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“I miss my parents,” Sam said. “But I’m glad you’re here, Miss Lily.”
“So am I.” Her gaze misted over. “The two of you have been extremely brave these past few months. Your parents would be very proud of you.”
“Do you really think so?” Sam hopped from foot to foot beside her. “Peter and I are supposed to grow up and follow in their footsteps. That’s what our mother always told us. We are meant to serve others in this life.”
“And so you shall. But I’m quite certain your parents meant for you to be children first. They’re at peace now, and they’d want the same for you.”
Her father was at peace, as well. Lily took comfort in knowing he’d been reunited with her mother and brother. She’d always sensed she was a poor substitute for the people he’d lost.
“Miss Lily,” Peter began. “Do you have a husband?”
“’Course she doesn’t.” Sam huffed. “Otherwise she’d be a missus.”
“I don’t have a husband or a beau,” Lily said lightly.
Over the years she’d occasionally engaged in light flirtations with gentlemen passing through the boardinghouse, but she’d never been tempted by anything more. She neither felt nor inspired fervent love, nor was she particularly interested in the experience. She simply wanted a safe place to call home each night. Nothing more, nothing less.
Her father had chosen an early grave rather than life without his wife and son. Even in death Benjamin had inspired more devotion than Lily. She’d survived the pain, but her heart had turned brittle and fragile. From that moment on, she’d protected her embattled emotions with militant fervor. She’d erected a stronghold around her heart and sealed the entrances.
There was no love without loss, there was no joy without sorrow, and there was no reward without sacrifice. She’d simply chosen to forgo the nonsense. Happy endings only existed in fairy tales, and hoping for something different was a sure path to misery.
She was a practical person who sought practical solutions. She’d certainly never known love to be the practical solution.
Taking a fortifying breath, she inhaled the chill air into her lungs. “We’re obviously not going to find your grandfather sitting out here in the cold.”
She tightened her grip on Peter’s mitten-clad fingers, and they marched across the street. Sam trailed behind them. They skirted past a wagon hitched with two enormous draft horses snorting vapor into the glacial air.
“Aw, shucks,” Peter said. “I was hoping we’d see a showdown.” His shoulders sagged, then perked up when he realized their path led them directly before the suspected gunfighter. He tugged her down to his eye level and spoke in her ear. “How many men do you think he’s killed?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. He’s not my concern. You are.” Lily was made of sterner stuff than this cowardly hesitation. She wasn’t letting some ruffian force her to sit in the cold. “Your grandfather probably lost track of time. Maybe he’s even waiting for us in the restaurant.”
Living in St. Joseph had made her soft. She was being ridiculous. Not even the most villainous outlaw threatened women and children in broad daylight.
Despite that bracing thought, her step faltered on the second riser leading to the raised boardwalk. She sucked in another restorative breath and squared her shoulders. Just to be safe, she tucked Peter behind her as she halted before the gun-toting man.
He didn’t rouse.
Lily cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir. I need to p-pass.”
Hesitating, she opened and closed her mouth a few times like a voiceless marionette. With his head tipped forward, the gunfighter’s hat shaded his eyes. Had he fallen asleep? What if she startled him and he drew his gun on her?
The outlaw stirred.
She scrambled back and bumped into Peter.
With chilling deliberation one boot lowered. Her heart clattered against her ribs. The outlaw’s heel thumped against the boardwalk. As the second boot dropped, Lily muffled a yelp. She couldn’t see his eyes or gauge his intent. When the front two legs of the chair hit the ground, a hollow thud sounded.
Her temporary bravado deserted her. Leaning slightly to one side, she searched the street for a sign indicating the sheriff’s office. Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? The sheriff’s office was a much more practical place to start.
The outlaw unfolded from his chair and rose to his full, dizzying height. Holding her ground, Lily swallowed hard. She tipped back her head and glimpsed his face. Her breath caught in her throat. There was nothing forgiving about this man.
“Wow!” Peter exclaimed. “You’re tall.”
“Shush,” Lily ordered. “It’s not polite to comment on someone’s appearance.”
Even if the observation was accurate. Especially if the observation was accurate.
The man crossed his arms over his chest and squinted down at her.
She held her ground. “Isn’t it a bit inhospitable for sitting outside?”
“I like the view.”
She glanced in the direction he’d been facing and noted the shuttered windows and chipped paint facade of a barbershop.
“Lovely.”
He brought to mind the outlaw from the dime novel she’d borrowed from Peter the previous evening when she couldn’t sleep. Except this gentleman was taller and more broadly built than the cowboy on the book cover. He was unshaven, with a shaggy mop of whiskers covering his chin. The coffee-colored hair hanging beneath his hat touched his shoulders. His eyes were dark, as well. Dilated against the overcast sky, his pupils nearly blotted out the rich, bronzed hue. Though his general build was pleasing, tall and lean, he had the look of a fur trapper who’d been too long without company in the wilderness.
Despite his unshorn appearance, his dark wool coat and canvas trousers were clean and well-kept. He certainly didn’t smell like the fur trapper who’d stayed overnight at the boardinghouse. She’d spent two days scrubbing the rank odor from the bedding. This gentleman had a crisp, masculine scent that hinted of leather, wool and something else. She inhaled deeply and caught the pungent snap of gunpowder.
The realization brought her up short. This wasn’t an ordinary chap.
“Well, um.” She searched for an innocuous comment. His implacable stance sent a frosty draft through her that had nothing to do with the winter wind. “Your town is quite pleasant.”
“It’s not my town.”
His expression was strangely taut, as though he was sizing her up. For a coffin. She quickly squashed the thought. Her imagination was running away with her. After three days of nonstop travel, two by train and one by stage, an aching fatigue gripped her. All of the dime novels and newspaper serials she’d read along with the siblings’ ghoulish yarns had infected her thoughts.
Peter snuck a peek around her hip and she urged him back once more. The gunfighter raised his eyebrows. His continued silence left her unnerved.
Peter muttered something. Lily gave his hand a warning squeeze. The boy twisted from her restraint.
“Are you an outlaw, mister?” he demanded. “Is your face on one of them wanted posters?”
“Peter!” Lily splayed her arms. The slice of toast she’d managed to choke down that morning lurched in her stomach. “Children have such vivid imaginations.”
The outlaw squinted. “What’s your business here, miss?”
“My b-business?”
What was wrong with her? Her lips weren’t working properly in the cold.
“Why are you in Frozen Oaks?”
The horizon wavered, and stars twinkled around the edges of her vision. She swayed on her feet. The gunfighter took her elbow and she recoiled from his touch. Something flickered in his expression. A hint of regret that gave her pause.
Sam tugged on her sleeve. “You don’t look so good, Miss Lily.”
“He’s right,” Peter solemnly agreed. “You’re as white as chalk.”
The gunfighter’s face swam before her, and her ears buzzed.
“I’m fine,” Lily managed weakly. Her eyelids were leaded and she struggled to keep them open. “Let’s go inside.”
She urged the children ahead of her and reached for the door. If she could just make it inside the warmth of the restaurant, everything would be all right.
Her hand collided with the outlaw’s chest instead of the handle.
He caught her fingers in his warm grasp. Tipping back her head, she studied his face. His eyes reflected concern and a tinge of compassion. In an instant she softened toward him. He didn’t appear frightening at all. He seemed just like any other mortal man. Albeit a taller-than-average mortal man. The hazy afternoon threw his austere features into sharp relief, and an indefinable emotion tugged at her chest.
The next instant her thoughts scattered. Her heartbeat grew sluggish and each step tugged at her feet as though she was wading in molasses. Why hadn’t she eaten more breakfast that morning?
“I don’t feel very well.”
She mustn’t leave the children. As panic chased her into the darkness, the outlaw’s strong arms reached for her.
“No, no, no,” the outlaw muttered. “Please don’t faint on me, lady.”
Blackness descended and she dissolved into paralyzing ether.
That judge had been wrong. Fortune did not favor the foolish.
* * *
In an instant the woman’s eyes tipped back and she crumpled. Surging forward, Jake Elder caught her slight frame against his chest. The brim of her stiff bonnet caught on his shoulder and flipped off. The strings snagged around her collar. He adjusted her in his arms and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. The scent of lilacs teased his nostrils.
The two boys stared up at him with similar wide brown eyes that marked them as brothers. Since they were bundled head to toe in woolens, he had difficulty gauging their ages. Judging by their conflicting expressions, the taller one was old enough to be terrified by the sudden turn of events, and his little brother was young enough to be enthralled.
Thankful the hostile weather had kept most folks inside, Jake frantically searched the deserted street. He’d rather be rounding up murderous outlaws than this bunch. Killers were predictable. They didn’t faint at the least provocation.
Was he really that menacing?
The younger boy blinked. “I’m Peter and this is Sam. What’s wrong with Miss Lily?”
“Miss Lily fainted.” Her name rolled off Jake’s tongue. The floral moniker suited her. As he adjusted her in his arms, his chin brushed against her silky blond hair. “Sometimes ladies faint.”
“It’s true.” Sam nodded sagely. “In St. Joseph, our mom had a whole couch just for fainting. She kept it in the parlor.”
Which was probably a better explanation than anything an adult might concoct.
“Exactly.”
“You never answered Peter’s question,” the older boy spoke. “Are you an outlaw?”
“That depends on what you consider an outlaw.”
Peter cupped his hand over his brother’s ear and whispered loudly, “I think that means he’s an outlaw.”
Jake rolled his eyes.
He’d done his job well. Everyone in town thought he was a gun for hire, and he’d never corrected the assumption. Gazing into the troubled faces of these two young boys, he loathed his deception.
Except this was not the time to dwell on the subject. “Let’s get Miss Lily out of the cold.”
The boys were wary, but with no other choice, they reluctantly agreed.
Avoiding the restaurant entrance, Jake made his way toward the hotel lobby. The fewer people who saw them together the better. The desk clerk rarely left the back room unless she was summoned by the bell.
Anonymity was key in his profession.
As a marshal for the United States government, he’d traced a shipment of faulty guns sold to the Cherokee back to Frozen Oaks. He had a hunch, but no proof. The man he suspected, Vic Skaar, never sullied his own hands. Vic hired others, rarely using the same outlaw twice, which made his illegal activities difficult to track. For the past eight weeks Jake had cultivated his reputation as a hired gun.
Holding an unconscious woman while being trailed by two youngsters was bad for his false reputation.
He carried Lily across the foyer and into a small parlor. As he rested her on a mustard-colored damask settee, her eyelids fluttered.
The two boys hovered over her, and a band of guilt tightened around his chest. Admitting his true identity risked all their lives, which meant there was little he could say to put them at ease. In order to be a good guy, he had to play a bad guy.
“Is Miss Lily your sister?” Jake asked the older boy.
“She’s our chaperone. Miss Lily Winter.”
“I see.”
He should have realized immediately she wasn’t related. She was too young to be their mother and her coloring was far lighter than the brothers’ dark hair and eyes.
“She traveled with us from St. Joseph,” Peter said. “To keep us safe.”
They should have sent a fourth person along to keep Lily safe. Jake brushed a wisp of blond hair from her pale forehead. The wool collar of her coat had bunched beneath her chin and he released the top button. The thread was darker, indicating a recent mending. The new porcelain button with its painted yellow daisy was a dash of color and extravagance that didn’t match her drab wool coat.
Much like the whimsical fastening, Lily didn’t belong among these plain surroundings either.
To begin with, she was tiny. The older boy, Sam, nearly topped her. Her clothing was simple and purposeful, which might have dulled another woman. On Lily, the unadorned style perfectly showcased her elegant features. Her heart-shaped face held enormous blue eyes and a mouth in the shape of a bow. Her flaxen hair was shot through with lighter and darker strands, creating a cascade of molten color. In a town where the men outnumbered the women five to one, Lily stood out like the first flower of spring.
His gut twisted. Lilies tended to get trampled underfoot around here.
Peter sniffled, yanking Jake back to his current dilemma.
Jake placed a comforting hand on the child’s shoulder. “Has Miss Lily been ill?”
Surely he hadn’t felled her with his threatening stance alone.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” The boy shrugged. “We’ve been traveling for days and days. I don’t think she slept very well last night. She read my book and lost my page.” A guilty flush spread across the boy’s cheeks. “Not that I minded or anything. She’s actually really nice and she let me buy a penny candy at all the train stops.” He snapped his fingers. “I think trains and stagecoaches make her sick. She holds her stomach and turns green. But when we’re not moving, she’s fine. This morning she gave most of her breakfast to Sam and she only ate the toast. But that might have been because Sam is always hungry.”
Sam chucked his brother on the shoulder. “She told me I could have it.”
The telling sacrifice brought back memories of his own mother, and Jake fought against the tide of the past. In a blink the years slipped away. He’d been little older than Sam when she’d been murdered by outlaws. In what began as an uneventful day, she’d dragged him along on her errands, and her last stop had been the bank. Bored, he’d leaned against the counter and passed the time spinning a penny on its narrow edge. His mother had promised a visit to the general store when they finished.
