Woman of Grace (18 page)

Hannah could well imagine how the Widow Ashley had gone on, and that none of it had been charitable. But no purpose was served adding fuel to the fire by joining in the gossip, so she just chuckled softly, then held up the first bolt of fabric.

“Could you cut me three yards of this one, Mr. Gates?” she asked. “And I’d also like the same amount of this color—”

“Well, I declare,” a familiar female voice rose from behind her. “And if it isn’t the backstabbing little tart who stole my position. Didn’t think I’d so soon see you showing your fancy little behind in town.”

Hannah whirled around and came face to face with Martha Ashley. The woman must have entered the mercantile without her even hearing the door open.

Before she could gather her wits, much less formulate some sort of reply, Mr. Gates paused from cutting the last piece of fabric and cleared his throat. “That was uncalled for, Martha. Hannah has as much right to shop here as anyone else.”

The ebony-haired woman turned to him. “I suppose she does, if you wish to encourage riffraff in your establishment. Personally, though, I don’t know of any decent ladies who’d care to associate with her.”

Anger flared in Hannah. It was one thing to insult her. It was quite another to besmirch Abby’s and Ella’s reputations.

“Then, Mrs. Ashley, your definition of ‘decent,’” Hannah said, fixing her with a piercing stare, “must not imply ‘godly’ or ‘God-fearing,’ for you’ve forgotten Mrs. Conor MacKay and the late Mrs. Devlin MacKay, both of whom have happily associated with me.”

Well aware of the high esteem in which townsfolk held the two MacKay women, the widow mottled beet red. “Well, it was only because they
were
so God-fearing that they took you in. But look at how you’ve rewarded them for their kindness, leading Evan MacKay around by the nose and flirting with his cousin so outrageously he finally succumbed to your low-class feminine wiles.”

Hannah nearly choked on her outrage. “I never flirted with Devlin,” she cried, balling her hands into fists and advancing on the woman. “If anyone flirted, it was you … you no account, conniving—”

“Whoa! Hang on there, ladies.” Mr. Gates stepped between the two women. “I can’t be allowing any fisticuffs in my store. Especially between two fine women like yourselves.”

Mortified that she had lost her temper, Hannah flushed crimson. She inhaled a shuddering breath, then nodded. “You’re right, of course, Mr. Gates. I beg pardon for my unseemly behavior.” She then forced herself to turn to the Widow Ashley. “I also beg your pardon, madam, for my unkind words.”

The shop’s proprietor turned to the other woman and arched a shaggy, graying brow. Mrs. Ashley glared at Hannah for a moment. Then, without further comment or apology, she turned and stomped over to join the two Edgerton women, who had been watching the altercation with barely disguised glee. The three formed a tight little circle and began whispering furiously amongst themselves.

With a sigh, Mr. Gates glanced at Hannah. “Things don’t improve too quickly around here, do they?”

“No,” she agreed tautly, “and neither do most people.”

Suddenly, the day’s heat seemed to permeate the store. Hannah felt hot, stifled. She gathered up the cloth Mr. Gates had cut for her, added the buttons and lace trim she had picked out earlier, and gestured to the foodstuffs stacked in shelves behind the other counter. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get the rest of the items I came for and be on my way.”

He cast another look in the direction of the three women, still whispering and occasionally glaring in their direction, and nodded. “I almost wish I could join you,” he muttered, then headed across the store.

Fifteen minutes later, Hannah had all her parcels packed in her basket and the bill for them credited to the Culdee Creek account. After thanking Mr. Gates once more for his help, she strode from the mercantile without a backward glance. Momentarily, bright sunshine blinded her. Turning to head down the boardwalk and around the corner to the buggy, she almost tripped over old Jeremiah Walker, half asleep on a bench outside the mercantile, his legs stretched full length before him.

“Hey, watch yer step there, missy,” the old man yelped, jerking back his long, bony legs. “Glory be, but it ain’t safe for a body to sit outside anymore.”

“I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Walker,” Hannah stammered. “I was just …”

Hot tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back, furious with herself. She refused to let those mean, narrow-minded, self-righteous biddies get the best of her. And she absolutely, positively wasn’t going to let them make her cry.

“Oh,” she finally sputtered in frustration, “I’m just sorry!” With that, Hannah gathered her skirts and hurried away. By the time she reached the buggy on the now deserted side street, she craved the haven wherein to hide.

She put her parcel-laden basket behind the seat, threw her pocketbook onto it, then climbed in. Luckily, this side of the street was shaded, but even so it was warm. Hannah pulled out her fan and began to fan herself, her movements as quick and sharp as her thoughts.

The nerve, the bald-faced nerve of the Widow Ashley to dare accuse her of flirting with Devlin! Ella had been her friend. She would never dishonor her memory by chasing after her husband so soon after her death, if she
ever
considered such a thing anyway. True, she had noted Devlin’s physical appeal of late, something that had left her cold when he had been her enemy. Yet now, as he began to treat her with kindness and consideration, a surprising and most disturbing attraction seemed slowly to be emerging.

But that’s all it was or would ever be, she fiercely reminded herself, a simple physical awareness that Devlin MacKay was a virile, good-looking man. She had and would never flirt with him. Just like Evan, he surely wasn’t the man for her.

At the thought of Evan, a twinge of guilt assailed her. What had been the widow’s words—leading Evan around by the nose? Was it common knowledge then that she purposely kept the adoring Evan at arm’s length?

Hannah closed her eyes. Ah, what was she to do? Was it her fault Evan had always tried to force the pace of their relationship faster than she was comfortable? If only he would back off, give her some breathing space!

The very next chance she had, Hannah vowed to broach that subject yet again with him. It was past time she face her fears and not allow herself to take advantage of Evan in any way. He deserved better than that.

“Waiting for someone special, or just waiting?” a deep male voice asked silkily.

With a horrified gasp, Hannah opened her eyes. There, only inches from her, stood Brody Gerard. As he stared up at her his handsome, swarthy face crinkled into a smile, but that was as far as the look of greeting went.

Terrifying memories flashed before her. Memories of that night he had tracked her through the streets of Grand View like some animal, nearly succeeding in bringing her back to the bordello. Memories of other nights, of him leaning over her with a belt clutched in his hand, lifting it high, then lowering the belt forcefully on her naked flesh.

She cursed herself for not hearing his approach. If she had, she could’ve climbed from the buggy and avoided him. But now it was too late. Now there was no hope of escape as he reached out and clamped a big, strong hand around her upper arm.

“Yes, I
am
waiting for someone who should be returning any moment,” Hannah said, struggling to regain her composure and keep a tremor from her voice. “I assume you know him? Devlin MacKay?”

He smirked, and only tightened his grip. “Oh, I reckon I know him. He’s Culdee Creek’s foreman. He hired me to work there once.”

Brody’s unsavory reputation had preceded him even before he had taken the job at Sadie’s as bodyguard and bouncer. He had held a job at Culdee Creek for a few weeks around Thanksgiving, the year Abby had first come to work for Conor. After Brody tried to rape Abby in the barn one evening, Conor had thrown him off the ranch. It was then Hannah had first met the brutal, arrogant man, when he had quickly been hired on at Sadie’s.

“Well, then, if you know Devlin, you should also know he’ll be none too pleased to see you hanging around me.” She twisted in his grip, trying to free herself, but to no avail. “Please, Mr. Gerard. Let me go.”

“Mr. Gerard, is it now?” He leaned close and Hannah could smell the whiskey on his breath. “I remember a time when we weren’t on such formal terms, Hannah, honey. You were always one of my favorites.” His lips stretched into a leer. “I’ll bet if we hurried, we could have a little fun down that alley over there, and you’d be back, all prim and proper, in this buggy before MacKay even showed up.”

Revulsion filled her. She slapped him hard across the face. Gerard reared back, releasing her, a startled look in his eyes. However, as his hand lifted to the reddening handprint on his cheek, growing fury rapidly replaced his look of surprise.

“Why, you uppity little—!” He grabbed her arm again, this time viciously, and jerked her to him until Hannah was suspended half in the buggy and half out of it. “Quit putting on airs with me. We both know what you are, and will always be. Your little hideaway at Culdee Creek won’t last for much longer, and then what will you do? You’d better watch out then, when you have to come crawling back to me.”

“I’ll never crawl back to you!” Hannah cried, her fury lending her courage. “I’d rather die first!”

“Oh, you’re too fine a piece for me to ever let that happen.” A hard, speculative look darkened his eyes. “In fact, you’re too fine a piece to waste on that ranch. I think I just may have to do something about that.”

A chill rippled through Hannah. Brody Gerard never thought of anyone but himself. Even here, in broad daylight, if he set his mind to something …

Her courage fled. Panic engulfed her. “Let me go! Let me go!” She struck out at him with her free hand, fighting all the while to break away. Her blows, though, fell on him like a gentle rain on parched ground, leaving no mark.

With a low, throaty chuckle, Brody clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her from the buggy. Terror exploded in Hannah’s brain. She fought like a wildcat as he dragged her down the boardwalk toward the nearest alley.

Suddenly, he gave a hard jerk. His arms released her just before he plummeted to the ground.

Hannah staggered backward, almost losing her balance before she caught herself against a building. Then she looked up, and met Devlin MacKay’s furious gaze.

11

When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.

Luke 22:32

Devlin stood there, fist still raised, staring down at a disheveled, ashen-faced Hannah. A multitude of emotions flooded him—relief she was all right, confusion as to why she had been with Brody Gerard, and a murderous anger at the man.

“What in the Sam Hill were you doing?” he rasped, pointing to the prone form of Sadie Fleming’s hireling. “Have you lost your mind, associating with a man like him?”

Hannah’s face reddened, but she met his gaze with a resolute one of her own. “No, I haven’t lost my mind,” she gritted out tautly. “And I wasn’t
doing
anything with him, except trying to get away. I thought that was obvious.”

“Well, I kind of figured that after a few seconds.” Devlin pulled off his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair. “Or at least I didn’t see much point in waiting around to ask.” He shot Brody a considering glance. “Wonder how long he’ll be out.” He squatted, pulled Gerard’s limp form to a sitting position, then leaned down and slung him over his shoulder.

“What are you going to do”—Hannah quickly rose and helped him stagger to his feet with his awkward burden—“take him to Doc Childress’s?”

Devlin grimaced under the weight. “Hardly. I’m taking him to jail. Sheriff Whitmore can deal with him.” He paused to eye Hannah. “Why don’t you tag along? No telling what kind of trouble you might get into again while I’m gone. Besides, I may need a witness to verify my underhanded attack on the poor man.”

She shot him a jaundiced look. “Poor man, indeed.”

“Kind of my thought.” He shifted Brody’s body to a more comfortable position higher on his shoulder, then strode off.

As he headed back down Russell Street and out onto the more populated Winona with Hannah following close behind, people paused to stare. The wind began to pick up and dark clouds furled overhead, threatening rain. Women gathered on the boardwalk to whisper to each other; men joined the procession quickly forming behind the trio.

Sheriff Jake Whitmore walked from his office just then, the Reverend Noah Starr with him. Both men frowned when they saw the crowd, Devlin at its head, bearing down on them. Jake hitched his gun belt a little higher on his hips, then hurried over to meet Devlin.