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.