The Brides of Chance Collection (34 page)

Hiding behind a large oak tree in front of Mrs. Perryman’s orphanage, Robert Worthington felt like a Peeping Tom. And he hated that feeling. But after two weeks, he’d still heard nothing from those two outlaws, Amos and Bart. Rage burned inside of him at the very real possibility that they’d taken the fifty dollars he’d paid up front and forgotten all about Alisa and the five-hundred-dollar reward.

With a self-deprecating chuckle, he continued to watch the house. Why should he be surprised that a pair of thieves stole? But that left him to form another plan of action. And that plan just walked outside.

A boy who appeared to be in his late teens trotted down the steps, leaving the door to bang shut behind him.

“Jonesy, really!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Perryman.”

Robert knew the boy would be headed toward the ice warehouse where he would work loading blocks of ice into the ice wagons all night. He’d been watching him. The kid worked hard. He had to hand it to him. Maybe too hard for the measly salary he was sure the boy earned. Robert had a hunch Jonesy might be leaving the orphanage soon and would be looking for a way to make more money.

Able to draw funds from the shipping company, Robert had formed the idea. He stepped out just as Jonesy reached the tree.

“Yeow!” The lad jumped back and assumed an attack stance.

“Settle down,” Robert said, holding up his hands.

“What are you doing sneaking around in the middle of the night?” Jonesy asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.” No sense letting the boy know he’d been watching him. That would definitely put him on the defensive.

“Going to work, not that it’s any of your business.” He turned and resumed his gait.

Robert followed and quickly caught up to him, easily matching him stride for stride. “Where do you work?”

“At the icehouse.”

“Sounds cold.”

A shrug lifted his shoulders. “I guess.”

“How would you like to earn a month’s pay just for a little bit of information?”

The kid gave a mocking laugh. “And end up with my neck in a rope? Forget it.”

“Now this isn’t something that’ll get you into trouble. I just need someone I can count on not to double-cross me. That’s all.”

“What makes you think you can trust me?”

“I have a gut feeling.”

“What would I have to do?”

Robert bit back his grin. Now that he had the kid’s attention, it was only a matter of time before Alisa was back at the house. And she would turn her inheritance over to him…one way or another.

He placed a fatherly arm around Jonesy’s shoulders and smiled. “Tell me, son. Who collects the mail for the orphanage?”

Foggy mist chilled the December air as Titus helped Alisa from the wagon and walked her through the muddy street to the boardwalk in front of the mercantile. He stopped short of escorting her inside. “All right. I’m going over to the feed store. You stay put until I get back to take you home. You hear? This town isn’t safe for a woman alone.”

As if to punctuate his words, two shots sounded from the end of the street. Alisa gasped. Titus glanced in the direction of the gunfire, then turned back to her, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “Looks like just a couple of cowboys making their presence known. Nothing to worry about. I’ll wait for you to get inside before I head to the feed store.”

A smile curved Alisa’s lips, and she nodded. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“I’m not being thoughtful.” His blue eyes sizzled with emotion as he looked down at her, his hand still clutching hers. “I’m doing everything I can to make sure the woman I love is safe.”

Titus was making a habit of sharing his feelings openly. No one could doubt his sincerity. All the more reason Alisa felt she had to discourage his attentions and remind him often that she would be leaving as soon as Miriam recovered from childbirth. She opened her mouth to once more make the announcement, but Titus stopped her with a well-placed finger to her lips. “I know. Don’t say it.” He lifted her hand and brushed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Get inside. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

Still reeling from his soft touch, Alisa could only nod. He reached around her and opened the mercantile door. He was so close she could feel his breath warm on her face as he shifted back to allow her entrance.

She stepped inside, and he closed the door after her. Alisa watched through the glass as he sauntered away, each step sure and confident.

A snort behind her alerted her to Mrs. White’s presence. “That man has no intention of letting you go.”

Sighing, Alisa nodded. “You’re right about that, I’m afraid.”

“Still being stubborn, are you?” A scowl pinched her face. “I think you ought to just tell the whole truth of it and let Titus decide.”

“So you said last week,” she replied, distracted as Titus glanced back at the mercantile just before disappearing inside the feed store.

“And so I’m saying again, young lady,” Mrs. White snapped. If possible, her frown deepened. “They took you in when you had nowhere else to go, made you part of the family. They deserve your honesty.”

“You’re more than likely right, and if my being honest didn’t have the potential to cause them trouble, I’d have told them everything from the first day. But as it is, I can’t do it.”

“So what brings you into town on such a dreary day?”

Was it a dreary day? Seated shoulder to shoulder with Titus during the hour-long ride had felt like a sunny day in paradise, despite the drizzle. But of course she couldn’t tell that to Mrs. White. The woman knew far too much as it was. Only her promise not to reveal Alisa’s past gave her peace. Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out the letter she’d composed and a coin to pay for postage.

“I’d like to mail this.”

“San Francisco, eh?”

Alisa nodded. She had no secrets from Mrs. White. “I’m sending Mrs. Perryman a donation for the orphanage. Christmastime is always rather worrisome. She tries to buy a little something for each of the children to open Christmas morning. Whenever possible she buys a ham and sweet potatoes and makes apple pie.”

Mrs. White’s face softened. “I’m sending a donation, as well. Those children are going to have a wonderful Christmas this year.”

Alisa watched through quick tears as Mrs. White opened Alisa’s envelope and slipped some bills inside. After resealing the envelope, she set it aside. “This will go out in the morning and should get to San Francisco in plenty of time.”

Clasping the other woman’s hand, Alisa looked into her lined face and smiled. “You have no idea what this will mean to them. Thank you.”

Mrs. White smiled in return. “I’m glad to do it. You didn’t leave a return address, I see.”

“No. It’s better if she doesn’t know where I am. I assured her that I am safe. And I told her all about what happened to my grandmother so that she never thinks I did anything to harm her.”

“Anyone who knows you as well as Mrs. Perryman must will know you aren’t capable of harming a soul. But I’m sure she’ll be relieved to hear that you are safe.”

The bell chimed above the door. Alisa turned, expecting to see Titus standing there.

“Well, looky here, Amos. We don’t got to look no farther.”

“I told you two weeks ago we shoulda come here in the first place, but you had to take us hither and yon.”

“Shut up, Amos.”

“What are you talking about?” Mrs. White asked.

“The girl. She’s wanted in San Francisco, and we come to fetch her back.”

“You the law?” Mrs. White eyed the two.

Hysterical laughter bubbled from Alisa’s lips. “The law? These are the two men who robbed the stagecoach the day I arrived.”

“Then they can forget taking you anywhere.”

Bart took a menacing step forward. “Now you just be a nice old lady and don’t cause a fuss, and no one’ll get hurt. One way or another, we’re taking her with us.”

“In a pig’s eye.”

Before Alisa or either of the two men could react, Mrs. White reached beneath the counter and pulled out a shotgun. Bart stopped dead in his tracks. Fear leaped across his grizzled features. “Now, lady. There ain’t no need to get jumpy.”

“I’d say there is a reason. We don’t much care for thieving snakes around here.”

“That’s right.” Mr. White’s deep voice coming from the storeroom made Alisa’s knees nearly buckle with relief.

“Listen here.” Bart stepped back but encompassed them with a dark glare. “I have five hundred dollars riding on taking that girl back to San Francisco, and I don’t aim to leave this town empty-handed.”

“I aim for you to leave this town in the marshal’s wagon, mister.” Mr. White snatched the shotgun from his wife’s hands. “Now the two of you toss down those sidearms.”

“What are we gonna do, Bart? I can’t go back to jail.”

The bell jangled once more, and Prissy flounced through the door. “Hi, Mama. Mr. Wall just dropped me off. We had a dandy lunch.” She stopped, her eyes growing wide in the silence. “Wh–what’s going on?”

Mrs. White gasped as Amos reached out and put Prissy in front of him. Too swift for anyone to react, he produced a hunting knife and pressed it against the young woman’s neck. “Well now. This appears to be my lucky day.” He leveled his dark gaze on Alisa. “I’ll be back, my sweet. You can count on that.”

Chapter 13

T
itus hummed along to the tune of “Amazing Grace” as he guided the team back toward the mercantile. He looked forward to the long ride home with Alisa. Even toyed with the idea of stopping somewhere along the way and insisting she open up about her past. There was no denying she knew where he stood. Every day he fell more deeply in love with her. Her sweet willingness to help out during Miriam’s bouts of illness—though they were becoming fewer and farther between—never failed to send a rush of tenderness through him. Even after a hard day of doing her own chores, she was willing to pitch in and help take care of the girls, cook supper, and clean up—generally do everything Miriam used to do alone. He shook his head. The whole group of brothers, himself included, had been nothing but insensitive knuckleheads.

His heart leapt as he pulled up to the mercantile. Maybe he’d carry Alisa to the wagon. This mud was enough of an excuse that she probably wouldn’t protest too much. Just as he hopped down, he heard a scream coming from the alley between the mercantile and the next building over. Alisa?

His heart lodged in his throat, and he took off at a run, drawing the newly acquired Colt that his brothers had graciously agreed he needed to replace. In the alleyway, he saw Prissy struggling against a man. The sight of her false curls brought Titus a flash of relief that it wasn’t Alisa until chivalry took over, producing the indignation he needed to trot down the alley, careful not to make noise.

“No!” Prissy’s muffled voice shrieked.

“Let her go, Amos, and come on!”

Amos? Rage flared within Titus’s chest. The thieving, no-good outlaws. What were they doing in Reliable?

“Not before I get my kiss.”

“We don’t got time for that. Let the girl go. She’ll only slow us down.”

“I ain’t lettin’ this one go.” He gave up the struggle for a kiss and hauled Prissy toward his horse.
My horse!
Titus moved into full view, his pistol pointed in the direction of the outlaws.

“Let the girl go.”

“Titus, help me!”

“See what you done, Amos? Get yerself outta this.” Bart slapped his horse and took off at a gallop, leaving Amos behind. Keeping his gun fixed on the outlaw, Titus walked forward. “That’s right. Step away from the girl.”

“Or maybe I’ll just keep her, and you can either shoot her or let me go.”

“This is going to end badly for you, Amos. Look, Bart didn’t even stick around to back you up.”

He sneered. “Bart did exactly what I’d have done. A man’s gotta look out for hisself.”

So much for honor among thieves
.

“Titus, do something!”

With a grin, Amos shoved her forward so that Titus had no choice but to catch her or let her fall. She filled his arms, and he watched helplessly as Amos dashed to Raven and rode away after Bart. Regret filled him. If he could’ve kept Amos, he’d have sent a thief to jail and would have gotten his horse back.

“Oh, Titus. Thank you.” Prissy’s shivering body brought him back to the present. She looked up at him with tears flooding her green eyes, and his heart softened. He held her close and allowed her to cry. “Th–that horrible man tried to kiss me.”

“I know, but he didn’t succeed,” he soothed.

“B–but, Titus. He said I l–looked like I wanted to be kissed.”

Her eyes were filled with question. And that filled Titus with indecision. Should he be honest and tell her that when a woman wore rouge and painted her lips, it gave a man certain ideas about her willingness to be kissed?

Just as he dismissed the idea, she asked him flat out. “Was he right, Titus? Do I look like I want to be kissed?”

Caught between the temptation to lie and spare her feelings or tell her the truth so maybe she would take measures to correct her actions, he hesitated.

“You can tell me the truth,” she urged.

“Well, Prissy, you do sort of. Still, that doesn’t mean a man has any call to go stealing a kiss, but—”