Prince Charming (37 page)

Taylor tossed the pillow aside, then swung her legs over the side of the bed and started to get up. She spotted the knife then. It was on the bedside table. She couldn't imagine how the thing had gotten there.

And then came recognition. Taylor was suddenly filled with hope. She stared at the knife a long minute. She didn't need to touch it. She knew it was a useless, dull-bladed paring knife a boy would hunt with.

Lucas was the boy in the story, of course, but he had surely embellished the tale to make it more interesting. And to have more of an impact, she realized. It didn't matter. She understood the message. This morning Lucas had given her his answer to her question from the night before.

He would never give up.

—William Shakespeare,
Anthony and Cleopatra

 

 

 

 

V
ictoria wasn't on the four o'clock train. Taylor waited at the station until all the passengers had departed. She was disappointed but not worried. Everything would have had to go extremely smoothly for Victoria to have finished up all their business in Boston so quickly. Tomorrow, Taylor told herself. Her friend would arrive tomorrow.

It was unfortunate, but while she waited at the station, several men did try to accost her. A simple reminder to behave like a gentleman dissuaded one man. Two others weren't so easily discouraged. Taylor ended up having to be downright rude. They didn't seem to mind. She didn't become alarmed until they followed her outside. She fell in with the crowd of people walking down the street but kept glancing back over her shoulder to see if they were still behind her.

The two men were there all right and looking quite determined. Their clothes were filthy. So were their faces. The taller of the two kept smacking his lips together. He wore a dark wide-brimmed hat down low over his forehead. The other kept snickering. Taylor could feel herself panicking inside. She frantically looked around her for an avenue of escape.

She had already made one foolish mistake when she'd left the safety of the station. The cabbies were all waiting there for their fares, and why in heaven's name hadn't she jumped into one of the vehicles when she'd had the chance? The safety of the crowd she was hiding herself in was diminishing with each step she took. More than half the number had turned into several buildings, and when they reached the intersection, the group split in half again. Several turned to the left, and more turned to the right. Only an elderly couple continued on straight ahead.

Taylor decided to stay with them. She didn't want to go down any side streets. Not only was she certain she'd get lost, she also knew there was a good possibility one of the streets would turn into a dead end.

She could feel the ruffians gaining on her. She picked up her skirts and hurried on across the road. She kept the elderly couple between her and her stalkers. She spotted several shops ahead. Her panic eased just a little. She decided she would go inside one of the establishments and ask for assistance in handling the men chasing after her.

She was sorry she hadn't thought about bringing her gun with her. Because Cincinnati was such a polished, sophisticated city, she'd never considered the possibility she might need that sort of protection. Why, they were civilized here, for God's sake. Didn't the country ignorants behind her realize that?

She turned to see how far they were behind her and noticed the couple she'd been using as a shield had turned to walk down the alley she'd just passed. She wasn't about to follow them. God help her, she was suddenly all alone on the street. She heard one of the hooligans giggle. Her stomach lurched in reaction.

She was certainly frightened, but she was also becoming furious. She wasn't going to become a victim, she told herself. By God, she would scream, bite, and kick and make enough racket to draw a good-sized crowd.

Her panic was growing. What she really needed, she instructed her Maker, was a little miracle. Nothing fancy, she hastily qualified, just a tiny, barely noticeable miracle. Please, God, please . . .

Her prayer was answered. The miracle was just a half a block away. A gun shop. Right smack in the middle of the next block. Taylor had only just finished her prayer when she noticed the boldly painted sign waving like a banner above the shop for anyone and everyone to see.

God bless Mr. Colt, Taylor thought when she reached her destination and saw the display of sixshooters in the window. She let out a sigh of pleasure and rushed inside.

The bell hanging down over the door alerted the shopkeeper she was there. He seemed to be the only other person in the store. She smiled in greeting and hurried down the center of the aisle to the counter at the back of the store.

The owner was actually a little frightful looking at first glance. The poor man had obviously been in a fire, for his face, neck, and hands were covered with thick burn scars. He didn't have any eyebrows at all. Because of his marks, she couldn't judge his age. He had a full head of brown hair though, and because it was tinged with gray, she assumed he was at least forty. He wore thick wire-rimmed glasses. They kept slipping down the narrow bridge of his nose, and he kept pushing them back up.

The owner was obviously uncomfortable about his appearance. He averted his face when she drew close and asked her in a clipped, no-nonsense tone of voice if she required any assistance. He addressed his question to the countertop.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I would like to look at the Colt on the shelf behind you. Is it perchance loaded?”

The owner handed the gun to Taylor, then reached behind him to collect a small square box of ammunition. He placed the box on the counter next to the gun.

“We don't keep any of the guns loaded here,” he explained.

Taylor opened the box of ammunition, then picked up the gun. Before the owner could stop her, she loaded the weapon.

“Whatever are you doing, miss?” the man asked, his alarm obvious in his tone of voice.

He dared a quick look up at her face. She gave him a wide smile. She was about to explain her reason for loading the weapon when the bell sounded behind her.

“You've got a loaded gun there,” he told her in a stammer.

She nodded agreement. “Yes, I do, thank God, and just in the nick of time. Will you excuse me for a moment?”

She didn't give him time to argue with her. She turned around just as the two hooligans started down the center aisle. The wooden floor creaked under the pounding of their boots.

They came to a quick stop when they spotted the gun in her hand.

“It ain't loaded, Elwin,” the shorter of the two companions told his friend. He smiled at Taylor then, a nasty, malicious smile, and she noticed he was missing a considerable number of teeth. He was without a doubt the most disgusting individual she'd ever come across.

“She's trying to bluff us all right, Wilburn,” his friend said.

The man named Elwin looked around the shop, then nudged his friend. “Lot's of fancy guns in here,” he remarked with another loud snicker.

Wilburn nodded. “You the only one working here?” he shouted to the owner.

“I'm betting he is,” Elwin speculated.

The owner started to bend down below the counter. “Stay right where you are,” Wilburn shouted. He turned to his friend. “Might as well rob the place while we're here. There's got to be a storeroom in back. We could take turns with the little lady in there.”

Elwin snickered again. Taylor wanted to shoot him.

“Oh, Lordie,” the owner whispered behind her.

She didn't take her attention away from the vile men in front of her when she sought to calm the shopkeeper. “It will be all right, sir.”

“It ain't going to be all right for you, little lady,” Elwin drawled out. He nudged his friend in his ribs and let out a low giggle. His hat dropped down lower on his brow. She couldn't see his eyes, but she guessed they were as ugly as the rest of him.

They took a step toward her. She cocked her gun in preparation. He stopped, grinned, pushed his hat back on his forehead, and took another step.

Taylor blew his hat clean off his head.

He let out a howl. The sound of gunfire muffled his cry and reverberated throughout the store. The glass in the front window shivered from the noise. The bullet lodged in the door behind the villain.

Elwin looked flabbergasted. Taylor thought that was an appropriate reaction.

“She get you, Elwin?” his friend asked. He squinted at his friend, looking for a mark.

Elwin shook his head. “She didn't even nick me,” he boasted.

“She wasn't bluffing,” his friend whispered.

Wilburn's face turned red. He took another step toward her. Taylor shot a hole in the tip of his boot.

Wilburn made a try next. Taylor was losing her patience. She shot a hole through his boot, too. He jumped back and stared down at his feet. He wiggled his toes to make sure they were all still there, then glared at the woman who'd just ruined his boot.

“Nope, she ain't bluffing us,” he told his companion. “We're going to have to rush her.”

Taylor let out a dramatic sigh. “They're really very stupid, aren't they?” she called out to the owner.

She heard his chuckle behind her. “Yes, they are,” he agreed.

Elwin didn't like hearing the insult. His face turned as red as a ripe tomato. He started to reach into his pocket. Taylor cocked her gun again.

“We've got to wrestle that gun out of her hand,” Wilburn decided.

Elwin shook his head. “You wrestle with her,” he suggested in a mutter. “Can't you see where she's got her fancy gun pointed? My personals are in her sights. She's crazy, Wilburn. No telling what she'll do. She might not miss us with her next shot.”

Both men mulled the matter over for a few seconds before they started backing away.

“We ain't going to forget you,” Elwin promised.

“We'll get you all right,” Wilburn added.

The shopkeeper took control then. He snatched up the loaded rifle he kept hidden on the bottom shelf and shouted a warning.

“I'll shoot you both if I have to, and I'll get you in your middles. Now get over there by the wall and keep your hands up high where I can see them.”

Taylor turned to the owner. “How much do you want for this gun? I've taken a liking to it. I would like to purchase it, sir.”

He shook his head at her. “You can have it without charge. You saved me from getting robbed and most likely killed. I'm in your debt, miss. If you'll only just tell me your name and address, I'll put it in my log. Each Colt is registered, you see, with its own number. It's a way to match the gun up with the owner.”

“My name's Taylor Ross,” she answered. “I'm staying at the Cincinnati Hamilton House, and I do thank you for this gift.”

The shopkeeper kept his rifle trained on the two culprits now cowering together against the wall. Taylor tucked her gun in the pocket of her coat. She took the long way around the men on her way to the front door.

“Will you make certain they stay here for a little while? I don't want them following me.”

“Don't you worry none, miss. As soon as my partner gets here, I'll send him to get the authorities.”

“Good day to you then,” she called out as she opened the door.

“Miss?” the owner shouted.

She paused at the threshold. “Yes?”

“Where'd you learn to shoot like that?”

“Scotland.”

She was pulling the door closed behind her when she heard his response to her answer.

“If that don't beat all.”

 

Taylor walked all the way back to the hotel. She stopped at the first Catholic church she came upon and went inside to light a candle for Madam. She sat in the pew for close to an hour. First she prayed, and then she talked things over with her grandmother. She felt better and certainly more in control after her visit to the church. In truth she wasn't certain if it was because she'd prayed or because she had the protection of a gun in her pocket.

It was dinnertime when she reached Hamilton House. As much as the thought of food repelled her, she knew she should eat something. She was already feeling nauseated.

She hurried to the Ladies Ordinary, took a table in the corner, and ordered soup, two biscuits, and a pot of tea. The waiter tried to talk her into eating a more substantial meal. She graciously declined his suggestion. She nibbled on one biscuit and decided to take the other one back to her room in case she started feeling queasy again. She barely touched the vegetable soup, but the tea tasted wonderful to her. When she was finished with her sparse meal, she felt refreshed. The feeling didn't last long. After she'd had her bath and changed into her nightgown, she was worn out. She fell asleep on the settee while she waited for Lucas to come back.