An Unlikely Lady Page 22

  “You bitch!” he hissed, swaying in place. “What did you put in our whisk . . . ?” Then the flask in his hand fell to the ground, and the man tumbled face down into the dirt.

  Honesty leaned forward to poke his shoulder. “Robert?”

  No response.

  Jeez, what had she done to them?

  The answer hit him when a smug smile slid across Honesty’s face. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Treat. Thanks for an unforgettable afternoon.”

  Jesse’s chest swelled with admiration over her resourcefulness. Then his mind spun back to that foggy-brained sensation he’d felt upon waking that morning in Last Hope. So that’s how she . . .

  She’d drugged him! The conniving little wench had put something in his whiskey!

  A rush of cold anger brought Jesse to his feet and he approached Honesty as she rifled through each man’s pockets.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my sweet little wife.”

  She spun around. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. For a moment relief filled the deep brown depths, and she started toward him, arms lifted in welcome.

  Then she caught herself. Alarm replaced the relief.

  And she bolted.

  Jesse cursed. Forgetting the Treat brothers, he tore off after his fleeing wife. They leaped over logs, splashed through brooks, and climbed over rocks before he finally tackled her.

  She fought him tooth and nail. “Get off me, you filthy snake!”

  Jesse finally grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them above her head. “Now, is that any way to talk to your husband?” he gritted out, breathing heavily with exertion. “The game’s over, Honesty. We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way—but either way, you’re coming with me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, you Judas!”

  “Judas?”

  Her lips curled in a sneer. “I know who you are.”

  Jesse masked his surprise beneath a mask of indifference. “Is that so? And just who do you think I am?”

  “You’re one of those filthy Pinkerton Agents. Don’t try and deny it.”

  “Actually, I’m a damn good Pinkerton Agent. And is it a coincidence,” he drawled, then adopted a cold smile, “I know who you are, too.”

  Chapter 19

  “George Mallory, Deuce McGuire—they’re the same man.” His voice was silky steel. “So now that you know who I am and I know who you are, let’s call an end to this little charade.”

  Dread uncoiled in Honesty’s stomach as she stared into Jesses’s turbulent eyes. She’d known he would figure it out eventually, she just didn’t know when he’d done it or how, since she had the telegram on her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Damn it, Honesty!” The dull light of fury turned to hot rage. “I’ve given you every opportunity to tell me what you’ve been after, why you needed my protection so badly, and now, even when I confront you, you still can’t trust me enough to be honest with me.”

  “Trust a Pinkerton Agent? That’s a joke! You people are nothing more than glorified bounty hunters. Why should I trust you?”

  “Because right now, I’m probably the only one you can trust.”

  Oh, how she wished she could believe that. She hated keeping all these secrets from him; they ate at her insides like an incurable disease. But give him control over her destiny, the power to destroy her dreams? He asked more than she could give.

  Jesse sighed. “I can see we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” His left hand disappeared behind his back and reappeared with a pair of metal cuffs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you to Denver. Maybe ten years in prison will loosen that stubborn tongue of yours.”

  Honesty writhed beneath his weight, frantic to get away from him. But the strength and power that had once been so attractive were now a prison she couldn’t free herself from. Tears of helpless frustration stung the back of her eyes as he caught one wrist in the manacle, then the other.

  “What do you want from me?” she cried, hating that he could see her weakness.

  “The truth. Who is McGuire to you, and why are you willing to foolishly risk life and limb to find him?”

  “He was my father! And you want to know where he is? Fine, I’ll tell you: buried in a little grave outside Salida.”

  Jesse searched her eyes, and her heart warred with apprehension and relief that she’d finally confessed her secret.

  Then his eyes once again hardened, and his lips turned up with a cynical smile. “Nice try, but I’m not buying it.” He rolled off of her, then hauled her to her feet. “The tears are a nice touch, by the way.”

  “It’s the truth! He was shot down by Robert Treat four months ago in Durango. We jumped a train, and he died from a gunshot wound to the stomach just outside Salida. Ask the old hermit who lives on the mountain, if you don’t believe me. He helped me bury him.”

  “That’s a good idea—let’s go.”

  She wrenched out of his grasp, yanked his revolver from his holster, and aimed. “I said, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He eyed the weapon she held on him, then looked at her. “You’re out of your depths with me, Honesty. Now, look at this reasonably; I can either help you, or I can hurt you. If you don’t put the Colt down, I’m going to have to hurt you.” He held up his hand and took a step toward her.

  Honesty retreated just out of his reach and pulled back the hammer. “One step closer and I’ll shoot. My aim isn’t very good, but from this distance I can do some damage.”

  “You aren’t going to shoot me.”

  She didn’t waver. “I don’t want to, but I will.”

  “If this is the way you want it, so be it. But know this, my sweet Honesty: you will not get away from me. I will track you down to the ends of the earth if need be, but I will see McGuire brought to justice.”

  “Why?” she cried. “What did he ever do to deserve being hunted down like an animal?”

  “He stole two little girls sixteen years ago for ransom. After the money was paid, he killed them, then fled.”

  Honesty paled, and the gun went limp in her fettered hands as the news hit her like a blow to her stomach, stealing her breath. “No.” She shook her head in denial. “He would never have done that.”

  “He would and he did, and there’s a ransom note to prove it.”

  “There must be some mistake! My father might have done a lot of lawless things, but he would never hurt anyone, much less little children!”

  “Then maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

  Jesse closed the distance between them, pulled the gun from her hand, and looked her over with contempt. “He’s a crook, Honesty. A man who’s left a trail of fraud and theft across half the country—and he made you a part of it.”

  Honesty wished with all her heart that she could deny that, but it would be futile. Deuce had swindled people, and he had made less-than-scrupulous choices. But if Jesse expected her to believe that the laughter-loving, gentle man who had raised her could have done something so heinous as to steal two children from their family . . .

  A sudden, crushing memory surfaced. No matter what happens, sweet lass, remember that I’ve loved ye with all me heart.

  Her mind spun back to a lifetime of evasive answers and outright avoidance, to her earliest memory—of a sky so blue it hurt the eyes and grass so green one could sink into its depths. Of salty winds and the rugged chisel of rocks and the mournful whisper of her name across a diamond-tipped sea.

  Ye’ll know soon enough.

  The truth is hidden in the flowing stones.

  “Oh my gosh . . .” She closed her eyes against the wash of pain that overtook her. If it was the truth, and she was one of the children he had taken, then that meant that the greatest con man in the west had played the greatest con of all. On her. She lifted her lashes and fixed anguished eyes on the imposing man before her. “Jesse, I think
I’m one of those little girls he took.”

  Jesse stared at her with incredulity. Honesty? One of the long lost heiresses to the most profitable shipping company in the United States?

  “You really are something. Rose was right about one thing—you do belong on the stage.”

  “Listen to me, Jesse. When Robert caught us in the alley, my father told me that if we should become separated, to run as far away as I could, that I would know all there was to know soon enough. And later, the day he died, he told me to go back to where we began, that the truth is hidden in the flowing stones. I’ve been looking for it ever since. Don’t you understand? This is what I’ve been searching for, what he wanted me to find! He wanted me to know!”

  “Did you just see this as an opportunity, and take it? Or did you and McGuire concoct this from this beginning?”

  “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but think about it. My fath—Deuce—never talked about my mother. He was always on the run, never stayed in any one place for long. And what about the people who have been after him all these years?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve got this all worked out in that scheming little brain of yours, don’t you?”

  “You can’t ignore the facts, Jesse.”

  “Except for one small detail; those little girls are dead.”

  “You’re certain of that? Isn’t it possible that people only believe they’re dead? Don’t you owe it to their family to consider the possibility?”

  “Fine; we’ll let them decide.”

  “No, Jesse, not yet. The girls have been gone for sixteen years. If I’m wrong, all it would do is reopen old wounds. But if I’m right, it would be best to have proof. And I think that as soon as I find the flowing stones, I’ll have it.”

  Jesse stared at her long and hard. She looked so damn convincing. And she made so much sense it was frightening.

  Hell, after all the lies she’d told, he wouldn’t put it past her to grasp at any straw that might save her skin. No doubt McGuire was still alive somewhere and she was trying to lead him on a wild-goose chase to throw him off the scent.

  The easiest way to verify her story about McGuire being dead was to make quick tracks to Salida and find the old hermit.

  But if there was a single chance that she was telling the truth, the only way he’d ever know was to find this “proof” she sought.

  “Help me, Jesse,” she implored, seeming to sense his weakening. “Help me find whatever my father wanted me to find. If he did this terrible deed, then I must know. If he didn’t, then neither of us have lost anything except time.”

  Despite every rebelling instinct the prospect of the search had his blood humming in a way it hadn’t in years. “All right, we’ll go to the flowing stones. But if you pull one more stunt, if you flee from me one more time, if I find out you’ve been trying to pull one more con on me, you will regret the day you ever double-crossed me.”

  The days passed in a blur of windswept prairie and stony silence. After taking a small detour back to Sage Flat to turn the unconscious Roscoe and Robert Treat over to the marshal, and for Jesse to send a wire to his superintendent updating him on the current development, they headed southeast.

  They stopped at every point on Honesty’s map, questioning every person they ran into, searching every rock formation and creek bed they came across. Jesse spoke to her rarely, and then his words were terse and forbidding. On the occasion when she did try to carry on a conversation with Jesse, he cut off her attempts to bridge the chasm between them with a stare so sharp she felt its sting. It seemed impossible to believe that the man who rode beside her was the same man who had brought her to the highest bliss only days before. Honesty couldn’t even think about those moments in his arms without regret piercing her heart.

  Maybe she’d gotten what she deserved, going weak in the knees and dim in the head over a handsome face. How could she have been such a fool as to trust him?

  From the moment she’d seen him riding up the empty street of a forgotten town, she’d known he posed a greater danger to her well-being than the most ruthless thief. Yet she’d let herself believe that he might be different. That he might be the one person in the world whom she could depend on and trust. Whom she could belong to, body and soul.

  Look where her silly notions had gotten her.

  On the third morning of the second week of their search it began to rain, but even the soggy weather didn’t deter Jesse. He seemed driven by some invisible demon, and she almost felt sorry for those he’d pursued in the past.

  The mud and rain finally forced them to make camp late that afternoon, and as they huddled beneath a crudely constructed lean-to, listening to the wind and the rain and the thunder, Honesty could bear his silence no longer.

  “How long do you intend on punishing me?” she asked, watching him nurse a cup of coffee.

  “Now, why would I want to punish you?”

  “For telling you about my father. You’ve been hounding me for weeks to tell you the truth, yet when I do, you act as if I’ve committed a mortal sin.”

  “Because it isn’t the truth. Every word, every gesture from you, has been a lie from the start.”

  She thought about the way she’d responded to his touch, the way he made her heart sing and her soul soar. “Not everything.” Even now, she ached for Jesse to take her in his arms and hold her. Except this was not the gentle or passionate man she’d given herself to. This was a man who could destroy her.

  “No, only every word you’ve uttered from the moment I set eyes on you back at the Scarlet Rose,” he scoffed.

  “What?” Honesty went still, the shift in direction throwing her off-balance.

  “I saw the proof of what happened that night in Last Hope. You remember: the night you made me believe you obliged men for a living and rooked me out of three dollars?”

  “You want your money back?” she snapped.

  “No, I want to know why the hell you never told me you were a virgin.”

  There was a note of pain beneath his anger, and Honesty felt shame stir in her belly. She averted her face and fixed her sight on a patch of weeds near her feet. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “I needed traveling money.”

  “So you drugged me and made me believe I’d bedded you.”

  Honesty hesitated, then nodded. “Most men would be pleased to find their wives untouched.”

  “Most men don’t expect their wife to already be deflowered.”

  “Are you saying you’d rather I had been a sporting girl?”

  He set his jaw, but didn’t answer.

  “You are such a hypocrite. What makes your lies any different than mine?”

  “I never lied to you.”

  “No, but you didn’t tell me the truth, either, and that’s just as bad. You could have told me at any point that you were a detective, yet you didn’t.”

  “Because it had nothing to do with you before.”

  “So you portrayed yourself as a drifter with no past, no future.”

  “I’ve only been doing my job.”

  “And I’ve only been protecting my life! That may not mean much to you, but it’s all I’ve got!”

  As she flopped onto her bedroll and curled into a ball beneath the saddle blanket, Jesse found himself gripping his cup in a white-knuckled fist. He stared at the curve of her back and thought how alone she looked lying there. How could she think her life meant nothing to him? Did she think he’d put the most important case of his career on hold for the joy of it? Or that he’d chased after her time and time again because he had nothing better to do? Or that he’d put up with more nonsense from her than from any other woman for his health?

  If she had any idea just how deeply she’d burrowed under his skin—

  Muttering a profanity under his breath, Jesse emptied his cup into the struggling fire and watched it sizzle. He could have walked away a long time ago if he hadn’t cared what happened
to her. But he admired her tenacity as much as he cursed it; he respected her loyalty as much as he loathed it. And despite his own judgment to the contrary, he’d spend his last breath keeping her safe.

  He jerked to his feet and strode out of the shelter of the oilskin to the fringe of the campsite. Drizzling rain sprayed against his face but didn’t dampen the turmoil inside him. He’d spent more lonely nights on the prairie than he could count, but never had he felt so alone. They needed to find the stones pretty damn soon, or he might just start forgetting that Honesty embodied everything he’d come to detest in his life.

  His father had shattered his illusions. Miranda had bruised his ego. But Honesty . . . if he let down his guard for an instant, she could do the most damage of all. She could break his heart.

  She had the dream again, stronger this time, and more vivid than at any other time. Blues and greens and golds and rusts. The colors blended together, colliding, separating.

  Ho-ne-sty . . .

  She tossed her head from side to side.

  Come out, come out, wherever you are . . .

  The girlish voice beckoned, yet something held her back.

  Ho-ne-sty . . .

  “Honesty, wake up!”

  Her eyes snapped open, and a man’s face came into focus. Whiskered jaw, piercing blue-green eyes, golden hair flowing past his shoulders. “Jesse?”

  “Expecting someone else?”

  Ignoring the cynical slant to a phrase she’d come to find comforting, she sat up and pressed her fingers to her brow. “I dreamt someone was calling my name.”

  “I’m not surprised; I’ve been trying to get you up for ten minutes.” He rose from where he knelt on one knee by her side and strode toward the horses. The packs on their backs and the odor of charred oak told her that Jesse had been up for some time. “We’ve got a lot of miles to cover today, so don’t dawdle.”