Page 43

T resia removed a pecan pie from the oven, slid a knife into the center to make sure it was done, then set it on the windowsill to cool.

Her gaze settled on Avery on the swing, her little legs pumping hard, Cecily, the doll, on her lap.

Her giggles drifted in through the window, causing Tresia to smile.

Oh, how she loved this little girl! Loved her father, too, though that had come as quite a surprise.

And she was going to marry him. It would be a small wedding, just Devlin and her in front of the Justice of the Peace. Lucy and Merrill would witness their vows. Avery, too.

She took a step away from the window, then set about washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. Her hands were deep in the hot water when a knock sounded on the front door.

“Coming!” she called out, dried her hands, and then hurried through the parlor.

She didn’t open the door, not with the reporters about.

Instead, she looked through the etched glass at the woman standing on the front porch.

Porcelain skinned and dark haired, dressed in the latest fashion, she was beautiful…

in a hard, cold kind of way. In that one instance, Tresia knew this woman was used to giving orders and expecting them to be carried out without question.

A woman of authority, whether real or perceived.

Beyond the woman was a carriage in front of the gate—a big, fancy carriage, not something she’d normally see in Serenity.

Even the richest man in town did not drive a carriage like that.

A man sat in the driver’s seat, his arms folded across his chest, his head moving back and forth as if afraid he might miss something.

She let out her breath, unaware she’d been holding it. She knew, without a doubt, who stood on the front porch. Frances Emerson Comstock.

Tresia backed up, choosing not to open the door, but the decision was taken out of her hands as the door flew open and Frances took a step over the threshold, barging into the house without invitation or permission, her piercing deep brown eyes narrowing as she studied her from head to toe.

The corners of the woman’s mouth turned upward, but it would never be mistaken for a smile.

Tresia backed up another step, startled by her audacity.

“I saw you looking outside. Who are you?” Frances’ voice was almost as brittle as her smile on top of being haughty.

Taken aback by the bluntness and pure arrogance of the question, Tresia started to answer, but Frances waved her off. “It doesn’t matter who you are. You’re just some whore he’s taken to his bed after what he did to my daughter.”

Tresia bristled beneath the words. She was no whore and to be accused of such struck her to the core. And Devlin hadn’t done anything to this woman’s daughter except love her. “I beg your pardon.”

The woman laughed and brushed past her like she didn’t even exist then walked over to the settee beneath the window.

She made a production out of pulling a handkerchief from her reticule and swiped at the sofa cushions several times before sitting down, indicating in silence that Tresia wasn’t a good housekeeper.

Tresia could do nothing except stare at her, stunned beyond comprehension.

Devlin had told her what Frances was like, but she’d never seen anything like how this woman acted.

All of her acquaintances, even the public she dealt with at Sullivan’s, were kind and polite, with the notable exception of Arnold and Willetta.

They could both take lessons from Frances in pure contempt. “What do you want?”

If Frances was surprised, she didn’t let on. “So you know who I am.”

Tresia straightened. “I do. Devlin told me about you.”

“Devlin, is it?” She flashed that smile, which wasn’t a smile at all, as she tugged the pristine white gloves from her hands.

“Hmmm, I suspected as much.” She glanced around the neat parlor, apparently noticing the carved wooden horses on the floor.

Her nose scrunched with distaste before she turned her attention to her.

“Where is my granddaughter? I want to see her.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “Now.”

“No.” The word slipped from Tresia’s mouth before she could stop it.

If possible, Frances’ eyes narrowed even more, becoming dark slits, and her mouth dropped open before she closed it with a snap of her teeth. She acted like she’d never been told no before. Perhaps she hadn’t and from all appearances, she didn’t like it one bit.

“Excuse me?” Frances rose from her seat in one fluid motion and took two steps toward her.

Tresia noticed how her hand clenched and unclenched, as if preparing to hit her for her defiance.

After what Avery told her, it wouldn’t have been the first time Frances resorted to violence.

She could see why Avery had been so quiet, so afraid to do or say something wrong, when they’d first met.

Frances was intimidating, bordering on frightening.

Devlin hadn’t lied when he said the woman was a force to be reckoned with.

“I said no.” Her heart thundered in her chest. Where she got the gumption to defy this woman, she didn’t know but defy her she would. For Avery. For Devlin. For herself. “Not without Devlin here.”

She took another step in Tresia’s direction. There was barely a foot between them now, so close, Tresia could see the fine lines surrounding her eyes. “You have no right to keep her from me. I am her grandmother. Her blood. You—” she scoffed “—you’re nothing. No one.”

“I may not be anyone to you, but I am to that little girl. This is wrong as your behavior and your demands leave something to be desired.” Surprised by her own bravado, she straightened as she looked Frances in the eye and continued, “I will not be intimidated or spoken down to, not by you or anyone.”

A spark of—was that appreciation?—lit the woman’s eyes and the brittle smile returned to her mouth, though it was still not quite a smile.

She turned and headed back to the settee, seating herself again.

Every muscle in Tresia’s body tensed, waiting to see what Frances would do in the face of her boldness.

“Well, then, where is my no-good bastard of a son-in-law?”

“He’s working.”

Frances raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you go get him?” she asked, too sweetly to be anything other than a ploy.

“No, I don’t think I will.” She glanced out the window at the carriage and the man sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Why don’t you send your driver for him.

I’m sure he’s in the Marshal’s Office. I’m also sure you know exactly where that is and why you came here instead of going there.

If you think, for one moment, I’m going to leave you alone with Avery, you are sadly mistaken so either go get Devlin yourself, send your man for him, or wait. ”

“I’ll wait.” Frances settled herself more deeply into the settee and folded her hands neatly on her lap, beaten for the moment, but probably not for long. Indeed, she was probably thinking of ways to get exactly what she wanted, which was Avery.

Tresia gave a slight nod. “Fine. I’ll make some coffee.” She left the room, smiling to herself a little. Just because Frances was rude and nasty didn’t mean she had to be. She’d show her how to be a gracious hostess…even if it killed her.

She started the coffee on to boil then glanced out the window, not trusting the woman who sat in the parlor one inch.

If there was a man in front of the house, there very well may be another in the back, one willing to take Avery while she was distracted.

Avery was fine though. She’d gotten off the swing and was now happily digging another hole in the ground.

No one lurked in the shadows. She just hoped that Avery would stay outside for the time being.

No reason for her to see her grandmother and become upset.

She gripped the edge of the sink, her heart once more settling into a steady rhythm and not the chaotic pounding seeing Frances Emerson Comstock had caused, then she moved away and put the coffee service on a tray.

Several times, while she waited for the coffee to be done, she peeked through the doorway to make sure her guest was still there.

She was. In fact, she hadn’t moved at all though she looked like she could jump out of her skin at any moment.

“Hey, Dev, I saw a carriage, pretty fancy one, too, in front of your house. You got company?” Rafael asked as he entered the office, his usual smile in place.

Devlin glanced up from the paperwork on his desk to get the bounty on Ned Delany paid. “Fancy carriage? In front of my house?”

Rafael nodded as he came closer. “Got a big burly cowboy sitting up front, just watching the road, like he’s looking for trouble.”

He rose from his desk, his stomach clenching.

Frances.

She was here.

His heartbeat picked up its pace as adrenaline rushed through him. He grabbed his hat, slammed it on his head, then stalked through the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Rafael called after him, then followed on his heels. “Do you need help?”

He glanced at his deputy, his jaw clenched, his hand on the doorknob. “I might need you to keep me out of my own jail.”

Rafael stiffened. “What?”

Devlin opened the door and walked through, his pace quickening. Rafael followed him as he made a beeline past the small stable and into the street, coming up behind the carriage, speaking over his shoulder as he did so. “That man…that’s Seth Humbolt.”

“Is he an outlaw?” Rafael huffed, forcing himself to keep up with Devlin’s near run.

“No, but damned close to it,” Devlin answered though he didn’t have time for all these questions. “I want you to keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t move. Hold him at gunpoint if you have to.”

“What’s going on, Dev? Who is at your house?”

“Frances Emerson Comstock. My mother-in-law.”

“Shit.”