Chapter 29 #3
“We’ll see about that.” Nick reached behind her and grabbed his frock coat which hung from the chair back.
He might as well have had fox ears and a tail.
“Meanwhile, Robert, we need to look for that yellow-bellied, Yankee-loving scoundrel. Question whatever slaves you see fit, starting with that Lucy girl. I’ll send a couple men on the road to his home county, and a couple more to pay a visit to Miss Frieda Schramm. ”
The last word raked up her spine like a claw. Surely, Devon wouldn’t linger there any longer than to give a brief warning? She clasped her hands in her lap and glanced downward, feeling like prey in grass, uncertain of whether to say something to try to divert them or remain silent.
The fox leaned in until his breath heated her ear. A whiff of brandy stung her nose even as her heart curdled. “I think you care about him even though he’s been two-timing you with Miss Schramm. But I also think you’re a liar. As a matter of fact, I believe I’ll call on Miss Schramm myself.”
Right now? That wouldn’t give Devon enough time. Her stomach clenched. “Think what you please. I’m done with the both of you. My uncle can fire Reynolds when he returns as far as I’m concerned.”
LeBeau tugged on his waistcoat. “We’re not going to get anything else from her. I’ll have Owens start on Lucy.”
Morning Fawn stiffened. Lucy wouldn’t talk, and neither would she. No matter what.
“Excellent idea.” Nick shoved his arms into his coat sleeves. “I’ll ride to Alleyton, and I’ll assign more men to help with the search. Send word immediately if you find out anything. I bet the scoundrel headed for his second honey pot.”
LeBeau chuckled. “Good bet. The man finds an excuse to travel to Alleyton every chance he gets.”
“Does he, now?” Nick’s step halted. He pivoted, his brow furrowed.
“What do you expect with how googled-eyed he is over Frieda Schramm?” She stood.
Nick tugged his gloves from his pocket and exhaled. “I say we lock her in her room until we can thoroughly investigate.”
LeBeau latched onto her elbow with his talon-like fingers. “Good plan.”
Nick headed for the door. Hand on the knob, he paused. “You followed Reynolds and Miss Schramm to the woods behind the depot?”
Her throat constricted to a wheeze of air. “I reckon he couldn’t carry on with her right under her father’s nose.”
“Hmmm.” He opened the door, absent-mindedly slapping his gloves against his thigh.
“What are you thinking?” LeBeau pulled her along into the hall.
“I don’t know yet. It’s a jumble of possibilities.” Nick drove his hand over his hair. A tic worked itself in his cheek.
The lackey who’d been out front on the porch now lounged on a bench by the coatrack. He stood as they approached and donned his hat.
Owens opened the parlor door. “Ready for me, sir?”
“Yes.” LeBeau released his hold. “I’ll take care of Lucy. Go fetch George and a couple others.”
Morning Fawn eyed the back door. The pathway was clear.
Nick’s horse was out front at the hitching post. If she got her hands on it and rode off in the opposite direction of Alleyton, they’d follow, probably assume she was headed to warn Devon…
and end any shred of a chance she had of looking innocent.
It’d buy Devon time. But it’d also turn their hot coal of suspicion into a prairie fire.
A gamble, but she’d rather risk the option that’d put more distance between Devon and his enemies. Even if it landed her in jail.
“Butler,” Nick called to his man. “You stay for the questioning, then ride for Alleyton double quick. I’m going to round up some men at the warehouse—”
Morning Fawn gathered her skirts and bolted for the back door.
“Stop.” Her uncle swung for her and missed.
“Catch her.” Nick’s booted steps pounded behind her.
She grabbed the latch. It clicked, and the door swung open. She tripped on the stone step, stumbled but caught herself. A hand reached out. Fingertips grazed her shoulder. She pumped her legs and ran on. Turning the corner, skidding on a slip of mud, she leaped over a bucket.
Something clattered behind her.
“She’s going for the front.” Nick’s voice burst forth harsh and winded.
Frost-covered grass crumpled beneath her feet. A dog howled. What if they loosed the beast on her? She rounded the second corner. Two horses at the posts. Butler bounded onto the porch and to the steps.
She dove for the saddlebred’s lead rope. Tearing it from the post, she shoved her left foot into the stirrup and swung her right leg over.
Hands clawed into her waist and yanked her backward. She landed feet on the ground and swung with her fist. Butler whammed his forearm against hers, blocking the blow. He grabbed her shoulder, his meaty fingers pressing deep. She spun toward him and drove her knee into his groin.
“Uggh.” His hands fell from her. He crumpled.
Nick rounded the corner.
She swung into the saddle.
Nick latched onto the bridle.
She yanked hard on the reins, rearing the stallion’s front legs, forcing Nick to jump clear.
Pulse pounding in her head, she pressed her heels against the horse’s sides. The animal snorted and jolted forth. His hooves thudded on the gravel path. She rose in the saddle, the breeze picking up her hair.
A sharp whistle cut through the air. The stallion reared to a stop, jolting her, but she clung to the saddle horn and reins.
Nick charged toward her on the second horse.
She goaded the stallion. He neighed, tossed his head, and reared again.
Nick had trained his horse well. Morning Fawn leaned forward on the horse’s neck and whistled softly near his ear, cooing as she’d heard her adopted brother do.
The animal stirred, stepped forward. She clicked the reins. He broke into a canter.
Nick’s knee jabbed into her thigh, his stirrup cutting into her ankle. His hands latched hold of her. The stallion bucked, and Nick pulled her onto his lap.
The present moment fractured into shards of memory. The Comanche warrior dragging her from beneath the wagon and away from her mother. Then the night nine years later when Devon Reynolds grabbed her from behind and stole her from the world she’d become part of.
Instinct took over. Fists, feet, legs—Morning Fawn threw everything she had into the fight, striking blindly and with all of her might, but other hands caught her and drug her to the ground.
Owens’s knee leveled into her back as he wrenched her arms around behind her and snared her wrists with a raw rope that bit into her skin.
Blades of frost-slicked grass pressed against her lips.
Defeated.
“Well, we know one thing.” Nick stood over her, rubbing his cheek that bore the imprint of her nails.
His waistcoat hung open, and his mussed-up hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb for days.
He spit on the ground. Was his lip bleeding too?
“There’s something with Reynolds and Alleyton worth fighting over. ”
Morning Fawn rolled her face into the dirt. A shiver ran through her. The night wind blew across her sweat-soaked clothing, chilling her fury-heated body.
She had failed.