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“I know. And she’s survived by a daughter, a girl who’d be about six years old now.”
Before he decided how much to divulge of what he already knew, the child who’d been bullied on the town street entered the kitchen, carrying a handmade rag doll, and approached Daisy.
Tom hadn’t noticed a resemblance to Caroline before, although he hadn’t thought to even look for one. But he studied her carefully now.
Her blond hair was a bit darker than her mother’s, more the color of sunflowers than fresh-churned butter. Yet there were other similarities—green eyes, a turned-up nose.
The fairness of her skin, too, which had made young Caroline appear to be angelic to a boy with mixed blood.
Had she also inherited her mother’s kind heart, the inner beauty that had allowed Caroline to befriend the boy known as Tom Lone Wolf when so many others in Stillwater had turned their backs on him?
Daisy reached for Sarah Jane and drew her close. “I’m afraid I’m not able to talk to you now, so you’ll have to leave.”
Tom wasn’t about to get into specifics in front of the child. Nor did he want to tip his hand about a possible inheritance at this point, especially with a woman who clearly could be purchased.
“I brought the child a gift,” he said. “May I give it to her?”
Sarah Jane looked up at Daisy, her eyes wide, seeking approval. Finally, it came with a nod.
Tom reached inside his vest pocket and pulled a pair of beaded moccasins, as well as a small medicine bag he’d made for her when he’d learned Caroline had not only borne a daughter but kept her.
“When I was a boy,” he said, “I knew a little girl who looked a lot like you. Her name was Caroline Graves. And one day, she did something very brave. As a reward for her bravery, my mother made her a pair of moccasins just like these.”
“Thank you,” Sarah Jane said, as she reached for the soft deerskin gifts. “That was my mama’s name.”
“I thought that it might be.”
The girl studied the handmade shoes and the medicine bag, then gazed at Tom. “What did she do that was brave?”
“She saw a grown man being mean to an Indian boy, and she told him to get off her ranch and to never come back.”
Sarah Jane’s eyes grew wide. “What did the man do to her?”
“He was afraid that she’d tell her grandfather, Harrison Graves, who was a very powerful man. So he left the boy alone.”
Daisy glanced down at the child, then at a bowl of green beans that sat on the kitchen table and back to Tom. “Thank you for your gifts, Mr. McCain. And for sharing the story. But I meant what I said. Now isn’t a good time to talk.”
“It won’t take long. I just want to ask you a few questions and get some honest answers.” Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out the twenty-dollar gold piece Harrison had given him. “Would this be enough to tempt you to find the time?”
Daisy’s eyes, while wary, studied the coin for only a moment. “Come back Thursday morning. Most of the girls sleep in. If you come around eight, I’ll be in the kitchen. And I’ll have a pot of coffee on the stove.”
“Fair enough.”
Again his gaze settled on little Sarah Jane. Would Harrison see a resemblance to her mother? If so, would he take that into consideration?
Would he be pleased to learn that Tom had found Caroline’s daughter? Or would he cast out the illegitimate child, just as he’d done to Caroline when he’d learned she was pregnant without a husband in sight?
Time would tell, he supposed, but first things first. In two days, he’d have to convince Daisy to let Sarah Jane go with him back to the Lazy G.
And if Daisy didn’t agree?
He’d take her anyway. Caroline’s daughter didn’t belong in a place like this. And Tom wasn’t about to leave her here.
* * *
On Friday morning, Katie hurried down the boardwalk to the newspaper office, her skirts swishing with each brisk step she took. She intended to pick up her copy of the Pleasant Valley Journal fresh off the press, just as she always did.
As she opened the front door, a bell tinkled to let the clerk know she’d arrived.
The bespectacled young man glanced up from his desk. When he spotted Katie, he smiled. “Here to read the latest rebuttal to your last article, Miss O’Malley?”
“Yes, Harold.” Katie slipped off her gloves and tucked them into her reticule. “What does Reverend Codwell have to say this time?”
“He doesn’t mention any new arguments, if that’s what you mean.” Harold adjusted his eyeglasses, pushed his swivel chair away from the desk and got to his feet.
While he went for her copy, Katie scanned the small office, breathing in the scent of ink and admiring the intricate machinery that worked the printing press. She’d actually considered the idea of becoming a reporter or even an editor herself. Edward Townsend, Harold’s boss, had once offered her a job, but he’d told her she’d have to temper some of her outspoken comments if she wanted to work for him.
Katie, of course, had refused to do that.
Noticing the publisher wasn’t around, she asked about him. “Where’s Edward?”
“He went to visit...” Harold flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet, then adjusted his shirt collar. “Um...I’m not sure where he is.”
Katie placed her hands on the countertop and leaned forward. “Harold Decker, you’re holding something back. Why is that? What don’t you want to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, Miss O’Malley. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It just isn’t proper.”
Katie arched a brow. “Where is this improper visit taking place?”
Harold ran a hand over his slicked-down hair, then looked at Katie as though he wanted her either to ask someone else or to forget the question completely, but she wasn’t about to do that.
She crossed her arms like a parent scolding an errant child. “Harold?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Edward went to see...one of the women from...um...the Gardener’s House. She was assaulted and nearly killed yesterday.”
Katie’s hands unfolded and slipped to her sides. “What happened?”
Harold’s ruddy cheeks grew a deeper shade of red with each tick of the clock. “Why don’t you ask Edward when he gets back? I don’t feel right talking to you about it.”
“You might as well tell me. There will be an article in the paper, and we both know that Reverend Codwell will be proclaiming it from the pulpit. You heard him bring up Miss Potts and Sarah Jane last week, which caused a rash of public outrage against the woman and the child.”
“You’re right, I suppose.” He ambled toward the counter and sighed. “And I certainly hope that didn’t have anything to do with the assault.”
“Why would it?”
“Because Daisy was the one who was attacked.”
The unexpected news slammed into Katie like a hammer on a blacksmith’s anvil. “Oh, no. At the brothel?”
“No, while she was coming to town to do some shopping at the mercantile.”
“Who attacked her?”
“No one knows. The little girl was the only witness, but she’s not talking. Doc Hennessy says the child is in shock.”
“Dear Lord,” Katie whispered out loud, as she launched into a silent prayer. Please look after Sarah Jane until I can get to her.
“Don’t worry,” Harold added. “There’s a group of concerned citizens who plan to take the child away from there and put her in an orphanage. Anything would be better than being where she is right now.”
A thousand thoughts swirled in Katie’s head, the foremost being the need to protect little Sarah Jane. She eyed Harold carefully. “What time do you expect Edward to return?”
“I’m not sure. After checking on Daisy, he was going over to the saloon to take up a collection for her. She’s a nice woman.” Harold stiffened. “I mean, she’s nice for a...” He cleared his throat, then chuffed. “Oh, never mind.”
Katie ignored the man’s discomfort. Her only concern was for Sarah Jane. Daisy had already agreed to go to Wyoming. After all, she couldn’t very well change her mind about leaving now.
Either way, Sarah Jane needed a champion, someone who would take her far away from this unforgiving town, someone who wouldn’t allow her to be placed in an orphanage.
And Katie was just the one to do it.
As she turned on her heel and strode for the door, Harold called out, “Miss O’Malley, you forgot your newspaper.”
“I’ll get it later.” Katie slammed the door behind her, nearly jarring the little bell off its perch.
She wasn’t sure what the townspeople would say when she announced that she would be the one adopting Sarah Jane, particularly if the Reverend Codwell stepped in to raise a fuss, but she was taking Sarah Jane and Daisy to Wyoming.
And she was prepared to fight anyone who stood in her way.
* * *
Tom nursed a cup of coffee while he sat in the red-and-gold parlor of the Gardener’s House, waiting for a chance to see Daisy again. The doctor was with her now, and as soon as he was finished with his exam, Tom planned to take her and Sarah Jane to a place they’d be safe.
The attack had been brutal. And there’d been no reason for it. Daisy had been on her way to the mercantile. Sarah Jane had been with her. At some point, she’d screamed. Blossom, one of the other women at the brothel, had heard her and come running. She’d fired a shot at the man, and he’d fled before anyone could get a good look at him.
Daisy, who’d been battered senseless, had no recollection of the assault. When Sarah Jane was asked if she could describe the man who’d attacked them, she’d shaken her head no. One day later, and she still hadn’t uttered a single word.
The doctor said the little girl, who bore bruises along one of her arms, had been traumatized. Poor little thing. Tom had no idea what her life had been like so far, but losing her mother so young...and now this.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gold watch. What was taking the doctor so long? He was hoping to get out of town as soon as Daisy was able to travel. Unfortunately, Daisy couldn’t mount a horse in her condition, even if she’d wanted to. And since Tom couldn’t rid himself of the suspicion that the attacker had intended to kill Daisy for some reason and might want to follow them so he could finish what he’d started, it would be difficult to hide their wagon tracks.
Something else niggled at him, too. Something that could be a coincidence. But why had the two women moved so many times since meeting in Mexico? Had they been running from someone?
Too bad Trapper Jack had already gone home. Tom could have used the man’s help today, even if he would have had to listen to his infernal jabbering and advice.
To make matters worse, Tom also had to look after Sarah Jane. And as much as he wanted to do right by Caroline’s daughter, he didn’t know squat about kids—especially little girls. And Daisy wasn’t going to be much help since she couldn’t even see to her own needs right now.
The doctor didn’t think her skull had been fractured by the blows to her head, but she’d suffered a serious concussion.
If that weren’t enough, that safe place he had in mind was a three-day ride from here.
Needless to say, Tom was growing too antsy to sit any longer. So he stuffed his father’s gold watch back into his pocket and got to his feet. He might as well do something useful, like head to the livery and get that wagon. But before he could cross the room, a sharp rap sounded at the door.
Sweet Heather, a plump blonde wearing a black, low-cut gown, sashayed toward the entry. “I’m comin’, sugar.”
As she swung open the door and a familiar redhead strode into the parlor with a determined step, her smile drooped to a frown and her hand fisted against her hip.
This ought to be interesting, Tom thought, as he studied the lady who was clearly out of place.
Afternoon sunlight peered through the front window and glistened upon her red hair, highlighting shades of fire and autumn. Expressive blue eyes blazed in a passionate array of emotions—worry, concern, nervous indignation, he guessed.
In spite of the modest apparel, he had to admit that she intrigued him far more than any of the women who lived and worked at the Gardener’s House.
As she scanned the parlor, the room grew still and intense with silent fury, like the air before a Texas twister.
“You again?” Sweet Heather asked. “What do you want this time?”
The redhead swept past her. “I just heard what happened. I came to see Sarah Jane and to talk to Daisy.”
Sweet Heather crossed her arms under her ample bust. “I told you before. You aren’t welcome here, so you’d better skedaddle.”
“I’m not leaving until I see them.”
Sweet Heather laughed heartily, her bosom bouncing like a bowl of calf’s-foot jelly. “Then I guess you’ll be here for a long, long time.”
“I can wait.” The redhead surveyed the room. When her gaze moved to Tom and recognition sparked, her breath caught.
Tom had to admit she had guts. Most decent women would rather drop dead than walk into a place like this.
“I told you to go,” Sweet Heather bellowed, her face reddening, her mouth set in grim determination. “We lost two customers the last time you came here.”
Sweet Heather looked like a ruckus ready to happen, and if the lady knew what was best for her she’d leave now.
Miss O’Malley didn’t flinch. Instead, she strode deeper into the parlor, her head still held high. “Then I’ll wait for someone to tell me where to find Sarah Jane.”
Sweet Heather closed the gap between them. “You’ll get out even if I have to pick you up and throw you out myself.”
About that time, the women who’d gathered at the top of the stairs began to file down the steps.
Realizing things could get out of hand, Tom made his way to the lady. “Miss O’Malley, I think you’d better leave. Sweet Heather would actually favor a fight.”
Miss O’Malley stood a bit taller, if that was possible. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. McCain, but I’m not going to leave until I’m ready to do so. And that’s not going to happen unless someone tells me where I can find Sarah Jane.”
Tom scanned the length of her. He could throw her over his shoulder and force her to leave, but it really wasn’t any of his business.
How involved did he want to get?
He figured he might as well head to the livery stable.
As he made his way to the door, Sweet Heather called out to him. “Where are you going, handsome?”
