Authors: Marilyn Yarbrough
Her lips trembled, and her
eyes misted over with tears. “If you hate me that much,” she shouted in a
hoarse voice, “why don’t you just shoot me now and get it over with?”
“Hate you?” He looked at
her in wonder. “If only I could.”
As he paced around the
room, he thrust his fingers roughly through his hair while trying to regain
some control over his emotions, but what he really needed was an explanation. He
stopped in front of the bed where she sat.
“You promised me you’d
stay in Sacramento. You swore you’d stay out of trouble. Were you deliberately lying
to my face when you made that oath?”
She closed her eyes and
shook her head. “Mrs. Collins made me come with her.”
“You expect me to believe
she dragged you all the way here?”
“We traveled by steamer.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “I was sick the entire time.”
“Why did she bring you?
What were you supposed to do for her?”
“What?” Her forehead
wrinkled.
He let out a huff. She
seemed dazed, but he didn’t buy into it—not yet anyway. He still wanted answers.
“Why did Betsy bring you
to San Francisco?” he repeated slowly and deliberately so there wouldn’t be any
mistake in what he wanted to know.
“She’s dead.” Her
fingers pressed against her forehead. Her hand covered her face. “I watched
that man kill her. He beat her to death right in front of me.” Her body went
limp. She leaned against the foot post of the bed.
To Payton, her dismay
seemed genuine. His heart softened—but not much. Too many unanswered questions
remained. “Why did you go to the lodging house?”
“I followed that man.” She
swiped a trembling hand across her face as if to wipe away a cold sweat. “He
said he knew where Lawrence Dunbar hid. I thought he would lead me to him.”
“You followed a man who
had just murdered a woman?” He couldn’t believe what he just heard. “You wanted
to find Dunbar that bad.”
“Yes.” Her thoughts
seemed to focus. “I had to find him.”
“Why?” He shouted as his
anger raged. “Was he your lover?”
Her mouth dropped open,
but she quickly squeezed it shut. Her lips curled back into a snarl as fiery
hatred flashed in her eyes. “Not even in hell, but I’d like to put him there.”
Startled by her response,
he stared at her. His mind grasped for an explanation, but he found none. “If he’s
not your lover, then why were you looking for him?”
Her lips quivered, but
she tightened them into a grimace. “I want him dead. He killed my brother,” she
said through gritted teeth.
The anguish on her face
and the intensity of her voice convinced him she spoke the truth. He stared at
her in stunned silence.
His anger had caused him
to jump to wrong conclusions. Rage had twisted his thoughts. His wild
imagination had pictured her as Dunbar’s lover. But it wasn’t true. She hated
Dunbar.
The grief from her
brother’s death had been her driving force. She sought Dunbar purely out of
revenge. Her need for retribution had propelled her headlong into the dangerous
task of finding his killer.
His hands unclenched and
his shoulders drooped. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a step
closer, but when he did, his legs went weak. He dropped to his knees in front
of her. A moment ago his mind had conceived horrendous images of her lying with
Dunbar. He’d thought of killing her—even threatened to do so, but he could
never do that. He loved her. No matter what she did, if she loved another and
not him, he could never take her life.
He lowered his head in
shame.
“Forgive me,” he
whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Julia stared at the top
of his head. His hair was matted down from the knit cap he’d worn. A thick
growth of beard covered his lower face and neck.
When she’d first bumped
into him outside that room, she’d not recognized him. He looked so different from
the last she’d seen him; he even acted differently.
Her body had been numb
with fear from all the death she’d witnessed. And grabbing her as he did, pushed
her into a hysterical state. Her only thought had been to get away.
Payton had appeared from
nowhere and had been angry. He’d dragged her through the streets and brought
her to this den of debauchery. She didn’t understand any of it.
She knew he sought Dunbar.
But why?
What had Ritter said? He’d
mentioned something about Payton and Dunbar together on a ship, but her mind whirled
with confusion. She needed him to explain what it all meant. She wanted to hear
him say it so she could understand.
“Why are you looking for
Lawrence Dunbar?”
His head came up slowly.
His eyelids looked heavy. He licked at his lips as though his mouth had gone
dry.
“I want him in hell
also.” He sat back on his heels. His hands rested on his thighs. He lifted one
hand, but dropped it back against his leg. “I never should have treated you
like this. I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t know why he’d
acted as he did, but he’d fallen on his knees in front of her. And he begged
for her forgiveness.
Tears clouded her eyes
as her face contorted with her misery. Her lips quivered, and her body
trembled. She leaned forward and put both hands against the sides of his face. He
slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. She slid off the bed and
into his arms. He embraced her as her tears flowed. His lips pressed against
her damp skin. He placed kisses over her cheeks and eyelids.
“I was so furious—” He
hugged her tighter. “I’m so sorry.”
After her crying
subsided, she blotted at the tears with her sleeve. “I need a handkerchief.”
He stood and lifted her
with him. Gently, he sat her on the bed before going to the dresser. He pulled a
clean, white handkerchief from a drawer.
She was puzzled with his
familiarity of the room, especially since it once belonged to Wilber Hennigan. She
could only stare when he offered her the handkerchief. “Why did you bring me here
to this room?”
He glanced around as if
suddenly aware of where they were. “There was no other place. This is where I’ve
been staying.”
“You’re living here?” Her
eyebrows lifted.
“This is all I can
afford.” He made a half-hearted attempt to smile. “I didn’t expect you to
arrive so soon. I’m afraid we’ll have to live here for a while, but at least I
don’t have to pay rent.”
“And why is that?”
“I bought the Double
Eagle. Until the business starts showing a profit, I can’t spend money for a place
to live.”
“You bought this shipping
company?” Her mouth verged on the edge of dropping open. “Why?”
“So we’d never have to
be apart again.” He sat beside her on the bed and slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“Being apart these last few weeks has been agony. I don’t want to be away from
you again.”
“I’ve missed you so much.”
She nuzzled her cheek against his chest.
“I’ve missed you, too. I’m
glad you’re here.” Both arms went around her and he hugged her tight. “My God,
Julia, I can’t believe how I found you. If something would’ve happened to you,
if I’d lost you, I’d die.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
Her body shivered. “I didn’t know where you were. I was so sick that I thought
I was going to die.”
“You’re safe now. I’m
never letting you out of my sight again.” He grabbed both pillows and propped
them against the headboard so he could lean against them. He kicked off his
boots, curled his legs up on the bed, and pulled Julia into his lap so he could
cuddle her in his arms.
“This day has been
horrible.” She lay against his chest with her head nestled under his chin.
“Do you want to talk
about it?” He smoothed her tousled hair back from her face.
He could not have stopped
her. Words tumbled from her lips as if she had no control. She knew she babbled,
but she went on about everything that had happened. She told him of her nauseous
voyage on the steamer. Of being held against her will in the brothel. Watching
Betsy beaten brutally to death. Discovering Ritter’s dead body. Her story ended
with Payton finding her, although it wasn’t the fairytale rescue she would have
preferred.
“I know I treated you roughly.
Can you ever forgive?”
“I already have.” She
snuggled closer.
“I’m going to take good
care of you from now on.” He squeezed her to him. “I never want you to have
another day like this one.”
She almost laughed. “Neither
do I.”
“Julia.” His tone hushed.
“Do you want to tell me about your brother’s death?”
“There’s not much to
tell other than Lawrence Dunbar killed him.”
“How do you know it was
Dunbar?”
“Reggie wrote a letter as
he was dying. Almost his first sentence named his killer. I don’t know what was
in the rest of his letter. Mother burned it. Then she died a few days later.”
“Why did she burn his
letter?”
“I’ve often wondered
that myself. She was ill. The news of his death was a terrible shock. I suppose,
in her mind, if there wasn’t a letter saying he was dead, then it couldn’t be
true. But it was true.” Her heart ached as if she’d just read the words for the
first time. “When it seemed that the authorities weren’t in a hurry to pursue his
killer, I decided to go after him myself.”
“Yourself?” he blurted
out as if horrified. “Is that why you’ve been working for Betsy? Do you have
any idea how dangerous that was?”
She didn’t bother to
answer. She figured he deserved a chance to rant.
After a moment, his muscles
relaxed. He let out a long breath. “It doesn’t matter what you did. You’re safe
now.”
“No one seemed
interested in bringing him to justice,” she said in her defense. “I sent
letters to several agencies, but the responses were always the same—I was just
a woman. I shouldn’t concern myself with matters that are better left to men.
They wouldn’t even give me the particulars of my brother’s death other than he
died during a pirate attack.”
“It’s all right.” His
hand soothed down her back. “It’s over with now.”
“But it’s not.” She
looked at his face and hoped he understood her motive. “The man who killed my
brother is still free. I want justice for his death. That’s why I set out to
find Dunbar myself.”
“And just what did you
intend to do? Hunt him down and capture him all by yourself?”
“Something like that.” She
looked away from his gaze.
“Like what?” He pulled
at her chin and forced her to look at him. “Did you intend to kill him?”
“I won’t lie. I’ve
thought about it. There were times when I pictured the scene in my mind. I’d
have a gun in my hand. I’d pull the trigger and watch him die right in front of
me.” She could see the disapproving look in his eyes. She jerked her chin from
his hand. “I was raised on Old Testament justice. An eye for an eye.”
“That’s sounds like
murder to me. You talk like killing a man in cold blood is easy, but it’s not. Do
you really think you have the stomach to look a man in the eye and shoot him
dead?”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” He shook his
head. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but the people who advised you to
stay out of this were right.”
“Because I’m a woman?” Her
anger flared.
“No, because it’s too
dangerous. Think of the tally of dead bodies since you’ve gotten involved in
this.”
“Are you saying their
deaths were my fault?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Mr. Hennigan perhaps,” she
said over his words. “I should have prevented him from shooting himself, but it
happened so quickly.”
“That wasn’t your fault.
But you shouldn’t have been here with him. You could have been the one killed.
If you hadn’t run into me that night... If I hadn’t helped you... Bloody hell,
Julia. My mind reels in horror at what might have happened to you that night.”
One dark eyebrow arched as he gave her a deliberate look. “From this moment on,
you’re finished with this revenge of yours. I’ll find Dunbar and make certain
he receives the justice he deserves.”
The thought of her
brother’s death hardened her heart. “You might be able to prevent me from searching
for him, but when you find him, I want to be there when he dies.”
“If you want to watch
him die, you can come to his hanging. But if you expect me to kill him for you,
you can forget it. I won’t kill a man in cold blood, not even to prove how much
I love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Payton heated water on
the small stove in the front office so they could rinse away the filth and
grime.
Julia removed her dark
blue gown and washed off the sweat produced by fear and exertion. With nothing
else to wear, she slipped into one of Payton’s clean white shirts. A chill
developed in the room from the cool San Francisco night. She wrapped a blanket
around her waist to cover her legs.
Droplets of Betsy’s dried
blood were splattered across the front of her gown. Her other belongings were packed
in the bag she’d left at the Crystal Palace. Even if she could retrieve her
bag, she had nothing in it to wear. The only gown available would be the bottle
green outfit she’d worn on the steamer when she’d gotten sick. She didn’t want
to imagine what had splattered across the skirt of that gown.
Payton had washed in the
front office, allowing her privacy, but came into the bedroom where he stored his
razor.
Fascinated with the
process, she sat in a chair and studied him as he shaved away the bearded growth.
His damp hair was swept back from his forehead. Shaving lather streaked his
face and neck. With his shirt removed, her gaze followed the path of dark hair swirling
over his muscular chest until it narrowed to a slender line and circled his
navel. The thin strip of hair continued down his flat belly and disappeared beneath
his trousers.