Staring at his back, she found herself wishing, only for a second, that she could abandon her conscience. He’d ambushed Gideon. He wanted to exploit Izzy and steal her inheritance, maybe even kill her. Yet shooting a man in the back, even for good cause, would require her to turn her back on her beliefs. And that she wouldn’t do.
Perhaps she should just threaten to shoot him and demand that he let Izzy go. But if he called her bluff, she might end up dead, and Izzy would have no one left. She would have ruined the child’s one chance for escape. No, her best chance was to choose stealth over confrontation.
Another man moved into her field of vision. Petchey’s accomplice. Gideon had mentioned the solicitor. Clearly not a hardened gunman, the fellow paced back and forth across the floor, wringing his hands and shaking his head.
“I want no part of this, sir. Kidnapping, attempted murder … It’s just not right.”
Attempted? A thrill bolted through her. The men must be alive.
“Stop your sniveling, Farnsworth,” Petchey ground out. “You crossed the line between right and wrong years ago. You might have pretended to be blind to the fraudulent financial dealings you brokered for me, but you are no innocent. Every time you deposited one of my bank drafts, you sullied your hands.”
“But that was just money,” Farnsworth whined. “These are people’s lives.”
“You don’t think financial ruin affects people’s lives? Ha! You’re a fool. I know of at least three suicides that resulted from your harmless money schemes. The only difference is that here you have to be man enough to witness death firsthand.”
A whimper sounded off to Adelaide’s left. Izzy? Adelaide leaned her rifle against the wall and crawled under the window ledge to the opposite side. As she stood, she searched the back corners of the room. There. Beside the crumbling hearth. Isabella lay huddled on the floor, folded into a tight ball. Her arms encircled her head while she rocked back, the same posture she adopted when awakened by a nightmare.
Tears pooled in Adelaide’s eyes. She ached to pull her daughter to her breast and hold her until the nightmare vanished. But the only way to do that was to enter the nightmare herself.
For the first time in her life, she actually thanked God for making her so small. None of the men would have been able to fit through the window, but she could. The question was, could she do it without being seen?
Adelaide moved directly in front of the window before she could think too much about the answer. She monitored the men inside, waiting to be sure both had their attention focused forward. A rickety table stood between them and Isabella. It wasn’t much in the way of cover, but if Adelaide hunkered down as she fetched her daughter, perhaps it would protect them from Petchey’s notice.
She hopped up, bracing her arms against the ledge. Then she dragged her stomach across the opening, careful not to grunt as air whooshed from her lungs. Ducking her head, Adelaide twisted her shoulders at an angle to fit diagonally through the square space and flipped over to a sitting position. After that, pulling her legs through was a simple affair.
The men continued their grumbling vigil, unaware of her presence. Adelaide crawled along the wall toward the hearth, keeping her head below the top of the table. Thankfully, the floor was dirt and didn’t squeak as she moved.
Just before reaching Izzy, she stopped, stealing a glance back at the men. Not wanting to startle the girl and alert the others to what was going on, Adelaide refrained from touching Isabella and instead whispered her name in an almost inaudible voice. The child’s quivering shoulders stilled. Adelaide repeated her name. Isabella turned her head to the side, and her red rimmed eyes widened. Adelaide immediately put a finger to her lips. Izzy’s gaze flew around the room, lighting briefly on her uncle before returning to Adelaide. She sat up and nodded.
Adelaide helped her daughter to her feet, took her hand, and led her back toward the window. They were nearly there when Petchey shifted.
“Farnsworth, bring me the other gun. If you’re not going to use—”
He turned to gesture toward the satchel on the far side of the room and suddenly noticed Adelaide. They both froze—him in shock, her in horror. Adelaide recovered first. She scooped Isabella’s legs over her arm and lunged for the window. Petchey bellowed. His footsteps pounded toward them.
Adelaide thrust her daughter feetfirst through the opening. “Run for the trees, Izzy. Miguel and Papa Gideon are in the trees.”
Isabella hit the ground and looked back. “Mama!”
“Run!” Adelaide ordered. She hooked her right leg over the ledge and shoved her head through, less to escape than to prevent the man behind her from getting within reaching distance of Isabella. Petchey grabbed her around the waist and tried to tear her away. She clung to the window with all her might, her leg and shoulder blade wedged against the frame.
Petchey was too strong, though. Her hold on the wood began to slip. She watched Isabella’s short legs pump across the clearing and hope soared in her heart. Then a shape emerged from the stand of mesquite. Miguel.
He sprinted out of the trees, straight for Isabella. With a last desperate surge, Adelaide reached for the rifle she had left against the wall.
“Miguel!” She flung the weapon as far toward him as she could.
Unable to hold on any longer, Adelaide was torn from the window. Her head banged into the top of the frame and her arm and leg scraped against the sides as Petchey hauled her in.
“You interfering little—” He punctuated his sentence with a slap across her face as an exclamation point.
Her neck whipped back and pain scalded her cheek. He shoved her to the floor and ducked his head out the window. He raised his pistol to take a shot, then pulled it away with a roar fierce enough to rival any lion.
The man named Farnsworth gently took hold of her arm and helped her stand. His eyes shimmered with apology but gave no encouragement. She extracted her arm from him and lifted her chin. His unwillingness to take action against his employer fueled her outrage and bolstered her courage. She stiffened her spine and pivoted to face the angry beast who towered above her. God knew how to close the mouths of lions. She just hoped he would close the muzzles of their guns, as well.
Chapter 43
Rustling brush and thudding footsteps brought Gideon to his feet with Miguel’s pistol clutched in his hand. He craned his neck from side to side, searching for a clear view of what approached through the staggered tree trunks that impeded his vision. It was too soon for Miguel to have returned, and he’d just heard Petchey shouting in the shack. Could the viscount have a man on the outside?
Gideon’s jaw tensed. He slid his finger into position over the trigger. Then his foreman broke out of the brush. Gideon immediately dropped his arm to his side.
“Bella?” Her name came out on a ragged breath. He had been taking aim at his own daughter.
She was clinging to Miguel’s neck, her legs wrapped around his waist as the two lumbered through the vegetation. Baffled joy speared through him. He holstered his gun and ran to meet them. He pulled Bella from Miguel’s arms and hugged her close. His eyes growing moist, he looked to the vaquero to explain the miracle. “How … ?”
Then he noticed the rifle in the man’s hand. His rifle. The rifle he had given to Adelaide. Dread punched him in the gut. Miguel’s somber expression confirmed his fears.
Bella leaned away from Gideon’s chest and grabbed his face between her palms. “Miss Addie climbed in the window to get me, but Uncle Reg-nald caught her before she could get out. You gotta go get her, Papa Gidyon. Uncle is real mad.”
Terror on Addie’s behalf paralyzed him for a moment, but as fast as it came, it left, replaced by an unearthly calm. He knew what he needed to do. Gideon met Miguel’s gaze. “Cover me?”
The man nodded without hesitation. “Sí.”
Gideon strode over to James and handed Bella down to him. “Guard my girl.”
“With my life, Gid.” James slid his arm around the chi
ld’s shoulder and tucked her securely into his side.
Gideon laid his hand atop Bella’s head, lingering for a second or two. She looked up at him with big blue eyes. “It’ll be all right, Papa Gidyon. I prayed to God for you and Miss Addie to come get me, and you did. I’ll keep praying while you go get Miss Addie. God will help you.”
Oh, for the faith of a child. If only he could believe as fully. Help my unbelief, Lord. Grant us success.
“Keep praying, Bella mine,” Gideon said, his throat tight. He rubbed a lock of her golden hair between his thumb and forefinger and smiled into her eyes a final time before turning away. He strode to the edge of the clearing and drew his weapon. Miguel followed. Gideon held the revolver up, checking the chambers a final time as he laid out his plan, such as it was.
“Aim high. I’ll retrieve my gun from the clearing as we advance. If we make it to the shack, I’ll go after Petchey. You get Addie.”
Gideon lowered his arm and looked at Miguel. “I know you have family back in California who depend on you. I’ll not think less of you if you wish to lay down cover fire from the trees. You don’t have to follow me to the shack. I wouldn’t even ask, except that I know he’ll kill her if we wait.”
“I follow, patrón. Señora Westcott is a good woman. I would want someone to fight for my Rosa if she was the one in there.”
Gideon nodded. “Thank you, my friend.” He looked back at the small clearing that separated him from Addie. It seemed to stretch for miles, though in reality the line shack was only a good stone’s throw away.
They wouldn’t have time to reload. The revolver had six shots, the rifle fifteen. If he could reclaim his discarded gun, he’d have six more. It would have to be enough.
“Let’s do it.”
Gideon vaulted into the open and sent a shot through the upper right corner of the front window. He ran and shot and ran and shot. The report of Miguel’s rifle echoed behind him as Gideon outdistanced the vaquero. He had only covered a third of the distance before Petchey started returning fire. Resisting the instinct to duck, Gideon ran on. Faster. Harder. His thighs burned. His lungs ached. He emptied his last chamber into the wood of the door, then took three more strides to where his gun belt lay abandoned in the dirt.
Miguel continued to fire. Gideon dove for the new weapon at the same time a shot blasted from the shack. He heard the whiz of the bullet zipping over his head as he collided with the dirt. He rolled toward the leather holster, pulled the gun free, and scrambled back to his feet.
The closer they came to the building, the faster they fired. Petchey got off several rounds, but his shots flew wild as he strove to keep his head protected behind the wall. A few steps from the shack, Gideon ran out of ammunition. He tossed down his gun and sprinted full-out toward the door. The old wood splintered as he kicked it in, and his momentum carried him forward into the one-room building.
“Gideon!”
He saw Addie break away from the grasp of a thin man in the back corner. In the same instant, he turned to charge Petchey before the man had time to draw a bead on him. But the viscount wasn’t by the window as Gideon expected. He was lunging for Adelaide. The blackguard grabbed her by the hair and jerked her in front of him. She yelped in pain, grabbing her head and slumping in his grasp. He hauled her up, clutched her neck in the V of his left arm, and shoved the muzzle of his pistol against her temple. She stilled. So did Gideon. His heart constricted.
Miguel bounded into the room, winded but steady as he aimed his rifle at Petchey’s head. Gideon didn’t know if he had any rounds left, but a bluff would work nearly as well.
“Let her go.” Gideon fisted his hands, keeping his eyes fixed on Petchey.
“Bring my niece to me, and we can discuss a trade.”
“I don’t think so.”
Petchey’s eyes narrowed. “Then we have nothing left to say to each other.”
He shoved Adelaide at Miguel, effectively neutralizing the only weapon that could be used on him. At the same time, he extended his arm to aim his pistol at Gideon.
Like a ram defending his territory, Gideon charged. He ducked his head and crashed into Petchey’s middle, driving him back into the table. The viscount grunted, and his gun fell to the ground. Gideon landed two punches to the man’s stomach. Then Petchey jammed his knee into Gideon’s forehead. His neck whipped backward as pain exploded in his head. The viscount pounced. He pummeled Gideon’s abdomen until one jab connected fully with the site of his wound. Gideon cried out and crumpled to his knees.
As Petchey bent to retrieve his gun, a flurry of cream-colored skirts attacked. Addie launched herself onto his back and grappled for the weapon. Miguel followed her, wielding his rifle like a club. Yet he couldn’t use it for fear of hitting Adelaide. Gideon forced the agony aside and crawled to his feet. He had to get her away from the viscount.
Before he could stand, though, Petchey growled and flung Addie backward, toppling her into Gideon. Gideon closed his arms around her and cushioned her fall. But above them, the viscount brought his pistol around to point dead center at Adelaide’s back. Miguel swung the rifle and Gideon rolled Addie beneath him, sheltering her with his body. The pistol fired.
Gideon flinched, but the anticipated pain didn’t come. He lifted his head. Petchey lay in a heap on the floor.
Gideon moved off of Addie and looked up at his foreman. “I owe you my life, Miguel.”
“Wasn’t me, patrón.” The man’s eyebrows knit together. “He fell before I hit him.”
Adelaide sat up and tugged on his hand. “Gideon, look.”
He followed her gaze to the back of the room. Mr. Farnsworth stood with a revolver in his hand. His entire body trembled.
“I had to stop him,” Farnsworth said, his voice hollow. “He’s hurt enough people. He had to be stopped.”
The gun fell from his fingers and thudded onto the packeddirt floor.
Adelaide buried her face in Gideon’s neck. He wrapped his arm around her and caressed her shoulder, her cheek, her chin, sending silent prayers of thanks to God for sparing them. He lifted her face to him. All the ugliness of what they had endured vanished in the light of her beauty. His aches faded as he gazed into her eyes, his love for her so strong it throbbed with every heartbeat.
“It’s over?” she asked.
He nodded. “It’s over.”
Chapter 44
ONE MONTH LATER
China cups clinked against saucers as Isabella and her grandmother shared refreshments on the veranda with the miniature tea set Lady Westcott had brought from England. Adelaide’s forehead crinkled behind the book she was reading. No, not Lady Westcott. Lady Mansfield. Gideon’s mother had explained with much patience that she was to be addressed by her husband’s title, not his surname, yet Adelaide still had trouble remembering. At least Gideon had two brothers in line before him to inherit the dratted title, so hopefully she would never have to call her husband Lord Mansfield. So stiff and formal. She’d take the simple and utterly marvelous Mr. Gideon Westcott over a stuffy Lord Mansfield any day.
Although she had to admit that the current Lord Mansfield was far from stuffy. For the last two weeks, Gideon’s father had acted like a man on a Wild West adventure. He actually seemed disappointed to find no warring Indian tribes nearby. Adelaide smiled as she gazed past the white porch railing at the very domesticated outbuildings surrounding the house. She’d had enough excitement since her marriage to Gideon without adding dime-novel Indian raids and masked bandits into the mix.
So much had happened since that day at the shack. Gideon testified before the circuit judge about all that had transpired, giving a favorable account of how Mr. Farnsworth’s actions had saved their lives. The judge ruled the incident a justifiable homicide and released Mr. Farnsworth to return to England. James had stayed on at Westcott Cottage until his leg healed, and when he left, he carried adoption papers with him to file at the county clerk’s office, making Isabella an official part of the Westcott famil
y.
Gideon’s father and mother arrived for a visit and were able to join them for the reception hosted by the Menardville church last Saturday in honor of their marriage. Mrs. Kent had outdone herself with the decorations, and the dear woman nearly fainted when an honest-to-goodness British lord and lady appeared on the church steps. However, the highlight of the evening for Adelaide was when Gideon vowed his love to her in front of all those gathered in the small clapboard building and slipped a beautiful heirloom ring onto her finger.
Adelaide held the topaz stone up to the light. The afternoon sun glistened on the golden gem and set off an answering glow in her heart. She was so blessed. She had a husband who truly cherished her and an extended family who had welcomed her into their midst despite the fact that she couldn’t have been at all what they’d expected in a wife for their son. An impulsive American rancher’s daughter with no family pedigree rarely made a titled gentleman’s list for prospective brides. Yet their love for Gideon seemed to spill over onto her.
Tearing her gaze away from her wedding ring, she turned back to the well-worn copy of Jane Eyre that lay in her lap. Jane had left Thornfield and was wandering about northern England, brokenhearted. Adelaide sighed. Jane longed for her Edward much as she longed for Gideon, torn apart by the miles that separated them.
Gideon had taken his father to San Antonio five days ago on business. He needed to check on the warehouses that stored his wool clip and negotiate with the merchants who sold to the textile mills. It was part of being married to a sheepman, she supposed, but their bed felt so empty at night. How quickly she had become accustomed to his warm arms surrounding her as she drifted off to sleep.
It didn’t help that she had been left to fend for herself with her mother-in-law without Gideon as a buffer between them. She wanted to make a good impression on Lady Mansfield, but she constantly felt as if she was putting the wrong foot forward. Lady Mansfield never remarked on it, however. She was always gracious and kind. Of course she was also always perfectly coifed, dressed in the latest fashion, and unerringly proper. Just a tad intimidating for a woman whose best dress looked like a rag in comparison and who was more likely to smell like a horse than the latest perfume from Paris. She didn’t sense any disapproval from Lady Mansfield, though, just a slightly strained atmosphere as they both adjusted.