Her Bodyguard Page 3

  He opened the small white bag and fished out a piece of candy. He popped the chocolate into his mouth, then groaned aloud. Chocolate, caramel and nuts. “Sinnin’s even better than Kissin’.”

  Luke glanced over his shoulder toward the redbrick building with green-and-white awnings, toward the gorgeous Mari McBride’s Indulgences.

  As a rule, he stayed away from young, unmarried females of good birth, no matter how pretty they were. But Mari McBride tempted him to make an exception. She tempted him, period. And she owed him three Kisses, by God.

  Maybe he’d just make an exception this time. Maybe he’d take her hint and indulge himself. Luke dug into his candy sack and removed another Sinful. He popped it into his mouth, savored it, then swallowed with a moan, his mind made up.

  Any woman who could make him moan from a block and a half away was a woman worth knowing better. Plus, cozying up to her would have the added bonus of driving Trace McBride crazy. How could Luke resist?

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d see to his chores, then tend to his sweet tooth. She had Heavens and Rainbows and Sinfuls and Kisses. He was of a mind to inspire a brand-new candy. Something long and hard and tasty.

  She could call them Luke’s.

  MARI BURST into the kitchen at Willow Hill and demanded, “Mama, you’ve got to stop him.”

  Seated at the kitchen table, her honey-colored hair slipping from a makeshift bun at the back of her neck, Jenny McBride glanced up from her mending. She closed her blue eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. “What has Billy done now?”

  “Not my brother. Your husband!”

  Jenny’s full mouth twitched with a smile as she patted the seat beside her. “Sit down and talk to me, honey. Tell me what mischief Trace has been up to now. I suppose he was being overprotective?”

  “Overprotective? Ha.” Mari flounced across the room. “He’s the King of Protective. The Emperor of Protective. I’d say he was the God of Protective if it weren’t blasphemous!”

  Jenny McBride laughed softly. “Such dramatics. You sound more like Kat than yourself.”

  “I don’t feel like myself. I’m harboring some serious anger toward my father.” Mari plopped down into a chair at the kitchen table and buried her head in her arms. “Mama, he’s making me crazy.”

  “Yes, Trace can do that.” Jenny put a final stitch in the hem of the yellow gingham curtain, snipped the thread, then folded the cloth neatly on the table. She reached out and stroked Mari’s hair. “What happened?”

  Mari gave her stepmother a quick but thorough rundown of the afternoon’s events at Indulgences. Jenny winced on Mari’s behalf a time or two during the telling. When Mari finally wound down, Jenny sighed and asked, “So who was the gentleman?”

  “I don’t know. Papa called him Garrett.”

  “Garrett? Luke Garrett?”

  Mari shrugged. “He never mentioned his given name.”

  “Describe him to me.”

  The man’s image floated like a fantasy in Mari’s mind. “He’s tall with thick, dark hair that has a little wave to it. Brown eyes.” Wicked, hot-caramel eyes. “Broad shoulders. A nice smile.” A devilish grin. “He has a dimple, here.” Mari placed a finger against her left cheek.

  “A dimple.” Jenny nodded. “That is Luke Garrett. You’ve heard of him, Mari. He owns the Blue Goose Saloon in the Acre. He’s been in prison. In fact, I didn’t know he’d been released. He’s the one Idalou Whitaker…” Jenny allowed her sentence to trail off unfinished.

  Mari’s eyes widened at the mention of the year’s most notorious scandal. She tried to imagine starchy Idalou with the intriguing man who had challenged Mari’s Kisses, who had stared at her with such intensity, but her mind wouldn’t picture it.

  “As much as I hate to say it,” Jenny continued, “I think that this time, your father was right to interfere. Luke Garrett’s not the sort of man for a good girl to tangle with.”

  “Why? Because he owns property in Hell’s Half Acre? Just like Papa did when you met him?”

  “Now, Mari.”

  Mari pushed to her feet and began to pace the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter whether my customer was a convicted criminal or a candidate for sainthood. He was my customer in my shop and dealing with him was my business. I am not a McBride Menace any longer. I’m an adult. I am responsible for my own actions, my own deeds. My own mistakes. I cannot—I will not— have Papa leaping to the rescue whether I’m selling a man chocolate or…or…or kissing him senseless on the courthouse steps!”

  Jenny grimaced. “Please, Mari. Not the courthouse steps. That would revive your Menace reputation and you’ve worked so hard to shed it. Besides, you’d give your father apoplexy.”

  “He’s giving me indigestion. And a headache. I’ll probably break out in hives any minute.”

  “He’s worried about you, sweetheart.” Jenny rose and crossed the room toward Mari. She touched her cheek. “You’re seldom home anymore. We hardly ever hear you laugh. Ever since Alexander—”

  “I’m fine, Mama,” Mari interrupted. She didn’t want to talk about Alexander Simpson. She didn’t want to even think about the man. “I’m happy. I’ve been busy opening my business. You know what that’s like. When you opened Fortune’s Design, didn’t you work long days?”

  “And nights,” Jenny agreed. “Yes, I understand how much work is involved in launching a new business, and I know that you’ve been immersed in the entire process. Your father and I are so proud of what you’ve accomplished. But there’s more to life than work, Mari. Even during the busiest times at Fortune’s Design, I tried to maintain a social life. You, on the other hand, have done everything possible to avoid social engagements in recent months, and I don’t believe Indulgences is the reason.”

  “Wait a minute. Didn’t I speak at the Literary Society just last week?”

  “Because you were promoting your business. When was the last time you did something just for fun?”

  Mari had no answer.

  Jenny’s voice gentled. “Honey, to be frank, you’ve let the situation with Alexander affect your relationship with friends and family. That’s part of the reason your father is so concerned about you right now.”

  “There’s no need, Mama. Honestly. If Papa just has to worry, he should spend his energies fretting about my sisters. It’s been almost two years since Casey died, and Emma still visits his grave every day. And Kat, I fear she’s going to get herself in trouble with that actor. I don’t trust him.”

  “Neither does your father. He worries plenty about both Emma and Katrina, believe me. He worries about all his children. He told me that when it comes to his babies, his neck has been niggling of late.”

  Mari frowned. She didn’t like hearing that. If the niggle at the back of Trace McBride’s neck told him he had reason to worry about his children, then she wouldn’t argue. Her father was good at sensing trouble. Mari had long believed she’d inherited her intuition from him.

  The challenging thing about one of her father’s “neck niggles” was that it covered a lot of ground. He might know trouble was coming, but that trouble could be anything from physical safety to emotional pain to something as simple as one of the boys catching heck from the sheriff for one of their endless pranks.

  Mari made a note to keep a closer eye on her siblings, then said, “He goes too far, Mama. I’m an adult. He needs to treat me like one.”

  “I know, honey. I’ll talk to him. But you need to accept that he’ll never stop worrying about you, no matter how old you get. However, there are things you can do that will ease his mind to an extent and, hopefully, make his visits to Indulgences fewer and farther between.”

  “Tell me, please. I’ll do anything I can.”

  “First, start coming home at night before dark. Speak up at the supper table, share your day.”

  “I already do that.”

  “Do it more often. And don’t disappear into your room after we eat. That behavior worries your father, too. Stay
downstairs and visit with him. Or play tag or ball with your brothers. Nothing relaxes your father like watching his children play in the yard after supper.”

  “That I can do.” Mari might be a grown woman with a business of her own, but she hoped she’d never be too old to play. “In fact, I’ll organize a rousing game of blindman’s bluff this evening. I’ll stop by Uncle Tye’s house and invite the cousins.”

  “No, not this evening. Tonight we’re all attending the ball at the Texas Spring Palace. I want you to join us, Maribeth.”

  Mali’s stomach sank. Not that. Tonight’s ball was the premier social event of the spring in Fort Worth. Alex was bound to be there.

  “No, Mama. Not a ball. I’m not up to that. I’ll stay home with Emma.”

  Jenny smiled and her eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Emma plans to attend the ball.”

  “What?” Mari said, shocked.

  “She’s even promised to dance if asked. She’s wearing the yellow dress I made for her.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Gladness and a full measure of hope filled Mari’s heart at that bit of news. Oh, Emma. Maybe she was finally beginning to heal from her devastating loss.

  Casey’s death from pneumonia three months after his and Emma’s wedding had almost destroyed Mari’s elder sister. The two had grown up together, been friends before becoming lovers. They’d planned and dreamed and no sooner embarked on their blissful life together at Casey’s ranch south of town than a summer cold turned ugly and took it all away. Emma’s light had gone dark that day and remained so ever since.

  Remembering the day that Casey died, Mari absently stroked a finger over the line that crossed her palm, the Bad Luck Love Line she didn’t believe in, but of which, nevertheless, she was always conscious. “Did she finally cry, Mama?”

  Jenny shook her head. “Not that I’m aware. Her eyes weren’t red or puffy when she came to me this morning and asked to see the dress. She held it up against herself, looked into the mirror and said she was coming to the ball. No explanation. No excuse. Under the circumstances, I wasn’t about to press the issue.”

  “No,” Mari agreed. “No sense borrowing trouble.”

  Jenny picked up the window curtain and began threading it back onto the rod. “I’m hopeful this ball tonight will signal a new beginning for this family,” she said. “I want to believe that the bad times are behind us and only good times he ahead.”

  Mari nodded. “There’s nothing else I’d like more.”

  Jenny fixed the curtain rod to its brackets, then stepped back. The two women took a moment to admire her handiwork. Then Jenny asked again, “So you’ll join us at the Texas Spring Palace tonight, Mari?”

  Mari sighed. “Yes. I’ll be there for Emma.”

  And if she happened to run into the man who had jilted her at the altar, well, she’d act as friendly as a pup in a box.

  Then, she’d sic her brothers on the scalawag and let Billy, Tommy and Bobby conduct a little McBride Monster mischief. I wonder if I have enough time to whip up a special batch of chocolates? Ones made with prunes, perhaps?

  CHAPTER TWO

  LUKE EYED THE TURNIP-SHAPED cupolas and massive center dome of the Texas Spring Palace and wondered what the architect had been drinking when he designed the place. Intended to rival the Sioux City Corn Palace and the Toronto Ice Palace, the purpose of the regional immigration and agricultural fair was to attract settlers and investors to Texas. In its second season, the project appeared to be a rousing success, serving as an educational, cultural and entertainment center for visitors from across the country.

  Nevertheless, Luke thought the Oriental-style building looked like something out of a fantasy world, more suited to the pages of a novel than the rolling Texas prairie.

  As he entered the huge exhibit hall, Luke overheard a ticket taker claim that almost seven thousand people had crowded inside this evening. That could be a problem, he thought. With that many folks milling around the building, he might have a difficult time locating his contact.

  And he truly did want to turn over the stolen diamond-and-ruby necklace hidden in his pocket.

  He wandered through the agricultural hall pretending interest in the neatly classified samples of grains, grasses, fruits, vegetables and minerals produced within the state while he developed his plan of action. He figured the likeliest time to spy his quarry would be during the Elgin Watch Band’s performance. Besides, Luke wouldn’t mind dancing a waltz or two with a Fort Worth lovely. It’d be a nice change from the uncivilized company he’d been keeping the past few weeks.

  Having toured the length of the hall, Luke moseyed on toward the art exhibit, where work either by Texas artists or depicting an aspect of life in the Lone Star State was on display. In this gallery, Luke didn’t have to feign interest. His stepfather had taught him to appreciate art, and during Luke’s travels, he always made it a point to visit local museums and galleries whenever time allowed. The quality of the paintings and sculptures on display here at the Texas Spring Palace impressed him. The bronze nude by Monique Day could hold its own with anything he’d seen in the Louvre.

  “Luke Garrett? Is that really you?”

  Luke glanced away from a moody watercolor of Galveston Bay to see Wilhemina Peters, society columnist for the Fort Worth Daily Democrat, bearing down on him. She wore a candlelight silk shawl draped over a bronze-colored evening gown and brought to mind an image of a barquentine at full sail.

  Luke stifled a sigh. Up until now, he’d enjoyed his evening at the agriculture and immigration fair. Leave it to Wilhemina Peters to destroy his peace.

  Halting in front of him, she declared, “It is you.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Peters. Are you enjoying the gala?”

  “Never mind the gala. What are you doing out of jail?”

  Luke flashed a shark’s smile, then drawled, “I’ve been paroled.”

  “Paroled!”

  “Yep. For good behavior.” With a wicked wink, he added, “The warden’s daughter testified on my behalf.”

  Mrs. Peters gasped and clutched at her voluminous bosom.

  “For goodness’ sake, Wilhemina, settle down.” Mr. Peters walked up beside his wife and extended his hand toward Luke. “I heard you were here tonight, Garrett. Glad to know your conviction was overturned in time for you to attend the exposition. The Texas Spring Palace’s second season has been a rousing success so far, and it wouldn’t have happened without your substantial subscription.”

  Luke acknowledged the chairman of the Spring Palace committee with a nod. “Glad to have been of help.”

  Wilhemina sniffed. “It’s been suggested that you considered your ten-thousand-dollar subscription to be simply good business. An influx of tourists to the city means more trains to rob, more horses to steal, more people to fleece in your Hell’s Half Acre’s saloons and brothels.”

  “Wilhemina, hush now,” scolded her husband. “Mr. Garrett is completely innocent of any involvement in the slight increase in the city’s crime rate since the exposition opened.”

  “That’s right.” Luke nodded solemnly. “I’ve been in jail.”

  While Wilhemina gasped, Mr. Peters continued, “The Spring Palace is the best thing that’s happened to Fort Worth since electric lights, and Mr. Garrett is a big part of its success. I suggest you bury your animosity and—”

  “Give the devil his due?” she interrupted, her smile false, her eyes narrowed and angry. “Very well.” Before Luke or her husband realized her intentions, Wilhemina Peters took a step closer to him, drew back her hand and slapped him. “That’s for Miss Whitaker.”

  The crowd around them gasped. Luke didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash. Miss Whitaker? Did he know a Miss Whitaker?

  Wilhemina Peters wasn’t done. “What happened to you, Luke Garrett? I know who your people are. Miss Whitaker is my goddaughter, so I made it a point to find out. You were born to be a hero. Your grandfather died at the Alamo. Your great-uncle was killed in the Goliad Mass
acre. Your father defended Galveston against the Yankees, and your mother foiled a Comanche’s attempt to steal her favorite horse. With that sort of honor and courage in your blood, how did you end up a low-down no-good—” she screeched the final word “—outlaw?”

  Mr. Peterson’s complexion bleached to a pasty white, and his focus slid down toward Luke’s right hand as if expecting to see a gun.

  Luke simply turned toward Mr. Peterson and pointedly arched a brow. That’s all it took. Peterson placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders and forcibly propelled her away through the throng of people who’d gathered to observe the scandalous exchange. With studied calm, Luke returned his attention toward the painting of Galveston Bay.

  It truly was quite good. He’d been favorably impressed by all of the exhibits on display at the Spring Palace, not just the art. In his opinion the organizers had achieved their purpose of advertising the resources and opportunities to be found in the Lone Star State. He was glad to have contributed to the project.

  After all, a man had to do something with his ill-gotten gains.

  The buzz of conversation behind him slowly grew louder and took on a mean tone as word of Wilhemina Peters’s charges against him spread. Behind him, he heard a shrill feminine voice declare, “The nerve of the man, trying to mingle with polite society!”

  “I think he should be shown the door,” a man said.

  A woman clucked her tongue. “I know this is a public event, but I don’t feel safe. My daughters are here. What if he notices them?”

  A breathy young woman’s voice said, “He’s so handsome. I wish he’d notice me.”

  “Elizabeth!” The woman gasped. “Alfred? Alfred! Do something.”

  Wonderful. Thank you, Wilhemina. As Alfred quietly argued with his wife about the advisability of tangling with a reputed gunslinger, Luke moved to the next painting in the gallery, a vibrant oil entitled West Texas Sunset He’d seen that crimson-and-gold sky before. Worked cotton fields beneath it, at a place not far from here, in fact. The picture made him yearn for simpler times, back to the days before deceit had become the driving force in his life.