She heard a crash followed by the sound of glass breaking. She pictured a vase slamming down on top of Lucas's head. She couldn't sit still another second. She unlatched the door and jumped down to the pavement. She started forward, then stopped when Lucas appeared in the open doorway.
Taylor hadn't realized how worried she was about his safety until she saw he looked quite all right.
"Thank you, God," she whispered.
She heard the driver let out a loud groan. The man sounded ill to her. "We'll be leaving in just a moment, my good man," she called out. She didn't turn around to look up at the driver when she gave her promise. Her attention was fully directed on her husband. She was trying to discern from his expression if he had good or bad news.
He wasn't giving her any hints. He'd just reached the roadway when a figure suddenly appeared in the doorway of Westley's house. It was a man, and when he shifted his bulk into the light, Taylor could see Henry Westley quite clearly. Lucas had obviously punched the man in his nose, for blood trickled down from the injury and covered his mouth and his chin. She watched as he wiped the blood away with the back of his left hand. His right hand was behind his back. He was staring at Lucas, a look of hatred on his face, and when he raised his right hand, she spotted the gun. What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion, yet only a second or two passed before it was over. Westley brought the gun up and took aim. His target was Lucas, his intent unquestionable. He was going to shoot him in his back.
There wasn't even time to shout a warning. Taylor took aim just as Lucas suddenly whirled around. He fired a scant second before she did. Taylor's bullet struck Westley in his left shoulder. Lucas was more accurate. He shot the gun right out of his hand.
The gunshots shook the driver out of his stupor. He straightened in his seat, grabbed hold of the reins, and was just about to slap the horses into a full gallop when Lucas reached the carriage. He swung the door wide, literally tossed Taylor inside, then followed her. The door closed on its own when the vehicle rounded the corner on two wheels.
Taylor straightened in her seat across from her husband. She was so rattled she didn't even realize she was still holding her gun in her hand. She was pointing the weapon at her husband. He reached over and took the gun away from her before the vehicle hit a bump and she accidentally made a eunuch out of him. Taylor watched him without saying a word. He put the gun in his pocket, then leaned back against the cushion and let out a long, weary sigh.
"How did you know?"
She'd whispered her question. "Know what?" he asked in a much louder tone of voice.
"That Westley was going to shoot you," she explained. "I didn't even have time to call a warning… but you knew he was there. Was it instinct? Did you feel him behind you?"
He shook his head. "You warned me."
"How?"
"I was watching you. Your expression told me all I needed to know," he answered. "And when you raised your hand-"
She didn't let him finish. "You shot him before I did."
"Yes."
"I should have killed him."
"You could have, but you didn't. It's simple, Taylor. You chose not to."
"As did you," she replied.
"Yes," he answered. "But for an altogether different reason." He went on to explain before she could question him. "You didn't kill him because of morals I suppose and I let him live because I didn't want to get involved with the authorities. Killing him would have made things complicated. Boston is different from the mountains."
"How?" she asked.
"You don't have to answer to anyone in Montana. It's still… uncomplicated."
"You mean lawless."
He shook his head. "No, not lawless. But the law's different out there. Most of the time it's honest. Sometimes it isn't."
Lucas was stalling because he didn't know how to tell her what he'd just learned. It was going to break her heart, and he couldn't think of a way to ease the torment he was going to cause.
"I hate the smell," she blurted.
"What smell?"
"Guns. I hate the smell after you've fired. It stays on your hands and your clothes for hours. Soap doesn't get rid of it. I hate it."
He shrugged. "I never noticed it," he admitted.
Taylor took a deep breath. Her voice was strained when she whispered, "Did you find out anything?"
"Yes," he answered. He leaned forward and took hold of her hands. "The woman taking care of the children…"
"Mrs. Bartlesmith?"
He nodded. "She's dead," he told her then. "But it wasn't cholera. According to Westley's wife, the woman keeled over and was dead before she hit the floor. She had a history of heart problems."
"What about the babies?"
"Westley admitted they cleared the house of all valuables and sold off everything. They also took the little girls home with them."
"I see," she whispered. She gripped Lucas's hands.
Lucas couldn't stand to witness her pain. "Listen to me, Taylor. We're going to find them. Do you understand what I'm saying? We will find them."
"Oh, God," she said. She could tell he hadn't told her everything and she was suddenly too frightened to ask.
"They aren't with the Westleys any longer."
"Are they still alive?"
"Yes." His voice was emphatic. She took heart.
"Then where are they? What have they done with my babies?"
Lucas let go of her hands and pulled her into his arms. He settled her on his lap and held her close. He wasn't simply offering her comfort. Honest to God, he didn't want to see her expression when he told her what the bastards had done.
"We're going to find them," he promised once again.
"Tell me, Lucas. Where are the babies? What did they do to them?"
He couldn't soften the truth.
"They sold them."
Chapter 11
The world is grown so bad that wrens make prey
where eagles dare not perch.
—William Shakespeare,
She didn't get hysterical. For a long while she didn't say a word. In truth, she was too stunned to show any reaction to the news. Then anger such as she had never felt before took control. It invaded her mind, her heart, her very soul. She became rigid with her fury. She wanted to kill Henry and Pearl Westley, and in those horrible moments of desolation and white-hot rage, she thought she might be capable of cold, premeditated murder. She would rid the world of such vile, contemptible animals and send them to the fires of hell where they belonged.
Reason finally prevailed. The devil would certainly thank her for the gift of two more souls, but then he would also own her soul as well. Murder was a mortal sin. Dear God, she wished she didn't have a conscience. She wanted to make the Westleys suffer the way she was suffering, but in her heart she knew she couldn't become both judge and jury and kill them.
Taylor wanted to lean against her husband's chest, wrap her arms around his neck, and demand his comfort. She suddenly longed to be dependent upon his strength but was so appalled by the notion, she immediately pushed herself off his lap and moved to the opposite seat. She adjusted the pleats in her skirts, all the while praying she would be able to find a few threads of her composure.
"I must be strong now. I can weep later."