Glory smiled as she stroked Skeeter’s bony head. Perched on her knees next to Old Pete’s grave, all but lost in her father’s sheepskin coat, she crooned low to the hound. “I’d feel much better if you’d eat something, Skeeter. It’s not nice of you to worry me like this. Old Pete would be the first one to want you out running the hills and hunting your own meals.”
Skeeter thumped his tail, blinked his big brown eyes, and stared up at Glory. A sigh escaping her, she reached over to his tin plate of food and picked up a meat scrap. Offering it to him, she said, “I’d be the happiest woman in the territory if you’d eat this.”
The dog sniffed the meat chunk and turned his head away, resettling himself atop his slain owner’s grave. Glory tossed the scrap back into the plate. “You don’t fool me.” She stood up and pointed an accusing finger at the hound. “Look at you. You’re not near as scrawny as you were a month ago. So you’re eating sometimes, and I’d bet you even get up off this grave. Like it or not, you’re getting better. So there. What do you think about that?”
Skeeter raised an eyebrow, sending her a baleful look before he stretched out on his side in the pale November sun, effectively dismissing Glory from his presence. “Fine then, Mr. Skeeter.” She chuckled around her words. “I’ll leave you be.”
With that, she stuck her cold hands in the coat’s deep pockets, felt the steely comfort of the small pistol she now carried, and stepped around Old Pete’s grave, making her way to the next two. She then spent the next several minutes paying her respects to her parents, before exiting the fenced-off cemetery.
She was about half the distance from the back of the main house, and deep in thought about last night’s attack on herself and Riley’s abrupt departure earlier that morning, when she heard her name being called out. She looked to the narrow back-porch landing and saw Biddy framed in the doorway. The round little Irishwoman waved what looked like a letter in her hand and she all but bounced up and down.
Glory acknowledged her nanny’s wave and headed for the porch, all the time thinking, What now? Wasn’t it enough for one day that Riley’d left so abruptly, and so had those two men he’d hired? Good riddance to Carter and Brown, but she missed Riley. And admitting that did nothing for her mood.
“Glory, come quick, child. ’Tis a letter from Hannah.”
Absorbing that news, Glory cried out, “Hannah!” as if her oldest sister herself stood there. Her spirits instantly lifting, Glory clutched at her skirt, ran all the way to Biddy, and pounded up the wooden steps. “Who brought it? When did it come? Let me see it.”
“And here it is.” Biddy handed over the letter. “That nice Mr. Jessup stopped by the post office in Kansas and brought this with him on his way home. Easy now, child, have a care to what yer doing—like as not, ye’ll tear up Hannah’s words before we can read them. And look at you—after last night, what are ye thinkin’, being outside by yerself?” As she fussed, Biddy tugged Glory into the warm kitchen with her and closed the door behind them.
“No one would bother me out there in the open, Biddy. But if they did, I’m ready. I loaded one of Papa’s old pistols and stuck it in my pocket.” Glory worked at opening her sister’s folded letter as she spoke.
“The saints preserve us. The child’s carrying a gun now.”
Glory looked up. Defiance narrowed her eyes and edged her words. “Yes, I am. And you should be, too.”
Biddy waved a hand in dismissal of that idea. “Me with a gun? Why, child, I’d be a bigger danger to meself than I would be to anyone else. Like as not, I’d shoot meself in the foot, as sure as I’m standin’ here.”
Glory’s expression softened as she chuckled at her nanny and lowered her gaze to Hannah’s written words and said, “Maybe she’s writing to say she’s coming home.”
“We’ll never know—now will we?—if ye don’t read what she has to say.” With that, Biddy hovered around Glory’s elbow, her faded-blue eyes showing she was as agog with anticipation as Glory was.
Glory lovingly smoothed a hand over her sister’s neat lettering. Then, suddenly afraid of what she might read, she headed for the trestle table and pulled a chair out. “I’ve got to sit down … in case this is bad news.” She did just that and then frowned up at Biddy. “She addressed it to me and Jacey and you. Hannah’d be in a tizzy if she knew Jacey wasn’t here.”
Biddy pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. “An’ we’ll not be telling her, either. But never mind that. Read Hannah’s words before I do it for ye.” Biddy scraped out a chair and joined Glory at the table. She prayerfully folded her hands together atop the table’s smooth, worn wooden surface and waited.
Glory impulsively squeezed Biddy’s hands and grinned in excitement. “I just know she’s coming home.” She then turned her attention to the silent reading of her sister’s words. Her smile faded. Her expression darkened. Her mouth slacked open. She looked up at Biddy. “Sweet merciful heavens, Biddy. Hannah’s married.”
Biddy jerked back in her chair, nearly sending herself over backward. She grabbed the table’s edge to steady herself. “The devil, you say!”
“Near enough,” Glory said. Her heart pounding with shock, she added, “She married Slade Garrett!”
Biddy’s broad, apple-cheeked face drained of color. She stared right through Glory. “Hannah married a Garrett? ’Tis the worst thing possible.”
“I agree. How could she do that? His name is the very one on that burned piece of stationery we found here with Mama and Papa. Why, he’s in cahoots with Mama’s family.”
Biddy turned her gray-bunned, wispy-curled head to look into Glory’s eyes. “’Tis worse than that, child—worse than ye can know.”
Glory’s fist crumpled around the pages and Hannah’s words. An unnamed fear clutched at her heart. “What do you mean? Hannah just wouldn’t marry him if he had anything to do with the … murders. She just wouldn’t. Why, she says in here how much she loves him.”
Biddy shook her head. “’Tis not the murders I mean. ’Twas a Garrett—near to twenty-five years ago—who attacked my Catherine one night in her room. ’Twas a Garrett who had her fleeing Boston—and me with her—after the scandal of such behavior. ’Twas a Garrett who put us in Arizona Territory and got Catherine kidnapped by the Lawless Gang.”
Shocked into silence, all Glory could do was stare into Biddy’s faded-blue eyes as she added, “And even though it turned out well, seeing how much yer mother loved yer father, ’twas a Garrett who did all that. A Garrett. And now … Hannah’s married one.”
Her hand over her aching heart, able only to take shallow breaths, Glory all but whispered, “I’ve never heard any of this before. Why didn’t you tell us after the funerals—before Hannah left for Boston to hunt this man down?”
“Yer mother didn’t want ye girls to know. And I never thought Hannah’d marry the man, for heaven’s sake.” Biddy covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “That poor child,” she mumbled between her fingers. Then, lowering her hands, she flapped one at Glory. “Read what else she has to say. Maybe she’ll explain.”
Putting aside her questions about the Garretts, Glory nodded and looked back down at the letter, smoothing it as best she could. Reading Hannah’s words, telling them to Biddy, she said, “Her marriage isn’t the worst of it. She says be wary of strangers because someone is having us watched. She doesn’t know who or why, but she calls them trackers. She says one followed her to Boston. Slade Garrett’s men caught him and killed him. That’s how she knows.”
Frowning her face into deep lines of worry, Biddy cocked her head questioningly at Glory. “Trackers, ye say? Like hunters?”
Glory nodded. “I guess. Only these men track people. Us.”
Biddy put a plump and trembling hand to her bosom. “Merciful heavens. This explains the attack on ye last night, child. I’m sure of it.” Then her eyes widened, she intoned, “Jacey. The girl is out there all alone.”
Dry-mouthed with fear for her sister, but wanting to reassure Biddy, Glory quipped, “I’d worry more about any shootist facing Jacey than I would her.” Seeing her nanny’s brave smile, and knowing it was for her benefit, Glory sobered. “Those two men that Riley hired—Abel Justice and Carter Brown? Suddenly I wish they were still here, just so we could keep an eye on them. I got so angry when Riley hired them. But now I’m sorry he fired them.”
When Biddy offered no comment, Glory stared pointedly at her. Something in the older woman’s expression pricked at Glory, made her sit up straighter, and lean toward her. “What?”
Biddy lowered her gaze to her lap. A moment later, she raised her head, revealing a stricken expression. “There’s more I need to tell ye, child. And yer not going to like it.”
A sudden sickness swept over Glory. Whatever Biddy had to say—she just knew it—had something to do with Riley. She raised her chin. “Go on.”
“Well, ’tis the land, child. Smiley says he’s not so sure that yer folks and Old Pete…” Biddy’s voice trailed off. She took a deep breath and started over. “He’s not sure that only yer mother’s family back east is responsible.”
Glory took a moment to absorb Biddy’s words and then leaned over the table, gripping her nanny’s hand in hers. “What are you saying?”
Biddy’s gaze slipped away from Glory’s face. “There’s talk again of the range wars. And the talks are going on at the Thorne place. The ranchers are wanting their land back … land they say yer father took from them.”
Glory sat back, fisted her hands on the tabletop. She stared at the wood stove across the kitchen and said, “I’ve heard that all my life … that Papa stole hundreds of acres by force. Did he, Biddy? Did he become successful by forcing others off their land?”
From the corner of her eye, Glory could see Biddy nod. “Aye. That he did. But that’s not what concerns me today, child.”
Fearing she was turning to stone, so cold was she inside, Glory swallowed the hard lump of truth in her throat and all but whispered, “Tell me.”
“Smiley says he and the men believe that … maybe some of our own neighbors, umm, helped the murdering scum that day with their foul deeds.”
Glory jerked to her feet, sending her chair toppling over backward and skittering across the barewood floor. She leaned stiff-armed over the table, pressing her palms flat onto the tabletop, and peered into Biddy’s eyes. “Are you saying that the Thornes helped murder Mama and Papa?”
Biddy shrank back into her chair, her eyes widening. “No, child, I don’t know that. Neither does Smiley. He only suspects—”
“When did Smiley tell you this?”
Biddy’s eyes cut this way and that, then she snapped her fingers when it apparently came to her. She pointed at Glory. “That day ye and Riley went riding out over the land.”
Glory frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”
Biddy shrugged, shook her head. “I didn’t want to worry ye, child. Ye’ve so much on yer shoulders as it is. Besides, naught could come of this.”
“And that’s the point. Everything is on my shoulders. I’m the only Lawless here, so you have to tell me these things. You can’t protect me. In fact, Smiley should have come to me with his concerns.”
Then Glory remembered Smiley doing just that—that day in Papa’s office after the fire in the barn. And what had she done? Cried to Riley—the very man Smiley was upset with. She put a hand to her mouth in defeat. Then something else jumped into her consciousness. She turned to Biddy. “It couldn’t have been the ranchers. There was the Wilton-Humes stationery and the spur like Papa’s gang wore. Our neighbors couldn’t—”
Biddy held up a cautioning hand. “I made them same points to Smiley. He said he believes only that the other ranchers might know something, might have heard something afterward. And aren’t saying.”
Glory needed to sit down. Turning around, she retrieved her overturned chair and pulled it up to the table. Sitting heavily, feeling as old as Biddy, she rested her head in her hands. “Land wars. Trackers. Hannah marries a Garrett. Mama and Papa dead. Jacey riding off to Tucson. Someone tries to kill me. Riley Thorne takes off the very next morning. I just don’t know how all this is connected.”
Feeling as baleful as Skeeter had looked earlier, Glory stared at her grandmotherly nanny. “Is there anything else I need to know? Anything you’re keeping from me—something that could sneak up on me and bite me when I least expect it?”
Biddy sat stockstill. Unmoving. Unblinking. “No.”
* * *
Two days later at dusk, and hard on the heels of Hannah’s letter, a package of another sort arrived at the Lawless gates. This one made it no farther than the sentries posted there. The first Glory knew of it was when a knock sounded on the front door, she opened it, and found Heck Thompson standing on the verandah, his hat in his hand.
“Why, hello, Heck.” Glory smiled, remembering the man’s gratitude when she’d replaced the money stolen from him in the bunkhouse. His craggy face no longer bore the signs of his fistfight with Carter Brown the night before the barn fire of a few weeks back. “What is it?”
“Sorry fer botherin’ you, ma’am, but there’s a rider here what says he has a parcel for you. He’s come all the way from the Arizona Territory with it.”
“Arizona?” The word shot fear through Glory. Despite the cold and swirling wind that chilled her skin in the dying day, she felt a dampness under her arms. She clutched at the doorknob, leaning into the door itself. “Send him up to the house.”
Heck ducked his beard-stubbled chin. “Yes, ma’am. We done taken his firearms off him, so’s you don’t have to worry none. And we’ll be right outside the door here if you need us.”
Grim now with worry, Glory nodded. “Thank you. Just send him up.” She stayed at the door, watched Heck sprint back down to the arched gateway. Then, stepping out onto the verandah, she hugged her arms around her waist, a meager defense against the November evening’s blustering winds. But she didn’t really mind the cold. Or this new rider and whatever news he brought.
Anything was better than aimlessly wandering the house day and night, missing Riley, wanting to see his face, to touch him. Why, more than once she’d found herself in the room he’d slept in and had curled up on his bed. She fancied she could still smell his masculine scent in the sheets, even though Biddy had stripped the bed and replaced the linens.
Worse than missing Riley was the nagging fear that maybe somehow he was guilty in Mama’s and Papa’s murders. Or of the attack on her. Or the fires and the missing cattle. Or the sabotaged equipment out in the tack room. With that thought came a vicious gust of wind that whipped Glory’s hair across her cheeks. She tugged it out of her face, telling herself that the sudden tears in her eyes were from the wind and her hair. And not from missing Riley Thorne. Or worrying about his guilt or innocence.
Glory abandoned her dispirited thoughts when, flanked by Heck and Pops Medley, the lone rider approached the verandah. Putting on her best Lawless-in-charge face, she somberly nodded her greeting to the man—boy, actually—who tipped his hat to her. Locking her knees against the fear that he bore bad news about Jacey, that perhaps his parcel contained her belongings—all that was left of her sister—Glory silently waited for him to dismount. Her nails dug into her palms, but she gave away nothing of her inner turmoil.
“You Glory?” the red-haired rider bluntly asked from the bottom of the verandah steps.
“Yes.”
Rumpled and dirty under his ankle-length saddle coat, the young man nodded. “You don’t look a thing like Miss Jacey. But then I don’t reckon that should surprise me none.”
Thinking that was a strange thing to say, but more focused on his mention of Jacey, Glory allowed his comment to pass, asking instead, “You know my sister?” Dropping her pose, she hurried to the edge of the verandah, clutched the wood railing, ignoring a few splintery pokes into the soft flesh of her palms. “Is she okay? Is Jacey all right?”
The boy nodded. “She was when I left Tucson a while back.” He gestured to his saddlebags. “I got a parcel for you from her.” He then looked over his shoulder to the armed and scowling men not too far away, and back at Glory. “I’d like to get it for you, if you think it’d be all right.”
Glory waved a dismissal to Heck and Pops. “It’s okay.” They nodded and turned away, walking back toward the gate. Glory turned her attention to watching this messenger from her sister as he opened his saddlebag and pulled out a slim leather case, no bigger than a good-sized book. Rampant curiosity clouded her features—and got the better of her. “I didn’t get your name,” she called out.
The young man turned to her. “Name’s McGinty. James McGinty. My pa rode with the Lawless Gang for a summer. Rooster McGinty was his name.”
Shock and fear warred for the upper hand in Glory’s stomach. She knew the name, knew the story of the scared boy who thought he wanted to be an outlaw. And she knew Jacey was in Tucson tracking down the Lawless gang members looking for the one, or ones, guilty of … something. At least of stealing. But maybe worse.
And now, here stood the son of a former gang member, saying Jacey sent him. But wait … Jacey would never have given away the exact location of her home to anyone she suspected. Nor could that information have been tortured out of her, so stubborn was she. So this James McGinty had to be telling the truth.
“Ma’am, are you all right? You look a might peaked.”
Glory exhaled, remembered her manners. “I’m sorry, Mr. McGinty. I’m just cold. Please, come in.”
“Call me James, if you would. When you say Mr. McGinty, I expect my grandpa to be behind me with a switch.” James’s disarming grin even pulled one from Glory’s lips. His long legs carried him effortlessly up the wide steps and saw him towering over her on the verandah.
Suddenly at a loss, given the way he was looking at her—the same openly admiring look all men gave her—Glory waved him inside and closed the door behind them. In the polished wood entryway of the great room, lit by the kerosene lamps, she took James’s duster and hat, hanging them on the coat rack. She then directed him to the leather couch, motioning for him to sit, which he did. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Blushing to his roots, he looked her up and down—in a shy, boyish way that amused Glory rather than offended her—and then shook his head no. “I’m fine, thank you. I’m just glad I’m here finally.” He then considered his surroundings. “I can’t rightly believe I’m actually in J. C. Lawless’s house.”
Smiling her response, Glory sat on a facing leather chair and folded her hands in her lap, her attention remaining focused on the soft-sided leather case James McGinty still clutched in his hands. Since he didn’t seem about to hand it over, she opened with, “I hope I don’t sound rude, James, but why did Jacey send you, instead of coming home herself?”
James focused on her once again. “She can’t. Kid Chapelo’s son took her to Mexico. Some say she’s his prisoner.”
Glory nearly fainted dead away. She clutched her wingback chair’s upholstered armrests. “Did you say my sister’s a … prisoner?”
James nodded, even grinned, his expression somehow emphasizing the riot of freckles covering his face. “Yes, ma’am. But I wouldn’t worry none if I was you. Zant Chapelo may be an outlaw—and a more fearsome one even than his pa—but he’s a gentleman when it comes to the ladies.”
Glory blinked. “James, I’m sorry, but that does not make me feel better.” All she could think about was how Papa had killed Kid Chapelo about the time she was born. No one ever said why, but she knew that whatever had happened, Papa had quit being an outlaw after that. And now, here Jacey was—in The Kid’s son’s clutches. And James McGinty didn’t think she should worry.
Glory’s gaze flickered to the packet in his gloved hands. She pointed to it. “Is that for me? Did Jacey give you that?”
James jerked the parcel up, as if startled to realize he still held it. He scooted forward on the couch and stood up, leaning over to her with the package held out. “Oh, yes, ma’am, I plumb forgot—even after riding all this way just to give it to you. I guess I’m still befoozled about being in the Lawless stronghold.”
Glory had no idea what befoozled meant, but figured she probably was feeling somewhat the same thing as she accepted the parcel and held it in her hands. First Hannah’s letter two days ago. And now this from Jacey. It could be nothing but bad news. She rubbed her hand over the soft leather of the thong-clasped parcel. Whatever was inside this package was so important that Jacey had sent someone directly here, despite the encroaching winter.
She didn’t realize that she’d been quiet so long until James cleared his throat and recaptured her attention. She looked up at him. “I’m sorry, James. It’s just the shock of your being here.” She held up the package. “And this. I’m almost afraid to open it.”
“I’ve ridden quite a ways with it, and it ain’t bit me yet.”
Glory laughed at his words—and at herself. “You’re right. I’m being silly.” But still she didn’t want to open it with him here. “Perhaps you’d like to see to your horse and settle in out at the bunkhouse? You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. It’s the least I can do.”
James ducked his head. “I thank you kindly, miss, but I’d best light out for home on the morrow. No telling how long the mountain snows will hold off.” He turned and indicated the front door. “You wouldn’t mind putting in a good word for me with those men outside, would you? I’d hate to get shot trying to accept your hospitality.”
Glory jumped up. “Oh, of course not. I’m sorry. We’ve just had … some troubles here. Everyone’s edgy.”
“Yes, ma’am. I seen that when I rode in. And I heard tell of the … killings here. My grandpa spoke with Señor Estrada about it. I’m right sorry for your losses.”
“Thank you. But who’s … Señor Estrada?”
“He owns the cantina where Jacey was staying in Tucson.”
“Cantina?”
“Saloon, I guess you’d call it.”
Surprised shock brought Glory’s hand to her heart. She glanced towards the kitchen, listening to Biddy’s singing and pot-banging. Until this mention of a saloon, she’d been going to call her nanny into the room to meet their visitor. But maybe not just yet. If Biddy hears of this, I know exactly how the old dear’s grave will read: Jacey slept in a saloon. Here lies Biddy Jensen.
Glory redirected her attention to James, forcing an attentive expression on her suddenly stiff features. “Jacey stayed in a … a saloon?”
James nodded. “Yes, ma’am. She worked there with Rosie—Señor Estrada’s daughter.”
“I see.” But she didn’t. That darned Jacey. Leave it to her. “She worked there? Umm, exactly what did she … do in this cantina?”
“Do?” James frowned at her, but then his face blushed as red as his hair. “Oh. No … uh … not that. Señor Estrada is a Christian man. He wouldn’t allow that … not that Miss Jacey wanted to. She tended bar some. Once or twice she did serve the men out on the floor.” He smiled, then apparently heard his own words because his eyes went hoot-owl round. “Drinks. Served the men drinks. That’s all. I swear it.”
Tearing up with embarrassment, Glory cleared her throat, didn’t know where to look. But suddenly galvanized by embarrassment, she ushered James to the front door. He snatched up his duster and hat, donning them with all haste. Glory recovered enough to say, “Thank you for coming all this way. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Don’t worry none about that. Señor Estrada paid me to make the trip. I’m glad to do it.”
“Oh. Well, this way then.” Glory opened the door and stepped outside, braving yet another gust of freezing wind. Behind her, James stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind himself. Glory signaled to Heck, who sprinted up to her.
“Yes, Miss Glory?”
“Heck, this is James McGinty. He’s a guest. You can give him back his guns. And will you see to settling him in at the bunkhouse?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Heck turned to James, nodded his greetings. “Get your horse and follow me.”
The sound of James’s scuffing bootsteps across the verandah and down the low, wide steps made Glory turn to him. “Thank you again, James. We Lawlesses owe you for your kind deed.”
James grinned, touched the brim of his floppy felt hat in a parting gesture. “Don’t mention it, miss. The way I see it, J. C. Lawless done my pa a favor by making him hate the life of an outlaw. Otherwise, I doubt he’d have lived long enough to marry and have me and my brothers and sisters. I figure we’re even now.” He stood there a moment longer, looked undecided about something, and then apparently made up his mind to say it. “I’m just sorry about your folks. It must be painful to be orphaned twice over.”
Before Glory could absorb that, much less ask him what he meant, James untied his horse from the hitching post and followed after Heck. For long moments, Glory watched his slim, departing back. Finally, hugging Jacey’s packet to her chest, she thought to ask herself, Orphaned twice over? What does that mean?