Читать книгу The Redemption Of Jake Scully - Elaine Barbieri - Страница 11

“The answer is no!”

Lacey stood opposite Scully in the morning shadows of her room. The events of the previous day, when Careful was returned to her, had left her shaken. She hadn’t had the heart for the argument she knew was certain to ensue when Scully learned she had accepted a job in Sadie’s restaurant, but he had appeared at her door that morning for breakfast, and she had known it was now or never.

Never was not an option.

Lacey took a deep breath, then said, “Try to understand, Scully. I—”

“I said, the answer is no. You aren’t going to do that kind of work.”

Her reply was spontaneous. “I don’t recall asking your permission.”

Scully’s gray eyes pinned her. Somehow, he had never looked bigger or more intimidating than he did at that moment as he towered over her in his anger, but Lacey did not back down when he replied, “No, you didn’t ask my permission, but you should have.”

“You forget. I’m eighteen years old—an adult. You’re not my guardian anymore.”

“I’m not, huh?”

Regretting her harsh statement, Lacey took a conciliatory step toward him and said, “Please…I don’t want to argue with you, especially after yesterday. You’ve done so much for me, and taking care of Careful all those years while I was gone…I appreciate every bit of it, but I can’t let it go on, don’t you see? I have to start out on my own sometime.”

“Sometime…but not now.”

“When, Scully? Am I supposed to let you support me until I wither on the vine waiting for ‘the right fella’?”

“You don’t stand a chance of ‘withering on the vine,’ and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know it. And neither do I care. It’s time for me to take responsibility for my own life.”

“That’s good thinking. It’s premature, that’s all. You need time to settle down here for a while so you can get reacquainted with the real world.”

“The real world…” Lacey took a stabilizing breath. “You’re right. The world I lived in these past ten years is far removed from Weaver. It wasn’t a real world—not for me. I knew it then, and I know it now. Many of the memories of my life with my grandfather are unclear, but they aren’t so dim that I wasn’t able to see the differences. I belong here. This is my home, and the sooner I make myself fit back in, the better it will be.”

“You’re rushing things. You’re not giving yourself a chance.”

“I’m ready now to step back into my life, Scully. I need to, for so many reasons.”

“None of those reasons are good enough. You need time. You deserve better than you’re asking for yourself.”

“Do I, really?” Lacey took another step closer. “Do I deserve better than working in a place where hardworking men like my grandpa felt privileged to have a good, hot meal set down in front of them at the beginning of the day? Do I deserve better than getting to know them so I can share a part of their sometimes lonely lives?”

Lacey paused, forcing back a gradual thickening in her throat as she continued, “I miss Grandpa, you know? He loved me. With his dying breath, he gave me the best advice he knew when he placed his Bible in my hands and told me to depend on it and the Lord to guide my way, and then when he sent me to you. He taught me so many things that’ll stay with me the rest of my life. But somehow, so many of my memories of him have become vague and cloudy in my mind. I was robbed of those memories that last day, and I want them back. I don’t know any other way to get them except to make a place for myself here so they’ll eventually become clear.”

Lacey looked up at Scully’s still, unemotional expression. She said, “Those memories are all I have left of the only family I knew. The blank spots nag at me. They give me no rest. I need to fill them in so I can be whole again, and I’m doing that the only way I know how.”

Lacey saw the brief flicker of change in the gray eyes regarding her so closely, yet she was unprepared when Scully said, “Are you ready for breakfast?”

Taking a moment to recover, she responded, “Y-yes, I guess I am.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Lacey halted abruptly when they stepped out into the hallway. When he looked down at her, she said, “You did hear what I said, didn’t you, Scully?”

“I heard you.”

“Then you understand.”

Silence his only response, Scully ushered her toward the staircase.

The noisy hustle and bustle of Sadie’s restaurant continued around him as Scully sat at the corner table he shared with Lacey. His empty plate in front of him, he sat silently as he had through the entire breakfast meal. Frowning, he glanced across the table at Lacey, who was picking at her food, then scanned the occupants of the crowded restaurant. They were a varied lot: transient wranglers obviously eager to be on their way, businessmen engaged in conversation, a few ranchers, some locals who looked to have spent a night on the town and a grizzly prospector or two in for their first good meal in months. He saw Doc Mayberry in deep conversation with Reverend Sykes at a table in the far corner. His frown darkened when he looked at the table occupied by three women from the Gold Nugget who looked to have remained active long after the Gold Nugget doors had closed for the night. Millie White, her plump, freckled face flushed and her hair in disarray, moved almost breathlessly between the tables.

Strangely, he hadn’t given Millie much thought before this, except to wish her luck when he learned she had finally set the date for her wedding with her seemingly recalcitrant boyfriend. The thought that Lacey would assume her frantic pace between these same tables at the end of the week held little appeal.

Scully compared the two women. The result was no surprise. Lacey was slender, almost fragile in appearance. Her delicate features were faultless, almost mesmerizing. With her pale hair and vividly blue eyes, she drew speculation wherever she went. Conversely, Millie’s only outstanding feature was her freckles. Although a pleasant enough girl, Millie could be easily lost in a crowd with her common appearance.

That could never be the case with Lacey. He had known the moment he saw Lacey that first time when she was a frightened, injured child that she was special in so many ways. The years had only served to confirm his opinion of her. She was lovely and sweet…and innocent. He needed to protect that innocence, to hold her safe. She was too friendly, too nice. The world held too many unnamed dangers for someone like her, and the mix of people she would meet in this place only increased the threat involved.

“Scully…” He hadn’t realized he was staring at Lacey until she continued, “It’s obvious that whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t good.” She smiled…a glorious, apologetic smile as she added, “Don’t worry so much. I’ll be fine. Sadie’s right behind the counter if I need her for anything, and you’re across the street. What more could I ask?”

Scully was saved from a response to Lacey’s question when Doc Mayberry appeared unexpectedly beside their table with an all-too-familiar man in a dark suit. He said, “Scully…nice to see you again.”

Scully shook the hands extended to him and replied with limited courtesy, “Doc Mayberry…Reverend Sykes.”

“And this must be the Lacey Stewart I’ve been hearing about all around town.”

Doc’s smile was too gracious. The old fellow had an agenda that went beyond a simple introduction. That thought was confirmed the moment he added, “Reverend Sykes and I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Lacey.”

Enforced courtesy never his greatest strength, Scully said, “Lacey, it looks like these two fellas are determined to meet you.”

Flushing slightly at Scully’s brusque manner, Lacey replied, “I’m pleased to meet you both, gentlemen.” She added without a moment’s hesitation, “The girls at the Gold Nugget speak very highly of you, Doctor.”

Scully’s head jerked toward Lacey at the thought of what those conversations between Lacey and “the girls” had included.

Lacey continued, “And your name was one of the first I heard on my arrival in Weaver, Reverend Sykes—with an extremely favorable comment, of course.”

“You’re referring to Pete Loughlin, I’m sure.” Reverend Sykes’s smile broadened. “Pete told me you and he were passengers in the same stagecoach. He was very impressed with you, which is one of the reasons I wanted to meet you. Like you, my wife and I are recent arrivals in Weaver. Our church and the size of our congregation aren’t very impressive yet, but we have great hopes for a change in the right direction. I’d like to extend an invitation for you to join us for worship.” He added, “We’d appreciate any extra time you could spare for us, too. We need all the help we can get.”

Appearing delighted at the invitation, Lacey replied, “Thank you. We’ll both come, won’t we, Scully?”

The brief silence that followed spoke volumes.

Scully stood up unexpectedly and said, “Lacey and I have some important business to tend to this morning. If you’ll excuse us…”

Ignoring Lacey’s shocked expression as he drew her to her feet, Scully dropped his coin on the table and turned her toward the door.

“I don’t like seeing you taken advantage of.”

“No one was taking advantage of me—except for you, that is.”

Lacey was livid. Common courtesy had been thoroughly ingrained in her since childhood—common courtesy that had been severely abused when Scully dismissed both Reverend Sykes and Doc Mayberry so abruptly. Scully and she had arrived back in her room minutes earlier after their exit from the restaurant and a rush that had left her breathless. She continued with astonishment, “How could you be so rude?”

Scully did not smile. Without realizing it, Lacey proved his point. Of the many things he had been accused of in his lifetime, being rude ranked very low on the list—yet Lacey spoke as if he had committed one of the cardinal sins.

He hadn’t, and he knew the difference.

“It should’ve been obvious to you what was happening, but it apparently wasn’t, so I decided to save you from yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It was a ploy.”

Lacey did not speak.

“Come on, Lacey, it’s obvious what happened. Your friend, Pete Loughlin, went to see Reverend Sykes because he didn’t like the idea that I was the man who was meeting you here—because he thought I’d be a bad influence on you.”

“That’s ridiculous! Why would he think that?”

“Because I threw Pete Loughlin out of the Gold Nugget a while back, and he obviously hasn’t forgotten it.”

“Why did you throw him out?”

“He claimed he had been cheated at one of the tables. He started a fight, and I stopped it.”

“Anybody could make a mistake.”

“Pete didn’t make a mistake. He probably was cheated. I fired that dealer a week later when I found out he was dealing from the bottom of the deck so he could skim a profit off the top for himself.”

“Oh…how terrible! You did make sure Pete got his money back, didn’t you?”

“This is the West, Lacey. It’s sometimes wild and sometimes unfair. I do the best I can.”

“But, poor Pete—”

“I told you, I do the best I can, but that doesn’t excuse Pete for going behind my back.”

“Behind your back…”

“I told you, he doesn’t approve of your association with me. He thinks Reverend Sykes can put an end to it.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“I mean…I’d never let that happen! You believe that, don’t you, Scully?”

Scully looked at Lacey. She was shocked and righteous. She didn’t consider for a moment that Pete might be right, that maybe he was a bad influence on her.

Something inside Scully clenched tight. Doing his best to ignore it, Scully said, “I meant what I told them, you know.”

Confused, Lacey shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“We have some important business to tend to this morning—before it gets too late.”

“What business?”

His expression sober, Scully said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“But—”

Lacey’s reply went unfinished as Scully pulled the hallway door closed behind him.

Lacey looked down at the package Scully had tossed onto her bed. He had returned within the half hour, true to his word, but it was obvious she wasn’t that easily mollified. She asked, “What’s that?”

“Open it up and see.”

“I asked you—”

“It’s riding clothes. They should fit. Mrs. Parker said she’s had a lot of experience fitting women with ready-made outfits.”

“I’m sure they will, but I still want to know what all this is about.”

Scully’s irritation at the conversation with Doc Mayberry and Reverend Sykes still smarted. He resented the implication that he wasn’t fit to properly oversee Lacey’s future. Didn’t they realize that he recognized Lacey’s special qualities as well as they did? Didn’t they realize he’d always done his best to protect her, and he was committed to that course?

Obviously not, and that thought rankled.

But it wouldn’t change anything. He had always done the most he could for Lacey. His caretaking of old Careful was only a small part of it. He had known how much Lacey loved the animal, and how important a part the small burro had played in her survival on that last, desperate day. He had wanted to spare that beautiful, dear little girl as much grief as he could. He had instinctively sought to maintain her connection to Weaver any way he could.

He had made arrangements to have the burro stabled with his own horse over the years. He had taken Careful out with him on frequent overnight trips; and the truth was, he had grown as fond of the feisty little critter as he was of his own mount. Yet, the moment when Lacey and the burro were reunited had been more than he had ever hoped for.

He would never forget it, the way that reunion had made him feel.

Yes, he was committed to Lacey, with all that word entailed.

Aware that Lacey awaited a response to her question, he said, “What do I have in mind? Just put the riding clothes on. You’ll see.”

“I don’t like mysteries.”

Scully dismissed her reply with a glance. “Just put the clothes on. I’ll be outside waiting.”

The sun was hot and steady as the morning hours advanced. The terrain was flat as they traveled toward the distant mountains, and an inexplicable tension began assuming control of Lacey’s senses.

Traces of her vexation still remaining, Lacey looked at Scully, who rode at her right. She had been upset at his attitude in the restaurant when Doc Mayberry and Reverend Sykes introduced themselves earlier, but she had gotten truly angry when he explained the reasoning behind his behavior. The thought that he might’ve believed for a moment that anyone could influence her against him had stunned her. He was her lifeline to a past she hoped to reclaim, her stability in the present and a stalwart presence as she looked toward an uncertain future. She considered the bond between them to be impervious to assault of any kind. The thought that Scully possibly did not feel the same had shaken her.

Those thoughts had deluged her as she had dressed in the riding clothes he had brought. When she opened the door, she had found him waiting, his dark suit exchanged for more common western wear. It had not escaped her notice that the ordinary shirt and trousers he wore somehow emphasized his superior height and breadth of shoulder, which set him apart from the average fellow on the street, or that the brim of the weathered hat he wore pulled down low on his forehead added a new element of determination to the strength of his compelling features. She had frowned at her certainty that the gun belt he wore strapped around his hips was not for adornment.

Scully did not smile when they reached the street and approached the two mounts waiting for them at the rail. He said, “You do remember how to ride astride, don’t you? We don’t have sidesaddles in Weaver, and the trails are a bit rough for a buggy.”

She had responded by mounting up in a fluid movement that had surprised even herself—a prideful display for which she now silently suffered stiff, aching muscles.

Her eyes straight forward, Lacey heard Scully say, “It’s getting hot. You have water in your canteen if you’re thirsty.”

Lacey turned toward him, a tart response on her lips, only to have it fade at first contact with Scully’s concerned gaze. In a flash of insight, it was suddenly clear to her that both she and Scully had gotten angry for the same reason—because, in one way or another, the bond between them had been questioned. She wondered why she hadn’t realized that before, then silently thanked the Lord for relieving her distress by imparting a bit of wisdom that had escaped her.

Lacey responded, “I’m not thirsty, but I would like to know where we’re going, Scully.”

The shadows in Scully’s eyes darkened with uncertainty as he replied, “Surely you realize where we’re going by now.”

A cold chill raced down Lacey’s spine at his response. Her mounting tension exploded into breathlessness as she turned to scrutinize the terrain more closely.

Endless wilderness…a sunbaked trail…the mountains in the distance drawing ever closer…

Lacey gasped, “I-I’m not ready to go there yet!”

“Your grandfather’s buried there.”

“No, I don’t want to go.”

Suddenly trembling, Lacey shook her head. She couldn’t go back to the site of her nightmares, not even to see her grandpa’s final resting place. Not yet.

“Lacey, are you all right?”

The terrifying shadows began shifting in Lacey’s mind.

The fire was all around her. Her skin was burning. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to call for help.

She was afraid…afraid…

Lacey did not feel the strong arm that encircled her waist the moment before Scully swept her from her saddle and settled her on his horse in front of him. She was not aware of the sob that escaped her throat when his embrace closed around her. She felt his breath against her hair and heard Scully whisper, “It’s all right, Lacey. It’s over…in the past. You don’t have to be frightened anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

Shuddering, Lacey burrowed closer against him. She knew it was true. She was safe with Scully. She’d always be safe with him.

Scully filled his canteen at the stream, then looked back at Lacey. She was sitting in the patch of shade where he had left her. Her skin was ashen, her eyes red-rimmed. Strands of pale hair hung loose at her hairline and trailed down the back of her neck, but she was unaware of her dishevelment as she leaned back and closed her eyes.

Crouched beside Lacey moments later, Scully untied the bandanna from around his neck and wetted it, then ran the damp cloth across Lacey’s forehead.

Lacey opened her eyes, then looked away as she said, “I’m sorry, Scully. I don’t know what happened to me. It was really thoughtful of you to think of taking me to see my grandfather’s grave. I should want to see it, but somehow…”

“It was my fault.” Scully’s sober gaze met hers. “I did a lot of talking about it being too soon for you to do things, then I pushed you into something you weren’t ready to face.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve realized how you’d feel.”

“Scully, please…” Lacey gripped Scully’s hand and held it tight. It was big and surprisingly callused, but she felt only its warmth as she rasped, “How could you realize how I’d feel if I didn’t realize it myself? Besides, I haven’t been completely honest with you. I wanted you to think of me as an adult ready to assume charge of her life, not as a frightened child still plagued by nightmares.”

“Nightmares? What kind of nightmares?”

“Of that day…only they’re all mixed up and unclear. They’ve been more frequent lately.” A chill shook Lacey as she continued, “The heat and the fire are so vivid, but shadows surround everything else. The shadows move, Scully. They twist and turn. They advance toward Grandpa while we’re outside the burning cabin, then they run away. And all the while, Grandpa is dying. He’s trying to talk to me, but his voice is fading. I strain to hear him, but he can’t talk any louder. He puts the Bible in my hand, and I hold it tight. It burns my skin, but I clutch it tighter and tighter, refusing to let it go, even when the shadows return and try to take it away from me. The shadows are suddenly chasing me. I run faster and faster, but they keep getting closer and closer. Suddenly I’m back at the fire again, and there’s nowhere else to run but back into the flames.”

“That’s enough.” Scully’s voice was sharp. He clutched her close to halt her shuddering. “You don’t have to tell me any more.”

“There’s no more to tell. I don’t know how it all ends. It’s all…shadows.”

Scully stroked Lacey’s fair hair as he held her in his comforting embrace. When he moved her away from him at last, he whispered, “You don’t have to be afraid of the shadows anymore, Lacey. That’s what I’m here for…to chase the shadows away.” He smiled and wiped the dampness from her cheeks with his palms, “That’s why your grandpa sent you to me, and there’s no way I’d let that old man down.”

“We share that, don’t we, Scully?” Lacey’s small smile was shaky. “We both loved him.”

“Yeah…we share that.”

“And he loved us both.”

Scully appeared to consider Lacey’s statement for a moment before he responded, “Yes, I suppose he did.”

“He would never think you aren’t respectable enough.”

“Lacey…”

“I’m not moving from the Gold Nugget.”

“Lacey…”

“Not yet.”

Scully looked down into Lacey’s resolute expression. He would pursue that argument another time.

It was happening again.

Barret Gould stood behind the carved mahogany desk in his impressive office, his expression tight as he faced his two hirelings. Blackie Oaks had been an itinerant wrangler who couldn’t hold a job and Larry Hayes had been a waster too lazy to labor honestly to support himself when he’d run across them shortly after arriving in Weaver years earlier. He had used their services openly whenever their meager talents served his purposes as Weaver’s best and only attorney, and as one of its best-respected citizens. His “generosity” in giving the two “good, honest work to do” had been commended by many. What Weaver’s residents didn’t know, however, was that he had also used Larry and Blackie’s services covertly when opportunities to advance himself financially beyond the confines of the law were presented.

In both situations, however, his contempt for the limited mentalities of the two men was boundless.

Barret struggled to control his ire. He had been raised in San Francisco, the only child of wealthy parents. He had made good use of his pleasing appearance—thick brown hair, deceivingly warm brown eyes and even, patrician features—from an early age, and had employed it to great advantage when attending the best schools. Scholastically and socially successful, he had graduated as a lawyer with a great future in store while enjoying a clandestine lifestyle that went unsuspected.

But that was before his father was found to have participated in illegal activities and the family wealth was confiscated. That was also before his father was sent to prison a broken man and his mother took whatever family funds could be salvaged and ran off with her lover.

When he’d discovered he was also being investigated for participation in his father’s illegal affairs and the same fate might follow for him, he made a fast escape. He had chosen the vast, wild interior of the country as the best place for him to hide, yet Weaver, Arizona, had been as far as he had been willing to run.

Barret would never forget his disgust when he arrived in the small, unimpressive town wearing hand-tailored clothes and a deceptive smile. He had since used his practiced facade to become a valued member of the community while silently despising Weaver for its ignorance, for its location in the middle of nowhere and for its lack of proximity to any city of reasonable refinement. He had sworn that he’d find a way to restore himself to the civilized world before his youth was spent.

Eleven years had passed since then, eleven years of silent frustration made bearable only by the sum accumulating too slowly in his name to have made the lost time worthwhile.

Barret struggled to suppress his disdain at Blackie’s undiscerning observances as he said, “You’re telling me Scully and Lacey Stewart rode out into the wilderness with no apparent destination in mind, then turned around and came right back to Weaver. That doesn’t make any sense. Lacey has waited more than half her lifetime to claim her grandfather’s strike. There’s only one place she’d want to go if she went out riding.”

Larry, the smaller of the two men, interjected, “Scully and the lady didn’t come right back. They stopped at a stream for a while to cool off.”

Barret glared with impatience. “‘The lady…?’ That ‘lady’ you’re talking about is Lacey Stewart, you know…the same Lacey Stewart who was a child at her grandfather’s cabin ten years ago. The same Lacey Stewart who could’ve identified you and Blackie as the men who shot her grandfather.”

“Yeah, but she’s all growed up and she’s a lady now. And she didn’t blink an eye when she saw me and Blackie on the street a few days ago.”

“She saw you?”

“Yeah, and she didn’t give us a second look.”

Barret took a firm hold on his forbearance. “So you’re telling me, that’s it…they just stopped at a stream to cool off? They didn’t get as much as halfway toward the old man’s cabin?”

“Right.”

Silence.

“They did a little cuddling while they were at the stream, is all.”

“Cuddling…”

“Yeah, it looked to me like the lady was crying for some reason, and Scully was trying to comfort her.”

“They didn’t…you know…?”

“No, they didn’t even come close. They just stayed for a while until the lady got herself back together, and then they headed back.”

“Was it Scully’s idea to turn back, or was it the woman’s?”

The two men exchanged glances before Blackie replied, “I’d say it was the lady’s. She didn’t want to go on.”

Barret nodded. She didn’t want to look anxious. The girl was smarter than he thought.

He said, “All right, that’s all I need to know for now. Get out, and remember what I said. Don’t let that ‘lady’ out of your sight.”

Waiting until both men had left his office and closed the door behind them, Barret sat down at his desk and reached into his drawer for the small sack that was never far from his reach. He withdrew the gold nugget from inside the sack and held it tight in his hand as he had many times before. He recalled the moment when Charlie Pratt had walked into his office late that first day. Short, wiry, unkempt, Charlie had been indistinguishable from any other prospector he had ever seen, but when the old man smiled and put the nugget down on the desk in front of him, Barret knew his moment had come.

A man of few words, Charlie told him he’d struck it rich, that he wanted to register his claim in his own name and that of his granddaughter, and he wanted to do it “real legal like, so there’d be no problem afterward.” Charlie left the nugget behind for a “retainer” without disclosing the location of the claim, and said he’d return to sign whatever papers were necessary in a couple of days.

Barret’s heart pounded in vivid recall. He had immediately set Blackie and Larry on the old man’s trail. His plan had been simple. Charlie had kept his strike a secret. He had been cautious enough not to tell anyone but Barret about it. Blackie and Larry would follow the old man, find his claim and report the location back to him so he could record it in his own name before the old man returned—“real legal like, so there’d be no problem afterward.”

A familiar knot of frustration twisted tight inside Barret as memory returned the details of the debacle that followed.

Charlie also had been smarter than he thought. Charlie had evidently spotted Blackie and Larry following him and had led them on a circuitous trail obviously meant to confuse them before reaching his cabin in darkness. He had then tricked them into thinking he had gone to his bed, only to appear unexpectedly behind them with a gun, demanding to know what they were after.

According to Blackie, the situation deteriorated into chaos from that point, ending up with Charlie being shot and with Blackie and Larry determined to hide their crime by throwing Charlie’s body into the cabin and setting the structure afire.

Furious when they returned with their story, Barret had still considered the situation salvageable. It had seemed a matter of simply scouting the area Charlie had been working to find the source of the gold.

Barret remembered his panic at the news that Charlie’s eight-year-old granddaughter, Lacey Stewart, had arrived in town injured and bleeding, fresh from the scene of the burned-out cabin. He’d been sure she would tell someone about her grandfather’s strike, that she might even know its exact location. He had been furious with both his men for having allowed her to survive.

Fearing Lacey would be able to identify his men and the identification would eventually lead back to him, he had paid them off and told them to leave town. They had obediently stayed away until Lacey was sent to a school back east and it was safe for them to return. The girl never spoke of her grandfather’s strike. He had been overjoyed at that, but his dream of a return to the wealth and prosperity of his youth had died when all manner of prospecting and excavation in the area of Charlie’s cabin had failed to locate Charlie’s gold.

Now Charlie’s granddaughter had returned to Weaver, and with her return, his dream had been revived.

Barret clutched the nugget tighter. Lacey Stewart may have fooled everyone else, but she didn’t fool him. She wouldn’t have traveled back from the big city to a town in the middle of nowhere if she didn’t think it would be worth her while—if she didn’t have some idea where to look for the strike her grandfather had made.

It appeared, however, that she wasn’t about to share the strike with Jake Scully.

It also appeared that Jake Scully was totally taken in by her.

But Lacey Stewart didn’t fool him. He would get that claim—one way or another.