Glory nodded and swiped at her eyes. “I know all that. But, Jacey, first Mama and Papa are … murdered. And then Hannah leaves for Boston. And now you’re going to Tucson. What am I supposed to do?”
For a long moment, Jacey stared levelly at her sister. “I don’t know, Glory. You’re a grown woman now. You tell me what you’re supposed to do.”
Glory’s pouting doll-face only made Jacey more impatient. Mama’d babied the nineteen-year-old girl until she couldn’t do a thing for herself. That perfect little form, her auburn hair, her wide green eyes, and her helpless pose always got her what she wanted. Well, not now. Times were different. Mama and Papa were gone. Glory’d just have to get tough to survive. Starting now. “Glory, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. But I’m leaving tomorrow, and I have plans to make. I don’t have time to stand here holding your hand.”
When Glory’s pouting frown only deepened, Jacey took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Shaking her head, feeling her heavy black braid swing with her movement, she fought for calm. “Try to understand. I have to do this. It’s killing me to sit here, Glory. I should’ve gone to Boston with Hannah. She’s all alone with those murdering Wilton-Humeses.” Jacey pounded her fist into her other palm. “Those rich, uppity snakes-in-the-grass. Mama’s own family. And to have her and Papa killed. And what do I do about it? I sit here like a clucking hen on a nest. Well, I can’t do it anymore. I’ll go crazy.”
Glory’s tears dried instantly. Her face darkened with … could it be? … anger. “I’d rather you go crazy here than go get yourself killed over a missing keepsake and a piece of spur. That’s all you really have, Jacey. A piece of silver spur and a sliver of wood-frame from Great-Grandmother Ardis’s portrait. With nothing more than that, you’re going to race off to Tucson?”
Astonished at Glory’s tirade, Jacey could almost smile at this first sign of gumption from the family’s youngest. But she didn’t dare. Not in this instance. So, with slow, measured steps, her booted feet scuffing across the wood floor, she advanced on Glory. “You’re danged right I am. This piece of spur”—she held up the spike-like rowel she’d just strung through the silver chain around her neck—“is an exact match with Papa’s. And I should know. Which one of us three girls spent the most time listening to his stories of his outlaw days? Who’s held and admired his silver spurs maybe a thousand times? Me, Glory.”
She paused to allow that to sink in before going on. “And now this broken-off rowel turns up here. In our house. It’s not off Papa’s. I’ve got his up in my room. So it’s got to belong to someone else in the Lawless gang. And where are those men still? In Tucson. So, that’s where I’m headed.”
Again, she paused, staring at Glory. “The same son-of-a-gun who left his spur calling-card also took that portrait. You know he did. We—you and me, not ten minutes ago—searched Mama’s room and didn’t find it. And where were you when I tripped over that rug by the fireplace and came up with these things tangled together? Wasn’t that you standing next to me? So, how’d they get there, Glory? Was there a fight? If so, who was in it, and why? All I’ve got is questions. You got any answers?”
Glory’s chin came up a notch. “No, I don’t. But what does it all prove? Please—just once, Jacey—think before you go off half-cocked. Read Hannah’s letter again. It’s just a passing notion that makes her even mention Mama’s keepsake. She’s not asking you to look for clues. All she wrote was she saw the original portrait at Cloister Point. And it started her thinking … where was Mama’s copy?”
With her last words, Glory’s face darkened. She spun around, fisting her hands at her sides. Her voice choked with emotion. “For God’s sake, Jacey, Hannah was only curious. Nothing more. Why can’t you let it go?”
“Let it go?” Jacey stalked over to her sister and spun her around. “I cannot believe we read the same letter. Don’t you get it, Glory? The portrait is gone. And it’s the only thing missing from … that day. Why is that, do you suppose? I’ll tell you why—because someone from the old gang came here and stole that keepsake. The spur proves who it was. Trust me, this is no coincidence. It happened the same day, Glory. It had to have, because we were gone only that one night.”
Jacey searched Glory’s eyes for understanding. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about why? I know I am. I’ve got to go to Tucson—to find out the why of it. And mark my words, I’ll get my keepsake back and make some sorry old outlaw pay with his life for ever taking it in the first place.”
Glory’s frown creased her brow. “I understand how you feel, Jacey. I do. No one knows better than me what that little oil painting meant to Mama. And I know what it means to you. I do remember her saying that when she died, she wanted you to have it. But you can’t—”
“I can’t what? Get back what’s rightfully mine? That little oil painting, as you call it, is of the only Wilton-Humes that Mama gave a fig about. And she wanted me to have it, Glory. Me.” Jacey swallowed around the sudden constriction in her throat. “She said I have Ardis’s spunk. Her fire. Mama loved that old woman, and I reminded her of her.”
Jacey’s face worked with the depth of her emotion. When she could safely speak again, she went on. “But now, she and Papa have been taken from us. There’s not a blamed thing I can do to bring them back, but I can sure as shooting get back her keepsake. And I will. It’s mine now. So whoever took it, stole it from me.” Her chest rising and falling in the deep, even breaths of firm conviction, Jacey awaited her sister’s response.
For long moments, Glory stared at her. Then, without a word, she stepped around Jacey, who turned to watch her go. Head erect, her bearing queenly, Glory walked across the big comfortable room that retained the memory of the Lawless girls’ childhood laughter and tears. When she reached the stairs and put her foot on the first riser, when she laid her hand on the railing, she finally turned to face Jacey.
“You are trying to bring Mama and Papa back, Jacey. That’s what this is all about, even if you won’t admit it. But I know you—you’re still going to try. Once you set your mind to something, no one and nothing—not God, and not reasoning—can stop you. So, go. And don’t worry about me or Biddy or the ranch. Like you said, I have to grow up.”
Tears stood again in Glory’s eyes, and then spilled unheeded down her steadily pinkening cheeks. “But don’t expect me to see you off tomorrow. Don’t expect me to wave as you ride off to what could be your death, and not some sorry old outlaw’s.” She glared for a moment and then added, “I, for one, have had enough of death.”
With that, she ascended the stairs. Jacey watched her all the way up, but not once did Glory hesitate or look back. When she was out of sight, when her footfalls no longer echoed upstairs in the hallway, when Jacey heard a door close, she looked down at her hand, at her older sister’s now-crumpled letter. Dry-eyed, she lifted her gaze to the impassive stairway, set against the great room’s far wall.
She relaxed her fist. Hannah’s letter fluttered to the floor. Jacey then clasped the jagged piece of spur on her chain. She gripped it so tightly that its edges cut into her palm.
JACEY’S RECKLESS HEART—COMING IN NOVEMBER FROM ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS!