Texas Blonde

Chapter Ten

"He's found her, Uncle Henry," Richard Winthrop said the instant he crossed the threshold into Henry Maxwell's bedroom.

"Who found whom, boy?" a cross voice inquired from within the shadows of the bed drapes.

Richard fought down his natural irritation at being called "boy." Uncle Henry always called him that, probably because he knew it irritated him. "Asa Gordon has found your granddaughter," he explained patiently, pinning a satisfied smile to his lips, even though he found the news far from satisfying.

"He found her? Are you sure?" A blue-veined hand reached out and drew back one of the bed drapes. "Here, tie this back so I can see you," Maxwell commanded. "Tell me all the details."

"There aren't many details," Richard explained as he struggled with the heavy velvet. "Gordon sent a telegram first thing this morning. It says, 'Have located Felicity Storm. Her father is dead. Please advise.'"

"Dead? Old Caleb is dead, eh? Well, that changes things, doesn't it?"

Richard squinted into the shadows of the bed. How long had it been since he had heard this tone in his uncle's voice?

Why, he almost sounded alive again. For months now, Richard had watched Henry Maxwell gradually deteriorating, day by day, until he had begun to actually believe the old man was dying. Not that Richard cared all that much whether his uncle lived or died, of course, except in how it related to his own personal situation. As long as Henry was alive, Richard was assured of a job in one of Maxwell's enterprises. If he died, Richard would probably inherit a small sum of money, enough to keep him comfortable for the rest of his life.

Unfortunately, Richard didn't want to drudge away his life at some menial job, and his main goal in life was to be far more than comfortable. He wanted to be rich. Until this morning, Henry Maxwell's only known living relatives were his spinster daughter Isabel, who was long past the age when she might have produced an heir, the nebulous Felicity Storm, and Richard himself. Richard had been hoping Asa Gordon would discover that the girl Felicity was dead, or at least permanently lost. That would have forced Henry to rethink the provisions of his will and would have considerably increased Richard's chances of inheriting a larger portion of the estate, since Henry was bound to understand that poor Isabel would do nothing but squander it.

Now, of course, the whole picture had changed again. With Felicity found, and with her an orphan no less, Richard could almost see his fortune evaporating right before his very eyes. Henry would want the girl here with him. Unless she proved to be an imbecile with two heads, she would doubtless worm her way into the old man's affections and charm him into leaving her everything.

"We'll bring her here, of course," Henry was saying. "Tell Gordon to put her on the next train and… No, wait."

Richard winced. His uncle was thinking. When Henry Maxwell thought, empires crumbled. "She might not want to come," he mused. "No telling what lies her father told her about me. Better if we take a different approach. Tell Gordon she is invited to visit me here at my home. An old man wishes her company to brighten his few remaining days. Are you writing this down?" he demanded impatiently.

"Uh, yes, Uncle Henry," Richard said, hastily searching his pockets for a notebook. Few remaining days indeed, he thought bitterly. If Gordon had waited another month to locate the girl, that might well have been true. Now, it seemed, the news of Felicity Storm had brought the old man back to life.

"She would bring me great joy if she would accept my invitation…" Henry dictated. Richard winced again.

Not only did Henry Maxwell invite them for a visit, he sent his own private railroad car for them. Felicity convinced Blanche to accompany them to the railhead at San Antonio so she could see it before they left. Felicity had also convinced Mr. Gordon to remain as their guest at the ranch during the interim, so the four of them shared the uncomfortable stagecoach ride from Prospect to San Antonio.

Although she was excited and full of her own thoughts, Felicity could not help but notice the careful way Asa and Blanche were still treating each other. Even a fool could sense the attraction between them, the almost visible spark that flashed whenever necessity forced them to speak to each other. Felicity had taken every opportunity to throw them together, too, insisting that Blanche stay on at the ranch to help her prepare for the trip while they waited for the special car to arrive.

All her matchmaking efforts had been in vain, though. No matter how loudly Felicity sang Mr. Gordon's praises, no matter that even Joshua had come to like him after being forced to know him, Blanche simply refused to be reconciled to him. For whatever reason, Blanche was determined not to succumb to Mr. Gordon's charms. Or at least, not to let him know that she had.

As the time for their departure drew near-Mr. Gordon was taking the same train back to Philadelphia-Felicity began to lose hope of ever seeing the two of them get together. It simply wasn't right that two people who were so perfect for each other should deny themselves happiness because of a misunderstanding. Unfortunately, Felicity could not seem to grasp the exact nature of that misunderstanding, so she had little expectation of helping them straighten it out.

Her frustration over the matter robbed her of some of her joy over the trip. When she occasionally glimpsed a worried frown on Josh's handsome face, she began to wonder whether she should really go to Philadelphia at all.

She had, in fact, expressed her doubts on the matter to her husband the night before they left the ranch.

"You don't seem too happy about making this trip," she had said to him. "If you don't think we should go…"

"Of course we should go," he had insisted, smiling to reassure her. The smile did not quite erase the wariness in his eyes, but he had explained that, too. "And I'm perfectly happy about making the trip. It's just that I'm a little worried about being away from the ranch. Not that there's anything to worry about," he had added hastily. "But I've never been away from the Rocking L for very long. Grady says I'm acting like an old maid about it. Maybe he's right."

"He is right," Felicity confirmed, showing him her dimple. "Grady can run this place with one hand tied behind him. And we're going to have such fun in Philadelphia. You'll see."

She watched his face grow somber, and he took her hand gently in both of his. "I'm not going to Philadelphia to have fun, Lissy. I'm going so you can meet your grandfather. I know what it's like not to have any family, and I don't want that for you, not when you have a family who wants to know you."

Felicity felt the prickle of tears as she savored the fierce determination in his gray eyes. He might not be happy about the trip, but he was genuinely glad for her, glad she had this opportunity. He understood how anxious she was to see her grandfather and how important it was for her to get to him before it was too late.

"Thank you, Joshua," she whispered, making him smile for real.

"Don't thank me yet. Wait and see how I do in Philadelphia. I might ruin your whole trip," he teased.

But she had been certain he wouldn't, and now that their journey had begun, she knew she was right. All the way from Prospect to San Antonio he had exerted himself to keep the conversation going and make sure of the women's comfort. Several times she had been hard-pressed not to throw her arms around him in pure gratitude when he skillfully covered an awkward moment between Blanche and Asa.

At first she had assumed he was simply making a noble sacrifice for her sake, but she soon realized that pleasing her brought him genuine pleasure in return. She had never imagined that the love she felt for Joshua could grow more intense, but so it did, with every passing mile. By the time they reached the train depot in San Antonio, she positively adored him.

Henry Maxwell's private car was everything Felicity had imagined and more. A smiling black man in a trim navy-blue uniform greeted them as they approached the siding where it was sitting. "Hello, Mr. Gordon. It's good to see you again, sir," he called. "And this must be Miss Storm."

"That's right, Simon, only her name is Mrs. Logan now, and this is her husband, Joshua Logan, and her friend, Mrs. Delano. Folks, this is Simon Duvalier. He will be looking after you on your trip," Asa explained.

"Pleased to meet you," Simon said, doffing his cap to reveal dark, curly hair liberally streaked with gray. "Mr. Gordon's right. I work for Mr. Maxwell, taking care of his private car, and anything you need, you just ask me. Come on inside. I've got some refreshments waiting for you."

Felicity had never dreamed that anyone would fix a railroad car up fancier than any house she had ever been in. They entered to discover a parlor paneled in lustrous mahogany and furnished with fashionable pieces upholstered in red velvet and made of the same wood as the walls. On a small, low table in front of the settee, Simon had laid a spread fit for a king. High tea, he called it, served in an ornate silver pot which rested among a lavish display of matching silver accessories, some of which Felicity could not even identify. Accompanying the tea was a tray full of freshly baked pastries that proved to be as delicious as they were beautiful. Another black man who identified himself as Simon's son William appeared and began to load their luggage onto the car.

"Simon, have you worked for my grandfather very long?" Felicity asked when she had sampled one of the flaky pastries and complimented him on it.

"Yes, ma'am, I've worked for Mr. Maxwell more than thirty years. He liked me so much that about ten years ago he put me in charge of this car," Simon explained, grinning even more broadly than before.

"Have you seen him lately? Do you know how he's feeling?" Felicity asked, eager to get an updated report on her grandfather's condition.

"Oh yes, ma'am, I saw him just before I left. He called me out to the house to tell me I'd better treat you extra special. He's been mighty poorly the last few months. I heard he'd taken to his bed, but when I saw him, he looked real fine. I think just knowing that you're coming to see him perked him right up." Simon's smile reassured her even more than his words, and for the first time Felicity began to believe she might actually have time to get to know her grandfather instead of arriving just in time for his funeral.

"Can I take this bag for you, sir?" William asked Joshua, indicating the small carpetbag Josh had carried in with him.

"Oh no!" Felicity objected before Josh could respond.

"Felicity," Blanche chastened. "He's not going to hurt it! He just wants to put it back in the bedroom; isn't that right, William?"

"Yes, ma'am," William confirmed, a little confused. His dark gaze darted from Blanche to Josh and back to Felicity.

"I'm sorry, William," Felicity apologized sheepishly. "It's just… there's a special present for my grandfather in there. I don't want anything to happen to it." Indeed, she had made Joshua carry the bag all the way from the ranch, not trusting it to the luggage boot of the stage.

"I'll be extra careful, Mrs. Logan," William promised with an understanding grin. He lifted the bag with such exaggerated care that he made Felicity smile.

"Nothing's going to happen to those pictures," Josh assured her indulgently. "The way you have them packed, they'd have to get caught under a stampede to even get bent!"

"I know," Felicity admitted, feeling more foolish by the minute. But she could not seem to help feeling protective. She had used the days they had spent waiting for the car to arrive to make prints of all her favorite photographs. Blanche had decorated a cigar box for her by gluing hundreds of tiny scraps of material to it in a beautiful mosaic pattern. The photographs now rested in that box, surrounded by wads of packing to ensure a safe arrival in Philadelphia. It was to be her way of sharing the first nineteen years of her life with her grandfather. The only one of her pictures she had not included was the one of tiny little Caleb Joshua lying in his cradle. That memory was too private and still to agonizing to share just yet.

"Excuse me, folks, but they're coming to hook us up to the rest of the train," Simon reported.

"Well then, I guess I'd better be going," Blanche said, rising from her chair. She was planning to spend a few days in town and had already checked into the hotel.

"May I walk you to the hotel, Mrs. Delano?" Asa asked, rising also.

"Well, I…" Blanche stammered, feeling absurdly flustered at the prospect. "Won't you miss your train?"

"It won't leave for a while yet," Asa replied confidently.

Felicity watched the silent struggle Blanche was enduring between her pride and her desire. "You really shouldn't be walking the street alone in this part of town, Blanche," Felicity ventured, hoping to tip the scales a bit in Mr. Gordon's favor. Maybe it wasn't too late, after all.

"Yes, of course," Blanche agreed brusquely. "I would appreciate your company, Mr. Gordon."

When she had made her farewells to Josh and Felicity, she allowed Asa to help her down the wrought-iron steps of the railroad car and onto the wooden sidewalk that ran beside the station. They walked a few steps. "It looks like they'll be traveling in style," Blanche remarked to fill the awkward silence that threatened, a silence she was afraid he would fill with something she did not want to hear.

"Henry Maxwell is a man of style," Asa replied.

That reminded Blanche of one of her most serious concerns. "What kind of a man is he?" she asked, not bothering to keep the concern from her voice.

Asa stopped, forcing Blanche to stop, too, and for a moment they just stood there looking at each other, oblivious to the people rushing past them on their way to this train or that. "He's the kind of a man who could carve out a place for himself in the world and make a fortune before he was thirty-five. And he's the kind of a man who could disown his own daughter, so I guess that makes him the kind of man you don't want Felicity exposed to. Is that right?"

Blanche nodded, her lips tight with suppressed anger. It was just as she had feared. Just as she knew Joshua feared, too, although they had never spoken of it. Asa Gordon was delivering her sweet friend up to a monster. "How can you do this to her?"

"She deserves to know him," Asa insisted. "He is her grandfather, after all. And don't underestimate her. She has his blood. She may be stronger than you think. She may even be stronger than he is."

"And what if she isn't?" Blanche challenged.

"Then she has Josh," he replied.

There seemed no argument for that, so Blanche resumed her journey to the hotel, no longer even caring if Asa Gordon accompanied her or not. She had been right. The man was a stubborn, overbearing, arrogant…

"I owe you an apology," he said at her elbow.

She almost missed a step but managed to otherwise control her surprise. "Do you?" she asked with apparent unconcern.

"You know I do," he continued, undaunted, increasing his pace to keep up with her.

Blanche could see the hotel just across the street. She hurried toward it, darting around a wagon and narrowly missing a collision with a buggy in her haste. She had to get away. She did not want to hear what he had to say, not when she was already having a hard enough time maintaining her dislike of him.

"Blanche, wait," he said, grabbing her arm and halting her on the steps up to the hotel sidewalk.

He swung her around to face him, and for a long moment, she simply stared into his eyes. For the first time in days she looked directly at him and really saw the torment he was enduring, a torment every bit as agonizing as her own. The thought that he had suffered, too, undid her. She could feel her body sag with surrender as the last of her resistance drained away. "All right," she sighed.

"Let's sit over there," Asa suggested, motioning toward some rocking chairs on the hotel porch.

Blanche nodded and, easing out of his grasp, made her way over to them. When they were both seated, he said, "I'd like to apologize."

"For what?" she asked haughtily, unwilling to make this any easier for him.

"For lying to you. For using you. And for whatever else it is that you'll never be able to forgive me."

Blanche was hard-pressed not to gape. He knew! He really understood why she was so furious at him. And from the expression on his face, the knowledge disturbed him greatly. He was too proud a man to be humbling himself like this otherwise. But if he knew… "Why did you wait so long to ask my forgiveness?" she demanded, thinking of all the days she'd wasted nursing her anger toward him when they might have been getting to know each other better.

He smiled sadly. "Because I wanted you to know I really meant it. If I'd done this last week, you wouldn't have believed me. You would have thought…" He paused, uncertain how much to tell her.

"What would I have thought?" she prodded.

"You would have thought I was only trying to get on your, good side so I could get in your bed," he admitted at last.

Blanche blinked in surprise at his frankness. "And would I have been right?" she asked, experiencing a flutter of excitement.

"Yes," he said.

The flutter became a surge. Emotions she had thought dead and buried with her husband flickered to life. A startled "Oh." escaped her lips, and a delicate blush heated her cheeks. When had she ever felt like this, so flustered yet so elated? Never, she knew, because until now she had never known Asa Gordon. It was as if she had spent her whole life preparing for him, and now he was here.

Except now he was leaving!

Asa rose reluctantly, knowing he had said everything necessary and a lot more than he had intended. The memory of Blanche Delano would haunt his dreams as long as he lived, but at least now he would know she did not hate him. That was the best he could hope for. As a lifelong student of human nature, he had understood the instant he had learned Blanche was Felicity's friend that Blanche would never be able to forgive him his deceit. The one thing a person like Blanche could not tolerate was being used, being made a fool of. He had committed the sin in ignorance, but that would not excuse him. "I'd better be going. Don't want to miss my train."

"But…" she started to object, then stopped. For a moment she could make no sense of this. He had just told her that he… that he wanted her. Not loved, only wanted, and not even wanted enough to use his apology to get her. He had apparently sensed the enormous attraction she felt for him, but had not felt it quite so strongly himself. He was leaving her with regret, but he was still leaving. "No, you don't want to miss your train," she said, rising also and gathering the remnants of her pride around her. If he did not want to stay, she would not beg. No man-not even Asa Gordon-was worth that.

"Have a good trip," she said with false heartiness, "and take care of my girl."

Asa did not return her forced smile. "I'll let her know that she can call on me if she ever needs anything," he promised. "Goodby, Blanche."

"Goodby, Asa," she said, her smile fading as the dull ache in her chest became a sharp pain. She stood on the porch, watching until he was out of sight. He never looked back.

"I'm out," Asa said, throwing in his poker hand.

"Me, too," Josh sighed, tossing his cards aside also.

"You can't be out!" Felicity exclaimed. "I have two aces!" She slapped her cards down on the table indignantly. "I would have won this time!"

Josh and Asa exchanged a glance. "We know," Josh told her, barely suppressing a grin.

"How could you know?" she demanded in outrage. "Did you look at my cards, Joshua Logan?"

"We didn't have to," Josh explained, no longer suppressing his grin. "All we had to do was look at your face."

"My face?" Felicity lifted both hands to her cheeks, wondering if her cards might somehow have been reflected by her skin.

Asa had started chuckling. "All we have to do is look at your face, and we know from your expression whether your cards are good or bad, Mrs. Logan."

"Why didn't you tell me? No wonder I haven't won a single big pot!" she complained in dismay. Josh and Asa had decided the first night on the train that Felicity needed to learn to play poker. They had been playing two-handed, but the possibilities for a good hand were too sum with only two players.

Felicity resisted at first, having been taught all her life that cards were sinful, and gambling absolutely blasphemous. But since she was bored with nothing to do except admire the furnishings in the exquisite railroad car, and since they were only playing for matchsticks, she had finally agreed. The game was easy to learn, but Felicity was rapidly discovering that mastering the rudiments was only the beginning.

"You two are nothing but a couple of… of…" she blustered.

"Cardsharps?" Josh supplied cheerfully.

"No, worse than that," Felicity informed him with a comic pout that made him laugh. "Stop making fun of me and deal the cards."

In spite of her pique, Felicity could not help the rush of tender feelings she experienced as she covertly examined her husband. Watching his strong hands shuffling the deck, Felicity shivered slightly, remembering how those fingers felt stroking along her sensitive flesh. She had thought that the passing of time would make Josh's edict easier to bear, but time only increased her longing for him. How could she live with him for the rest of her life and never again know his touch? And how could she bear never being able to give the man she loved a living child? When she remembered their tragic loss, her baby, so tiny and helpless in death…

"Mr. Gordon, do they have good doctors in Philadelphia?" she asked suddenly.

Asa's broad face puckered into a puzzled frown for a moment and then cleared. "Oh, you're worried about the care your grandfather's getting," he surmised. Felicity nodded, grateful she did not have to explain her real reason for asking. "Yes, in fact, Philadelphia is a renowned medical center. Jefferson Medical College is located there. It's one of the best in the world. And then there's the College of Physicians. That's a group of doctors who investigate the causes of disease. You don't have to worry. Your grandfather is getting the best medical care from the best doctors in the world."

Felicity knew a moment of profound relief. Perhaps there really was hope, just as she had assured Joshua before they left. She flashed her husband a smile that reflected that hope just before she reached for the cards he had dealt her.

Josh looked quickly away, only barely able to contain the urge to kiss her sweet expression. She was still hoping, still determined to find a solution to their problem. As much as he hated to see that hope die, he looked forward to the day when she accepted their future for what it would be. Then maybe she would stop flirting with him, stop trying to arouse him. He didn't even let himself consider the possibility that she wasn't trying.

Thank God Asa Gordon was along on this trip. Without him, they would have been alone every minute of every day, except for Simon Duvalier's discreet service. Alone with Felicity in this sumptuous railroad car with food the likes of which Josh had never seen and nothing to do but eat and sleep and look at each other, Josh might have gone completely out of his mind. At least the car had two bedrooms. What Simon thought about the fact that Josh and his wife did not sleep together, heaven only knew. That wasn't Josh's problem. He would just be grateful for Asa Gordon's company.

Felicity examined her cards and made an elaborately despairing face. "I hope you gentlemen have figured out that I don't have anything in this hand," she said, and tossed down her cards. "I'm out, and since it's awfully late, I think I'll retire."

"It is late," Asa agreed, pulling a large pocket watch from his vest pocket to check the time. "I'd better be getting back to my berth."

"Stay for another hand, Asa," Josh insisted. "With Felicity gone, we can break out some of Maxwell's liquor."

Felicity made a noise to indicate she was scandalized and rose from the table. "Don't get up," she told them with a smile. "And don't get too drunk. I imagine the swaying of this train would be awful if you had a hangover. Good night, Mr. Gordon. Good night, Mr. Logan."

Asa watched her kiss Josh chastely on the cheek, but there was nothing chaste about the look that passed between them or the way Josh's gray eyes smoldered as he watched her walk away. "Hey, Josh, you don't have to sit up with me if you'd rather go on to bed," Asa said when Felicity was gone.

Josh's attention wandered back to Asa. "What? Oh, no, I…" He hesitated, uncertain how to explain the unexplainable. Obviously, Asa had sensed that Josh would far rather be following. Felicity to her bed than continuing to play cards. "It's… it's still too soon after the baby," he said at last, deciding that was the best ploy. "You'll do me a favor if you stay and help keep my mind off it, too."

Asa considered this a moment. "AU right, but first, where's that drink you promised me?" he said at last, having finally figured out why these two young, healthy lovers had invited him to join them for their meals and had insisted that he spend every evening and most of every day with them. They needed a chaperone. He tried not to smile at the thought. Asa Gordon was the last person in the world anyone should choose as a chaperone.

Candace shivered slightly as she entered the cold emptiness of her cabin. With Josh and Felicity gone, the whole ranch seemed strangely deserted, even though a dozen people still lived and worked on it. To her, however, Josh and Felicity represented the life of the ranch. Until their return, the place and the people on it would only be existing.

Smiling grimly at the thought, she made her way slowly in the darkness toward the table where the lamp and matches sat. She had just reached out, expecting to touch the edge of that table, when she heard a slight rustle behind her. Before she could turn or even identify the sound, something clamped around her neck in a vicelike grip, choking off her wind and stunning her into nerveless immobility.

"Where is he?" a vaguely familiar voice demanded beside her ear. Something hard and cold pressed against her left temple, and the ominous click of a.45 being cocked reverberated in her head.

"Who?" she rasped, buying time until she could gather her wits. She did not need time to identify her captor. Instinct told her his name.

"You know who, old woman," Jeremiah snarled. "Logan! Where is he?"

Candace made a strangled sound, all she could manage against the pressure of his arm on her throat. He eased the pressure slightly, just enough so she could breathe and speak. "He's gone," she gasped. "They went to Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia!" he echoed contemptuously. Obviously, he thought she had spoken the most outlandish lie she could dream up.

But Candace nodded frantically. "Yes, Mrs. Logan's grandfather lives there. He's dying and they went to visit him." Relief surged through her as she realized how far Joshua and Felicity were from the danger her son represented. If only she could keep him away from them forever. "What do you want?" she asked tentatively in an attempt to judge his motives for returning.

"I want Logan, but it looks like I'm not going to get him this trip," Jeremiah said, releasing Candace in one quick thrust that sent her staggering into the table. "Light the lamp," he ordered.

Taking a deep breath and attempting to get hold of her reeling emotions, Candace found the matches and did as he commanded. She had to remain calm if she hoped to salvage this situation and find out just what Jeremiah's intentions were.

When the lamp was lit, she turned slowly to face him. What she saw startled her so much that for an instant she was unable to hide her shock. Her son had lost a good twenty pounds since she had last seen him, weight he could not easily spare. His clothes hung on his wasted frame, and only his dark, burning eyes revealed any sign of vitality in his gaunt face.

But it was his right arm that drew her gaze. It hung at an awkward angle by his side, twisted and shriveled. That it was still strong, she knew from the way her neck throbbed, but the fact that he held his gun in his left hand now told her all she needed to know about its usefulness to him. "Your arm…" she began, letting her voice trail off when she could think of nothing appropriate to say.

"Yeah, my arm," he echoed sarcastically, waving his pistol at her in a threatening motion. "Logan fixed me up good."

"But Joshua didn't… He said you got caught in the stampede."

"Oh, that's how it got broken, all right, but it was Logan who set it for me," Jeremiah told her venomously. "He said I'd never use a gun again. I guess he took care to make sure that was true."

"Oh, no!" Candace protested, tears springing to her eyes. "Josh would never-"

"Don't defend him!" Jeremiah shouted, waving the gun at her again. "I should have known you'd take his part against me, even with the evidence right here in front of you," he charged, shoving his withered arm into her face.

Strangely, his fury was making her feel calmer. She took another deep breath and asked, "What are you going to do now?"

The question seemed to confuse him, and Candace realized he had made no other plans past wreaking his vengeance on Josh Logan.

"I… I'm going back to Mexico," he said quickly, as if he had only just made the decision. "I spent the past few months there learning how to use a gun with my left hand. Ortega will be glad to get me back, bad arm or not. He's a mean little devil, and he hates Logan almost as much as I do now that Logan put a slug in him. The little Mexican got blood poisoning from that wound and nearly died. Yeah," he mused thoughtfully, "me and Ortega will make a good team." Jeremiah pondered that possibility for a moment and then said, "How long is Logan going to be gone?"

"A long time," Candace hastily improvised. "Maybe the whole summer."

"The whole summer?" Jeremiah repeated skeptically. "I thought you said her grandfather was dying. If he's going to last the whole summer, why'd they rush off to visit him now?"

"I didn't say he was dying," Candace corrected quickly. "Only that he's sick. They plan on staying until he gets better."

"You're a rotten liar, old woman," Jeremiah growled. "But however long it takes, I can wait. I been looking forward to this for a long time, especially since I got a look at Mrs. Logan." He grinned at Candace's horrified gasp. "Yeah, I saw her once through the field glasses. She's a tiny little thing. I bet she wouldn't last any time at all with a real man."

"No! You wouldn't!" Candace cried.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked with a taunting grin. "Everybody knows how colored men love to get their hands on white women. Can't you just see Logan's face when he finds out what I did to his precious wife?"

"No!" Candace shrieked, throwing herself at him, heedless of his gun. "Not Felicity! She's innocent! She never did a thing to you!"

"I was innocent, too, but I still had to suffer, didn't I?" he demanded, effortlessly shoving her away.

"Josh will kill you!" Candace tried in desperation, but her ploy backfired.

Jeremiah's face twisted in rage. "He'll kill me? Is that what you think? Or are you just afraid that I'll kill him? That's it, isn't it? You know your precious rich boy is no match for Jeremiah Logan, and you're afraid I'll cut him down like so much rotten wood. Well, I'll tell you something, old woman," he said, grabbing her around the neck again and pulling her close until her face was almost touching his, until she could smell the liquored stench of his breath and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. "I'm gonna kill me a Logan if it's the last thing I do, and you can tell him that. When he comes back, I'll be waiting."

This time when he let her go, she slumped to the floor, her quaking knees no longer able to support her. Jeremiah slipped silently away into the shadows, his final threat echoing in the now silent room.

Felicity glanced once more around the luxurious bedroom she had occupied during the long trip from Dallas to Philadelphia, checking to see if she might have forgotten to pack anything. Familiarity had made the room seem almost normal to her now, although she doubted she would ever quite get used to the naked cupids molded into the ornate plaster ceiling.

What she would miss most, she supposed, was the convenience of hot running water in the basin almost at her bedside and the cleverly designed chair that made fumbling in the dark for a chamber pot unnecessary. How she would have loved having such a device for her use during the long months of her pregnancy. But there was always next time, she thought with a smile. And there would be a next time, now that she was in Philadelphia and could find a doctor to help her. There simply had to be.

"Are you all packed?" Josh asked from the open doorway. "We're pulling into the station."

Felicity lifted her gaze to his, taking in the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes, lines that had not been there before the death of their child. "Yes, I'm packed," she said, forcing a smile.

He returned that smile, but his gray eyes remained grave. The closer they had gotten to Philadelphia, the more solemn he had become. She knew he was worried that this meeting with her grandfather might prove a disappointment after all her expectations. As if he could somehow protect her from such a possibility, he had grown even more solicitous of late. She longed to reassure him that, whatever happened, she was strong enough to endure it.

Impulsively, she closed the small space that separated them and slipped her arms around his waist. She could have wept at the desperate way his arms enfolded her, as if he wished to shield her from some evil.

They held each other for a long moment, and then she drew back so she could look up at him. "This is going to be the best thing that ever happened to us, Mr. Logan," she promised fiercely.

Josh looked down into Felicity's lovely face, inhaled the subtle fragrance of her hair, and slowly released her from his embrace, struggling to maintain his tenuous self-control. Ever since he had seen her this morning, dressed in her wedding dress for this first meeting with her grandfather, he had been fighting the almost overwhelming urge to once again taste the sweetness of her mouth, to know all the delights of her beautiful body. To once again claim Felicity for his own.

It was only the dress, he told himself, and the memories it conjured for him of their wedding night. She was only wearing this particular dress because it was the prettiest one she owned, and she wanted to look her best for this all-important meeting. Why then could he not shake the feeling that she was symbolically giving herself to her grandfather the same way she had given herself to Josh in marriage?

"Are you folks about ready? We're almost there," Asa Gordon's voice inquired from the hallway.

As if caught doing something immoral, Josh stepped guiltily away from her, out into the hall of the railroad car.

"Oh, excuse me," Asa said, pausing in mid-stride when he saw that he had interrupted. He was carrying his own carpetbag, retrieved from his seat in the forward part of the train, where his sleeping berth had been.

"Yes, we're ready," Josh said flatly, ignoring Asa's apology. "I'll get Felicity's bags."

"There's no hurry," Asa assured him, puzzled by his friend's grim expression. "Let's go back to the parlor and watch the approach to the city."

Wordlessly, they did so. Felicity was the only one truly interested in seeing the countryside gradually give way to metropolis. In the course of her journey, she had viewed this process many times, but never had it seemed so important. This was Philadelphia, her destination, her mother's home. And she was going to see her grandfather.

At last the train snaked into the cavernous station.

"Will someone be meeting us?" Felicity asked anxiously, scanning the crowd waiting for the train to unload.

"Probably not," Asa said. "I'll tell you what. I'll go find us a cab to take us to your grandfather's house. It isn't far from the station. Meanwhile, you two just wait here and relax until the crowd has thinned out some."

Waiting and relaxing hardly suited Felicity's mood, which was growing more restless by the moment, but she agreed anyway. When the train ground to a stop, Asa left the car and disappeared into the crowd. Felicity watched through the window, examining every face of every person she could see. She knew she was being foolish, that her grandfather was too ill to have come to the station to meet her, but still she looked.

Uneasy over her eager anticipation, Josh rose, too. "I'll go get our luggage," he said.

"Simon and William will take care of it," Felicity protested, not wanting him to leave her at this exciting moment.

"I'll make sure they get it all, then," Josh insisted tensely. Before she could protest again, he had left the room.

Sighing with disappointment that Joshua could not share her joy, Felicity once again looked out the window. But that was far too tame a pastime for her present state of mind. Her restlessness demanded action, so without even taking time to consider, she opened the door to the car and stepped out onto the small rear platform.

The noise seemed to envelop her. The hissing of steam, the chugging of engines, the clanging of bells, the cacophony of hundreds of voices raised in greeting combined into a roar that seemed to fill the huge dome of the station. In fascination, she watched a score of dramas being carried out as eager friends and relatives met and mingled and made their way out of the crowd.

Richard Winthrop elbowed his way impatiently through the mass of humanity gathered beside the train. Yes, there it was, the Maxwell railroad car. He could just barely make out the gold crest on the side. With irritation, he struggled past a group of shabbily dressed people babbling in some foreign language and at last broke free of the mob.

He could see the car clearly now, and what he saw standing on the rear platform made his breath catch in his throat. Could it be? Could that be his cousin Felicity? He slowed his rapid pace so he would have a few extra seconds to study her before she saw him.

The dress, he quickly judged, was unfortunate, and the hat. was a disaster, but the girl herself was magnificent. Her hair gleamed like spun gold and her complexion was the proverbial peaches and cream. Her face was exquisite, revealing the aristocratic Maxwell bone structure, and her trim little figure was every man's dream. With the proper clothes, in the proper setting… An idea that he had been toying with for the past few days suddenly took on a life of its own. He would marry her!

It was so simple, he wondered that he had never thought of it before. Henry Maxwell had only three heirs. If two of them were married to each other, and one of those two was his beloved granddaughter and the other, his trusted nephew whom he had been training in his business, well then, of course he would leave the bulk of his fortune to them.

Straightening his coat, Richard approached the platform where she stood. He smiled his most charming smile. "Felicity?"

Felicity glanced down, a little startled to hear her name from a complete stranger. "Yes?" she said uncertainly. The man was smiling at her, and he had such a beautiful smile she could not seem to take her eyes from it. He was, in fact, a beautiful man, impeccably groomed and clothed in such perfect elegance that he stood out from the station crowd as almost an oddity. Although he was shorter than average and small-boned, he carried himself with a grace and poise that stopped just short of being feminine.

"I'm Richard Winthrop," he said. When his name drew no response from her, he added, "I'm your cousin. Your grandfather sent me to meet you."

"My cousin!" she exclaimed in glad surprise, not quite able to believe that such an exquisite creature could be her blood relative. "I… oh… how do you do? I'm so happy to meet you!" she stammered, awkwardly gathering her skirts so she could negotiate the narrow wrought-iron steps down to where he stood. Like a true gentleman, he rushed to assist her, taking her arm in the gentlest of grips.

"My cousin!" she repeated happily, frantically searching her memory for what Mr. Gordon had told her about her family and trying to place Richard Winthrop in that group. "Are you my Aunt Isabel's son?"

"No," he said. The warmth in his brown eyes could have melted candle wax. "Your aunt is a maiden lady. My mother was your grandfather's youngest sister, younger by almost a generation, which explains the proximity of our ages."

Felicity wasn't sure just what "proximity" was, but she knew a gentleman like Richard Winthrop would never insult her. "That means that my grandfather is your…?"

"Uncle," he supplied cheerfully.

Felicity studied the perfection of his carefully combed and oiled black hair, wondering idly how much time it took him to perfect such an intricate style. "And that makes us… what? First cousins? Second cousins?"

Richard admired the endearing way her lovely brow wrinkled in concentration. "First cousins, once removed," he explained softly, taking one of her delicate hands in his. First cousins really shouldn't marry, but anything could be gotten around if one was determined enough. Surrendering to an impulse, he moved closer to her and whispered, "Kissing cousins…"

"Felicity!"

Josh's voice startled them apart, and for an instant Felicity wondered if Richard really had been about to kiss her or if she had only imagined it. Not that she would have minded. He was her cousin, after all. Surely such things were perfectly proper between close relations. "Mr. Logan, come and meet my cousin!" she called, eager for her husband to see her delightful new relative.

Josh bounded down the steps of the rear platform of the car and strode up to them, his expression tautly angry. He had seen the way this dude had been leering at Felicity, and he was far from pleased.

"Mr. Logan, this is my cousin, my first cousin, once removed," Felicity clarified with a smile, "Richard Winthrop. Richard, this is my husband, Joshua Logan."

Richard Winthrop stared at the silver-haired giant in horror. "Husband? Gordon didn't say anything about a husband!"

"I didn't?" Asa Gordon inquired innocently from over Richard's left shoulder.

"No, you didn't!" Richard affirmed furiously, whirling on him.

Asa shook his head with apparent regret. "I'm awful sorry about that. I must be getting forgetful in my old age," he said apologetically, leaving Richard no option but to fume in silence.

And fume he did. All his golden plans for this golden girl evaporated in the heat of his anger. She was married! And to a man old enough to be her father! A man she called "Mr. Logan," for God's sake. Richard turned back to face his nemesis, struggling to regain his composure. "Well, uh, you'll… you'll have to excuse me. I mean, this is a shock… I mean, a surprise. I… I'm pleased to meet you, Logan," he said, offering his hand and managing a strained smile.

Logan's hand swallowed his with humiliating thoroughness in a grip that made him wince. Richard glared up at the taller man, noting his sun-browned face and the coarse texture of his palm. Nothing more than a common laborer,

Richard judged, although he could see now that Logan wasn't as old as he had originally suspected.

Logan studied Richard Winthrop, noting the prissy clothes and the sissy mannerisms. The man's face was snow-white and his hand was as soft as a baby's. Winthrop had never done an honest day's work in his life. "Pleased to meet you, too," Josh lied grimly, releasing Winthrop's hand at last.

Felicity watched the exchange helplessly, knowing she should do something to ease the obvious strain, but having no idea how to go about it since she had no idea what had caused it. She had expected Joshua to be cautiously reserved with her relatives, at least until he got to know them, but she had never expected such open animosity. Nor had she expected it to be returned in kind, she realized, glancing at Richard's taut features. "Did you find us a cab, Mr. Gordon?" she asked, hoping to break the tension.

"Yes, I did, but you may not need one now," Asa replied with a grin. He was hugely enjoying the spectacle of Richard Winthrop nonplussed. Asa had purposely not revealed Felicity's marriage, hoping that would give her one secret advantage over whatever plots and plans her grandfather might have in mind for her. Witnessing Richard's reaction to the news was simply an added bonus Asa had not counted on.

"That's right," Richard confirmed testily. "I've brought Uncle Henry's personal carriage. Simon and William will carry your luggage out. Can we drop you someplace, Gordon?" he asked condescendingly.

"No, thank you," Asa said, his smile wavering just a bit when he realized that he no longer had even a room in Philadelphia to call his own. Oddly enough, he had forgotten until this moment that he had left the city a year ago intending never to return. Texas was to have been his new home. Now, of course, there was only one place in Texas where he wanted to be, but he had ruined any chance he might have had of ever settling there. "I have to stop by my office and make a full report, and I'm afraid it's in the opposite direction. So I guess this is goodby, folks," he added, turning to Josh and Felicity.

"Oh, not goodby," Felicity protested, taking his hand. "You'll come and visit us while we're here, won't you?"

"Well, uh," Asa hesitated, glancing at Winthrop. Disapproval practically shone from his handsome face. "I'll certainly try," Asa promised, knowing how socially unacceptable such a thing would be to Winthrop, but also unwilling to hurt Felicity's feelings.

"Please do, and you know you're always welcome to visit us in Texas anytime," she added warmly. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Gordon." She squeezed his hand before releasing it.

Asa experienced an odd choking sensation in the instant before he turned from her to Josh. She was such a sweet girl. What a pity to turn her over to a shark like Winthrop. And Maxwell. "Josh, I've enjoyed our poker games," he said with false heartiness to cover his own regrets over leaving these two people of whom he had grown very fond.

Felicity listened with only half an ear as Josh reiterated her invitation to visit them and said his goodbyes to Asa Gordon. She was too busy trying to make sense of Richard's obvious disapproval both of Asa Gordon and of her husband. Why should he be so distressed to discover she was married? And why hadn't Mr. Gordon mentioned the fact to her family? She had the very uneasy feeling that she was being used as some sort of pawn in a game she did not understand.

Richard quickly regained his composure, determined to put a good front on things. The girl might yet alienate her grandfather. Perhaps her marriage would do the trick. But if not, he wanted to be on the girl's good side. With an expertise born of experience, Richard got the luggage loaded and his charges ensconced in the carriage in short order.

"I think you'll find the ride very pleasant," Richard said as the carriage moved away from the train station. "Broad Street is known for its lovely homes."

And rightly so, Felicity realized as she watched mansion after mansion pass by her window. "Mr. Gordon said that my grandfather lives nearby," she ventured, wondering what type of home she would discover him occupying.

"Yes, he does," Richard confirmed proudly. "He lives on Rittenhouse Square, which is considered to be the heart of the most fashionable section of town."

"Oh, my," Felicity murmured, hazarding a glance at Joshua's face. He did not seem pleased by this information, but what had he expected? They knew her grandfather was a wealthy man, and after seeing his railroad car, they could logically anticipate that he lived in a mansion. Before she could point this out, however, Richard spoke.

"And what exactly is your occupation, Joshua?" he asked, assuming his role as charming host.

Josh studied the too friendly smile a moment before answering. Obviously, Winthrop was prepared to be politely, if insincerely, enthusiastic about whatever Josh named as his profession.

"I'm a rancher," he said.

"A cattle rancher?" Richard asked with an empty smile. At Josh's nod, he inquired, "And how many cows do you… uh, keep?"

Josh easily read his contempt. Obviously, Winthrop pictured Josh with a milk pail and a dozen heifers. "Oh, it depends on the time of year. In the spring we have more, of course, and in the fall we sell some off," he explained with elaborate casualness. "Most times we run between fifteen and twenty… thousand."

"Thousand!" Richard gasped.

Josh nodded again, biting back a satisfied smile. "It keeps us busy," he said almost apologetically, and pretended a renewed interest in the passing scenery. He purposely did not look at Felicity. He did not want to see her awe at the beautiful homes they were passing. Was she already growing discontent with the log and adobe house back at the Rocking L Ranch?

Although she was certainly in awe, Felicity was not a bit discontent. All she could think about as she looked at these houses was how cold and impersonal they seemed. Then the carriage came to a halt in front of the coldest of them all, an imposing structure of Italianate styling.

"Here we are," Richard announced.

"This is where my grandfather lives?" Felicity asked in disbelief. "It looks like a… like a bank!" she exclaimed, reexamining the classical facade for some hint the building might really be someone's home.

Joshua made a funny noise that might have been a smothered laugh, and Richard glared at him for just a second before assuming his patient charm once again. "Yes, it is rather impressive, isn't it?" he remarked as he climbed down and reached to help Felicity alight from the carriage.

Felicity tried not to gape, but the task became more difficult with every passing second. When the massive front door opened to reveal an entryway three stones high and paved with pink marble, she felt as if she had stepped into a fairyland.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Winthrop," a tall, dignified man in livery said as they entered.

"Good afternoon, Bellwood," Richard responded coolly. "This is Mr. Maxwell's granddaughter and her husband, Mr. Logan. We are expected, I believe."

"Yes, sir. Miss Maxwell will receive you in the drawing room," Bellwood informed them. "May I take your coats?" When he had, he said, "Follow me, please."

To Felicity's wide-eyed amazement, this elegant man- who had hardly even glanced at her or Joshua, although surely he was curious about them-turned smartly on his heel and conducted them to a pair of sliding doors midway down the long entrance hall. He slid them open with a flourish.

"Mr. Richard Winthrop, Mr. and Mrs. Logan," he announced in stentorian tones, and then stepped back to allow them to enter.

Richard led the way, approaching a small woman in pink who rose from a gilt sofa to greet them. Felicity and Josh stopped just inside the door. Felicity put a hand on her stomach to still a flutter of excitement as she prepared to meet her Aunt Isabel.

"Richard?" a feeble voice inquired tentatively.

"Cousin Isabel, may I present your niece, Felicity, and her husband, Joshua Logan?" Richard said. He placed an arm around the lady's waist and escorted her toward where Josh and Felicity stood.

Felicity watched them approach. Aunt Isabel was absolutely tiny, standing several inches shorter than her own five feet. Her aunt was wearing a frilly pink gown which had obviously been designed with an ingenue in mind, and she had her graying hair tied back with an absurd pink bow.

But the face that stared up at hers was smooth and unlined, as if no worries had ever troubled it, and the eyes were as blue as her own. "Aunt Isabel, I'm so happy to meet you," Felicity said, smiling with genuine delight.

But Aunt Isabel did not return the smile. Instead, she simply stared at Felicity for an uncomfortably long time. At last one frail, parchment-white hand rose to rest on the pink bosom. "Claire," Isabel breathed tragically, and promptly fainted.

Oddly, she fainted right into Joshua's arms, or at least, that was the way it appeared to Felicity. At any rate, he managed somehow to catch her before she hit the ground.

"What should I do with her?" Josh inquired with some irony when he had gotten a good grip on her.

"Right over here, sir," Bellwood informed him with no change whatsoever in his expression. "On the fainting couch." He indicated an oddly shaped piece of furniture in one corner of the room. Josh gratefully carried his burden over to it.

Following him, Felicity noticed for the first time that the room was enormous. Her first impression had been one of closeness, but she realized now what had caused that impression. The place was literally crammed with objects d'art of every description. Every wall and flat surface was covered with paintings, sculptures, figurines, and assorted knickknacks, which were, in turn, adorned with peacock feathers or silk flowers or some other foofaraw. Felicity realized vaguely that she could spend an entire day in this room and never see everything it contained.

When Josh had laid Isabel down, Felicity examined her aunt's pale face in dismay. "Good heavens, what should we do?" she asked, appalled at the havoc her arrival had caused.

"Perhaps you should throw some water in her face, madam," Bellwood suggested calmly.

"Water?" Felicity asked incredulously, turning on him. That was when she noticed the twinkle in his eye. No sooner had she registered this incongruity than she heard her aunt moan, loudly and dramatically.

"My salts, Richard," Isabel said feebly.

"It works every time, madam," Bellwood informed Felicity in a whisper.

Wide-eyed with amazement, Felicity looked back to observe her cousin Richard handing a vial to her aunt. He was as unmoved as Bellwood. She glanced at Josh. He, too, seemed unnaturally calm for a man who had just caught an unconscious woman. Was she the only one in the room who felt sympathy for her poor aunt… or did her aunt really need any sympathy? She turned a suspicious gaze back toward the small lady on the fainting couch.

"Are you all right, Aunt Isabel?" Felicity felt compelled to ask.

Isabel inhaled of her smelling salts and sighed. "Yes…yes, I'm fine now," she said with a weak smile. "How fortunate that handsome young man was there to catch me. Who did you say he was again, Richard?"

"He's my husband, Aunt Isabel," Felicity replied for him, stepping closer to the couch where her aunt lay so she could better judge her condition.

"Husband?" Isabel repeated, forgetting to sound faint. "We heard nothing about any husband. Why, you're much too young to be married, my dear," she added with a frown.

"I'm nineteen, and I've been married almost a year," Felicity said, certain now that Isabel's faint had been faked. What she could not figure out was why.

Isabel's cornflower eyes took Joshua in from head to toe and back again. "A year," she echoed, and looked as if she might faint again. "Oh, my…"

"Isabel," Richard said impatiently.

But she ignored him. "I'm so sorry I fainted. Such a silly thing to do, but you see, you look exactly like my sister, Claire… your mother, that is. It was such a shock. I had no idea…"

"Isabel," Richard repeated, more firmly this time. "Does Uncle Henry want me to bring them up?"

"What? Oh yes," Isabel suddenly recalled. "Bellwood will take you. Bellwood?"

"This way, please," Bellwood said, the twinkle gone from his eyes. Perhaps Felicity had only imagined it the first time.

"Will you be all right, Aunt Isabel?" Felicity inquired perfunctorily, anxious to get to her grandfather at last.

"Oh yes, dear. You go on. Papa will be furious with me if I detain you a moment longer," Isabel assured them.

Once more Bellwood led them. This time he crossed the entrance hall and started up a magnificently carved mahogany staircase carpeted in maroon to harmonize with the marble on the entry floor.

Josh took Felicity's arm and looked down to check her expression. She was frowning, and he was afraid she might still be concerned about her aunt. He leaned down close to her ear and whispered, "Your aunt didn't really faint… And she threw herself at me on purpose," he added.

Felicity glanced up at his disgruntled expression and grinned conspiratorily. "I know," she whispered back. "You should be flattered." She knew from the disgusted sound he made that he wasn't.

The upstairs hall was polished parquet covered with intricately woven runners. Felicity noticed everything, the vastness of the house that went on and on in every direction, the cavernous stairwell that extended up yet another story to a stained-glass skylight, and the plaster molding that adorned even the hallways. She could not begin to imagine the wealth required to build such a splendid dwelling or the labor it would take to maintain it. Vaguely, she realized that her grandfather must employ more people to run his house than she and Joshua required to operate their entire ranch.

What kind of a man could amass such a fortune? What kind of a man would live in such solitary splendor? She had tried not to think of him as the ruthless businessman Blanche had hinted about. She had even tried not to think of him as the man who had disowned her mother for choosing to follow her heart instead of his edict. Instead she had pictured a frail old man, humbled by his own mortality and compelled by love to locate his only granddaughter.

Had she deceived herself? She knew from experience that love was like a delicate flower-it needed warmth in which to grow. As Felicity looked around this flamboyant palace, she sensed no warmth at all. Could love survive here? Was that why her mother had fled with Caleb Storm?

But if her grandfather did not love her, why had he sent for her?

Bellwood paused before a set of double doors and knocked.

"Come in," a muffled voice called from within.

Bellwood opened the door and stepped back again, but this time Richard motioned for Felicity to precede him into the room. Hesitantly, she entered, her thoughts a jumbled mess she had no hope of sorting through now. Perhaps meeting the man himself would give her the answers. Blinking a little to accustom herself to the dim light in the room, she looked around. It was a bedroom, constructed on the same mammoth proportions as the drawing room and with the same overdone decor. But before she could take in any details, she saw a small man in a blue brocade dressing gown rise from a chair across the room. "My God," he said. "Claire!"