Chapter 9

9

Philip rolled up his bedroll the following morning, his stomach grumbling with regret that he hadn’t thought to retrieve his jerky before abandoning his coat yesterday. Not wanting to light a fire that could give away his position in the forest behind his quarry’s cabin, he’d settled for a cold tin of beans and lukewarm water for supper last night. His stealth had paid off to some extent. The red wolf that dogged the girl’s steps hadn’t sniffed him out. ’Course, that could have more to do with the animal’s training than Philip’s ability to hide. Most pets stayed close to home at night, and that wolf of hers was definitely a pet, though he’d not be so foolish as to think it tame.

Wandering down to the stream, Philip checked on his horse, then took the time to wash up and shave. Might as well try to make the best impression he could. He refilled his canteen and gnawed on a hardtack biscuit. He saddled Steele and stored the few items he’d unpacked the night before. He kept his field glasses out, though, and used them to monitor the activity at the cabin.

Miss Radcliffe emerged bright and early. She checked on the horses turned out in the corral—a wagon team and a small black mare that matched the description Mr. Johnson had given him back in Atlanta. The woman ambled about the yard with purpose. Long strides instead of mincing steps. Her movements were not without grace, but she had a natural jauntiness about her that was usually trained out of society misses. Her hooded cape was not in evidence this morning, and without the trees to filter the sunlight, he witnessed the full effect of the fire coming to life in her auburn hair. He’d seen a chestnut thoroughbred once with a coat that shone red like that when the sun hit it just right. Prettiest horse he’d ever seen.

Philip lowered the field glasses when he realized he was staring more at her hair than keeping track of her movements.

Get your head on straight. The color of her hair has no bearing on your mission.

Clenching his jaw and disciplining his mind, he continued his observations in a more methodical fashion, cataloging his quarry’s movements. She disappeared into the barn for a while and emerged with a pail, likely full of milk. Her wolf followed her around like a faithful hound. Obedient too. Didn’t even try to get into the coop to chase the chickens when she ordered him to sit. Just waited for her to scatter the feed and gather the eggs. He was rewarded for his good behavior with a thorough rubbing before she collected her bounty and reentered the cabin.

Philip tried not to imagine what delicious breakfast she might be making inside those walls, but with little else to distract him, it proved impossible. He forced himself to hold his position until nine o’clock, but the last five minutes of his self-imposed deadline were spent in the saddle watching the hands on his pocket watch count down each minute with tortuous slowness. The moment those hands formed the proper perpendicular, Philip clicked to Steele and circled around through the trees until he reached a place far enough down the road that he could approach the cabin in a way that would give the impression he’d been coming from town.

It didn’t take long for the wolf to sound the alarm. His sharp bark brought Miss Radcliffe from the house. She’d donned an apron, giving her a domestic air. She looked so ... normal. Nothing like an heiress in possession of a fortune large enough to buy half of Texas.

She stepped away from the cabin and laid a hand on the wolf’s head. The animal immediately ceased its barking. “It’s all right, Rusty. Mr. Carmichael is expected.”

She’d read the letter, then. Good. That would make this much easier.

Philip reined Steele to a halt about five yards from where she stood. He rested one hand on the saddle horn and lifted the other to tug the brim on his hat. “Miss Radcliffe.”

An odd look crossed her face. “Miss Radcliffe ceased to exist years ago. I’m Letty Hood.”

Philip dipped his chin. “I beg your pardon. Miss Hood.”

She tilted her chin slightly and gave a shallow nod that would be at home in the finest ballroom. Humble milkmaid one minute, regal princess the next. Made for an interesting woman.

“Before I invite you in, I’ll need to see those documents, Mr. Carmichael. The ones that prove you’re working for my mother.”

“Of course.” He eyed the wolf, who was eyeing him right back, and not in a manner that could be considered friendly. “Is it safe for me to dismount?”

“As long as you don’t draw a weapon.”

Philip couldn’t tell if she was serious or bluffing, but he admired her pluck either way. The risk of wolf attack would definitely make a man think twice about reaching for anything. Smart move on her part.

Taking care to keep his hands in nonthreatening territory, Philip dismounted and slowly gestured toward his saddlebags. “The papers are in here. May I?”

Miss Hood nodded.

Philip unbuckled the strap, lifted the flap, and retrieved a thin packet of folded papers along with the daguerreotype from her grandmother’s wedding. He took one step toward Miss Hood, but halted when her wolf began to snarl.

“Uh ... here.” He extended his arm, deciding it might be wise to let her come to him.

She moved toward him, her wolf pacing at her side. Distracted by the big canine eyes staring him down, Philip didn’t pay much attention to Miss Hood until he felt a tug on the papers. His gaze shifted to her face and was immediately captured by a pair of bright eyes. Were they brown or green? Both maybe? The color seemed to shift the longer he peered into their depths.

“Mr. Carmichael?”

He blinked. “Sorry.” He released his hold on the papers.

Miss Hood stepped back, her gaze scanning the documents now in her possession. She examined her grandmother’s wedding photograph. A small smile curved her lips for a moment before she shifted the daguerreotype to the bottom of the pile and unfolded the papers.

Her eyes widened. “My drawings.” She glanced up at him for a heartbeat before turning back to shuffling through the pages. “She kept these?”

“Yep. In a box full of keepsakes. Made me promise to handle them with care. Said they were priceless treasures.”

“They’re childish scribbles.”

“I don’t know. There’s some talent there.” Philip grinned. “But mothers do tend to be a tad biased.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Your mother?” Receiving a nod, Philip shrugged and did his best to recall as many details as possible. “She looks a lot like you. Her hair’s lighter, and her eyes are blue instead of ... hazel.” The term fell short when it came to describing the complexity of her eyes, but he didn’t know how else to describe them. Even as he watched, their color seemed to shift, the green becoming more pronounced.

“Has she ... remarried?” Miss Hood’s question yanked him out of the slightly fuzzy state of eye-color contemplation that had momentarily beset him.

Philip shook his head. “Nope. Far as I can tell she lives alone with a pair of servants. Her house is nice. Nothing too extravagant, though.” As he spoke, he caught a softening about her shoulders. It dawned on him that something deeper than simple curiosity lurked behind her questions. “I only met with her briefly, but one thing was abundantly clear. She is counting the hours until she can see you again.”

Those hazel eyes of hers glistened for a heartbeat, and an odd pang hit him in the chest. Thankfully it passed when she blinked and turned her attention back to the papers. She folded them with crisp movements, then extended them to him.

“I suppose you ought to come in.” She pivoted and headed toward the cabin, then stopped and spun back around to face him. “My grandmother is recovering from a spell she suffered yesterday. I won’t have her overtaxed by your visit. If I see her start to tire, I will call an end to things.”

“I’m very sorry that your grandmother is ill, Miss Hood, but I need to be sure you understand the urgency of the situation. I have reason to believe your uncle has hired men to try to find you as well. They won’t have the resources your mother provided to me, but with your birthday on the horizon, he’s desperate to get his hands on your inheritance. Every day you stay here is a day your life is in danger.”

“Which is why you’re going to take her with you tomorrow.”

Miss Hood spun around. “Grandmother!” She scurried back to the cabin, where a silver-haired woman stood in the doorway. “You shouldn’t be up.”

She took the woman’s arm, but Flora Anderson refused to budge when her granddaughter tried to gently urge her back into the house.

“I’m not going to wear out walking to the door and back, Letty. Besides, I needed to take this fella’s measure. Can’t do that sitting in my rocker while you take your sweet time inviting him in.”

“Well, he’s coming in now.” She shot a pointed glance over her shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Philip moved to follow but pulled up short when her wolf planted itself in his path and snarled.

“Leave him be, Rusty. He’s a friend.” Her brows scrunched a bit above the bridge of her nose, giving Philip the impression that his friendship status was provisional at best.

Thankfully, the beast complied with her instructions. Rusty allowed Philip to pass unmolested, though those big eyes of his watched him as if ready to pounce should his mistress change her mind.

Once inside, Philip removed his hat and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair as he scanned the two-room cabin. A kitchen complete with cookstove, small table, cupboard, and shelves loaded with preserves and canned goods stood to his left. A hearth stood to his right, two small rocking chairs angled toward each other in front of it with a pair of stacked crates serving as a table between them. A kerosene lamp, a match safe, and a short stack of books sat atop the makeshift table. Past the sitting area was an open doorway that led to a bedroom. It couldn’t be big enough for more than a bed and a chest of drawers, though. A far cry from the Radcliffe estate where a young Scarlett had been raised.

Miss Hood brushed past him after getting her grandmother settled in the first rocker. Philip twisted to look for a hook for his hat and spotted his buckskin coat hanging near the door on top of a long dark-red cape. Fitting, seeing as how they were fixing to spend quite a bit of time together. By the time he hung up his hat, Miss Hood had grabbed one of the kitchen chairs. Philip hurried to intercept her.

“I’ll carry that. Just tell me where you want it.”

She gave him an odd look before slowly releasing her hold on the back of the chair. Only then did it occur to him that she’d had virtually no exposure to gentlemanly behavior. His offer must have sounded quite illogical to someone who’d been doing for herself for more than a decade.

“In front of the hearth.” She pointed for good measure. “Thank you.”

He grinned. “My pleasure, miss.”

“Fix our guest a breakfast plate, Letty.”

Mrs. Anderson’s suggestion set Philip’s stomach to growling with embarrassing volume. Miss Hood ducked her head, but not before he caught a flash of amusement play across her face. It utterly transformed her, erasing her worries for a heartbeat and giving him a glimpse of the carefree young woman she should have been. One she could have been were it not for Drake Radcliffe’s greed.

“Don’t go to any trouble,” Philip said.

“It’s no trouble.” She waved away his meager protest. “We finished off the eggs, but there’s half a pan of biscuits left. I’ll fix up a couple with butter and jam for you.”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

It tasted even better. As did the fresh milk she’d brought to help him wash it all down. He felt a little awkward eating in front of them, though, so he didn’t take the time to savor the tender biscuit and sweet strawberry jam in a manner befitting the level of scrumptiousness the treat possessed.

While he ate, a silent conversation took place between the two women seated before him. More of an argument, if the sharp looks and stiff body posture were any indication.

“So, Mr. Carmichael, tell us about yourself.” Flora Anderson—Or should he think of her as Iris Hood?—broke the silence first. “If I’m to entrust you with my granddaughter’s safety, I need to know something more than your Pinkerton reputation.”

Philip swallowed the last bite of biscuit and glanced from one woman to the other, both expressions rather guarded. “I’m not sure what you want to know, ma’am. I hail from Tennessee, but I’ve been working in Texas for the last several years. I’m familiar with the terrain and the dangers inherent in traveling cross-country. Your daughter believes Drake Radcliffe has men watching the railroads. He’s also posted rewards with your granddaughter’s likeness in depots and law offices between here and Houston. I saw several of them while I searched. We’ll need to avoid towns and as much human contact as possible. I started plotting a course last night after meeting Miss Hood yesterday.”

Flora shook her head, cutting off Philip’s explanation.

“While I’m glad that you’ve been giving this expedition significant thought, I’m already prepared to trust your capabilities when it comes to protecting Letty’s physical person. My daughter would not have hired you without ensuring your skills. But my daughter expected that I’d be making the trip as well. My health won’t allow that at the moment. So what I need to know from you, Mr. Carmichael, is not how well you can protect my granddaughter’s life, but how well you will protect her honor.”