"All right, forget it. If anyone wants to object to you leaving town, they can take it up with me. We'll check you out of the Noble, and…"
Colt's thoughts took flight when he spotted a teal-blue coach coming down the street in their direction, surrounded by a dozen mounted, armed riders. It was followed by another coach, not quite as large, and then still another. Bringing up the rear were three large wagons piled high with baggage and supplies, and being led alongside them, four of the most mag-nificent Thoroughbred horses to ever show up west of the Mississippi.
"Christ, what in the hell.?"
Colt only vaguely heard Billy's question. It had to be the same question running through everyone else's mind too, except his. All along the street folks had stopped to gawk, or were coming out of stores for a better look or leaning out of windows. What had to be half the children in town were running along beside the cavalcade, as if it were a circus come to town and they didn't want to miss a moment of the excite-ment.
"I thought she'd have arrived long before now," Colt said absently, his eye on that lead coach.
Billy looked sideways at him, as if he had said the moon was green. "You know these people?"
Colt recalled himself and stepped off the boardwalk to untether his horse, turning his back on the street— and her. "I met up with the ladies in that lead coach across the San Pedro. They'd gotten separated from the rest and their coach turned over, so they needed some assistance."
Billy didn't miss how Colt was deliberately ignor-ing the spectacle in the street. "Across the river, huh?
What were you doing that far west of here?"
"I'll follow a river anytime, rather than the roads. You meet up with less undesirables that way."
Billy grimaced, the point taken. "So who are they?"
"The ladies are English. I didn't meet their escort, but from the looks of them, they're all foreigners."
"I'll say," Billy remarked.
He was staring at one of the wagon drivers decked out in a flowing white robe, and wearing some kind of large kerchief over his head instead of a hat. The twelve-man guard was also dressed strangely in that they all wore identical red coats with short capes attached, navy blue pants with a black satin band down the outer seam, and tall hats of a military bent.
"Hey, they're stopping," Billy said with some sur-prise.
Colt swung around and swore. "Christ, she wouldn't — and in front of a damn saloon?" She did, and one of her guards even rushed forward to open the door for her. He caught a glimpse of that glorious red hair before he quickly mounted up. "That woman hasn't got any more sense than you do, Billy."
"Why? All she's doing is getting down and. and I think she's coming to talk to you."
Colt refused to look at her again. His blood was already heating, just by his knowing she was only a few feet away.
"She won't if I can help it. I'll meet you in front of your hotel."
Billy's eyes widened. "You're not going to wait and—"
"You know how these people will react if they see her talking to someone like me."
Billy bristled, hating it when Colt degraded himself like that. "Maybe she could teach folks a thing or two about judging a man by his worth."
Colt didn't even bother to answer that. He jerked his horse to the side and took off down the street.
Billy was left staring at the most beautiful redhead he had ever laid eyes on. She had stopped in the middle of the street, and the expression of keen disappoint-ment on her face as she watched Colt ride away made Billy want to kick his half brother on the seat of his pants — not that he would ever actually dare, but he sure wanted to.
And what had Colt accomplished anyway, when everyone watching her — and everyone on the whole street was watching her — could see who she was watching, who she had intended to speak to? It sure wasn't Billy, for after Colt rode off, the elegant red-head turned about and, after a few words to one of her escorts, got back in her coach and continued down the street.
Chapter Eight
Vanessa opened the door of their suite in the Grand Hotel to find Babette giggling in the hall with Mr.
Sidney, one of the two footmen constantly vying for her attention. "Well, come along, girl," Vanessa said impatiently, giving Sidney a look of stern disapproval that had him quickly leaving. "I managed to get her to lie down with a cold compress, but she won't relax until she hears what Alonzo has to report. You do have his report?"
"But of course." Babette grinned, her artfully arranged blond ringlets bouncing as she hurried into the room. "Alonzo, he finds where the 'Merican goes, but how long he stays there…" The French maid shrugged.
"Well, as long as he stays put for whatever it is she intends, though I can't imagine what that is. She did say he refused employment." Vanessa frowned then, staring at the closed door of Jocelyn's bedroom.
"On second thought, maybe it would be better if she didn't see him again. I haven't seen her burst into tears like that since those first months after the duke passed on."
"Is no wonder, after everything that is happen to-day-"
"Oh, I know, I know," Vanessa replied, still amazed that none of their people had been seriously hurt during the ambush. Though two men had been wounded and put to bed under a doctor's supervision, they could travel again if the need arose. "But that's not why she cried. The nerve of that rogue, to snub her like that."
"Maybe he did not see her, yes?"
"Maybe."
But Vanessa didn't believe that for a minute. And although she was surprised at how keen Jocelyn's in-terest was in this man, she wasn't sure it was wise for her to pursue that interest, not after all she had told Vanessa about her encounter with him. He sounded much too. unusual.
"Did Alonzo also find out what a half-breed is?"
Babette's pale blue eyes rounded, remembering that part of the report. "Oh, yes, but you will not like it, I think."
"I didn't suppose I would," Vanessa remarked dryly. "Come along, then."
The countess knocked softly before the two women entered the darkened bedroom. The sun had just set, though there was still a lavender sky visible through the open windows, with just enough light to show that Jocelyn was not sleeping; was, in fact, sitting up and looking expectantly at her young maid.
Vanessa motioned Babette to turn on the lamps before saying, "I took the liberty of ordering a light repast that should be delivered shortly. I don't know about you, but I certainly don't feel up to changing for dinner tonight."
Jocelyn frowned at her dear friend. "You should have been the one to lie down, Vana, especially after that terrible headache you suffered this morning. There's certainly nothing wrong with me—"
"— that a little food and rest won't see to," Vanessa finished, her tone brooking no argument.
Jocelyn sighed. It was easier to give in to the count-ess when she got into one of her mothering moods, which she had been in ever since Jocelyn had suc-cumbed to that silly burst of emotion just after they were shown to their suite. She looked at Babette again, who was still flitting from lamp to lamp. There were six of them in this room alone.
The accommodations were very adequate, consid-ering what they had been led to expect: that most Western towns were small, their hotels even smaller. This being the first Western town they encountered, its large size was a welcome surprise, as was the se-lection of hotels they had had to choose from. The Grand was not on a par with the luxurious hotels on the East Coast, but it certainly tried to be. And they had been able to rent the entire second floor here, which was ideal for security purposes.
"Enough, Babette," Jocelyn ordered with impatience. "How much light does Alonzo's report warrant?"