“You won’t be free of your nightmares
until you face them head-on.”

Lacey looked determined. “I won’t go.” She leaned back against the corral’s fence.

Scully’s voice softened. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll be there. You have to face the shadows in your dreams sooner or later.”

The sudden fear in Lacey’s expression stopped Scully cold.

“It’s just…I don’t know if I want to face them. The shadows scare me, Scully. I don’t want to remember anything about them.”

“Shadows can’t hurt you.”

“I know, but—”

“But what?”

Lacey’s eyes filled. “You won’t always be there for me, Scully. What will I do then?”

The question suddenly more than he could bear, Scully drew Lacey close. She trembled as he stroked her hair and said, “Who said I wouldn’t always be there for you? I expect to be around as long as you need me.”

MILLS & BOON

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ELAINE BARBIERI

was born in a historic New Jersey city. She has written more than forty novels and has been published by Berkley/Jove, Leisure, Harlequin, Harper, Avon, and Zebra Books. Her titles have hit USA TODAY, the New York Times extended list and other major bestseller lists across the country, and are published worldwide. Ms. Barbieri has received many awards for her work, including Storyteller of the Year, Awards of Excellence, and Best Saga Awards from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. Her novels have been Doubleday and Rhapsody Book Club selections, and her book More Precious Than Gold was a launch novel for Romance Alive Audio. Ms. Barbieri lives in West Milford, New Jersey, with her husband and family.

The Redemption of Jake Scully
Elaine Barbieri

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Rise up and help us;

redeem us because of your unfailing love.

—Psalm 44:26

To my brother, Andrew Favati,

whose life was a celebration of God’s love,

and who left us with the memory of his smile.

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

Questions For Discussion

Prologue

Weaver, Arizona

1872

The heat of midafternoon scorched Weaver’s main street as Lacey Stewart walked wearily toward the Gold Nugget Saloon, pulling a limping burro behind her. Her platinum pigtails were in disarray, her face and clothes smoke-stained and the wound on her forehead was grotesquely swollen. She was feverish and more tired than she had ever been in her eight years of life, but she forced herself on.

Dizzy and disoriented, unaware of the sudden silence her appearance elicited, she pushed open the saloon doors and started toward the bar. Fragmented sounds and images raced across her mind. She heard again the gunshot that had awakened her at dawn in her grandfather’s isolated cabin. She heard the crackle and hiss of fire, felt the intense heat and choking smoke of the blaze suddenly surrounding her. She saw her grandfather appear beside her bunk to guide their frantic escape through the flames and falling beams.

Flashing even more brightly before her eyes was the image of her grandfather slumping to the ground when she thought they were safe at last, the same moment when she noticed the bloody wound on his chest.

Her grandfather’s final words resounded in her ears as Lacey reached the saloon bar—words he had spoken as he pressed the small, family Bible he had also saved from the flames into her hand…

Go to town…to the saloon. Ask for Jake Scully. Tell him who you are. He’ll take care of you, Lacey. Take the Bible. Depend on it. Let it guide your way. It’s yours now, darlin’. Go…hurry…

Lacey nodded in response to the voice so vividly real in her mind. She had been too numb to cry when she covered her grandfather’s still body with Careful’s blanket and placed a bunch of drooping wildflowers beside it. His instructions had reverberated in her mind as she left the charred remains of the cabin behind her and turned the burro toward town.

She couldn’t remember when Careful started limping, or when she started walking.

The sound of her name penetrated Lacey’s confused haze. She turned and looked at the big man standing behind her in the silent saloon.

The big man reached for her as darkness abruptly consumed her.

Lacey came slowly awake in a large, shadowed bedroom. Her head hurt, and her limbs felt too heavy to lift. She shifted in bed and moaned slightly at the pain. She became belatedly aware that the tall man was sitting close by.

She strained to focus as he moved closer. She heard him say, “My name is Jake Scully, Lacey.”

She rasped in response, “My grandpa’s d-dead.”

“I know.”

“The cabin burned down.”

“I know that, too.”

“My grandpa said—”

“I know what he said.” Interrupting her, the gentleness in his deep voice a comfort despite his emotionless demeanor, Scully continued softly, “Charlie Pratt was a good man. He staked me when I needed help. He did right when he told you to come to me. Don’t think about anything but getting well, Lacey. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The single tear that slipped out the corner of Lacey’s eye somehow scorched her skin as it slid across her temple, but Scully brushed it away with his hand.

His deep voice soothed her fears as her consciousness began slipping away and he repeated, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

A bright afternoon sun lit the large, masculine bedroom as Lacey slowly awakened. She glanced at the unfamiliar surroundings, gradually recalling the numbing events of the past few days: long, confused hours as she lay in bed recuperating from her wounds; the doctor’s gentle words; encouraging female voices; Jake Scully’s reassuring presence.

Lacey’s throat choked tight and she threw back her coverlet. She stood up slowly, hardly aware of the oversize man’s shirt and rolled-up trousers that hung loosely on her childish frame as her attention was caught by the muted notes of a song coming from the saloon below.

She stepped down onto the barroom floor and walked toward the piano, where a gray-haired, heavily mustached fellow continued his enthusiastic playing.

Unconscious of the attention she drew from the saloon patrons, Lacey joined in, singing hoarsely, “Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me…”

So intense was her recollection of the many times she had sung that song to raise her grandfather’s spirits after another day’s fruitless prospecting, that she did not notice the two men at the end of the bar who exchanged anxious glances at the sight of her. She did not see them slip out the doorway into the alley, nor did she see them meet up with the fellow obviously waiting for them there. She had no way of knowing that fellow harangued the two men for their ineptitude before slapping money into their hands and giving them new orders that they dared not ignore.

Lacey remained beside the piano as the old fellow banged out another boisterous tune. She was unaware of the danger that still threatened her until Scully slid a protective arm around her shoulders and turned her back toward the safety of the upstairs room.

Chapter One

New York City

1882

Yes, her hands were trembling.

Lacey stared at her hands, at the long slender fingers with well-tended nails, and at the smooth skin and soft palms reflecting the total absence of physical labor. They were “a lady’s hands,” which she realized was part of the reason for their shaking.

Lacey did not need to look at her reflection in the dressing table mirror to know that the image there further perpetuated that description of herself. She was no longer eight years old. The neat pigtails she had worn when she first arrived at Mrs. Grivens’s Finishing School had given way to a graceful upsweep of hair that was still a brilliant platinum in color; her childish features had matured into a finely sculpted countenance in which clear, blue eyes hid uncertainty behind a downward sweep of surprisingly dark lashes; and her slender, adolescent proportions had developed feminine curves that went undisguised by the ladylike cut of her simple, gray traveling dress.

Lacey glanced toward the hallway door at the sound of a soft knocking. It opened at her response to reveal a small, dark-haired girl who rushed sobbing into her arms.

“I don’t want you to go, Lacey.” Tears streamed from her eyes as fourteen-year-old Marjorie Parsons drew back and rasped, “I’ll be so lonesome here when you’re gone.”

Her reassuring smile aimed as much at boosting her own confidence as it did comforting the motherless girl who had become almost a sister to her, Lacey replied, “I can’t stay in school forever, Marjorie. Everyone graduates when they’re eighteen years old—even me.”

“Maybe so.” Marjorie brushed away her tears and continued almost pleadingly, “But Mrs. Grivens would gladly let you stay on as an instructor if you wanted to. Everybody knows that.”

An instructor.

Lacey was almost amused by those words. She could read, write and cipher. She could “play the piano with considerable finesse,” “embroider beautifully,” was well versed in the rules of etiquette, knew the proper protocol and manner to address any member of a titled aristocracy and had committed to memory the correct placement of every piece of silverware that could possibly be needed at a formal dinner party. Those accomplishments aside, she was at a complete loss when it came to cooking or maintaining a household without a battery of servants. She was also totally ignorant as to how a “young lady” was supposed to earn a decent living in a society where the only choices open to her were a good marriage or sensible spinsterhood.

Yes, she’d be good at teaching young women to be as clueless as she.

“Please tell Mrs. Grivens you’ll stay.”

“I can’t do that. Uncle Scully sent me tickets for my transportation home. He’s expecting me, and I owe him that.”

She did not bother to tell Marjorie she had decided that the chaperone Uncle Scully had arranged to accompany her was unnecessary, or that she had cancelled the arrangements he had made and cashed in the extra ticket he had provided so she might return the funds to him when she arrived. Yes, she owed him that…and so much more.

Lacey blinked back unexpected tears, then continued kindly, “I’m not like you, Marjorie. I have…obligations. I don’t have a wealthy father ready to introduce me to society so I can get properly married after I graduate.”

“Pooh! Papa would introduce you to society, too, if you wanted. I’d make him do it. And you’re so pretty that you’d find a husband in no time.”

“That wouldn’t work for me, Marjorie.”

Marjorie stared at her, uncomprehending.

“It’s time for me to pay Uncle Scully back for financing my schooling and supporting me all these years.” She smiled sadly. “He must be pretty old by now. I know he never married. He probably needs somebody to take care of him.”

“But he never came out to see you—not once!”

“He wrote to me faithfully and made sure I always had whatever I needed.” Lacey felt no need to explain that Uncle Scully’s letters had rarely arrived more often than six months apart, or that while being friendly and expressing concern that her needs were met when he wrote, Uncle Scully had shared little of the private information that would have made him seem more like family.

“He didn’t visit you on your birthday, or at Christmas.”

“But he never forgot me.” Lacey did not feel she needed to add that she would have preferred a visit to the sometimes elaborate presents that had arrived without exception on the holidays.

“He didn’t even send you a likeness of him to remember him by!”

“That’s because I didn’t need a likeness.” She did not choose to clarify that her actual memory of Jake Scully had dimmed over the years—that all she could truly remember was that he had been tall and well dressed, and that with a single glance of his sober, gray eyes, he had made her feel safe from the gunshots that had robbed her of the life she had known.

Lacey added solemnly, “I owe Uncle Scully more than I can ever repay.”

“But you shouldn’t waste your life caring for an old man when you’re so young.”

“I owe it to him, Marjorie.” Lacey silently added that she owed her grandfather a debt, too—to return to the place that gentle, decent man had loved so she could clarify memories that had become confused and distorted by the violence of that night long ago and put an end to the nightmares that still haunted her.

Lacey turned at the sound of a summons at the door. She pulled it open to see little Amy Harding standing solemnly in the hallway.

“The carriage is here, Lacey.” Amy’s eyes were moist. “Mrs. Grivens said to hurry or you’ll miss your train.”

Lacey was conscious of the footsteps following her as she carried her suitcase down the staircase toward the front doorway.

Tears, hugs and sincere, loving words behind her, Lacey stepped up into the waiting carriage. She looked back as the conveyance jerked into motion and she waved at the solemn group gathered in the doorway of the boarding school.

The carriage turned the street corner, and Lacey took a breath, wiped away a tear and determinedly faced forward. She had told Marjorie the truth. She needed to go “home” because she had obligations she could not ignore.

Lacey withdrew her grandfather’s worn Bible from her reticule. She scanned the text, taking comfort from the familiar passages and the small illustrations her grandfather had drawn on the page corners when they had read together.

Her attention shifted back to her well-tended hands.

Yes, her hands were trembling—because she had no idea what the future held in store.

Weaver, Arizona

1882

Lacey looked out the window of the stagecoach as it bumped and swayed along the rutted trail. She glanced at the harsh, dry land bordering both sides of the narrow expanse, then at the rise of mountains in the distance outlined against a brilliant blue sky devoid of a single cloud. She breathed deeply, aware the heat of the day was climbing.

She recalled the carriage ride to the train station in New York, through streets that were neatly cobbled, where well-dressed pedestrians hurried to meet their needs in a city that bustled with activity. Somehow, she had not expected that that uneventful ride would initiate an endless, uncomfortable journey that had not yet come to an end.

Lacey did not choose to recall the countless times along the way that she had doubted the wisdom of making the journey alone. She had not taken into consideration that the passing years would have dimmed the memory of a wild country where civilization was held partially at bay by longhaired, thickly bearded and heavily armed men—a place where she stirred surprised attention and whispered comments wherever she went.

Despite the tedium and discomfort of the journey, however, Lacey found herself somehow shaken at the thought of her arrival in Weaver, where she would meet up with a past she suddenly realized she hardly remembered.

Lacey looked at the unpaved trail ahead, then glanced up at the shadowed mountain peaks in the distance. Why was it that everything looked so unfamiliar to her? Why had the ten years she had been away dimmed all clear memory of this place?

The sound of a crackling blaze echoed unexpectedly in her ears. She felt the heat…the flames…the smoke…the fear. She saw the faded image of her grandfather’s body.

Yes, all clear memories had dimmed…except one.

Lacey closed her eyes. She clutched her small Bible tightly in her hand.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

Lacey looked up, focusing for the first time on the disreputable-looking fellow seated across from her. Like the two other rough-and-tumble male passengers presently sleeping, his hat was stained, his beard was overly long, his clothes were worn and the gun at his side was exceptionally large—but the concern in his bloodshot eyes was obviously sincere.

She replied, “I’m fine. I’m just tired, I guess.”

“We’ll be getting to Weaver, soon.” The fellow frowned and added, “If you don’t mind my saying so, ma’am, Weaver is a fine little town, but it’s not accustomed to ladies like you.”

Lacey almost smiled. “I was born in Weaver—or thereabouts.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going home.”

The fellow nodded. “Been gone long, ma’am?”

“Awhile.”

He nodded again. He looked at the Bible in her hand. “Going to join Reverend Sykes, are you?”

“Reverend Sykes?”

“I hear he’s a fine man and real dedicated to his work in the church.”

“I’m sure he is, but I don’t know him.”

The fellow’s frown deepened. “You’ll be having somebody meet you in Weaver, I hope.” He stammered, “I mean, it’s a fine little town, but…well…”

Lacey stared at the unkempt fellow more closely. Because of his questionable appearance, she had done her best to ignore him and the other two occupants of their coach when she boarded. Now, glimpsing the man inside his unappealing exterior, she was oddly warmed by what she saw.

Lacey replied with a smile, “Someone will be meeting me. His name is Jake Scully. Do you know him?”

“Jake Scully.” The fellow blinked. “He’s…you…I…”

He took a breath, then continued with a tip of his soiled hat meant as an introduction, “My name’s Pete Loughlin, ma’am. I’ll be spending some time in Weaver, and I want you to know I’ll be at your disposal if things don’t turn out the way you expected.” He paused, adding, “I hope you’ll remember that, ma’am.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Loughlin. My name is Lacey Stewart, and I thank you for your concern.”

“Everybody calls me Pete, ma’am.”

“Thank you. I’ll certainly remember your offer, Pete.”

His face reddening unexpectedly, Pete averted his gaze toward the window and ended the conversation as abruptly as it had begun. With no recourse but to follow his lead, Lacey turned to the Bible in her hand, silently embarrassed that she had been so harsh in her first assessment of the dear fellow. She looked down at the page to which she had inadvertently turned.

Judge not, lest ye be judged.

Somehow startled by the familiar passage, Lacey glanced back up at Pete Loughlin, whose bloodshot eyes had fallen closed.

A timely lesson, gently served.

Lacey’s spirits lightened.

The stagecoach rounded a turn in the trail and Weaver came into view. Lacey reached up nervously to adjust her hat and smooth back a few pale wisps that had strayed from her upswept coiffure. She then slipped her Bible into her reticule and gripped the handle anxiously. Her three fellow passengers had somehow awakened the moment Weaver appeared on the horizon. They appeared as eager as she to see the end of their journey.

Lacey did her best to ignore Pete’s frown as they entered town and she searched the street in vain for a familiar face. She struggled against an expanding anxiety as the conveyance rumbled farther down the dusty main thoroughfare, passing a livery stable, a blacksmith’s shop, a bank, a hotel. She scanned the street more closely, seeing what appeared to be a jail, a barber shop and several other stores. Her gaze halted. Memory stirred when she viewed the establishment that took up the major portion of the street at the far end.

The Gold Nugget Saloon.

Lacey took a shaky breath, then searched the street again. She was expecting too much, she knew, to expect Uncle Scully to be waiting for the stage as she had hoped. The exact date of her arrival had been uncertain when they had last communicated. She certainly couldn’t expect that he would meet every stage the week she was expected to arrive.

The stage shuddered to a halt in front of the mercantile store and Lacey’s heart began pounding. She silently scolded herself for her rising apprehension as she waited for her fellow passengers to alight. She reminded herself that she had just traveled hundreds of miles alone, that she had walked through the Gold Nugget’s swinging doors by herself once before, and she certainly could do it again.

“Ma’am…” Lacey took the hand Pete offered her. She stepped down onto the street as he continued politely, “If you’re needing any help…”

Lacey skimmed the street again with her gaze. She saw a tall, gray-haired gentleman step out onto the boardwalk a distance away. Her heart leaped when he turned in her direction.

“Lacey?”

She went still at the sound of the deep, familiar male voice behind her. She turned toward the big man who started toward her from the shadow of a store’s overhang.

Lacey’s throat went dry as the well-dressed, dark-haired man approached. This fellow wasn’t old at all. Actually, he appeared to be a man in his prime, with strongly cut features and dark brows over eyes that were a soft, sober gray.

Lacey caught her breath. She remembered those eyes.

The man stopped in front of her. He said, “Welcome home, Lacey.”

“U-Uncle Scully?”

“If that’s what you want to call me.”

Lacey looked over at Pete, who remained stiffly solemn beside her. Uncertain why he stood rooted to the spot, she said, “I’d like you to meet one of my fellow passengers on the stage, Uncle Scully. His name is Mr. Pete Loughlin, and he’s been very kind.”

Scully’s expression remained unchanged as he replied, “Pete and I are old acquaintances.” He addressed Pete directly, adding, “I appreciate your looking after Lacey, Pete, but she’s in good hands now.”

Scully turned again to Lacey. “I’ll get your bag.”

Dismissing the introduction and Pete with that statement, Scully strode toward the rear of the wagon to catch Lacey’s suitcase as it was tossed down from the stage.

“Ma’am…”

Lacey’s attention jumped back to Pete.

His voice lowered, Pete whispered, “I hope you’ll remember what I said.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to worry about me. As Uncle Scully told you, I’m in good hands now.”

“Like I said, if things don’t turn out the way you expected and you’re needing any help, I’ll be around.”

“Well, thank you again, Pete.”

Glancing back at Scully as he approached, Pete added, “I guess that’s all I got to say.” He walked away without waiting for her response.

Scully was frowning when he reached her side. “What did Pete say?”

“Pete just offered me his support. It was very kind of him.”

“Kind…right.” Scully’s frown deepened. “Let’s get going. I told Helen to make up a room for you upstairs from the saloon.”

“Helen?”

“Helen’s the woman who cleans the second floor for me at the Gold Nugget. She’s a nice old lady whose husband died a while back. She agreed to move into the spare room and serve as a chaperone while you’re living there.”

“Living there…like before.” Lacey’s throat choked tight as memories began flooding back. “I’m glad.”

“I’ll find a more suitable place for you as soon as I can.”

Struggling to keep up with Scully’s long-legged stride as they started across the street, Lacey was not able to reply.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

Intensely aware of Lacey as she walked beside him, Jake Scully shoved open the swinging door and stepped back to allow her entrance into the saloon. His jaw ticked at the silence that came over the barroom as she walked in.

Well, what had he expected? Did he think Lacey would return the same little girl in pigtails that he had sent away to school years earlier?

Scully remembered that little girl clearly. Lost and alone, and so brave…Charlie’s granddaughter. She had looked up at him with total trust in her eyes, and he had lost his heart to her the moment he saw her. He hadn’t doubted for a moment what he would do.

Memories of Charlie were vivid. Scully had been in his teens when he met the old man. He’d been out on his own after the deaths of his parents—jobless, homeless, without funds and unsure where his next meal was coming from. He couldn’t remember exactly how he met Charlie and struck up a conversation with him, but he did remember that Charlie bought him the first good meal he’d had in days, and that he’d never tasted anything better. He had ending up working with Charlie at his claim for almost a year before starting back out on his own with a stake that Charlie had insisted on providing. He had made good use of that stake, and he had never gone hungry again.

Nor had he forgotten Charlie. Years passed, however, before the old man walked into Scully’s saloon one day and told him he was prospecting in the area, then mentioned during their extended conversation that he had taken in his granddaughter after his daughter’s death.

The next time he saw Charlie, the affable old man was lying dead outside his burned-out cabin.

There hadn’t been a moment during the years following that Scully had doubted providing for Lacey, the poor, wounded little girl in pigtails who had needed him. But the child in pigtails was now a woman—and everything had changed.

Scully remembered the look in Pete’s eyes as he had stood protectively at Lacey’s side. He recalled the stunned silence when Lacey and he had walked through the saloon doors moments earlier.

It had started already.

The truth was, he hadn’t been ready for Lacey Stewart, the beautiful woman who had stepped down from the stagecoach, and the shock of it was with him still. Charlie Pratt had been a rare man, indeed: sincere, generous, God-fearing and God-loving, and the truest friend he’d ever had. But he had also been a scrawny little fella with a crooked smile and bowed legs. Somehow, Scully hadn’t considered for a moment that Charlie’s granddaughter would turn out to be a beauty.

And not only was Lacey beautiful, but she was also a lady, and the combination of the two had set his mind spinning.

His hand on her elbow, Scully ushered Lacey directly toward the staircase to the second floor. Barely acknowledging the greetings of a few customers in passing, he urged her up the stairs. He introduced Lacey briefly to Helen when the old woman appeared at the top of the stairs, then pushed open the door of her room to allow Lacey to enter and followed her inside, making certain to leave the door open behind them. He deposited her case on the bed and turned to face her expectant expression fully.

Lacey looked up at him, waiting for him to speak, and Scully went suddenly still. There she was…the child he had seen ten years earlier. She was visible in the trusting blue eyes Lacey turned up to his, in the shadows of uncertainty he saw there, in the faint glaze of tears gradually overwhelming them. On the outside, Lacey was a mature, beautiful woman, but on the inside she was still the little lost girl who had looked up to him…to whom she had come “home.”

And she was waiting.

His slow smile sincere, Scully said again, “Welcome home, Lacey.”

With a single, spontaneous step, Lacey stepped into his welcoming hug. With that step, the past dropped away. Lacey was again his brave little girl, and he was her protector, provider and guide for her future.

And he was glad.

The hum of curious conversation and leering snickers following Scully and Lacey’s entrance into the Gold Nugget had gradually faded. No one noticed that the swarthy fellow at the bar glanced back surreptitiously over his shoulder to scan the upstairs landing where the couple had disappeared from sight. Nor did anyone hear the angry curse he muttered under his breath before exiting the saloon as inconspicuously as he could manage.

Chapter Two

“I like the Gold Nugget. I don’t want to ‘find a more suitable place to stay.’”

Scully looked at Lacey, who sat across the small table from him in Sadie Wilson’s restaurant, the town’s only eating establishment. They had taken to having breakfast together there each morning, and in the few days since her return, an indefinable bond had developed between them that somehow erased their years of separation and dismissed the reality that they were virtual strangers. Lacey had grown into a woman whose stunning beauty left Scully a bit breathless—yet she was still the determined little girl who had walked miles in a deadening heat, injured and feverish, in order to follow through on her grandfather’s last wishes.

“Scully…”

Lacey had automatically dropped the “uncle” prefix from his name when she saw it was turning heads, and Scully was glad. He didn’t need it to remember he was still responsible for her safety and for the direction of her future.

“Scully…”

Responding with an unconscious furrowing of his brow, Scully said, “The Gold Nugget isn’t the right place for you to live.”

“You live there.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“I own the place.”

“So?”

He could not believe she could be so dense. As determined as she, Scully asserted, “Helen can’t stay indefinitely. She’ll want to go home, and your grandfather wouldn’t approve.”

“Grandpa sent me to the Gold Nugget.”

“He sent you to me, not to the Gold Nugget.”

“He sent me to the Gold Nugget to see you because he knew I’d be safe with you. I am safe with you there.”

Scully took an impatient breath. “You’re a respectable young woman, Lacey.”

“You’re respectable, too.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!”

Scully stared at Lacey. He had angered her by refuting her statement, but he couldn’t let her dodge the truth. “I own a saloon, Lacey,” he explained. “You saw Pete Loughlin’s reaction when I met you at the stage. Even he didn’t think I’d be a good influence on you.”

“He doesn’t know you like I do.”

“He probably knows me better.”

The startling blue of Lacey’s eyes linked with his. “I don’t believe that.”

“Lacey…things get pretty wild in the saloon at times. Drinking, gambling…and more.”

“Oh…”

Scully remained conspicuously silent.

She shrugged. “I’ve read the Bible, you know. I know about those things. But Jewel and Rosie both told me you don’t allow that kind of activity on your premises. They said they respect you for it, too.”

Scully’s frown darkened. How had Lacey become so friendly with the girls at the Gold Nugget in so short a time? And when had they begun talking so frankly? He didn’t like it. He needed to get her out of there as soon as possible.

He replied, “Whatever the girls said is beside the point.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“A room just became available in Mary McInnes’s boarding house this morning. It’s a fine place—clean and respectable.”

“The Gold Nugget is clean.”

“But not respectable.”

“It’s respectable enough for me.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Lacey was beginning to smart at his insistence. She countered, “Besides, I don’t have an income yet and I can’t afford to pay the board at Mary McInnes’s.”

“Pay the board…”

“That’s right. I don’t intend to let you support me forever, you know. It won’t cost you as much to keep me at the Gold Nugget until I find a position and can start paying my own way.”

“A position…?”

Lacey’s lips tightened.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No position. And I’m not supporting you. I’m only returning a favor to your grandfather.”

“Grandpa may have helped you, but in time, you went out on your own.”

“In time. It’s not time for you yet.”

“When will it be time then?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Lacey continued resolutely, “I’m not going to move into the boarding house right now. The Gold Nugget is fine.”

Scully didn’t agree. Choosing to conclude the discussion for the present, he said, “Are you finished?”

“I’m not moving out of the Gold Nugget.”

“With your breakfast.”

“Oh…yes.”

He stood up. “Let’s go.”

Lacey drew herself to her feet as Scully dropped a few coins on the table and nodded at Sadie. She felt the firm pressure of his hand on her elbow as she smiled a quick goodbye at the hardworking woman and Scully guided her toward the door. She knew she had made him angry, but she refused to let him say harsh things about himself in an effort to protect her.

Lacey raised her chin as they walked toward the restaurant doorway. A familiar passage rang in her mind.

Man looketh at the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh at the heart.

She didn’t need anyone to tell her that Scully’s heart was good. No matter how he looked, she knew the Lord could see that as well as her grandpa obviously had—and she had only to look into Scully’s eyes to see that he wanted only the best for her. As for the outward appearance part…well, maybe it needed work, but she believed the hand of the Lord had played a part in directing her to Scully, she hoped for both their sakes.

Lacey glanced at Scully where he walked beside her. Whether he chose to accept it or not, he had proved to her in so many ways that he was a better man than he considered himself to be. Also, she trusted him. She felt safe with him. Those truths had become more desperately important to her since she had arrived back in Weaver and the vague shadows surrounding her past had begun shifting in her mind.

She was determined not to burden Scully with the lingering fears that haunted her. It was up to her to resolve them. She would, too, but she needed to assume responsibility for her future first.

However, Scully did not agree.

That thought in mind, Lacey stood stock-still as they emerged onto the boardwalk. Scully was still frowning when he looked down at her, and she asked simply, “Are you angry with me, Scully?”

“Angry? No.”

“You look angry.”

His gray eyes searched her face. His gaze softened. “The Gold Nugget isn’t the place for you, Lacey. You know it, and I know it.”

“No, I don’t know that.”

“All right.” He was angry again. “Whatever you say.”

She supposed there would never be a better time.

Dislodging her arm gently from Scully’s grip, Lacey said, “I’m going to stop in at the mercantile store to see if they received any mail for me there. The girls back at the boarding school said they’d write to me the same day I left. They’re very dear. I know they’ll follow through with their promise.”

The anger in Scully’s eyes mellowed. “All right. I’ll be in my office. Come back there as soon as you’re done. I have something to show you.”

Scully did not see Lacey turn back to watch his departure after starting toward the mercantile store. Nor did he see her frown as the thought struck her that perhaps she was being unfair. Scully was a mature, powerfully masculine man. He might not consider himself respectable, but she had seen the way the respectable women in town looked at him. It wasn’t much different from the way the girls at the Gold Nugget looked at him. Maybe she should give him the space he needed.

That thought somehow difficult to accept, Lacey shook her head. Maybe…but not now.

She raised her chin and quickened her step.

Definitely not yet.

Things weren’t getting any easier.

Scully nodded automatically at the heads turning his way as he crossed Weaver’s main street. Taller than most at a height well over six feet, and with broad muscular proportions that belied his supposedly sedentary lifestyle, he was aware that he stood out in a crowd. Dressed as he was in a well-tailored dark suit and fine linen shirt, with a brocaded vest and the dark Stetson he wore pulled low on his forehead, he was also unmistakable as the owner and operator of the Gold Nugget Saloon, the most successful business in town. He had always been proud of his success. He had dressed appropriately and behaved as suited him best, uncaring of fluctuating public opinion.

Scully paused to glance back at Lacey as she walked toward the mercantile store. His jaw tightened at the assessing looks she drew from passing matrons. Those busybodies were already beginning to talk. Given a few more weeks, they would paint Lacey a scarlet woman simply because she lived in a room upstairs from the town’s only saloon—two doors down the hallway from him, the town’s most notorious bachelor.

Illustrating his concerns, Scully watched as a bearded cowboy turned with a sly remark to his friend when Lacey passed them on the street. Scully took an angry step in the man’s direction, then checked himself in time. He’d just make matters worse by defending Lacey’s honor when it needed no defense at all.

Galling him was the reality that Lacey seemed oblivious to the implications that living at the Gold Nugget raised. He was living proof that rumors—sometimes without a speck of truth—spread fast and functioned as gospel. He also knew that once damaged, a woman’s reputation was never fully regained. Charlie had trusted him with both Lacey’s reputation and her future. He owed it to the old man and to Lacey to see that she found a man who was worthy of her—a respectable man who would marry her and give her the good life she deserved.

Scully watched as Lacey neared the store entrance. It occurred to him not for the first time that Lacey dismissed her beauty as playing any part in the person she was, just as she dismissed her own purity of heart with the belief that everyone had the same spark of goodness inside them—including him. He knew that wasn’t true. He had been on the wrong side of that equation for too many years as a youngster not to realize that the spark—if it ever existed in him—had long since been extinguished. He was determined Lacey would never experience that difficult truth firsthand. He was dedicated to that resolve…more than he had ever believed he could be.

Lacey disappeared through the mercantile store entrance, and Scully took a shaken breath. Whoever that respectable man who eventually won Lacey’s hand turned out to be, he’d be lucky, indeed.

Still frowning, Scully pushed his way through the Gold Nugget’s doors. He had started toward his office at the rear when a familiar, throaty voice turned him to the sultry redhead who stepped into his path.

“You don’t have time for a good morning today, Scully?”

Scully’s gaze swept over Charlotte briefly. He remembered the first time he saw her, when she came into the saloon looking for a job a year earlier. He had known at a glance she’d be an asset in his establishment.

Scully’s smile softened. He and Charlotte had both been on their own long enough to be well versed in what the world had to offer people like them.

He responded, “You’re in early today, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” Charlotte smiled with a quirk of her arched brows. “I’ve got a lot of energy stored up, I guess.”

“Charlotte…”

She said unexpectedly, “I like her, Scully. Lacey’s a real nice girl…innocent, you know? Not like you and me, who’ve seen it all and made our choices.” Charlotte took a step closer. “I expect she’ll make some rancher a real good wife someday. She’s suited to that life. She’ll take to it like a duck to water.”

Charlotte’s heady perfume filled his nostrils as she added, “I’ll see you around, Scully.” She winked. “You know where to find me.”

Charlotte walked back out through the saloon doors, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared, and Scully looked up to the expressive wiggling of Bill’s hairy eyebrows as the rotund bartender stood behind the bar. Bill had the keenest eye in town, but Scully resented having it turned in his direction. He made a mental note to tell him so, too.

That thought firmly fixed, Scully turned toward his office, and within seconds he had slammed the door behind him.

“You’re sure you don’t know of any positions that might be open for a young woman in town…anything at all?”

Wilson Parker stared at Lacey Stewart from his customary position behind the mercantile store counter. He had been standing in this same spot ten years earlier when a bedraggled little girl walked down the town’s main street dragging a scrawny burro behind her. Nobody had been more shocked than he to see how that pale little girl had turned out.

“Mr. Parker…?”

And no one was more incredulous than he as he responded, “Do you mean to say Scully thinks that you should…that he expects…”

“Scully has nothing to do with what I’m intending.” Lacey’s gaze pinned him as her smooth cheeks colored. “Is there something wrong with supporting oneself, may I ask? If I were a man, everyone would expect it of me. Certainly being a woman doesn’t change things that much.”

“But you’re not a woman. You’re a lady.” Lacey snatched back her well-groomed hands as Mr. Parker said, “Scully wouldn’t have to support you forever, just until the right fella comes along.”

The right fella, Lacey thought. There it was again.

Lacey controlled a spark of impatience as she responded, “I have plans for the future that don’t include waiting for the ‘right fella’ to turn up, and I’ll need to earn some money in the meantime.”

“Still, I don’t think—”

“That’s the trouble.” Lacey turned toward Sadie Wilson as the matronly restaurant owner interrupted their conversation. Sadie continued, “You don’t think, Parker. You just react, and this lady here is the kind who chooses to use the abilities God gave her to support herself instead of depending on others. I’d say that’s admirable, wouldn’t you?”

“Admirable?” Mr. Parker shrugged his narrow shoulders. “For a woman your age, I suppose it is, but Lacey—”

Sadie turned her back on the storekeeper, dismissing him with a roll of her eyes that said she had heard it all before. Addressing Lacey directly, she said, “I couldn’t help hearing your conversation, and I’m thinking it might be lucky for both of us that I happened to come in here to get some things I ran out of in the restaurant this morning. The fact is, I’m going to be shorthanded at the restaurant soon. Millie—you know, the redhead with all the freckles—she’s leaving to get married at the end of the week. I’m going to be needing somebody who’s looking for good, honest work.”

Lacey’s heart jumped a beat.

Sadie searched her expression. “It’s not easy work, mind you. There’s a lot of running involved when things get busy.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.”

Appearing pleased at her response, Sadie replied, “Well then, as far as I’m concerned, you’re hired. The restaurant is busiest in the early morning and during the supper hours. I have a woman who helps at night, so I’ll try you out in the morning. If you’re agreeable, you can start at the end of the week when Millie leaves. I’ll pay you what I was paying her.” Sadie winked. “I’ll be expecting to get more work out of you, though, because Millie’s mind hasn’t been on her job lately.”

“That’s fine with me.” Lacey added, “And…thank you.”

Lacey watched as Sadie walked to the back of the store to scout out her purchases. Her heart was pounding. She had a position and she’d start at the end of the week! She’d have money to pay for her board at the boarding house and she—

Lacey’s high spirits plummeted as she bid the disapproving storekeeper goodbye and started back toward the Gold Nugget with the prospect of moving from the Gold Nugget suddenly looming closer. Also plaguing her was the prospect of informing Scully that she had agreed to take a job. He’d be angry, but she’d remind him that she’d be able to take the room at Mrs. McInnes’s sooner than she thought. That would please him. Lacey pondered that thought. But how would she feel about moving to the boarding house? Mature…responsible…finally self-supporting?

Lonely.

She’d had enough of loneliness. She had thought her loneliness had come to an end when she came home and Scully had welcomed her with open arms.

It looked as if she was wrong.

Scully looked up at a knock on his office door. The knock was tentative…uncertain. It could be no one else.

“Come in, Lacey.”

“How did you know it was me?”

Lacey stood framed in the doorway, platinum hair piled casually atop her head, intense blue eyes putting to shame the pale blue of her dress, delicate features composed in a half smile. A lovelier picture than Scully had ever expected would be his, even temporarily. The thought was disconcerting. He refrained from answering her question. Instead, he stood up, reached for his hat and said, “Come on with me. I have something to show you.”

Around the desk in a moment, Scully took Lacey’s arm. She hesitated momentarily, then said, “I suppose we can talk later.”

Talk. Talk meant continuing the same argument they’d had earlier that morning. He’d had enough of it for the day.

He drew her out of the office with him toward the saloon’s rear door.

“Where’re we going, Scully?”

Again ignoring her inquiry, Scully ushered Lacey along with him, then pushed open the door of the back entrance and urged her out ahead of him into the narrow yard.

He felt the shock that rippled through her.

Lacey gulped. She took a deep breath. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she started toward the hitching post where the small burro was tethered.

It couldn’t be…but it was!

“It’s…Careful!”

The burro’s name emerged from her lips with a sob as Lacey reached the animal in a few running steps. Careful turned his head toward her with a welcoming bray and tears streamed down her cheeks. She slid her arms around Careful’s neck and hugged him tight….

She was a child again. The days were long and sun-filled, and Careful was her loyal playmate, helpmate and friend.

The choking stench of the fire hung on the air. Her grandfather lay dead in front of her and the charred remains of her home behind her. She was terrified and alone, but Careful stood steadfast nearby.

The road was long, the sun hot. Her head throbbed, her legs ached and her throat was parched. She was afraid. She couldn’t walk any farther, but Careful trudged on beside her, limping every step of the way.

The Gold Nugget came into view at last. She couldn’t make it. She couldn’t walk another step, but Careful wouldn’t give up, and neither could she.

She was sick. She didn’t want to get better. She didn’t want to remember…but Careful was alone, and he needed her.

She was fully recovered. She was leaving for boarding school to be educated as her grandpa always wanted. She was leaving Careful behind, and the emptiness inside her ached….

So many years in between. So many clouded memories and uncertainties, but she was home again at last. She knew that now, because Careful was with her again.

Uncertain how long it took to compose herself, Lacey turned back toward the big man who stood silently watchful behind her. Aware that words could not adequately express the full scope of her emotion, she said simply, “Thank you,” then walked into Scully’s embrace.

Enveloped in joyful tears as Scully held her comfortingly close, Lacey was not aware of the well-dressed man lurking in the shadows nearby. She had not seen him lingering in the mercantile, listening intently to her conversation at the counter. Nor had she noticed him following her at a safe distance when she left the store and started across the street.

Standing still unseen, Barret Gould paused to coldly assess the emotional scene unfolding. He had overheard the statement Lacey Stewart made in the store minutes earlier. She said she had returned to Weaver with plans for the future that had nothing to do with Jake Scully. She’d added that her plans didn’t include waiting around for the right man to come along. Both were commendable statements that appeared innocent enough to the average person.

Yet the average person did not know Lacey’s secret—a secret she did not know he shared.

A slow elation expanded inside Barret. He was being given a second chance for success in a plan that had met with devastating failure ten years earlier.

He would succeed this time, and the distinguished future that had escaped him—for which he was destined—would finally be his.

Lacey Stewart didn’t stand a chance.

Chapter Three

“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.

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