The Wedding Ransom (7 page)

Hidden in the folds of her skirt, Maggie crossed her fingers as she flashed him a smile—a first for her.

Finally, Hill nodded. “Yes, I shall want you to wear a special gown when we marry. Our wedding should be the premier social event of the year. We must begin preparations immediately. I’ll put your grandfathers to work sprucing up the hotel today.”

Her grandfathers. Maggie closed her eyes, dread seeping through her. No, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. If her papas learned that Barlow Hill thought to marry her, they’d have a fit and take a fillet knife to him. No, her papas couldn’t learn about this. No one could. “It must be a secret.”

“Pardon me?”

“The wedding,” Maggie said, making it up as she went along. “We should keep it a secret. Like the wedding between the earl of Bellingham and Lady Millicent Cavanaugh in London. Society thought they’d been invited to a ball and the wedding was a surprise. No other event of the Season topped it. Papa Ben told me all about it.”

Hill’s eyes widened, then narrowed in thought. “Hmm. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

That’s because the story was all a lie. A falsehood that Maggie hoped would appeal to Barlow Hill’s excessive vanity. “We could say it was a reopening celebration for Hotel Bliss. It would certainly be a first for Texas society, and being first is always good, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Hill nodded decisively. “Of course, your grandfathers—”

“Must not know!” Maggie insisted. “They don’t keep secrets worth beans. Why, telling my papas would be like announcing the wedding in the newspapers. Take my word on this, Barlow.” Her voice rang with sincerity as she added, “It’s best they know nothing about any wedding.”

Hill’s brow dipped as he frowned over the question. Finally, he said, “Very well. We shall keep news of the wedding between the two of us for now. However, in private I will expect you to treat me with the respect due one’s betrothed.”

Maggie’s smile went a bit sickly at that. She could only imagine what he meant by that, and her imaginings didn’t bode well.
I’ll simply have to do my best never to be alone with the mullet.

“As the event draws near,” Hill continued, “we may be forced to bring others in on the secret. For now, however, I shall provide you with a list of items to acquire in New Orleans.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “You are not traveling alone, I trust? I didn’t approve of your relations taking off and leaving you here alone with but a boy for protection.”

Maggie managed, just barely, to hide what she thought of that remark. Keeping her smile pasted on, she shook her head. “Snake and Gus plan to accompany me. Ben and Lucky will come with us as far as Galveston. Papa Ben received notice that an order he placed over a year ago has arrived from Europe, so they’ll see us off before returning to Bliss with the supplies.”

“And the stranger?”

“What stranger?”

“The man who returned with your guardians to Lake Bliss. This Malone character. I have only just met the fellow, but something about him grates like chalk on a slate. The name seems familiar, too, although I have not been able to place it. In any case, I would not approve of your traveling with him.”

Finally she had reason to be pleased with her grandfathers’ choice to retrieve the treasure. Maggie met Barlow Hill’s gaze and lied. “I won’t be traveling with Mr. Malone. He’s here on business. He’s a horse breeder. You’ve probably heard of the Lone Star Ranch? Mr. Malone is interested in my Papa Lucky’s quarter-miler. I doubt his visit will last long.”

She edged toward the door and added, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised Snake I’d help him roll out piecrusts for dinner.”

Maggie pretended not to hear Hill’s objection as she slipped from the room and pulled the door closed behind her. Taking a step toward the stairs, her knees suddenly went watery, and she grabbed for the banister to steady herself. By nature, Maggie was strong during a crisis, but the minute it was over she fell apart. She fought to hold off such a reaction now.

Marriage to Barlow Hill. What a horrific thought. But at least she’d managed to think on her feet and soothe the fool without ruining her own game. At least, that’s what she hoped had just happened. Drawing a deep breath, she made her way downstairs and out the back door, instinctively seeking the company of one of her grandfathers.

Sunshine toasted her face and chased some of the chill from her bones as she glanced toward the corral where Lucky was busy making certain the horses were ready to make the upcoming trip. She couldn’t go to Papa Lucky. He would take one look at her and know something was wrong. Then he’d decide to make it better, and end up making it worse.

Maggie gazed toward the garden looking for Ben. Upon retiring from the sea, the pirate captain had discovered he possessed a green thumb. He enjoyed digging and pruning and weeding and had made it his habit to spend part of the afternoon in the garden each day. During the golf game earlier that morning, he’d declared his intention to harvest a supply of ready vegetables to send along on the voyage. Maggie knew if she went to Ben and he sensed her troubles, he wouldn’t erupt like an angry volcano. But he would fret something fierce. That wouldn’t be good for his health. Those breathing troubles he’d suffered upon occasion worried her.

No. She turned away from the garden. As the head of their unique little family, Papa Ben had enough trouble on his mind already. He didn’t need to concern himself with Barlow Hill’s nutty plan.

Fearing Hill might follow her to the kitchen should she choose to visit Snake, Maggie decided to look for Gus. He probably was the best choice, anyway. Gus was the type to offer her his support without forcing her to explain her mood. Earlier this morning he’d indicated his intention to lay in a stash of Bliss water for the trip, so Maggie headed for the lake.

Papa Gus habitually filled the tonic bottles at a spot across the lake from the hotel where the water was at its deepest. Scanning the dock, she confirmed that the rowboat was missing, then she veered off toward the path that followed along the bank of the lake. She made her way toward the spot where she expected to find her grandfather.

Maggie walked slowly, consciously babying her knee after a misplaced step twisted her leg and reminded her of last night’s flare-up. She admitted she might have acted precipitously by joining her papas in their golf game this morning, but when they mentioned it, she couldn’t say no. Maggie hated to allow the cursed rheumatism to limit her in any way. She found it easier to deal with the physical aches than the blows to her spirit caused by forced limitation of her activities. Besides, one little spell didn’t mean she was bound to have another bout of the disease. And that’s all last night was—one little spell. She wouldn’t think of it any other way.

The afternoon’s warm and muggy air closed in on her, adding to her tension. Days such as this often brought thunderstorms before dark. Maggie glanced above her, searching for threatening clouds but thankfully finding only a wide expanse of pale blue. Even though a nice violent roar of wind and rain would suit her mood, today she’d just as soon stay dry.

Shadows swallowed her as the path disappeared into the woods lining the shore. Oaks, maples, and bald cypress trees towered above her, and from their canopy of branches she heard the high-pitched squeal of hatchlings and the scold of a mother mockingbird standing guard at her nest.

Maggie drank in the peace of the thicket. With every step, stress seemed to roll off her shoulders in waves. As much as she loved the ocean, the kiss of wind upon her face, and lap of waves against her ankles, she preferred to wrap herself in the sweet, fragrant blanket of the forest. The Lake Bliss forest, in particular. Papa Ben called her a nester, and she guessed he was correct. She figured it was a typical reaction to living so much of her life at the mercy of the tradewinds.

Twenty minutes of leisurely walking brought Maggie to the rolling bluffs that comprised a little more than half of the Lake Bliss shoreline. The forest and the exercise had worked their magic on her. By the time she reached the sharply sloped trail leading down the tawny, weatherworn crag to water’s edge, she sought companionship more than comfort. And to make her feel even better, her knee didn’t hurt one little bit.

Reaching the bottom of the path, Maggie spied the flat-surface boulder where Gus sometimes sat to dip his bottles. She didn’t see the rowboat at its normal mooring beside the rock. Looking closer, she spotted signs in the gravel and brush that someone had recently made his way along the narrow ledge that rimmed the water. Had Papa Gus followed the trail around the bend? If so, where was the rowboat? Why wasn’t it tied to the rotting stump as usual? Maggie worried the question as she followed the path toward the point where the shoreline made a bend.

A voice not her grandfather’s caused her to halt suddenly.

“Hell, I could have made a mistake like that myself.” Rafe Malone’s matter-of-fact tone echoed off the steep wall of the bluff. “You said you aren’t hurt. No harm done.”

Maggie’s eyes went wide, and her first instinct was to rush forward. But the rule to look before leaping drummed into her since childhood gave her pause. Suspicion glided like a water moccasin through her mind.

What was Rafe Malone doing out here away from the hotel? The last she’d heard he was to meet with Papa Ben to study the maps of the Yucatan coast. Why was he out here a few scant hours after he was told about the treasure?

Had he lied this morning about his trustworthiness? Was he meeting someone? A partner from his old gang, perhaps? Someone he had recruited to steal the treasure from her papas once they’d recovered it? Rafe Malone was a thief and likely a liar. They’d be fools to trust him. Why hadn’t her grandfathers listened to her? Her grandfathers. Oh, Lord. Where was Gus? Had Malone done something to Gus?

Cursing the fact she didn’t carry a weapon, Maggie cast her gaze around her, searching for something, anything she could use. As she stooped to lift a plate—sized rock off the ground, she heard a most welcome string of curses.

“No harm to anything but my pride,” Papa Gus griped.

Relief drenched Maggie. She released a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding and shook her head at her own foolishness. What had gotten into her? It wasn’t like her to jump the gun like that. What had made her so quick to expect the worst of Rafe Malone?

That wicked grin of his, most likely, she decided. That and perhaps the aftereffects of her encounter with slimy Barlow Hill. Maggie started forward ready to confess her foolishness, but her grandfather’s next words stopped her.

“I don’t want anyone to know about this. Especially my Maggins. I’ll have your word on it this minute, Malone.”

“But, Gus, you needn’t—”

“Your word, Malone. I’ve gone from being the most surefooted sailor on at least five of the seven seas to dunking my ass in Lake Bliss. It’s a long way for a man to fall.”

“Nah, five foot at the most. Look, Gus, you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” He laughed dejectedly. “It’s not nothing that my eyes are going on me. I’m a piss-poor judge of distance anymore, Malone. And I never used to get dizzy in the head.”

Maggie’s eyes widened at the defeat in his tone. Gus didn’t talk this way. It worried her; it frightened her. She stealthily eased her head around the bramble blocking her view and peered at her grandfather. His gnarled fingers held the branch of a willow, mooring him to the shore as he floated neck deep in the green—tinted water, embarrassment painting a slash of red across his face.

Maggie couldn’t see Rafe Malone from where she stood, but she heard his words clearly. “If you think you’re bad off, you should see my pa. How old are you, Gus? Sixty-one? Sixty-two?”

“Sixty-nine come August.”

“Well, I’ll be dipped. Never would have pegged you for that old. My pa is sixty. Damn near a decade younger than you. He’s been falling over things for at least five years now. And he’s getting soft in the head. What I’d give for him to have his mind back all sharp like yours.”

After a long pause in the conversation, Gus said, “Reckon I’m like a broken-backed rattler. I still have a little bite left in me. Only saving grace in all of this is that none of the others were here to see me. The men would give me ever-loving grief, and Maggie, well, she’d get all fretful. Worrying is bad for her health; she’ll sometimes have a spell if she gets to stewing too much. Now, I never did get your word to keep quiet. Say it, then help me out of here, boy.”

“You have my word.”

Ducking back behind the bush, Maggie heard water splashing and the rustle of brush.

“You sure you’ll be all right?” Malone asked. “That’s a nasty tear in your shirt.”

“Didn’t even break the skin. Now back off, boy, and keep your hands to yourself. I’m telling you I’m fine! I’ll not be needing you for a walking cane. In fact, I think I’m in the mood to hike back to the hotel. It’ll give me time to dry out before the others can get an eyeful. If you want to help, you can fill the bottles and row the boat back to the hotel for me.”

Maggie took brisk but careful steps back toward the boulder. There she paused. From the sounds of it, Papa Gus wouldn’t want her to see him this way at all.

Glancing around, she spied a leafy holly and dashed behind it just as Gus lumbered into sight.

“No barnacles on me yet,” he grumbled as he passed her hiding place, his expression set with determination. “Plenty of spring in my step. Can sail rings around men half my age. I’ll be a cracked-shell crustacean before I let the years win.”

That’s the way to talk, Papa Gus,
Maggie thought as she blinked away the sudden tears flooding her eyes. She knew her grandfathers wouldn’t live forever, but she wasn’t prepared to lose any of them anytime soon. She stared unseeing at the path where he’d disappeared, her mind lost in fears of the future and memories of the past.

“You can come out now.”

Rafe’s voice startled Maggie, and she jerked her head up and back. The man was naked again! Half—naked, anyway. He wore only a pair of snug buckskin trousers.