I wanted to ask him about the fire, and what happened to the bad man who had taken me but I didn’t have the energy. I could barely keep my eyes open. My head hurt too much and all I wanted to do was sleep. I fought off the darkness but it engulfed me again, so when he told me to rest, I willingly obeyed him.
Roscoe lifted me up to Shane and my arms went around his neck instinctively. I was safe. His strong arms around me reassured me and although every single muscle in my body was sore, I relaxed. I didn’t have to worry anymore. Shane and Roscoe were here.
The rocking of the horse beneath us lulled me back to sleep again but I wasn’t frightened anymore. Each step was taking me closer to safety and home, not Philadelphia and Mr. Yates.
I don’t know how long we rode for but when I opened my eyes again we were riding into a tiny town, much smaller than the town I had stepped out into when I disembarked the train. Only a few buildings lined the single street and I could only see one horse tied to the hitching post outside the saloon.
“Where are we?” I croaked, for I knew it was not Bridgewater.
“We’re going to stop in a hotel for a bit,” Shane told me. “Roscoe has gone on ahead to get us a room and a bath. We all need one.”
“Oh.” I closed my eyes again. Nausea still plagued me and my head was still fuzzy, but I think I was improving. The rest definitely helped. I buried my face back in Shane’s shirt then wrinkled my nose in distaste. He stunk! Smoke, mostly. And he was covered in black soot. The fire! How had I forgotten about the fire? The event that had set all this off?
“The man who took me, he set the fire,” I told Shane.
Shane gasped and I felt him stiffen. His grip on me tightened.
“He told me,” I continued. “And he killed Coleton. Mr. Yates – the man my brother promised me to – was paying him to bring me back to Philadelphia.” A sob caught in my throat as I realized just how close Mr. Yates had come to getting what he wanted. I knew that already being married would not have saved me; if anything, it would make things worse. I would feel the full force of Mr. Yates’ wrath.
“You’re safe now love,” Shane assured me. His fingers dug into me so tight they almost hurt. Anger wafted off him like a cloud. I could tell he wanted to say more but he was a gentleman, and a gentleman watched his language in front of a lady. “Nobody is going to hurt you again, I promise. We won’t let them.”
“Good.” Despite the odor of smoke on his clothes, I snuggled tighter against him, finding protection in his strong arms.
Shane reined up outside a two-story wooden building at the end of the small, dusty street. I held onto the saddle horn while he dismounted, then he reached up and lifted me down, holding me tightly while I wobbled on unsteady feet. I clung to him and soon my legs found their footing and were able to take my weight although I still felt clumsy. I tucked my hand under his arm and followed him inside.
Up in the room Roscoe had arranged for us, a tub full of steaming hot water had been brought up, along with a washcloth, a towel, and a bar of scented soap. It had been a long time since I’d had such luxuries. When Father had been alive we had nice soap, of course. We’d had the best of everything, back then. But once John started gambling away our fortune we had to make do with the soap Cook made. I couldn’t help but smile at the fragrance.
Roscoe had already cleaned himself up, and while he helped me strip off my clothing, Shane splashed water into the washbasin on the stand against the wall and washed his hands and face, getting rid of the black soot that covered him. By the time he turned back to me, his wet hair slicked back, his sleeves rolled up exposing now-clean forearms corded with muscle, he looked a different man.
My husbands’ took a hand each and carefully helped me into the tub. I sighed happily as I sank into the warm water, letting it soothe my aching body. Roscoe dipped the washcloth in the tub and wiped my face, placing a hand on my hair to hold my head still. Between them, they meticulously soaped up every single inch of my body and rinsed me clean, leaving no part of me untouched.
“How much damage did the fire do?” I asked. “Was it as bad as he said?”
“He?” Roscoe asked questioningly.
“The fire wasn’t accidental,” Shane snarled. “That bastard set it. A decoy, to keep us busy while he took Elise.”
“He killed Coleton too,” I said. “His death wasn’t an accident either. He set up the whole thing. Mr. Yates must want me back pretty badly.”
“He’s not having you,” Roscoe growled. “You’re ours. And we mean to keep you.” He frowned angrily. “I should have killed that bastard while I had that chance, you were right,” he said to Shane.
From my perch in the bath I looked up at the face of my men, watching the anger flit across them. Their fists were clenched so tight the muscles in their forearms popped up.
“I’m glad you didn’t kill him,” I said softly. “Knowing that you showed compassion to a man that didn’t deserve it, makes me love you more.” Roscoe’s hard expression softened and he looked at me tenderly. I’m sure it was love that shone in his eyes. “But you didn’t tell me how much damage was done.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Shane
