Grace be a Lady (Love & War in Johnson County Book 1) (24 page)

Bull
shoved Grace into the empty train seat, plunking down beside her. Lonnie
settled on the bench across from them, wearing that awful leer Grace wished she
could claw off his face. The cold ride into town had felt good on her throbbing
cheek, but her toes, nearly frozen, burned now as the warmth returned to them.

“Stoke
the fire, Lonnie.” Bull removed his derby and tossed it to the seat beside his
thug. “I need a few moments alone with my lovely bride.”

Lonnie
nodded and headed to the stove at the front of the empty car. Bull draped his
arm around Grace. Trapped like a caged animal, she stiffened but didn’t bother
to pull away. “Now, darlin’, let’s square away a few things. Until I decide
what to do with you, you don’t breathe a word about this charade of yours.” He
moved his hand to her neck and dug his fingers into her muscle. Grace writhed
against the pain and whimpered. “You tried to make a fool of me, and I will
repay you, my lovely,” he put his lips to her ear, “every day for the rest of
your miserable life. But cheer up,” he pulled away and patted the muscle, “maybe
it won’t be that long.”

Somewhere
off in the distance gunfire erupted. Five or six shots . . . then
silence. Lonnie rejoined them and laughed. “Guess that’s what passes for a
gunfight out ’ere in the Wild West, eh?”

Grace
saw Bull’s smirk reflected in the window. “Choir practice, compared to 15
^th
Street, huh?”

The
whistle blew and the train to Cheyenne started its long, slow crawl across the
prairie. She craned her neck, watching Misery fade. She wondered where Thad
was. Would he miss her? Would he ever think of her kindly? Would Raney keep her
ranch? She fought back bitter tears and settled into her seat.

Now,
only Hardy mattered.

Clearly,
Bull had something awful in store for Grace. He might even be planning to kill
her. She knew, without a doubt, no matter what hell she had to walk through,
she and Hardy would get away . . .

Bull’s
lip lifted in a little sneer, as if he had read her thoughts. “Say goodbye to
Wyoming, dear.”

When
Thad came to, gunfire echoed in his head, and he screamed.

“Easy,
Thad, easy:”

He
opened his eyes, and followed the hand on his chest to Raney’s face. She sat on
the edge of his cot, a damp cloth in her hand. Relief washed over him and he
settled back.
Everything is all right . . .
“I got shot.
But I’m all right.” He looked around the small, Spartan examination room.
Alcohol and bandages sat on the nightstand next to him; his second round of
medical treatment in Doc’s office.

“Yesss,”
Raney dragged out. “Yes, you are.”

She
might as well have added the
but
. Thad raised an eye brow at her. “What
aren’t you telling me?”

“Trampas
is dead. Nate rode out lookin’ for Shonsey and the others and we haven’t heard
anything yet.” Her chin quivered and she bit her bottom lip. She took Thad’s
hand and squeezed it hard. “Thad,” her voice quivered, “I’m so sorry about your
pa.”

He
heard the statement, but couldn’t glean any understanding. “I don’t understand.
What about Pa?”

Comprehension
dawned on Raney’s face. “You don’t know. In the gunfight, Trampas shot him . . .
Earl’s gone.”

Exhausted,
filthy, and hungry, Grace stepped down out of the carriage in front of her home—her
prison. Nearly midnight, gas torches burned invitingly on each side of the
stately oak and iron door, creating such an illusion of security and warmth.

Behind
her, the carriage door slammed shut, and she spun.

Peering
out the window, Bull tipped his derby. “I’ve business to attend. Make sure you resemble
a woman by the time I get back.”

The
carriage drove away, and Grace trudged up to the big, heavy door. Prison or
not, Hardy was on the other side. Her feet took flight. She bounded through the
quiet, dimly-lit foyer and raced up the steps to his room, her cowboy boots
thumping loudly on the wooden floor. Holding her breath, she pushed open to the
door, gasping with delight at the sight of her baby snoozing peacefully in his
bed.

Dark
curls lay matted against his forehead. Chubby little fingers clutched a stuffed
bear. Her throat constricted with joy, and she crept over to him. She knelt
down beside him and gently touched his fingers. Hardy stirred. In the pale
moonlight, Grace saw his eyelids flutter open, and he was staring at her with
an expression of bewilderment verging on alarm.

“Shhhh,
it’s all right, Hardy,” she clutched his hand. “It’s me, Mommy.”

He
yawned, then suddenly flung back his covers and launched himself into her arms,
nearly knocking her down. “Mommy, I knew you’d come back. I knew it!”

Joy,
so sublime it seemed almost painful, exploded in Grace’s heart, and she hugged Hardy
like she was clinging to a life preserver. He squeezed her back so tightly
around her neck he nearly constricted the blood flow to her brain. Laughing and
crying, Grace wiggled loose and covered Hardy’s face in kisses. “Oh, my baby,
how I have missed you,” she whispered.

“Me,
too, Mommy.” Hardy hugged her tight again. “Please don’t ever leave me again.”

The
plea broke her heart, and Grace wept into her son’s shoulder. “No, baby, don’t
you worry about that. I’ll never, ever leave you again.”

“Even
when Daddy gets a new wife?”

She
stiffened for a moment, and then shook her head. Bull’s philandering never
ceased and it wouldn’t surprise her if he had a
new
respectable
wife
waiting in the wings. That didn’t change the fact that she’d never leave Hardy
again. “No matter what Daddy does, Hardy, you and I will never be separated
again.”

Grace
absently smoothed her dress down as she perused the books in the library,
wishing something as simple as a work of fiction could distract her. It felt so
strange to be home, stranger still to be in a dress, even after five days. But
Bull had commanded it. Still true to form, he usually came wandering in around
noon or so, smelling of liquor, cigars, and perfume.

And
always with one thing on his mind. Until she had a plan to get Hardy away from
here, she couldn’t think of anything to do but play her role as the long-suffering
wife.

Bull
kept all his money in the safe and on the train he’d said she would not be
receiving any, even for household expenses, and he had informed her she would
be watched around the clock. She felt more trapped than she ever had. But there
had to be a way out . . .

She
tried not to think about Thad, but she could see him clear as day, riding and
roping and loving every minute of it. Full of life, in his element on the Lazy
H, laughing with his men, cutting up with Raney, and making up nicknames.

She’d
never forget him.

Behind
her, Hardy started humming “Frère Jacques”
as he played with his Lincoln
Logs in front of the fire. In her absence, he had become quite adept at
building homes. Yesterday she had helped him build a bunkhouse, and told him
the story of the fat rattler that had nearly struck her.

Her
hand drifted across the Holy Bible, and she thought about the day out on the
windswept pasture when she’d begged God for help. She wanted to be angry with
Him for denying it, but didn’t have the energy. She could only love Hardy and
hate Bull. There wasn’t room for anything—or anyone—else.

Out
of sheer hopelessness, she pulled the book from the shelf, opened it, and read
the first words she saw.

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy
God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee
with the right hand of My righteousness.

The
scripture seemed so directed at Grace she read it again. And again.

The
words rained down on her soul, and she felt an old thirst fading. Peace and
comfort filled her up to overflowing
.
She drifted a finger over the
scripture, half-expecting to feel something.

I
am with thee . . . I will help thee . . .
echoed over and over in her heart . . . And she believed the
words.

“Grace!”

Bull’s
bellowing startled both her and Hardy. He looked up with wide, fearful eyes,
and her heart broke. He was terrified of his father. Shoving the Bible back
onto the shelf, she walked over to him and took his hand. “Hardy, your father
and I have some talking to do.” She tried to smile. “We won’t be long.”

Marie
stepped into the room and waited by the door. Grace nodded at the nanny and
pulled Hardy to his feet. “Why don’t you two go upstairs? Sit in that sunny
spot in your window and Marie will read
Alice in Wonderland
to you.”

“All
right. Will you come up when you and Daddy are done talking?”

“I
certainly will. I’ll read some, too, if you like.”

Nodding,
but moving like he was wading through molasses, Hardy took Marie’s hand, and
the two slipped out the door. Almost immediately, Bull filled the door way,
leering at Grace, a fresh cigar clenched between his teeth. The stink of
whiskey wafted off him. “Your hair is finally getting to a respectable length.”
He lumbered across the room and grabbed her arm, casting the cigar into the
fireplace. “Hike up that skirt, woman.” Grace slapped at him as he pawed her,
but he intercepted her hand and twisted it behind her back.

“Bull,
not here! Have you lost your mind?”

“By
God, if I tell you to raise you skirt over your head right in front of the
servants, you’ll obey me!”

His
face darkened as he groped her and attempted to spin her. She realized he was
trying to bend her over the writing desk, and writhed madly in his arms. She
wanted to scream but knew that would bring the servants. He wove his fingers
through her hair, below her ears now, and jerked her head back. “You’re just
giving me an excuse to make it rougher, Grace.”

“Tsk,
tsk, tsk,” Lonnie’s slimy voice hissed, pausing Bull’s hands. “Marital discord.
’Ow sad.”

Bull
swung around to the door, still holding Grace by the hair. “I’m busy. Come back
later.”

“Well,
that’s the thing of it.” Lonnie sauntered into the room, drew his .32, and
pointed it at his boss.

Bull’s
face flushed with fury, his lip curling into a sneer. “You little limey bast—”

“I
am a lot of things, but that ain’t one of ’em, Bull. My mum was a good woman.
Now, my da, he was much too much like you. And that’s when it came to me.”

“What?”
Bull growled.

Grace
wondered if, by some miracle, Lonnie was here to save her. Her hopes lifted
when he cocked the pistol. “The Italians want you out of the way, Bull, and I
said I could ’elp with that. Make it look like your wife did it. A service for
which they are ’appily going to pay me a tidy sum.”

“You
won’t live to spend it.” Bull tightened his grip on Grace. “Besides, Grace won’t
protect you.”

“I
thought of that. I thought about using Hardy to make her.” Lonnie shrugged off
the idea. “Ah, but that’s messy and leaves loose ends. So I decided to take a
lesson from my dear old da. You see, he shot my mum then turned the gun on
himself. No loose ends. No one to dispute his story.”

Bull’s
jaw clenched with fury. “What are you saying? You’re going to shoot me? Make it
look like Grace did it?” He sounded as if he couldn’t believe Lonnie’s audacity . . .
or stupidity.

“Ah,
you catch on quick. Then I’ll kill her and put the gun in her hand. ‘Distraught
wife shoots abusive husband, then herself.’ The servants will all verify your
treatment of your lovely bride. Personally, I don’t know ’ow she’s gone this
long without shootin’ you.”

“Lonnie,
you can’t do this,” Grace pleaded. “My son, Hardy . . .”

“Don’t
worry, luv, the state will provide the lad a good ’ome.”

With
that, Lonnie fired his gun. Grace jumped. Her ears rang.

The
fury on Bull’s face melted into an expression of fear and confusion. His brow
dipped and he swayed on his feet. “I didn’t think he’d do it—” Suddenly, his
breathing hitched oddly. Shaking his head, he let go of Grace’s hair, splaying
his fingers over his chest and a spreading red stain. Terrified, Grace tried to
wiggle free but Bull held on with a death grip at her wrist. “Shot . . .”
he trailed off and dropped to his knees.

Grace
didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She searched his face and was stunned by the stark
terror she saw.

“. . . in
the heart?” he whispered and fell over onto his back. He lay there for a
moment, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling raggedly with no
detectable pattern.

Grace
glanced at Lonnie as she dropped to her knees beside Bull. “Bull . . .”
But she didn’t know what to say to him. Instead, she pleaded with Lonnie. “Don’t
do this. Please let me get him a doctor.”

Lonnie
only grinned.

Bull
tightened his grip on her arm as he shifted his gaze to her. “Don’t leave me . . .”

Grace
was moved—quite unexpectedly—by his desperation and fear. She laid her free
hand over Bull’s hand on his chest, blood coating his fingers. “Bull, it’s
going to be all right.” She couldn’t believe she had any compassion for this
man, yet, even after everything he’d done to her, she didn’t wish death on him.
“I’ll get a doctor.”

He
moved his lips as if to answer, but they stilled. His eyes glazed over, a
single, deep breath escaped him.

And
he was gone.

Grace
watched him for a moment, unsure of her feelings. Bull had slipped into eternity,
a place, according to Thad, of fire and brimstone, of unquenchable thirst and
unending misery.

Worse.
Eternal separation from God.

The
thought sent a chill down her spine, and Grace pulled her arm free from her
husband. Like the mist of a spring morning, her hate dissipated. Everything he’d
done to her all at once didn’t seem so awful. Not so bad as to warrant an
eternity in Hell. Wishing him dead had been one thing. Watching him slip over
into the abyss, another. She believed Bull was now paying for his sins . . .
and she pitied him. She didn’t hate him after all.

And
she did not want to meet the same fate.

Grace
wasn’t afraid of dying so much. She simply realized she did not want to be
separated from God. She wanted a chance to know Him.
God, I’m sorry I turned
my back on You so long ag—

“Your
turn, luv.” Grace flinched, slowly rose to her feet, terrified not of Lonnie
but of where he could send her. He cocked his head, appraising her. “The only
thing is, you’re not abused
enough
.” He holstered the gun in his vest
pocket, crossed the room in two steps, and backhanded Grace. Pain radiated
through her face as she spun against the fireplace mantle.

She
caught herself and tried to shake the stinging, burning fog from her brain.

If
you’re ever in a knock-down-drag-out, Greg, fight with everything you’ve got.
Forget the rules. Go for the vulnerable spots on a man.

Grace
would have sworn Thad was in the room with her, his voice came to her so
clearly. And she didn’t hesitate. Lonnie grabbed her shoulder and jerked her
back around, his fist reared back and ready to strike again. Grace rammed her
knee into his groin with vicious force. He gasped deeply enough to inhale Chicago
and doubled over. Grace snatched the gun from his pocket but Lonnie caught her
hand, and fought viciously, trying to wrench it from her.

They
wrestled and spun, knocking a vase off the piano. He jerked their hands over
his head, trying to move the revolver out of her reach but he wasn’t tall
enough. She hung on and fought like a crazed Indian. She dug her nails into his
hands, and stomped his foot with the sharp heel of her boot. She kneed him
again, but he blocked her. Sweaty, terrified, her heart careening, Grace twisted,
tried to turn the gun—

And
it fired.

They
both froze. Their eyes locked.

Lonnie’s
grip slackened and he staggered back, releasing the gun. She raised it higher,
pointing it at his head. A blood stain blossomed on his chest. He looked down,
his brow knit with confusion, and touched the blood.

Lonnie
growled and shook his head. He came back to Grace and she saw the hate in him,
knew he had fight left. “Lonnie, please don’t make me . . .”

His
eyes burned with murder and vengeance. He took a step toward her, raising his
hands to attack.

Fight
with everything you’ve got.

Grace
squeezed the trigger again. And again. Each time, the gun jumped in her hand
and the explosions rang in her ears. She fired twice more. Lonnie stumbled back
and collapsed in the doorway.

Grace’s
finger went on pulling the trigger over and over and over, but the empty gun
only clicked. Finally, her arm dropped to her side and Lonnie’s .32 slipped
from her fingers.