Rescuing the Heiress (21 page)

S
triding purposefully into Golden Gate Park, his energy amazingly restored by a bath and the thought of seeing Tess again, Michael made straight for the camping area she had been occupying. Everything looked different since the addition of real tents and he prayed that she and the others hadn't decided to move to another location. If that were the case, there was no telling how long it might take to find them.

He rounded a corner. Something lightweight and short crashed into his knee, nearly knocking him over. He made a grab and came up with a handful of shirt and collar. Inside the shirt was a wriggling, dark-haired little boy.

When Michael recognized him as the one he and Tess had rescued, he smiled. “Hello, there. Take it easy, okay? Don't be runnin' around like that.”

The child twisted to get away. “Let me go.”

“I will, I will. Settle down. I'm not going to hurt you. Your name is David, right?”

Still the boy thrashed, adding swift though thankfully wildly inaccurate kicks to his efforts. “Let go!”

“All right, all right.” Shaking his head, Michael loosened his grip and watched the frantic child speed straight for a large tent that now occupied the space where Tess and Annie had first camped.

As far as Michael was concerned, bumping into that particular boy had been the answer to his prayers. If this was where the child was staying, Tess was probably there, too.

Michael squared his shoulders, took a shaky breath and prepared himself for the blessed reunion he had feared they might never share. He was home. Moments away from seeing the only woman he had ever loved and taking her in his arms.

He got within several yards of the front flap of the tent before the boy burst out, followed by a wild-eyed version of G. B. Clark. The man was wielding one of the pistols Tess had liberated from the estate prior to its destruction by fire. The pistol's mate was stuck through Michael's belt.

Making a grab at Clark as he passed, Michael was astonished to see the barrel of the gun swing around and point right at his midsection.

He threw his hands into the air and stepped back. “Whoa! Don't shoot. It's me. What's going on?”

The look of frenzy in the older man's eyes didn't lessen but he did lower the weapon to his side. He was already gasping for air and hardly able to speak clearly enough to make himself understood.

“Run,” he ordered, shoving the pistol's grip into Michael's hand. “Follow the boy.”

“Why?”

All the older man had to say in addition was “Tess,” for Michael to spring into action. He didn't care what the problem was. If it involved Tess, which was certainly the way things looked, nothing in the world was going to keep him from catching that fleet-footed child.

 

Tess wasn't convinced that Phineas's galloping horse would be able to stop before it crashed into her. Calling upon her knowledge of horses, she held her ground in the center of the path, praying she was right about equine instincts and capabilities. Not every horse had a lot of horse sense, which had always made her question how that odd saying had gained such common usage.

Standing firm, she braced herself, feet apart, preparing to dodge in the opposite direction of whatever course the horse ultimately chose.

Wild-eyed and snorting, it not only spied and heeded her, it did its best to react in a sensible, timely manner by putting on the brakes. If Tess had been asked how she would have preferred to see this encounter end, especially in view of her untenable position, she knew she could not have imagined a more perfect result.

Then, it got even better. Instead of merely sliding to a halt by squatting on its haunches and bracing itself, the horse began rearing on its hind legs and giving voice to its fears with a piercing whinny.

“Whoa!” Phineas shouted.

Tess echoed his cry. Still holding her arms aloft, she jumped up and down and yelled, “Whoa. Whoa. Easy, boy.”

There must have been something soothing about her voice or perhaps her self-assurance, she concluded, because the horse gave one last leap, then stopped, snorted and came to her with its head lowered as if reporting for duty to a new master.

The poor thing was quivering. So was she. Taking hold of its bridle, she ducked, fully expecting Phineas to try to apply his quirt and begin whipping either the horse or her. Or both.

That didn't happen. Nothing else did. Puzzled, she glanced at the saddle. It was empty. Looking behind, she saw the odious little man lying flat on his back in one of the mud puddles that had been left after the rain.

He was moving his arms and legs and cursing, so he probably wasn't hurt too badly, Tess decided, stifling a grin. She refused to agree when her naughty side urged her to be glad he'd fallen. Instead, she settled for rejoicing over the fact that he had not escaped for a second time.

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed her from behind. Had Phineas had cohorts? Were they going to harm her because she'd thwarted his flight?

Tess released her hold on the horse's bridle and screeched, “No!” at the top of her voice, causing the animal to rear again and almost hit her with its flying front hooves when it came back down.

She was quickly swung out of imminent danger.
Twisting and writhing, she struggled to break free. Those arms held her like iron bands, pinning her own upper arms to her side so she couldn't fight back and lifting her feet off the ground to deprive her of traction.

She kicked. Screamed. Gasped to draw breath against the tightness of the hold. Fought until she was so spent she wondered if she might swoon.

Then, out of the blue, she thought she heard her captor say, “Tess,” and froze to listen.

Again it came, echoing in her ears and settling in her heart. “Tess.”

She went limp, barely able to stand let alone support herself. Cradling her gently, Michael turned her to face him and accept his embrace.

Speechless, she clung to him. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else registered in her consciousness. All she could do was wrap her arms around his waist and hug him with every ounce of love and gladness she possessed.

He began kissing her hair, the top of her head, then bent to brush his lips across her cheek before pulling her close again. Time stopped. The only thing Tess could hear was the beating of their hearts in rapid unison.

She would gladly have stood there basking in Michael's presence for the rest of her life.

Then her father's voice and the sound of his deep cough stirred her senses and she remembered what she had been doing before Michael had arrived.

Keeping her arms around his waist she nevertheless
looked over at the older man. He was red-faced and obviously laboring to breathe.

“I did it! I found him, Papa.” She pointed to where the thief had landed. “Look. I stopped Phineas.”

To her chagrin, Michael eased his hold. When she lifted her glance to him she saw anger where she had expected to find undying love. His mouth was firm. His eyes had narrowed. And there was a definite frown on his face that had not been there before.

“I didn't go looking for trouble, if that's what you're thinking,” Tess explained. “David and I were on our way to fetch wash water and I happened to spot Phineas down one of the side roads.”

Although Michael was definitely listening, it was evident he had not yet put aside his ire.

“What would you have had me do?” Tess asked, stepping back and fisting her hands on her hips. “I sent David to fetch Papa and a pistol. I waited out of sight.” She rolled her eyes. “I didn't want to just stand there but I did. For you.”

“For me?” One dark eyebrow twitched.

“Yes, for you. I didn't want you—or anyone—to have to come to my rescue again because I'd acted stupidly, so I was behaving myself.”

“That'll be the day,” Michael said.

Studying his expression, Tess was positive she'd seen one corner of his mouth lift slightly. His forehead was beginning to smooth out, too. And happily, there was more twinkle and less anger reflected in his eyes.

She took the chance that he was softening and let
herself smile slightly as she said, “I suppose you will insist that you have just saved me again, in spite of my own considerable valor in this instance.”

“I might.”

Her smile grew at the sight of his lopsided effort to mirror her expression. “Okay. Have it your way. If you insist on keeping track, we'll count this as your second heroic rescue.” Continuing to tease in the hopes it would lift his spirits even more, she made an exaggerated curtsy. “I thank you, kind sir.”

“You're welcome.” Michael offered the pistol back to Gerald after using its barrel to gesture toward Phineas. “One of us needs to see to
that
.”

Tess looked, too. The wiry banker was starting to crawl out of the mud and although he wasn't moving very fast, he nonetheless would bear close watching.

“Don't shoot him, Papa,” she warned, seeing the fervor in Gerald's eyes as he accepted the gun. “I didn't see any sign of the wagon he was driving so we don't know where all the money went.” She laughed lightly. “And don't tell me it doesn't matter. We need to find it. If not for you, at least for the sake of the depositors.”

“You're right,” her father said. Although he was shaking his head at her, Tess could tell he was pleased. Perhaps all these challenging events had helped him see that she was a capable person rather than a helpless woman.

Now, if she could just convince Michael of the same thing, she figured she'd be in good shape.

“Am I forgiven yet?” Tess asked him.

“I'm thinking about it.”

“Well, don't dally too long,” she quipped, glancing at Phineas as her father poked him into action with the gun barrel at his back. “I do have one other suitor, you know.”

Hearing that, Michael began laughing so riotously that he eventually started coughing, and at times it was hard to tell one noise from the other.

Tess stayed right with him, both in mood and by the unwanted complaints from her irritated lungs. Everybody in the city had been affected by the bad air to some degree, even those who had arrived after the fires had been quenched. Such things were to be expected, they'd been told, but that didn't make it easier to tolerate, particularly when it hampered normal activity as well as speech.

Rubbing Michael's back through his cotton shirt to soothe him, she fought her own urge to continue coughing. “Are you okay?”

“Sure,” he managed. “Just got carried away.”

“You shouldn't laugh at poor Phineas,” Tess said, smiling. “After all, he's probably going to spend the rest of his life in jail.” The smile widened. “While you get to spend yours with me.”

“Well…”

She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder and saw him break into the endearing Irish grin she had always loved seeing. Then he enfolded her in his embrace once again and Tess knew all was right with her little corner of the world.

 

Michael watched Gerald Clark start to march Phineas toward one of the guardhouses that had been set up to help maintain order in the refugee camp. There weren't many soldiers stationed there, nor were there a lot of police on duty inside the park. Some of their officers had been killed by falling bricks and the able-bodied remaining ones were needed far more to patrol the streets. Looting was still going on, although not nearly as much as it had been several days ago. Even the criminal element seemed cowed by the disaster, as well they should have been.

Keeping Tess close by his side as they walked, Michael and she followed her father. They could hear Phineas whining and begging for Gerald's mercy but judging by the older man's stiff stature and apparently unsympathetic attitude, his former vice president was wasting his breath.

“What do you think will really happen to Phineas? I mean, what if he gives all the money back?” Tess asked Michael.

“Why? Are you plannin' on waitin' for him to get out of prison instead of marrying me, darlin'?”

“Not on your life, mister. I already told you. You're stuck with me.”

“Good. Then why worry about anybody else?”

“Because I feel sort of responsible,” she said. “I was the one who rejected Phineas. I wonder if he would have stepped outside the law if that hadn't happened?”

“The best way to tell the good people from the bad is
to offer an easy opportunity to do wrong and see what happens,” Michael told her. “God does that all the time, especially when He gives us the choice whether or not to believe in Him.”

“I suppose you're right.”

“You only
suppose?
” He gave her a quick squeeze. “Don't you know that the husband is always right and the wife is duty-bound to abide by his every decision?”

“Oh? Where does it say that?”

He considered telling her he'd read it in the Bible, then thought better of it. Tess was an extraordinary woman, his mental equal without question, and no easy argument was going to influence her much. Living the rest of his life with her was going to be a true adventure, whether she continued to participate in woman suffrage or not.

Purposely changing the subject to reflect his thoughts, he asked, “So, are you planning to settle down and be a normal married woman soon or do you intend to continue dragging my mother to emancipation lectures with you till you're both impossible to live with?”

“I'm already impossible if you ask Papa,” Tess quipped. “Besides, I don't know how long it will be before there's even a decent place to hold our meetings. According to rumor, the pavilion burned down.”

“Aye. It did.”

“See? That gives you a reprieve, at least until some of San Francisco is rebuilt. Papa is already planning to replace his bank right where it used to be.”

“Good. I understand a lot of folks are already drawing up plans for bigger and better buildings. I just hope
they follow the rules and use steel the way some of the newer places did.”