t much of a horsewoman. He’d nearly chuckled aloud at his good fortune when he spied her and the brat inching their way through the trees at a laggard pace. He’d probably be halfway to the line shack before she even arrived back at the house to deliver his message. The shortlegged mare she rode wasn’t much bigger than his niece’s pony, either, so even if she broke out of her trot, she wouldn’t exactly be eating up the ground.
It was a shame he didn’t have any of his hunters. With one of those sleek Thoroughbreds beneath him, he could fly over this brown wasteland.
Was nothing green in this cursed country? Even his horse was brown. His peasant horse. A cow pony, the man had called it. Reginald snorted. Noblemen didn’t ride ponies. They rode horses— grand horses with lineages that could be traced for generations, not stocky animals without record of the stallion that sired them. Disgraceful. At least this creature had decent endurance and didn’t seem to labor under the additional weight of the child in his lap.