“I wanted to make sure you were feeling all right. Any fever?” Thorne asked.

“I don’t think so. See for yourself,” Charity said.

Thorne hesitated, then, looking into her eyes, he laid his hand on her forehead. “I think you’re cool enough.”

Charity blushed. She had never felt like this before. Was this what love felt like? Could she have been wrong to plan to lead a solitary life after she was widowed? Such a decision had seemed perfectly sensible at the time. Only now was it coming into question.

Her eyes searched the depths of Thorne’s dark gaze. Was she imagining it, or was there truly a new tenderness in the way he looked at her?

Afraid he would deny such emotions, she simply smiled at him and said, “Thank you for looking after me.”

MILLS & BOON

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VALERIE HANSEN

was thirty years old when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. In the years that followed she worked with young children, both in church and secular environments. She also raised a family of her own and played foster mother to a wide assortment of furred and feathered critters.

Married to her high school sweetheart since age seventeen, she now lives in an old farm house she and her husband renovated with their own hands. She loves to hike the wooded hills behind the house and reflect on the marvelous turn her life has taken. Not only is she privileged to reside among the loving, accepting folks in the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark mountains of Arkansas, she also gets to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired lines.

Life doesn’t get much better than that!

Valerie Hansen
Wilderness Courtship

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.”

—Matthew 25:40

To all the parents who continue struggling to do the best they can and to those extraordinary individuals who take in other people’s children and make them their own. It is truly a gift.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Questions For Discussion

Prologue

New York, 1853

The wooden deck of the three-masted freighter Gray Feather rose and fell, rocked by the building swells. Thorne Blackwell knew a storm was imminent, he could smell its approach in the salty air, hear the anxiety in the calls of the soaring gulls and feel the changing weather in his bones. Pacing nervously, he awaited the arrival of his half brother, Aaron, and Aaron’s family. Once they were safely aboard he’d relax. At least he hoped he would.

It had been over two years since Thorne had heard from Aaron, or any of the other Ashtons for that matter, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Would Aaron have contacted him if he hadn’t been desperate? It was doubtful. Then again, Aaron had good reason for whatever misgivings he still harbored.

Thorne braced his feet apart on the pitching deck, pushed his hat down more tightly over his shoulder-length dark hair and drew up the collar of his woolen frock coat against the impending gale. Of all the nights for anyone to decide he needed immediate passage to San Francisco, this had to be the worst. Then again, Aaron’s note had contained such evident panic, perhaps the risk was warranted. Thorne hoped so, since Naomi and the child would also be boarding.

Lying at anchor in the crowded New York harbor, the Gray Feather was fully loaded and awaiting final orders to embark on her third voyage around the horn. They’d hoist sail at dawn and be on their way, providing the storm didn’t thwart their plans. Thorne had fought nature before. But for the grace of a benevolent God, he would have been a resident of Davy Jones’s locker instead of the owner of the finest full-modeled vessel ever built in Eastport.

Why God had chosen to spare him from drowning at sea when so many of his comrades had lost their lives he didn’t know. The only thing of which he was certain was his current role as his only sibling’s protector.

Peering into the fog he spied a bobbing lantern in the prow of a small boat off the starboard. Shouting orders, he assembled members of the crew and affected a safe, though treacherous, boarding.

Aaron handed the sleepy two-year-old he was carrying to his wife, then shook Thorne’s hand with vigor and obvious relief. “Thank you. I was afraid you might not want to help us. Not after the way we last parted.”

Touched, Thorne hid his emotion behind a brusque facade. “Nonsense. Let’s get you all inside before the rain begins in earnest. Then you can tell me everything.”

He winced as his brother placed a protective arm around Naomi’s shoulders. Her head was bowed over the blanket-wrapped child in her arms, her face hidden by the brim of her burgundy velvet bonnet, yet Thorne could see her golden hair as clearly as if they were once again walking hand in hand through a meadow and dreaming of an idyllic life together.

He set his jaw. Whatever else happened on this voyage, he was not going to resurrect a love better left dead. He and Naomi had had their chance at happiness, or so Thorne had thought, and she had chosen to wed Aaron, instead. That was all there was to it and all there ever would be. He had long ago concluded that romantic love was highly overrated and nothing had happened since to change his mind.

Guiding his guests into the captain’s cabin he explained, “I’ve arranged for you to occupy these quarters until we can prepare a suitable suite elsewhere. It’s not the quality you’re used to, of course, but it’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron was quick to say as he ducked to guide his wife to a chair beneath a swaying lantern suspended from a beam. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“All I ask is an explanation,” Thorne replied. He leaned against the inside of the cabin’s narrow door and crossed his arms. “What has happened to make you so insistent on leaving New York?”

Aaron’s gaze darted to his wife, then rested lovingly on the small boy asleep in her lap. “It’s mostly because of Jacob,” he said sadly. “Father has grown more and more irrational as the years have passed. We think he may be going insane, although no doctors will agree to it and chance losing the exorbitant retainers he pays them. He’s turned against us just the way he turned against you.”

Thorne gave a deep-throated laugh. “I doubt that very much. At least he doesn’t keep reminding you you’re not really his son—or refuse to allow you to call yourself an Ashton.”

“He may as well do so,” his brother said. “He’s made up his mind that my family is evil and has ordered me to divorce my wife and abandon my child.”

“What?” Thorne’s dark eyes narrowed. Unfolding his crossed arms, he removed his hat and raked his fingers through his thick, almost-black hair. “Why would he do that?”

“It’s evident that his mind is unhinged. Some of the threats he’s made lately are dire, indeed. There is no way I would consent to remain under his roof one more day, let alone subject my family to his lunatic ravings.”

“I can understand that,” Thorne said. “But why leave the city?”

“Because,” Aaron said with a shaky voice, “if I won’t agree to a divorce he has threatened to free me by having Naomi and my son killed.”

Chapter One

San Francisco, 1854

Charity Beal stood on the board walkway outside the hotel, pulled a paisley shawl around her shoulders and raised her face to bask in the sun’s warming rays. A mild breeze off the ocean ruffled wisps of pale blond curls that had escaped her neatly upswept hair and her blue eyes sparkled in the brightness of the day.

Smiling, she did her best to ignore the noise of the passing horses and wagons as she sighed and breathed deeply, enjoying the sweet, salt air. Thankfully, a recent shower had washed away most of the dust and dirt, yet hadn’t left the streets too muddy for normal travel.

Spring days in the city by the bay were more often foggy than clear and Charity was loath to retreat back inside even though it was now her duty to assist Mrs. Montgomery in the kitchen. Perhaps stealing a few more precious moments of sunshine would be all right, she told herself, appreciating the balmy weather yet cognizant of her place as part of the hotel staff.

The Montgomery House Hotel had been rebuilt of brick after its damage in the earthquakes and fires of 1850 and 1851, as had many of the other commercial buildings, including the Jenny Lind Theater. Few of the thousands of immigrants who crowded the city could afford to board at Montgomery House but those folks who did were usually well satisfied, especially since the rooms now contained real beds with feather ticking instead of the narrow, hanging cots of the previous structure.

Charity and her father, Emory Beal, had begun as tenants and had quickly decided to stay on. At least Emory had. As far as Charity was concerned she knew she could be happy anywhere as long as she remained a widow.

Remembrances of her cruel husband made her shiver in spite of the warmth of the day, and she drew her shawl more tightly against the inner chill. She knew it must be a terrible sin to celebrate anyone’s death but she couldn’t help being grateful that the Lord had seen fit to liberate her from her degrading marriage to Ramsey Tucker. Just the thought of that vile man touching her again made gall rise in her throat.

Shaking off the unpleasant memories and turning to reenter the hotel, Charity noticed a small group of people trudging up the hill from the direction of the wharf. Travelers of that class weren’t often seen, yet it was the imposing gentleman in the lead who immediately caught and held her attention.

He reminded her of someone going to the gallows—or perhaps the hangman, himself—such was his aura. A short, black cape furled from the shoulders of his coat as he walked and he carried a silver-tipped cane. His Eastern-style felt hat had a narrow enough brim that she could easily discern his scowl and square jaw.

Trailing him were a man and woman holding the hands of a small child who struggled to keep up while walking between them. Their clothing was elegant and obviously expensively tailored but their countenance was as downtrodden as that of the poorest immigrant.

Charity hurriedly ducked through the doorway and had almost reached the visiting parlor when a deep, male voice behind her commanded, “Wait.”

She whirled to face the dark-haired traveler she’d been surreptitiously studying. “Yes?”

Instead of approaching the desk where a young clerk awaited, the stranger removed his hat, bowed slightly and addressed her. “We require rooms. Can you vouch for the character of this establishment?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. I certainly can.”

“Have you stayed here often?”

“My father and I live here,” she said. “If you choose to join us in the dining room for supper, you’ll meet him. The evening meal is served at seven. Dinner is at one but as you can see—” she gestured toward the grandfather clock at the far end of the room “—you’ve missed it.” She peered past him to smile at the weary child. “I can probably find a few cookies and a glass of cold milk if the little one is hungry.”

“Jacob always enjoys a cookie,” the pale, light-haired woman replied. “We would be obliged.” She bent down to the boy’s level and added, “Wouldn’t we, son?”

He merely nodded, his eyes as wide and expressive as a frightened doe’s.

Charity approached and offered the woman her hand. “I’m Miss Beal, please call me Charity. And you are…?”

“Naomi. This is my husband, Mr. Ashton.” She shyly glanced toward the taller man who had proceeded to the clerk’s station and was signing the register. “And that gentleman is his half brother, Mr. Thorne Blackwell.”

Charity lowered her voice to ask, “Does he always order strangers around?”

Naomi’s cheeks reddened. “A bit, I’m afraid. But his heart is in the right place. We’ve just come from a long sea voyage around the horn and we desperately need our rest.”

“Then don’t let me keep you,” Charity said. “As soon as you’re settled in your rooms, I’ll bring young Master Jacob his cookies and milk.”

She was taken aback when Naomi’s husband clamped a hand on his wife’s shoulder, shook his head and gave her a wordless look of warning.

Startled, Naomi immediately took Charity’s hand and held it as if clasping a lifeline. “I spoke foolishly just now. Please, if anyone asks, you must swear you’ve not seen us. Promise me?”

“Of course, but…”

“I’ll explain later.”

“All right. I won’t breathe a word.”

The men hoisted their belongings and started up the stairs while Naomi balanced the child on her hip. Waiting until they were out of sight, Charity crossed to the desk clerk. “What names did that gentleman sign?”

The young man smirked as he spun the register book for her perusal. “Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones and family, if you choose to believe such tales.”

“I see.”

She checked their respective room numbers, then headed for the kitchen. So what if their new boarders were traveling incognito? That was often the case west of the Rockies. Here, a person could begin again without having to explain past sins. She should know. That was exactly what she’d been doing ever since her fateful journey from Ohio by wagon train with her sister, Faith.

Those had been the worst months of Charity’s life, and although her loved ones had survived the ordeal, they all bore scars of some sort. Connell McClain, Faith’s new husband, was scarred from encounters with the Cheyenne, and poor Faith had nursed broken ribs during the latter part of the arduous trek.

Charity’s scars didn’t manifest themselves physically. They were deeper, in her heart and soul, and the ache of her personal tribulation and loss remained so vivid the remembrances still gave her nightmares.

Nevertheless, she didn’t want those memories to fade. She wanted to remember precisely how foolish she’d once been so that she would never, ever, be tempted to make the same mistakes again.

Thorne closed the door to his brother’s room and stood with his back to it as he faced Naomi. “What did you say to that woman downstairs?” he demanded.

Tears softened her already pale blue eyes. “I’m so sorry. I know you cautioned us to use fictitious names but I haven’t spoken to another lady in months and the truth just slipped out. Charity won’t betray us. She promised she wouldn’t.”

He muttered under his breath. “What good is all the trouble we’ve gone to if you don’t remember to hide your real identities?”

Placing a sheltering arm around his wife’s slim shoulders Aaron stood firm. “She said she was sorry, Thorne. What’s done is done. I’m sure a simple hotel maid isn’t smart enough to engage in subterfuge.”

“Hah! Any fool could see that that woman is no simpleton. Nor is she a maid. She said she and her father are hotel guests, not staff, so don’t discount her capabilities or count on her loyalty.”

Weeping, Naomi knelt to draw the boy into her embrace while Aaron began to pace the floor of the small, sparsely furnished bedroom.

“Don’t worry,” Thorne said firmly. “I’ll take care of it. If the woman can’t be reasoned with, she can probably be bribed or threatened.”

“You sound just like Father!” Aaron blurted.

Thorne’s eyes narrowed and his countenance darkened with barely repressed anger. “Never say that again, do you hear? I won’t be compared with that man. He’s your father, not mine.”

“But you’ve obviously learned from him,” the younger man countered.

“No. I’ve learned from years on my own and from the writings of my real father.” Noting the shock on Aaron’s face, he went on. “Are you surprised? I was. Shortly before I left home, Mother told me all about her brief marriage to my late father and where I might locate the rest of the Blackwell family.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, eventually. I didn’t seek out my grandfather until I’d spent a few years at sea and felt I’d proved myself.” And had faced death more than once. “Grandfather and I didn’t have much time together before he died but we got along very well. He gave me my father’s journal, as well as willing me enough money to buy into a partnership on my first freighter.”

“So that’s how you became successful.”

“No,” Thorne countered, “I could have squandered my inheritance in any number of ways. The investments I made, instead, were based on my experience at sea, not on mere wishful thinking. I knew exactly what I was doing and lived frugally. That’s what I was trying to explain when I returned to New York three years ago. But no one would listen to me, not even you.”

Thorne noted Aaron’s pained expression. It was during that short visit that Thorne had met and fallen in love with Naomi but she had chosen to wed the younger brother, presumably because Aaron was in line to inherit the Ashton fortune.

Squaring his shoulders, Thorne faced him. “Forget the past. It’s your future that counts. Leave the details to me. We’ve come this far together and I’ll see to it that your foolish mistakes don’t sink our ship, so to speak.”

Naomi raised her reddened face to him, tears glistening on her cheeks, and whispered, “Thank you.”

It was all Thorne could do to keep from tempering his harsh expression as he gazed at her. She was suffering for her poor choices and for that he was sorry, but, as he had finally realized when he’d encountered her again, any tender feelings he had once harbored were long gone and he was therefore loath to display any tenderness that might mislead her.

If anything good came out of this fiasco, perhaps it was that it had finally freed his heart from the fetters of unrequited love and had given him a chance to make amends with his brother over almost stealing his betrothed.

Charity was climbing the stairs, one hand raising the hem of her calico frock and apron as she stepped, the other balancing a glass of milk on a plate with two freshly baked cookies. As she neared the landing, a shadow fell over her.

Her head snapped up. The mysteriously intriguing stranger blocked her path. “Oh! You startled me.”

Thorne didn’t give way.

“Excuse me, please,” Charity said politely. “I have some treats to deliver.”

“I’ll take that for you.”

As he reached for the small plate she held it away. “No need. I can manage nicely.”

“But you’re a guest here. You shouldn’t be doing chores.”

That brought a smile. “Actually, I started out as a guest about a year ago when my father decided to move to San Francisco. Since then, I’ve taken a part-time position helping the proprietress, Mrs. Montgomery, to pay for Papa’s and my room and board.”

One dark eyebrow arched as he said, “Really? I would have thought, considering the dearth of eligible women in these parts, you’d have found yourself a suitably rich husband by now.”

She could feel the warmth rising to redden her cheeks. “You assume a lot, sir.”

“My apologies if I’ve offended you,” Thorne said as he stepped aside and gestured. “After you.”

Spine stiff, steps measured, Charity led the way to the room the family occupied. Behind her she could sense the imposing presence of the man Naomi had called Thorne. He was well named, Charity decided, since he was definitely a thorn in her side—probably to everyone he met. Clearly he was used to getting his own way. Equally as clearly, he was not used to being challenged by anyone, let alone a woman.

He placed his hand on the knob of the door she sought and stood very still.

“May I?” she asked boldly.

“In a moment. First, I must ask for your discretion, particularly regarding my brother’s family. We’re traveling in secret and must therefore guard our true identities judiciously.”

Charity’s chin jutted out, her head held high. “And your point is?”

“Simply that we require your silence. Since you’re a working woman, perhaps a generous gift would help you forget you ever saw us.”

She drew herself up to her full height of five and a half feet, noting that the top of her head, even piled high with her blond curls, barely came to the man’s shoulder. Nevertheless, she was determined to give him a piece of her mind. How dare he try to bribe her!

“Sir,” she said fervently, “I have promised Naomi that I would keep her secret and so I will, but it is because she asked me for my silence, not because your money interests me in the slightest. Is that clear?”

Thorne bowed from the waist as he said, “Perfectly.”

“Good. Because there is a hungry, tired little boy waiting for this food and no bully in a fancy brocade vest is going to stop me from delivering it to him. Am I making myself understood?”

A slight smile started to twitch at the corners of his mouth and Charity couldn’t decide whether or not he was about to laugh at her. Since she didn’t want to spill the milk, she sincerely hoped she was not going to have to balance it and slap his face at the same time for unseemly behavior.

His dark eyes glistened as the smile developed. To Charity’s dismay she found him quite handsome when he wasn’t frowning or trying to appear so menacing.

Averting her gaze she nodded toward the closed door. “May I go in?”

“Of course.” He rapped twice, then paused a moment before opening the door for her and standing back to let her pass.

The child had already fallen asleep on the bed. Aaron stood facing the only window, staring into the street below. Naomi was the only one who looked happy to see Charity. She smiled. “Oh, thank you!”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ll leave this plate on the dresser for your son when he wakes,” Charity said, speaking quietly. “There’s fresh water in the ewer on the washstand. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

She noted Naomi’s nervous glance toward Thorne and sought to ease her fears. “The gentleman and I have come to an understanding, so there’s nothing to fret about.”

Naomi looked as if she were about to weep with relief.

“Rest well,” Charity continued. “I see the men have pocket watches but we also ring a gong for supper so you’ll know when to join us, regardless. Please do.” She eyed the woman’s tailored traveling outfit. “And there’s no need to dress. What you’re wearing is most appropriate.”

“Thank you.” Naomi sniffled. “For everything.”

“It was my pleasure to be able to assist you,” Charity said formally. Stepping closer so she could speak without being easily overheard, she added, “And don’t give that thorny brother-in-law of yours another thought. He doesn’t scare me one bit.”

From behind her a deep voice said, “I heard that.”

Charity whirled and found him grinning at her. “Good,” she said, hands fisted on her hips. “Because the sooner you and I understand each other, the better I’ll like it.”

“I wasn’t trying to intimidate or insult you, madam. I guess I’m too used to dealing with rough seamen.”

“Apparently.” Charity boldly stood her ground. “Listen, Mr. whatever-your-name-is-today, you may be used to having your own way but you can’t hold a candle to some of the folks I’ve dealt with since leaving Ohio.”

Like my late husband, she added to herself. After living through that dreadful marriage and the abuses she had suffered during the journey to California, there wasn’t much that frightened her. Not anymore.

She started past Thorne toward the open door, then paused to add, “You may be a tad overbearing but I can tell you’re not evil. Believe me, I know exactly what that kind of man looks like.”

The flabbergasted expression on Thorne’s face was fleeting and he quickly regained his usual staid composure as she swept past and left the room.

Although Charity couldn’t begin to guess the plight of the little family, she vowed to add them to her daily prayers. Clearly, they were embroiled in some kind of trouble, perhaps dire, and her kind heart insisted she help in some way. If they wouldn’t allow her to render physical assistance she’d simply bring them before her Heavenly Father and let Him do what He would.

A benevolent God had carried her and her sister through many terrible trials and she knew He wouldn’t abandon an innocent little boy and his sweet mother.

The stranger stood outside on the walkway and lit up a cigar. Now that he’d spotted his quarry and knew where they were staying, there was no rush. On the contrary. Given the pleasures of San Francisco’s wilder side he was going to enjoy this part of his assignment. He’d simply post a guard to make sure the Ashtons didn’t leave without his knowledge and stop by to check on their status from time to time. Then, if it looked as if they were going to travel on, he’d be able to follow without being recognized. If not, there would be plenty of opportunity to rent a room at the Montgomery House and take care of business from the inside.

Either way, he and his cohorts couldn’t fail.

Chapter Two

Fashions of the time dictated that both boys and girls wore dresses until the former reached the age of about six. Since Naomi had also chosen to keep her son’s curly dark hair long, it occurred to Thorne that it might be safer to try to pass him off as a girl. Aaron would probably object, of course, but the more Thorne considered the idea, the more it appealed.

He broached the subject as he joined Aaron and the others to go downstairs to supper. “Jacob is awfully pretty for a boy,” he said, smiling and patting the top of the child’s head. “I think it would be safer if we called him Jane, for a while, don’t you?”

As expected, his brother bristled with indignation. “I disagree completely. Think of how confusing that would be, especially for him. We can call him anything you want as long as he remains all boy.”

Thorne shrugged. “Very well. Have it your way. I was just trying to protect you. Jacob is a common enough name so we may as well continue to use it.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine as soon as we reach Naomi’s parents in Oregon Territory. They’ll take care of him—and of us.”

“Missionaries? How much protection can you expect from pacifists?”

“Just because Mr. and Mrs. White practice what they preach doesn’t mean they’d allow any harm to come to us. Besides, they’re well acquainted with the natives and settlers on both sides of the border. No strangers will be able to sneak up on their mission without arousing suspicion.”

“I hope you’re right,” Thorne said soberly. “I heard there was an Indian uprising near there.”

“I assume you’re referring to the Whitman massacre?”

“Yes.”

“That occurred seven or eight years ago. Things have settled down considerably since that unfortunate misunderstanding. You can’t blame the Indians. They were fed erroneous information about Dr. Whitman and acted on it because they didn’t understand how measles was spread. Besides, those were the Cayuse and Umatilla. The tribes Naomi’s parents minister to are farther north, around Puget Sound. I understand they’re quite accommodating.”

Naomi chimed in. “That’s right. The Nisqually and Puyallup leaders have actually helped my father in his dealings with less civilized tribes. Mama told us in her letters.”

“If you say so.” Thorne wasn’t about to argue with her and give her more reason to worry. Whatever she and Aaron decided to do next was no concern of his. He’d gotten them safely as far as San Francisco and that was all they had asked of him. Still, he had grown attached to their winsome child during the long, tedious voyage and he could tell the boy liked him, too. It was Jacob’s future that concerned him most.

He felt a tiny hand grasp one of his fingers as he started down the stairs. He smiled at the boy in response. Of all his relatives, Jacob was the one to whom he felt closest. Theirs was a strangely intuitive bond that had begun almost as soon as Aaron and Naomi had boarded the Gray Feather and had deepened as time had passed. Jacob had seemed unusually bright for a two-year-old, as well as curious almost to a fault and Thorne had taught him a lot about the workings of the ship during the long sea voyage. To his chagrin, he had to admit he was really going to miss the youngster when they parted.

Looking up, he noticed that their approach had drawn the attention of the young woman he had infuriated earlier. He greeted her politely as he and the boy reached the bottom of the stairs. “Good evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening.” She offered her right hand, then smiled and withdrew it when she noticed that his was being firmly controlled by his diminutive nephew. “Looks as if the nap helped.”

“Resting has certainly improved my outlook,” Thorne said. “Again, I must apologize for unintentionally offending you.”

“No apology is necessary,” Charity said. As the man and boy passed her, Jacob reached for her hand, grabbed her index finger tightly, and kept them together by tugging her along, too.

Charity laughed softly. “I see someone in your family likes me.”

“Apparently. If you’ll forgive my saying so, the boy has excellent taste. You look lovely this evening.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Noting the soft blush on her already rosy cheeks and the shy way she smiled, then averted her gaze, Thorne was confused. He had pictured this woman as a stiff, bossy matron, yet now she was acting more like an ingenue. Truth to tell, he didn’t imagine she was more than nineteen or twenty years old. Still, by the time he was that age he had sailed around the horn more than once and had considered himself any man’s equal.

Leading them to the table, Charity made brief introductions without citing all the travelers’ names. “Those gentlemen over there are new guests, too,” she said. “They’re from Virginia and Pennsylvania, I believe. And this is my father, Emory Beal.” She indicated a thin, gray-haired man at the far end of the rectangular dining table. “Next to him is Mrs. Montgomery. She owns this hotel and several other buildings along Montgomery Street.”

The round-faced, portly woman grinned and patted her upswept, salt-and-pepper hair. “Land sakes, girl. You make me sound like a land baron. I’d of had more to brag on if the storm last November hadn’t carried off sixty feet of the wharf at Clark’s Point. That was pitiful.”

“I’d heard about that damage,” Thorne said. “I’m sorry the losses were yours.”

“Well, these things happen,” the proprietress said with a shrug. “Lately I’ve been concentrating on improvements to this here property. I reckon we’ll have coal gas lamps to brag on soon, just like the Oriental Hotel and the Metropolitan Theater. Can’t let the competition get ahead of me. No, sirree.”

Thorne agreed. “Exactly the reason I’ve chosen the most modern sailing ships. We’ve already seen steam travel on a single vessel as far as the Isthmus of Panama. Someday I hope to be sending my own steamers all the way around the horn.”

“My, my, you don’t say.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Thorne stepped aside to shake hands with Emory while he waited for Aaron to seat his little family. That left Thorne with only one available chair, which happened to place him next to Jacob. Charity was already seated on the boy’s left.

The other guests, all men, nodded brief greetings but were clearly more concerned with dishing up their share from the bowls and platters already on the table than they were with making polite conversation.

Thorne was about to reach for a nearby plate of sliced beef when he saw Charity clasp her hands, bow her head and apparently begin to pray. Since the hotel proprietress had not led any blessing on the food, he saw no reason to join in until he noticed that Jacob had folded his little hands in his lap and closed his eyes, too.

All right, Thorne decided. He was a big enough man to let a woman and child lead him, at least in this instance. Following suit he sat quietly and watched the young woman out of the corner of his eye until she stopped whispering and raised her head. He was about to reach over and tuck a napkin into Jacob’s collar to serve as a bib when Charity did just that.

“I can manage him,” Thorne said.

“It’s no bother. He’s a sweet child. So well mannered. He reminds me of my own nephew.”

“You have family here?” Thorne asked as he plopped a dollop of mashed potatoes onto the boy’s plate.

“My sister and her family live over near Sacramento City,” she answered. “It was just chosen as the official state capitol to take the place of Benicia, you know.” She looked to the child seated next to her. “Would you like some gravy?”

Thorne answered, “Yes, thanks.”

That brought a demure laugh from Charity. “I was talking to my short friend here. I’ll gladly ladle some over your potatoes, too, if you’d like.”

“I think I can handle it myself,” Thorne said with a lopsided grin. “But thank you for offering.”

“You’re quite welcome.” She began to cut the slab of roast beef on her plate, then paused. “This piece is very tender. May I give him a little of it?”

“Of course. He doesn’t like much, though. And cut it into very small bites.”

“Believe it or not, I know how to feed a child.”

“We should be doing that,” Naomi said from across the table. “If you want to send him over, he can sit on my lap and eat from my plate.”

Judging by the firm way the boy was grasping his fork and leaning his chin on the edge of the table, Thorne knew that Naomi’s suggestion was not to his liking. “He’s fine where he is. A little variety is good for him. And I promise we won’t spoil him too badly.”

“Speak for yourself, sir,” Charity gibed. “I plan to enjoy my supper companion to the utmost.”

When she smiled at the child, Thorne was astounded at how young and lovely she appeared. Her hair glistened like sunbeams on fine, golden silk and her eyes were as blue as a cloudless, equatorial, summer sky. It was as if the presence of the boy had lightened her usual burdens and given her a new lease on life. And Jacob had taken to her, as well, he noted. The two were acting as if they had always known each other.

Pensive, Thorne glanced at his brother and Naomi. Their countenance was anything but joyful by contrast. Aaron was eyeing the strangers at the table, looking ready to leap upon the first one who might pose a threat, while Naomi appeared near tears, as she had been during most of their sea journey. The one time Thorne had tried to discuss her concerns with her she had merely said that she feared for the lives of her dear ones.

He couldn’t argue with that grim conclusion. Not if Aaron’s words were to be believed. Louis Ashton had never been much of a father to either of them, nor had he been a kind, loving husband to the dear mother they shared. For that, alone, Thorne had grown to detest the man.

When Louis’s last beating had raised welts on Thorne’s sixteen-year-old shoulders, he had gone to his mother and begged her to leave the Ashton estate with him. Of course she had refused. But that was the night she had opened her heart and explained her painful past, including revealing her fears regarding the untimely demise of her first husband and her growing suspicion that Louis Ashton might have somehow been responsible.

Rather than be too specific, she had likened the tale to the biblical saga of King David and Bath-sheba with Thorne’s real father playing the part of the hapless Uriah. From there on, however, the basic facts of the story had diverged. Louis had rushed the new widow Blackwell into marriage and had gotten more than he’d bargained for a mere six months later. He’d gotten Thorne, another man’s son, and he’d never forgiven the boy for being born.

At sixteen, Thorne had wanted to take Aaron with him and run away to sea but Mother had convinced him otherwise. Once he had entered that occupation and realized what a hard life he was facing as a young seaman, he was glad he had listened to her wisdom, at least in regard to his baby brother.

Yet look at him now, Thorne thought. Everything Aaron had hoped and planned for was ruined. He had no home, no source of income and no plans for the future other than to elude any assassins Louis might send in pursuit. It was a terrible, dangerous existence that faced the little family.

Thorne had known in his heart that he could not simply abandon Aaron in San Francisco and hope that he and his loved ones eventually managed to reach Naomi’s parents in the Northern territories. Now that he thought about it in detail he knew what he had to do. Like it or not, he must accompany them. And in order to do that he had to transfer some of his business duties to underlings or risk financial disaster before he could return.

Having decided, he addressed his brother. “I know you’re in a hurry to be on your way but I will need several more days to arrange my affairs before I can travel. The telegraph only connects to a few cities close by so I shall have to handle my business mostly with personal dispatches. Nevertheless, I think I can have everything settled by next Friday. How does that sound?”

Aaron’s mouth gaped. “You’re going with us?”

“Yes. If you have no objection.”

“No, I…” He looked to his wife. “If it’s all right with Naomi.”

She merely nodded, her eyes misting.

“Good,” Thorne said. “We’ll need to keep our rooms a little longer than planned, Mrs. Montgomery. I trust that won’t be a problem?”

“Not at all,” the proprietress said cheerfully as she pushed back her chair and arose. “Save room for dessert. Our Charity baked two delicious apple pies this afternoon and I think they’re almost cool enough to serve. I’ll run and fetch ’em.”

Watching the matron scurry away, Thorne wondered how such delicate hands as Charity Beal’s could have spent much time in the kitchen, let alone have fashioned a pie worth eating. When he was served his portion and tasted it, however, he almost purred.

“Mmm, this is delicious. Are you sure Miss Beal really made it?”

The young woman bristled. “I beg your pardon? Are you insinuating that I would lie?”

Thorne couldn’t help chuckling in response. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting such a thing. I was just so impressed with your culinary prowess I was momentarily at a loss for words.”

“Ha! That will be the day,” she said. “It has been my experience that you have plenty of words for every occasion, sir, whether they are warranted or not.”

Across the table, Emory Beal broke into cackles. “Atta girl, Charity. You tell him.”

Thorne was laughing so heartily he covered his mouth with his napkin and nearly choked on his bite of pie.

When he glanced around at his fellow diners, however, he was struck by the taciturn expressions on some of the other guests’ faces. It appeared that several of the younger men were particularly upset with him, perhaps because they had their sights set on wooing Charity Beal. Not that he blamed them. If he were seeking a wife, she would certainly be worth a second look.

Later, when Emory cornered him and thanked him privately for lifting the girl’s spirits and helping to restore her gumption, he was so surprised he truly was at a loss for words. According to her father’s insinuations, Charity had been through some unspeakable experiences which had caused her to become withdrawn and often to brood.

Thorne had no idea how his presence had elevated her mood but he was nevertheless glad to hear of the improvement. He liked her. And so did Jacob, which was even more important. The poor boy had been through plenty already and their arduous journey was far from over. A little sunshine in his short life was certainly welcome and the woman who had cheerfully provided it ranked high on Thorne’s list of admirable people.

In the street outside the hotel, a small group of men had gathered to discuss the situation.

“They’re leaving in a few more days,” the tallest, youngest one said. “That means we have a little more time to plan.”

There was a murmur of agreement before their portly, red-haired leader spoke. “We won’t need much. We’ll move tonight.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Slip this note under Ashton’s door, then leave the rest to us.” He handed a folded slip of paper to his wiry cohort and glanced at the other two burly men who were standing by waiting for their orders. “Just make sure you’re not seen when you do it.”

“I have the room just down the hall from them. Nobody will catch me. Is that all?”

“Yes.” He started away. “And if you see any of us on the street afterward, you don’t know us. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“Good. Now go back inside and try to act natural. The hardest part will be over by morning.”

Charity couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she arose, pulled on a lawn wrapper and tied the sash before she peeked out the door of her room to be sure no one else was up and about. The hallway was deserted.

She quickly lit a small oil lamp and tiptoed to the stairs, intending to help herself to one of the leftover cookies in the kitchen. She paused to listen intently. There were no sounds coming from any of the rooms except for Mrs. Montgomery’s familiar, loud snoring at the far end of the hotel.

Proceeding, Charity was halfway down the staircase when she overheard muffled voices and stopped in her tracks. It sounded as if the parties involved were in the sitting room, which meant that her path to the kitchen was blocked unless she chose to dart around the newel post at the ground floor and hope her passage down the side hallway went unseen.

That idea didn’t please her one iota. Dressed in a floor-length white wrapper and carrying a lit lamp, there was no way she wouldn’t be noticed.

She was still standing there, trying to decide what to do, when one of the parties below raised his voice.

“I’m not going back with you,” he said.

A response that sounded like a growl followed.

“No,” the initial speaker replied. “It’s not open to discussion. You won’t harm me. You don’t dare. Now get out of here.”

This time, the growling voice was intelligible. “I have my orders and I aim to carry them out.”

Charity wished she were back in her room, blissfully sleeping, but curiosity held her rooted to the spot. She did have the presence of mind to dim her lamp and cup her hand loosely around the glass chimney, however.

Soon there was the reverberation of a smack, followed by a heavy thud. Her heart began to hammer. It sounded as if someone—or something—had fallen.

Furniture scraped across the bare floors. Glass broke, or perhaps it was crockery, she couldn’t tell which. There was more stomping and crashing around just before the rear door slammed.

Afraid to move, she waited and listened. All she could hear was the rapid pounding of her heart and the shallow rasping of her breath.

Above her, a second door opened and closed. Footfalls echoed hollowly on the wooden floor. She sensed another presence on the stairs.

Someone grabbed her arm before she could turn and look. She started to scream. A hand clamped over her mouth and a male voice, a familiar voice, ordered, “Hush.”

Recognizing that it was Thorne, Charity nodded and he eased his hold. Instead of trying to explain what was going on she merely pointed in the direction of the parlor.

“Shush,” Thorne hissed in her ear. “Stay here.”

Grasping the banister she watched him descend as gracefully and quietly as a cat. He crouched, then whipped around the corner and disappeared.

In moments he returned. He had tucked the tails of his nightshirt into his trousers and was pulling his braces over his shoulders. “There’s no one there now,” he assured her. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” She was trembling like a silly child, but couldn’t seem to hold the lamp still even by using two hands. “I was hungry so I came down to get a cookie. The ground floor was dark. I heard voices. It sounded like an argument.”

“Men arguing?” Thorne asked.

“Yes. Two of them, I think. There was something rather familiar about one and the other was almost too faint to hear. I thought he sounded very menacing, though. I suppose I was just nervous because I expected to be alone.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing much. One was talking about having a job to do and the other told him he wouldn’t dare, or some such nonsense. They sounded like two schoolyard bullies.”

“Then what?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see a thing from up here on the stairway. I guess there was a fight but it was over so quickly I’m not certain. I did think I heard dishes breaking just before the door slammed.”

“There is some damage in the kitchen but the place is deserted, now.” His dark eyes suddenly widened and he dashed past her to continue climbing, taking the steps two at a time.

Charity followed him straight to his brother’s room where he began to pound on the door.

“Aaron! Open up. Now.”

“Hush. You’ll wake every guest in the hotel,” Charity warned.

Instead of heeding her admonition Thorne grabbed her lamp, then kicked the door and broke the lock away from the jamb. He held the light high, illuminating a circle that encompassed most of the small room.

In the center of the glow, Charity saw Naomi sitting in bed and clutching covers that were drawn up to her neck. Beside her, the exhausted toddler barely stirred in spite of the ruckus.

“Where’s Aaron?” Thorne demanded.

“I don’t know. Someone slipped a note under our door. Aaron read it and said he had to go out.” Naomi began to sniffle. “I begged him to stay here with me but he insisted.”

“What note. Where is it?”

“I—I think he put it in his coat pocket and took it with him. Why? What’s happened?” Her breath caught. “Is, is he…”

“Dead?” Thorne muttered under his breath. “I doubt it. But I don’t think he’s in the hotel anymore, either. I strongly suspect he’s been kidnapped.”

Naomi gasped. “Are you sure?”

“Relatively. I explored the whole ground floor and he wasn’t down there. Nobody was.”

“I’ll wake Papa and send him to fetch the sheriff,” Charity said from the hallway. “We’ll search everywhere. We’ll find him.”

In her heart of hearts she hoped and prayed she was right. If Aaron remained on land there was a fair chance they would be able to locate him, especially since San Francisco was rather isolated by the surrounding hills. If he had been taken aboard one of the many vessels coming and going by sea, however, he could already be out of their reach.

It was a frightening realization. It was also the most logical escape route for anyone wanting to effect a successful kidnapping!

Chapter Three

Thorne finished dressing, pulled on his coat and joined Emory Beal as he hurried from the hotel.

“I don’t know where to start looking for the law, do you?” Thorne asked the older man.

“I’ve got a sneakin’ suspicion where the sheriff’ll be,” Emory replied. “Follow me.”

They made their way up Sacramento Street and located the lawman holding court with the mayor and half the city council in the What Cheer House saloon. A large crowd was toasting the previous day’s groundbreaking ceremonies at Presidio Hill for the soon-to-be-built municipal water system and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time drinking and eating the free food offered at the bar. A pall of smoke hung low in the stuffy room.

Thorne was glad that Emory was with him because the older man was well-known and was therefore able to readily convince the celebrants to form a vigilance committee and join in the search for Aaron.

Leaving the saloon in the company of dozens of inebriated, raucous men, Thorne jumped up on the edge of a watering trough and grabbed a porch support post for balance while he waved and shouted to command everyone’s attention.

“There will be a large reward for my brother’s return,” he yelled, pleased to hear a responsive rumbling of excitement in the crowd. “He’s a city fellow from New York so you should be able to pick him out from amongst the prospectors and immigrants. He was wearing a brown suit and vest. His hair is lighter than mine and he’s a little shorter. He has no beard or mustache. If any of you spot him, I can be reached through the Montgomery House Hotel or the freighter Gray Feather. She’s moored close to the main pier. Let’s go, men. Time is of the essence.”

Stepping down, he started off with the others. He would have preferred to head a sober search party but under the present circumstances he figured he was fortunate to have found a group of able-bodied men awake and willing to help at this time of night.

“It’s all Chinese down that way,” Emory told him, pointing. “Your brother’d stick out like a sore thumb in that neighborhood. The sheriff said he wants us to check the wharf while he and some of the others look in the gambling and fandango houses we still have. Come the first of April, bawdy houses’ll be banned on Dupont, Jackson and Pacific. Don’t know what this city’s comin’ to.”

“All right,” Thorne said. “I probably know the waterfront as well as most of the folks who live here.”

“Been a sailor all your life?”

“In a matter of speaking.” Thorne didn’t think this was an appropriate time to mention that he had long since graduated from employee to employer. Nor was it a good idea to flaunt his wealth in a town with a reputation for lawlessness and greed, mainly thanks to the gold rush. San Francisco had come a long way from the canvas and board shacks he remembered from 1850 but it still hadn’t managed to attain anything resembling the degree of civility Aaron and Naomi were used to back in New York.

Although Thorne’s clothing bespoke a full purse, his actual worth far exceeded the external evidence. And that was the way he wanted it. He’d found out the hard way that if a man had money there was always someone eager and willing to separate him from it, one way or another. That much, he had learned from Louis Ashton.

The difference was what lay in a man’s heart, not what lined his pockets, Thorne reminded himself. He would gladly pay whatever it took to get his brother back and not miss a penny of that money. Unfortunately, if Louis’s hired thugs were responsible for the abduction, he feared that Aaron’s freedom was not going to be for sale at any price.

Although Charity had wanted to join in the search, she knew better than to venture out onto the streets unescorted, especially after dark, so she had stayed behind to try to comfort Naomi.

By dawn the poor woman had sobbed herself into exhaustion and had finally fallen asleep. Although Charity was weary, too, she took pity on Jacob and kept him beside her while she did her morning chores and helped prepare breakfast for the remaining hotel guests.

Fortunately, the current Montgomery Hotel didn’t house as many souls as it had before being rebuilt. Now that they were able to offer private rooms, the income from the establishment had improved while the workload had lessened. For that, Charity was doubly thankful. She didn’t begrudge her father his ease but she sometimes did wish he’d contribute more to their daily necessities.

She shook off the negative feelings and reminded herself that she was blessed to have a roof over her head and to be in the company of a papa who loved and forgave her in spite of her folly as a younger woman. That she had survived at all was a wonderment. That she and Faith had both managed to locate their father and work together for the common good was almost miraculous, given the hardships and dangers they had faced.

Jacob had been gripping a handful of Charity’s skirt ever since she had awakened and dressed him and she had allowed it because he seemed so determined, so needy. She felt him give her apron a light tug. Smiling, she looked down and asked, “Are you hungry, dear?”

The little boy nodded and her smile grew. What a darling. The depths of his chocolate-brown eyes sparkled and his thick, dark lashes would have been the envy of any girl.

Leading him to a table in the kitchen she lifted him onto a chair and said, “My, what a big boy you are. You sit here and I’ll fetch your breakfast before we serve the others so you can eat first. Would you like that?”

Again he nodded and grinned, showing even, white teeth and dimples.

“You’re spoiling that child,” Annabelle Montgomery said as she kneaded dough on the opposite end of the table. “Not that I blame you. He’s a cute one, all right. And such a little man. So brave, what with his…” She broke off and glanced at the ceiling.

“Yes, I know,” Charity answered. “I’ve explained that his mama is ailing. Jacob is going to stay with me today so she can rest.”

“Good idea. I don’t suppose he’d like some flapjacks and homemade jam.”

The little boy’s head nodded so hard his dark curls bounced.

“My, my,” the proprietress said, “looks like he just might. While this dough rises a bit I’ll run out to the spring house and fetch some cool milk.”

“I should do that for you,” Charity said.

“Not this morning. You’re needed here.” Annabelle’s gentle gaze rested on the child and she shook her head slowly, sadly. “Perhaps we’ll hear from our Emory soon and we can all relax. I’ve been prayin’ hard ever since he left.”

“So have I.” Laying her hand atop the boy’s head Charity stroked his silky hair. “I meant for Papa to find the sheriff and then come home but I should have known he’d want to stay and help in the search. I just worry about him, that’s all.”

“So do I,” the portly proprietress said.

To Charity’s amazement she thought she glimpsed moisture in Annabelle Montgomery’s eyes as the other woman wheeled and left the room.

Thorne returned with Emory several hours later. Charity had set aside biscuits, as well as extra servings of ham and a bowl of red-eye gravy, assuming they’d be famished when they finally came home.

She was seated in a rocker in the hotel parlor, Jacob asleep in her arms, when the two men walked in.

Thorne approached her while Emory headed upstairs.

“Did you find your brother?” she asked.

“No. The sheriff is still keeping an eye open but there was no sign of him in any of the usual places.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“There are plates of food waiting for you and Papa in the warming oven over the stove,” she said, continuing her slow, steady rocking. “I’d get up and serve you but as you can see, I’m otherwise occupied.”

Thorne’s overall expression was weary, yet a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Poor Jacob’s probably as tired as the rest of us,” he said, gazing fondly at the child. “I don’t know what we’re going to tell him about all this.”

“I wouldn’t say anything, for now,” Charity suggested. “He’s too young to understand the details and I don’t see any reason to upset him needlessly.”

“How’s Naomi?”

“The last time I looked in on her she was sleeping. She wore herself out last night.”

“Little wonder.” He had already removed his hat and he raked his fingers through his wavy, uncombed hair as he paced the sitting room. “I wish I knew what to do next.”

“Eat,” Charity said sensibly. “You have to keep up your strength for whatever trials are to come. Seems to me you’re the only member of your family capable of making wise decisions or taking any useful action.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, Miss Beal. Thank you for everything. I don’t know what Naomi or Jacob would have done without you.”

“You’re most welcome.”

Watching him leave the room she smiled knowingly. She hadn’t expected Thorne to include himself in the gracious compliment but she could tell that he was as in need of her assistance as the rest of his party. His self-confident nature wouldn’t let him admit as much, of course, but she was content with knowing it was true.

The child in her lap stirred, blinked up through sleepy eyes and snuggled closer.

Charity hugged him to her and began to pray silently for his future. The way things looked now he was going to have a rough road ahead and she wished mightily that she could do more than merely comfort and care for him for the time being.

She laid her cheek against the top of his head and whispered, “He’s yours, Father. Please bless and guide and watch over him.”

A solitary tear slid from her eye and dropped onto the boy’s hair. So young. So innocent. Oh, dear God, help him.

The ensuing days seemed to pass in a blur. Men of all kinds and all classes, including several of the hotel guests whom Thorne had originally deemed unfriendly, kept popping in to update him on the search. He had set up an office of sorts on the end of the counter behind which the desk clerk also stood so he could keep all the reports straight. It was his goal to speak personally with each and every searcher and thereby leave no stone unturned.

Upstairs, Naomi had taken to her bed and the doctor had diagnosed her condition as lingering hysteria. Thorne wasn’t sure that was all there was to it. He’d seen plenty of people overcome by grief and disaster but he’d never known one to lapse into a state of near helplessness the way his sister-in-law had.

Thorne thanked God that Charity Beal had so readily assumed the role of his nephew’s caretaker because he didn’t know how he’d have adequately looked after everyone else and managed to coordinate a systematic search for Aaron at the same time.

A week had passed and they’d fallen into a routine that varied little from hour to hour, day to day. That was why Thorne was so astonished to suddenly see Naomi descending the stairs. She was dressed to go out and acting as if nothing unusual had happened.

Wearing her favorite traveling dress, a matching, ostrich-plumed hat and white lace, fingerless gloves, she carried only her reticule. Instead of approaching and greeting Thorne as he’d expected, she headed straight for the front door.

“Naomi!” he called. “Where are you going?”

She turned a blank stare toward him, said nothing, then continued out onto the boarded walkway.

As Thorne prepared to follow her he was detained by one of the regular hotel residents. He made short work of the tall, thin man’s inane questions but by the time he reached the front door of the hotel, Naomi was already strolling away on another man’s arm as if nothing was amiss.

Thorne raced after them and shouted, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” He was nearly upon the pair before he recognized Naomi’s beefy, reddish haired escort as one of the most recently arrived hotel guests.

The man paused and turned with a cynical expression. “The lady wanted to take a walk and I’m looking after her. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, under normal circumstances,” Thorne replied. “But in this case I must insist we all return to the hotel. Immediately.”

“No. I’m going home,” Naomi said as if in a fog.

Thorne had touched her free arm to stop her from proceeding and was glaring at the other man when Charity joined them, toting Jacob on one hip.

The boy’s enthusiastic squeal brought no visible reaction from his mother.

“What’s the matter with her?” Charity asked Thorne.

“I don’t know.” He continued to gently restrain Naomi and she made no effort to escape. She also didn’t seem to recognize her own son.

Ignoring the two men who appeared about to come to blows, Charity concentrated on Naomi and spoke gently. “Where are you going, dear?”

“To see my mama and papa.” She sounded as if she, herself, were a child.

“Why don’t we go inside and sit down to talk about it,” Charity said. “You’d like to tell me about your trip, wouldn’t you? I’d love to hear all about your parents. I know they’re wonderful people. Aren’t they missionaries to the Indians?”

“Yes,” Naomi said. Her determination seemed to be wavering, so Thorne exerted a gentle pressure on her arm, guiding her away from the other man and back the way they’d all come.

Following, Charity whispered to Jacob. “Mama’s still sick, dear. I know she loves you very much but she isn’t herself right now.”

In response, the confused child wrapped his pudgy arms around Charity’s neck and laid his head on her shoulder. Her heart ached for him. In the space of a few brief days and nights she had grown to love the little darling as if he were her own and it pained her to see him so rejected and forlorn.

Leaving the portly, confused-looking man behind, Thorne led Naomi to the settee in the parlor where she perched primly on the edge of the velvet-covered cushions as if she were visiting strangers.

“I can’t stay long,” she said, removing her gloves and tucking them into her reticule. “Mama is waiting for me and she doesn’t like it when I’m late for supper.”

“Where is your mother?” Charity asked.

“Just up the road, I think.” Naomi frowned momentarily. “I’m not really sure. I seem to be lost. But I know Mama will take care of me as soon as I can get home. She loves me, you know.”

“I’m sure she does,” Charity answered. Looking to Thorne she saw that he, too, was at a loss as to how best to respond.

“Why don’t you stay a bit longer and have dinner with us,” Charity said. “I’m sure your mama would want you to.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, dear, I do. Mrs. Montgomery is roasting a brace of California quail that one of our guests brought us.” She raised her head to sniff and added, “They smell delicious, don’t they? And you must be famished.”

Naomi nodded, still seeming befuddled. “Yes, I guess I am hungry. I don’t know why I should be, though. Mama made me a wonderful breakfast this morning.”

Eyeing Thorne to make sure he understood that she expected him to stay close by and observe, Charity said, “Actually, I need to go help in the kitchen and set the table. Would you two mind watching Jacob for me while I do that? He’s a good little boy so I know you won’t have any problems with him.”

When Naomi didn’t answer, Thorne held out his arms and took the child from Charity. “We’ll be glad to, ma’am. Let us know if we can be of any other assistance.”

Seeing the subdued two-year-old clinging to his uncle’s neck while Thorne gently patted his back gave Charity a surprising pang of longing and blurred her vision enough that she turned and hurried away to hide her emotional reaction. That was what love should be like, she concluded. Simple and pure and safe, the way the child trusted that hardheaded yet tenderhearted man.

Too bad adult love couldn’t be like that, she added, recalling her horrid marital experience. If she’d learned anything from her frightful days as Ramsey Tucker’s wife it was that she wanted no part of the intimacy that marriage demanded. All she could recall of the few nights when he had accosted her was her own sobs and the way he had beaten her into silence. The only good thing about that was the oblivion of semiconsciousness that had spared her from feeling or hearing most of his disgusting advances.

Biting back tears, Charity busied herself by spreading a fresh linen cloth on the long, rectangular dining table and beginning to place the dishes and silverware. It had been a long time since she had questioned her current life or had entertained the slightest notion that there might be a different kind of happiness waiting for her just over the horizon. That notion was staggering. And frightening.

Rejecting it outright, she reminded herself that she was perfectly content to look after her dear papa and tend to the chores of the hotel. That was her lot in life and she was comfortable with it.

So why did she suddenly feel such a stirring of dissatisfaction? The Good Lord had rescued her from servitude to an evil, disreputable man and had reunited her with her loved ones. Why wasn’t she the happiest woman in San Francisco—or in the whole country, for that matter?

“I am happy. And I love it here,” she murmured.

Mrs. Montgomery chuckled from across the room as she used a corner of her apron to blot perspiration from her forehead. “I’m right glad to hear that,” she said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, girl.”

“You don’t have to fret about that,” Charity said. “I’m never going to leave Papa. I promised him that long ago and I aim to keep my word.”

Thorne held the child close and continued to stroke his back while Naomi prattled on about her life as a little girl. There was no doubt in Thorne’s mind that his sister-in-law was a very sick woman. What he could hope to do about that without Aaron to help him was a different question.

The searchers had narrowed down the possibilities of Aaron’s disappearance to one of two packet boats that had left the harbor with the mail soon after his abduction. That, or he had been spirited away overland, which was an unlikely scenario given the inherent difficulties in getting all the way back to New York via that route. Thorne had to assume that delivering Aaron to Louis was the kidnapper’s assignment, else why take him at all?

No, Thorne had reasoned, they had to have left the city by sea. Since there was no use trying to catch up to the individual boats at this late date he had telegraphed ahead and already had dozens of men working on the puzzle. Until one of them wired back that he had located Aaron, there was nothing for Thorne to do but keep his vigil at the hotel.

He was relieved when Mrs. Montgomery summoned everyone for dinner. As soon as his gaze met Charity’s he shook his head slightly in answer to her unspoken query.

She relieved Naomi of her hat, gloves and reticule, then guided her to the same chair she had occupied the last time she and Aaron had eaten at that table, hoping it might trigger her memory. It didn’t.

Thorne took a seat opposite his sister-in-law and gave Jacob the chair beside him, as usual. Many of the guests they had met during their stay had moved on. At present there was only Charity and her father, the proprietress and the young desk clerk, Thorne, Jacob, Naomi and two single men sharing the table. To Thorne’s disgust, one of them resembled the fool who had tried to take Naomi out for a stroll and the other was the prattling idiot who had delayed him so long that she had almost escaped.

Thorne tried to make polite conversation with Charity while tolerating the other men for the sake of propriety. He was running out of things to say when a gangly, hatless youth with black elastic bands holding up his shirtsleeves burst into the hotel. His boots clomped on the wooden floor as he made straight for the dining room.

“Mr. Blackwell. I’m plumb glad I found you,” he said, panting and looking extremely agitated.

Thorne’s breath caught when he recognized the telegrapher. He pushed back his chair and stood. “What is it? Do you have news?”

“Yes, sir.” The younger man handed him a slip of paper.

Reading it, Thorne tried to hide his distress. One quick glance at Charity’s concerned expression told him he had failed.

She arose and circled her chair to join him. Gently laying her hand on his coat sleeve she urged him to share the message. “What have you learned?”

“They’re absolutely certain that they traced Aaron and two other men to the port of Los Angeles, where they all boarded a ship bound for New York, as I had suspected they might.”

“Then that’s good news, isn’t it?”

He shook his head. His heart was pounding and the hand that held the paper was trembling. “No. Not if he actually was aboard the El Dorado, as they believe. That ship just sank in a hurricane off the coast of Mexico with all hands reported lost.”

Feeling Charity’s fingers tighten on his forearm and seeing the compassion in her blue eyes, he covered her hand with his before he said, “It appears Jacob has no one left to look after him and his mother but me.”

“What are you going to do?” Charity asked softly.

“I don’t know.”

From across the table, Naomi spoke as if she hadn’t understood a thing they’d just said. “I must be going home to my mama soon. She’ll be worried.”

Thorne’s gaze traveled from Naomi to Charity and then to the wide-eyed child. “You’re right. You should go to your mother. We’ll pack tonight and leave as soon as I can book passage on a packet boat headed north toward Puget Sound.”

His fingers closed around Charity’s. “I know this is sudden, Miss Beal, but will you come with us? Jacob needs care and Naomi should have a gentlewoman like you as a traveling companion.”

She pulled away. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Why not? I’ll pay you well for your trouble and treat you as if you were part of my family. I know it may be an arduous journey but surely, if you won’t do it for Naomi, you’ll take pity on the child.”

“That’s not fair,” Charity said. “You know I care for him but my papa needs me and I promised I’d never leave him. I assure you, I take that vow quite seriously.”

Emory cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “I suspect this is a good time to make an announcement that I’ve been savin’ for just the right moment.” He reached for Annabelle Montgomery’s hand and clasped it for all to see. “Mrs. Montgomery has consented to become my wife.”

“Papa!” Charity was thunderstruck.

“Don’t look so shocked, girl.”

“But, what about Mama?”

He sobered and shook his head. “Your mama’s gone to Glory but I’m still down here. And I’m not dead yet.”

“I know, but…”

Emory was adamant as he beamed at his intended bride. “This is a fine, upstanding, Christian widow woman and I’m proud she fancies me. She’ll make you a wonderful stepmother.” He kissed his future wife’s hand before he continued, “I release you from whatever promise you think you made, Charity, even though I don’t recall any such nonsense. Your sister would already be upstairs packin’ her duds if somebody had offered her an adventure like that. What’re you waitin’ for?”

Thorne could see that Charity was deeply hurt. He reached for her hand once again, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. “Please? At least promise me you’ll consider my offer?”

When she nodded, then turned and fled up the stairs to hide her tears, his heartfelt sympathy went with her. He knew exactly how it hurt to be treated as an outsider in one’s own family. He’d dealt with that kind of unfair pain all his life. And he wasn’t done doing so.

The two so-called gentlemen who had shared the communal meal in the Montgomery hotel stood in the shadows outside and spoke in whispers while they lit up after-dinner cigars. “Do you think it’s true? Could the others all be dead?” the taller, thinner one asked.

His balding, stocky companion shrugged. “I don’t know. Blackwell looked pretty upset when he heard the bad news but the wife didn’t make a peep. It might be a ruse to throw us off the trail.”

“And it might not. Now that there’s maybe only two of us left, what do you think we should do?”

“Split up,” the second man said, hooking a thumb in his vest pocket and leaning his head back to blow a succession of smoke rings. “You go back East by sea, explain this new development and tell the old man what we know so far.”

“I don’t much cotton to that idea. He’s gonna be fightin’ mad if it’s true.”

“Still, he’s paid us plenty. He has to be informed, even if the news is bad.”

“Oh, sure. And what’re you gonna be doin’ while he takes it out on me for bein’ the messenger?”

“Getting even for our lost friends. Ashton’s wife trusts me now. I’ll stay close to her and her kin, wherever they go, and finish what we came for, one way or another.”

“You sure you don’t need my help?”

He shook his head, his thick jowls jiggling. “No. I can handle it. Even if I don’t get another chance till they’re on the trail, it’ll be fine. All I’ll have to do then is hang back and pick them off one at a time, starting with the brat.”

The taller man winced. “I never did like that part of the job. Doesn’t seem fair to kill him when we could just snatch him and maybe sell him, instead.”

“That kind of thinking is clear stupid. Which is why I’m sending you home and handling things here by myself. When you talk to our boss, make sure you tell him straight out that I’m the one with the stomach for this job or you’ll have to answer to me when I get back.”

“If you get back.”

His laugh was derisive. “Oh, I’ll be back. And I’ll expect to find a big bonus waiting for me when I show up in New York with the proof that I was successful.”

“Proof? How’re you gonna do that?”

The laugh deepened and took on a more sinister tone. “Same way the Indians do. I’ll bring Ashton their scalps.”

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