The Ruination of Essie Sparks (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 2) (32 page)

When she was through, Lucy came downstairs, looking pale. "She's covered with bruises," she told Ollie. "Poor little thing. She's just a girl, but those eyes of hers are a hundred years old. She's had things done to her no child ought, my guess is. I gave her my bed and the poor dear fell right asleep, like she hasn't done it in years."

"She probably hasn't," Essie agreed. Tonight, she felt like she hadn't slept in years either. "And the boy?"

"Sleeping, too. They've both had it rough." She would talk to him in the morning. But she dreaded telling him the truth. Pacing near the window, she pressed her hands together. She felt like a spinning top whose parts were beginning to fly off in all directions.

"You look ready to fall down yourself," Ollie said.

"I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about everything. About Cade. All of it."

"You're exhausted. A good night's sleep will—"

"No. It won't," she said, fighting back sudden tears. "What if they hang him?"

The woman's glance out the window said she worried about the same thing. "We'll fight it. That's all we can do."

"He didn't go there to take me. His reasons were good. Humane. And then... the whole thing all got balled up. But Ollie, I think... maybe I was wrong about how he felt about me. He told me to go. To get on that train tomorrow. Even if we fix this thing, I don't think he wants me."

"What you did back there at the jail was brave. Lying for Cade the way you did. And the boy. Time for you to hang on to that bravery now. My philosophy? Don't buy trouble. Cade is thinkin' of you. And from where he sits, that advice is the best he could give. But that's today. Tomorrow is still to come. Remember, he's been alone a long time. It's hard for a man like that to change." She patted Essie's hand. "You can regret a man like him, a man who can't see himself settling down, but I wouldn't."

Something bittersweet lit her eyes as she talked about Cade, and Essie knew that in her own way Ollie loved him, too.

She nodded and took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm done with regrets, anyway. I have enough of them to fill a bushel basket. I thank you for holding my hand tonight, Ollie. You're a peach and a friend."

"Sleep well, Essie."

Before she lay down on the bed Ollie had offered her, Essie walked outside onto the balcony overlooking the street. It was quiet except for a light breeze that tugged at her gown and the unruly curls that had strayed from her pinned-up hair. The moon, with its half-light, peeked through the clouds and after a moment, she pulled her hand from her pocket.

Unfolding her fist, she stretched it out over the balcony and watched the thin tufts of baby hair lift and fly away like dandelion seeds in the dark. Heartbreak tightened her throat. "Goodbye, sweet boy," she whispered. "It's time for you to go." But only the breeze answered back.

* * *

Sleep was elusive that night, as it had been since this whole ordeal began. But in the dark, she formulated a plan. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all she had. So, in the morning, before the rest of the house arose, she left a note for Ollie and walked down to Klingman's Stables. There, she rented a rig, complete with directions from Mr. Klingman himself to the Double Bar N ranch. It wasn't but a few miles out of town, he'd said, and she knew she could make it there and back by noon.

It took longer than she'd expected, and the poorly sprung rig managed to find every pothole and rut in the old dirt road leading there. But finally, she saw the long drive that led to a ranch house perched on a rocky rise. It overlooked acres and acres of cattle ranch, and each acre boasted dozens of head of cattle. Klingman had suggested that the ranch stretched north as far as the eye could see, but she couldn't conceive of one man owning that much land.

As she turned into the drive, two men rode toward her up the drive on horseback. Cowboys, they were clearly posted to watch for visitors, invited or not.

She pulled the rig to a stop as they met her.

"Ma'am?" said the one with the battered gray hat. His face was sunburned, but as he took off his hat, a white strip of flesh belied his coloring. "You here for the barbeque, ma'am?"

"The what?"

"The barbeque. It's a little early, but I don't think Mr. Newcastle will mind. Already a few people here."

"Then I'm in the right place. But I'm not here for a barbeque," she told him. "My name is Essie Sparks and I came to speak with Mr. Newcastle. I have other business with him."

The two men exchanged looks. "He know you're coming?" asked the second.

"No," she said, "but it's quite urgent that I speak with him."

"Very well. You can follow us. We'll take you in."

"Thank you." She gave the reins a slap and followed them to the house.

The place was lovely, if rustic, inside, furnished with things no doubt shipped from far away. Oriental rugs paved the planked floor, rugged upholstery graced the seating area and the tables were made of fine cherry wood. And paintings of ships and boats and some southern sea that looked impossibly blue graced the walls. Nothing about this place spoke of his Cheyenne wife or son, and it made her wonder.

She wandered around the room, staring at the collections of things: deer antlers mounted on the wall; shelves of leather-bound books—a surprise; even a collection of G. Donovan's romantic novels, "Adventures in the West." She'd grown up loving them. She picked one up and opened it, scanning the page. A smile curved her mouth. Yes, even this one she'd read.

"You can't know how exciting it is for me to see someone holding one of my books as if they actually want to read it."

Essie turned in surprise to find a beautiful woman standing in the doorway, smiling at her. She was older, and her blond hair was tinged with gray, but that did nothing to diminish her vibrant smile or the twinkle in her blue eyes that matched her pretty cornflower blue dress.

"I'm sorry," Essie said, putting the book down. "I didn't mean to pry—I was just—I've read this whole series." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Essie Sparks. And you're... Mrs. Newcastle?"

A laugh bubbled from her. "Oh, heavens, no! Tom is just a good friend of ours. An
old
friend. My name's Grace. Grace Donovan. My husband Reese and I are here visiting from the East for the week with our son, Lucas. He's starting medical school in the fall and this is his western tour, so to speak."

Essie blinked. "Donovan?" She looked back at the book. "Not G. Donovan?"

"I'm afraid so. Those books don't belong to me, but I wrote them. Oh, don't be impressed. I'm so happy to hear you've read them all. You know, Tom was a part of that first one. I called him by another name"—she winked—"but he knows who he is. It embarrasses him to no end. But that adventure was a long time ago."

"It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Donovan. I don't think I've ever met a real author before."

"Oh, we're quite real. I hope you're here for the barbeque because I'd love to show you off as a genuine reader!"

"No, actually, I'm not. I don't really even know Mr. Newcastle. I'm a friend of his son's."

Grace Donovan's face grew serious. "Oh, my." She leaned out the doorway to snag the arm of a man walking by. "Reese, darling, come and meet Miss Sparks. This is my husband, Reese Donovan. Reese? Miss Sparks."

Reese Donovan ducked into the room, looking like he might have walked off the pages of one of Grace Donovan's novels. He was tall, dark and every bit as handsome as she'd described him in "The Lady Takes A Hero."

He shook her hand gently. "Very nice to meet you. I'm sorry, but Tom just asked if I'd haul some dry ice from the ice cellar for him. I was just—"

"Miss Sparks is a friend of Tom's son, Reese.
A friend of Cade's
."

That got his attention. "Oh. I see. That's... that's... that's good to hear. Tom will want to talk with you. Does he know you're here?"

"I don't know—"

A man with Cade's roguish good looks walked through the door then, like he'd just blown in off the prairie. His salt-and-pepper hair was awry and though his boots were wiped clean, his long duster was splashed with mud. He took the coat off as he walked and handed it to a man who had followed him in, who then disappeared with the coat.

This man was all muscle and business, despite the fact that he was probably in his forties, but instantly she realized that Cade came by his appeal honestly, through the man who shared his name.

He removed his hat and tossed it on the divan. "Miss Sparks, is it?" Charmingly, he took her gloved hand in his and bent over it with a polite bow. "I see you've met my friends, Reese and Grace Donovan."

"It's Mrs. Sparks, actually. I'm widowed. And, yes, we were just... chatting."

Grace looked uncomfortably at her husband. "Darling, why don't we leave them to it? I'm sure they have a lot to discuss."

"I'm frankly not sure what your business is, Mrs. Sparks," Newcastle said. "I have a few dozen people coming for a barbeque this afternoon. Is there something I can do to—"

"Mrs. Sparks is a friend of Cade's, Tom," Grace interrupted.

If she'd poleaxed him with a two-by-four, she couldn't have drawn a stronger reaction. He went pale and statue-quiet. "My
son
, Cade?"

Essie moistened her suddenly dry lips. "Yes."

Dropping her hand, he glanced at the Donovans, who looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Would you excuse us?" Grace said. "There are a million things left to do and... we'll leave you two to talk."

After they closed the door, Tom Newcastle walked to a table that held several crystal decanters and poured a drink. "I haven't seen my son in a long... a
very
long time. Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee? Whiskey?"

"No, thank you."

He took a long, slow drink, draining his glass before he turned back to her. "What about him?"

"He needs you. And I'm here to ask you to come and help him."

* * *

It took her a while to explain the situation to him—the unvarnished truth about the kidnapping and the aftermath—but when she finished, he sat back with a lost expression, so different from the man who'd walked in the room earlier.

"One thing you didn't mention," Newcastle said at last, "was whether Cade asked for my help."

She twined her fingers together. "You know he didn't."

He nodded as if he most certainly expected that answer. "I guess you're aware that my son and I have a... difficult relationship. My fault, I fear. Nonetheless, I doubt he would welcome my help now."

"But he needs it, even so."

"And how do you think I could help him? Change things? The law will deal with him as it does everything in this territory. With a thimbleful of fairness and a modicum of justice. "

"And you're willing to accept those odds? For your son? I'm told you have a certain reputation here in Billings. People look up to you."

"That depends on your perspective, I suppose. And whether or not you're blood kin to me."

"He needs you behind him, Mr. Newcastle. I'm afraid for him. You can convince them. All they see is—"

"Who he's become?"

"No. They see what they want to see. Do you even know the man he's become? You'd like him, you know. He's a good man with a big heart."

"You're right. I wouldn't know. As I said, it's been a long time." Newcastle stood and walked to the grand windows that overlooked his domain. "Have you ever been at sea, Mrs. Sparks?"

She blinked at his change of subject. Glancing at the many paintings on the walls, she thought of Nathan. "No, I'm afraid I haven't."

"I used to live on a boat—a lifetime ago, down in the Gulf of Mexico. I was a privateer then. In charge of my destiny before I gave it all up to come here and seek another kind of fortune. For...
this
." He gestured outside his window. "The thing about the ocean," he went on, "is that you can rely on it to be... unreliable. You can prepare your boat, trim your sails, and even make sure every leak is plugged, but the sea will find her way in if you turn your back on her. It's much the same with children, I've learned, though I was apparently much better at sailing than at being a father to my only son. But one day, you think you've got everything under control and the next, you've lost your wife, made some terrible miscalculation and your precious vessel sinks. Or your son walks away. Forever."

"Forever hasn't happened yet." Essie stood and moved beside him. "And if he's stayed away, it's only because he doesn't know how to come back. Just as you don't know how to go to him."

"You're very young, Mrs. Sparks."

"Not so
very
young, Mr. Newcastle."

"And you're in love with him. Or am I wrong?"

Essie's lips parted as she pondered her answer.
Yes. I think I am.
"Are you going to help him?"

Those same gray eyes as the man she'd left in that jail cell studied her now. "Tell him that if he wants my help, he should send word for me. Otherwise, I'll only make matters worse for him."

"But—"

"I appreciate your coming all the way out here. It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Sparks." Newcastle bowed slightly with a nod of his head. "Now I'm afraid I've got a barbeque to manage. My man, John, will see you out."