The Brides of Chance Collection Part 17

Throw down that six-shooter, mister. Then empty out yer pockets."

t.i.tus Chance glared at the two men-not men really, but cowards, who had to cover their faces with bandannas. Cowards who couldn't win in a fair fight, so they had to sneak up on him while he dozed beside his campfire. But lily livers or no, they had two guns to his one, and he wasn't riled enough to be a fool.

He tossed his Colt to the dusty earth. Reaching slowly into his pockets, he pulled out twenty dollars and a gold money clip and pitched those on the ground, as well.

The burly leader fingered the bills. "That all you got?"

" 'Fraid so." At least that was all he had in his pockets.

Piercing eyes bored through him. t.i.tus stared back, careful to keep his expression as innocent as a newborn babe's.

t.i.tus balled his fists as he watched the thief shift his gaze. "That's a fine little horse you got there. I'd say it'll make up for you not having enough cash to make this worth my time. Amos, get the horse."

The other rider jerked his head toward the leader. "But we can't jest leave a feller out here in the middle of nowhere without a horse, Bart. Besides, stealing a little money is one thing. I ain't no horse thief. They can hang a man for that."

"They can hang ya for stealing money, too. Now do as I say." He expelled a frustrated grunt. "And what have I told you about calling me by my name while we're robbing someone?"

"Well, I don't like it," Amos said, but he dismounted his horse and headed toward t.i.tus, his pistol pulled and threatening. "Back off easy-like, mister, and don't make me use this."

If the situation hadn't been so grave, t.i.tus might have laughed at the b.u.mbling crooks. But b.u.mbling or no, they still had the guns, and he didn't. And if he had a prayer of a chance of getting out of this situation alive, he had to be smarter than they were. Which actually didn't seem all that far of a stretch.

He backed away from the mare he'd raised since birth. He'd named her Raven for her beautiful black coat. Swallowing hard, he kept a cautious gaze on the men as Amos took Raven's reins. The horse reared only for a second, long enough for t.i.tus to dive for his Colt. He landed with a painful thud on his stomach and slid until he reached his gun. But he wasn't fast enough. One of the ruffians kicked dirt into his eyes, blinding him. "Yer lucky we don't kill ya fer that stunt. Mount up, Amos, and let's git."

When they'd gone, t.i.tus crawled sightless until he reached the lake. After he'd washed the dirt from his eyes, he sat back and slapped his thigh in frustration.

Now what was he supposed to do? He'd left home a few days ago-directly after Priscilla White had refused his proposal. It had been at his sister-in-law's insistence that he'd left for a few days. "One grouch around here is plenty," Miriam had said, waving a wooden spoon in his face. She jerked her head at Daniel. "And my other brother-in-law already has that position filled." She said it with a twinkle in her eyes to remove the sting, but t.i.tus knew she was right. He'd been moping long enough.

Daniel-who really was a grouch like Miriam said-had gotten up and stomped out of the house, while her husband, Gideon, laughed uproariously. t.i.tus hadn't necessarily thought it funny, but Gideon was a new husband and thought anything his new bride said or did to be brilliant and inspired.

So t.i.tus had taken a few days to pull himself together, mourn the loss of the woman he'd convinced himself he was destined to wed, and generally shake off his foul mood. San Francisco wasn't too far away. Close enough that he could make it there in a few hours if he started walking now. He could catch the stage out to Reliable. From there he could rent a horse to ride to the ranch.

He walked back to the campfire and sat down, knowing he'd have to wait until dawn to head back to the city. Feeling like a fool for letting himself get robbed in the first place, he stretched out on the ground and spent the night listening for noises that might indicate the thieves had returned.

By first light, he was up and headed back to San Francisco, relieved beyond measure that the thieves hadn't been smart enough to tell him to empty his boot, the place where he'd hidden most of his money.

Alisa eyed the mother and son sitting next to her on the seat.

"Davy, please, eat your bread for Mama." The woman's soft, pleading tone filled the inside of the stagecoach, annoying Alisa more than the boy's constant kicking against the seat.

After two days without a decent meal, she gladly would have s.n.a.t.c.hed at the bread and gobbled it down in front of the ungrateful child. He kicked the bottom of the seat with the backs of his heels over and over and over until Alisa was tempted to place her hand gently on his swinging legs and order him to stop.

He held his bread in one hand and rubbed a chubby little fist over his eye.

"Oh, is Mama's boy sleepy?"

"No!" he yelled and kicked his feet higher and harder.

"Of course you are. That's why you're acting so unruly."

Alisa ventured a glance at the dark-haired cowboy sitting across from her. His head rested on the back of the seat, and his hat covered his face. His shoulders rose and fell with an almost unbelievable rhythm. How on earth could he sleep through all the racket that annoying boy was making?

"I'm truly sorry," the young mother intoned.

Alisa tore her gaze away from the handsome man. The mother's lips curved into a weary smile. "He's really a lovely child," she tried to explain. "We've been traveling several days, and he's so very tired."

"I'm not tired!" the boy insisted at a feverish pitch.

"Mama believes you."

Despite a deplorable lack of disciplinary action on the young mother's part, Alisa had to admire the woman's calm. Her own patience had worn thin an hour ago. The young mother looked at the boy and patted her thighs. "How would you like to sit on my lap?"

She winked at Alisa, and Alisa couldn't resist the dimples flashing in the young woman's cheeks. She smiled back.

Davy set his bread down on the bench and climbed into his mother's lap. Before long, both were dozing.

Alisa's empty stomach rumbled in protest as she stared at the half-eaten bread still sitting where it had been flung. It was all she could do not to s.n.a.t.c.h it up and wolf it down. After two full nights and a day of wandering around San Francisco in case she was being followed, and then half a day so far on the stage without food, her head felt light, and she almost wept from hunger. She'd been holding her reticule, about to visit the orphanage, when she'd heard Mrs. Worthington's voice from the hallway outside of the library door. The only money her reticule held was the donation she'd intended to leave with Mrs. Perryman, the woman who ran the orphanage. The amount was just enough for her stage ticket.

The chubby five-year-old boy was now fast asleep in his mother's arms, and the bread just sat there like a shiny pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

She slid her hand along the bench, then s.n.a.t.c.hed it back as the child shifted, causing his mother's head to snap up and her eyes to fly open. "Are we there yet?"

"No. You've only just dozed off," Alisa said, guilt searing her heart. Thank you, dear Lord, for not allowing my hunger to cause me to sin. She shuddered to think how close she'd come to stealing a little boy's bread.

The woman's eyes had drifted shut once more. Alisa ogled the bread for one last second, then willfully turned her entire body away. As she shifted, she came face-to-face with the cowboy. Only this time he wasn't sleeping. He stared at her with oh-so-blue eyes. Eyes filled with...pity.

Horror sank into the pit of her stomach. He must have seen her almost take the bread. Heat flashed to her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands, too ashamed to look him in the eye. He tapped her forearm. Shaking her head, she flexed her muscles to press her face harder into her palms. Oh, she had never been more humiliated.

"Look at me," he whispered.

Reluctantly, she glanced up, tears already pooling in her eyes.

He gave her a gentle smile. "Take this."

She looked down at the beef jerky in his hands. "I...I couldn't." She couldn't look away. Before she could stop herself, she licked her lips like a wolf eyeing a tasty rabbit just before it pounced.

"Take it, miss," he urged. "I have more."

Unable to resist a second longer, she took it. "Thathank you," she whispered.

He nodded. Then he leaned back and covered his face once more with his hat while she gnawed the dried meat, savoring it as though it were a juicy chicken leg.

San Francisco

"I am sorry, Mr. Worthington, but there is nothing we can do. Your mother left no detail to chance. I a.s.sure you, her will is binding."

"I can fight it in court. Then we'll see how binding it is."

Frank Chadwick, Mrs. Worthington's long-standing attorney, glowered, and Robert could tell he was fighting to stay calm. "I seriously doubt any judge will be inclined to award you the estate, particularly after you tried to frame the girl for your mother's murder."

"How was I to know Mother's heart failed?"

"To say the girl pushed her and demanded money was a deliberate ploy so that you could contest the will."

Yes, and it would have worked if the housekeeper hadn't seen Mother slip out of Alisa's grasp and the girl try desperately to save her.

"So I'm left with only the company?"

"Seventy-five percent of the company." Mr. Chadwick leaned forward. "The girl, should she be found, will be awarded the house and all of its contents, twenty-five percent of the shipping company, and the money in all the accounts, with the exception of two thousand dollars. Your mother thought you might need it to tide you over for a few weeks. By then you should be receiving revenue from the shipping company."

Robert leaned back against the brown leather chair. Mr. Chadwick smiled-most smugly-his fingers steepled in front of him.

Two thousand dollars. That wouldn't pay for much of anything. Robert knew Mother had at least three million dollars sitting in those accounts. Nausea nearly overwhelmed his stomach at the thought of all that money going to the girl. It would take him thirty years to make back that kind of cash with the income from 75 percent of the business. What right did she have to it? He felt no responsibility, no affection for the girl who carried his blood in her veins. Truth be told, there could easily be a dozen more just like her between here and England. He didn't know, nor did he care.

"And if the girl isn't found?" He could make sure she wasn't, if necessary.

Chadwick narrowed his gaze. "The money will stay in an account for ten years, at the end of which time it will be given to charities."

"Charity?"

"Your mother was quite firm about the matter."

"What are my choices if I am to prevent this young woman from stealing my inheritance?"

The lawyer's lip curled in poorly disguised disgust, but Robert didn't care. Let him lose three million dollars and his childhood home and see how he'd behave.

"Well?" Robert demanded.

"You can always find her, speak with her, and if she is willing to sign over her rights to the house and the money, then I suppose they would go to you."

Hope flickered anew in Robert. Then that's what he'd do. Put out ads all over the state. Post a reward. One thousand dollars. No, he only had two. On the other hand, if the girl was found, he'd have more than enough to pay a reward. Five hundred.

He stood and extended his hand. "Thank you, Frank. You've been most helpful."

Chapter 2.

Acramp in his leg pulled t.i.tus rudely from sleep. He sat up straight, rubbing at the knot in his thigh, and took his hat from his face. After being awake throughout the night and walking all the way to San Francisco, he was worn clear through. But at least he wasn't hungry. Not like the girl sitting across from him. He hadn't offered her another strip of meat. No sense adding to her humiliation. Poor thing. His heart clenched at the memory of her staring at the kid's bread.

She slept, her head resting against the wall. The open window sent a breeze through the stagecoach and lifted wayward strands of auburn hair from her forehead. t.i.tus swallowed hard at the sight. Her long lashes framed beautiful, enormous eyes and brushed the tops of her cheeks as she slept. His brow furrowed at the sight of the dark circles. She'd undoubtedly lost as much sleep as he had. But why? What possessed a woman to spend her last dime on a stage ticket? She had no luggage that he'd seen. Only a small reticule that she clutched tightly even in sleep. Everything about her indicated a woman on the run.

The stage hit a hole and jostled. A shuddering breath lifted her shoulders. She opened her eyes, sitting up as she did so. She looked straight at him, and her eyes widened.

Caught staring, t.i.tus sent her a sheepish grin. He thought he detected a twitch of her lips before she averted her gaze to the window.

"How long until we reach Reliable?" The low, sleep-induced huskiness of her voice was alluring, he had to admit. A bit of guilt niggled at him for thinking it; after all, he'd been jilted less than a week ago.

He glanced out the window, barely remembering to answer her question. "I'd say no more than three or four hours." He tipped his hat. "I'm t.i.tus Chance. My family owns a ranch not far from Reliable. You got family there?"

She shook her head. "Nano."

"Mail-order bride?"

Her face reddened. "No."

"So no folks, no husband waiting?" For some reason his heart lightened at the last bit of information. Still, he hated the thought of her being alone. "Do you have friends? Or at the very least a position of employment waiting?" His throat dried out in a split second as he mentally ran through a list of possible employers.

"I have no one and no job."

"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, Reliable might not be the best choice of a town for a pretty young woman all alone." He smiled to take the sting out of his words, but what happened next filled him with horror.

Her lovely brown eyes filled with tears.

He swallowed hard and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. "Please don't cry, miss." He should be shot. Why did he always have to blurt out the truth?

"Oh, it's not your fault. I cry far too easily. I...I don't know what I'll do if there's nothing for me in Reliable." She eyed him. "I mean respectable employment."

It was t.i.tus's turn to blush. He couldn't think of anything that she could do. In a young town the size of Reliable, there weren't many positions available for a decent woman. But he planned to see what he could do. He knew enough people that surely someone would take her in.

"You didn't tell me your name."

"Alisa."

He smiled. "Alisa what?"

She hesitated, then squared her shoulders. "My name is Alisa Worthington." She said the words like an announcement.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Worthington. Would you care to have dinner with me?"

"Dinner?"

He grinned and reached into his bag. "It's not much," he said, offering her a strip of the jerky.