she acknowledged that Lucas Stoner was a handsome man, with strong features and thick, dark hair. But when he heard a noise outside and turned toward it, she saw the other side. A thin scar cut down his right cheek, the line marring the flesh from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. The two sides of his face were much like the man himself. Viewed one way, he was handsome, successful and charming. But the other side of him, the scarred side, was ruthless and forbidding. He was a cruel man for whom life held no meaning, save perhaps his own. She played a dangerous game, teasing a lethal opponent. Yet she didn’t have a choice. She would risk everything for the man she’d once loved. She couldn’t bring him back from the grave, but she could try to make his murderer pay.
That thought was as close as she came to allowing herself to think about Michael Kincaid, Jesse’s father. About his senseless murder and the destruction of his ranch. She dropped her hands to her lap and clutched her fingers tightly together in an effort to control the rage and helplessness that swept through her. It had been nearly six months, but the pain lingered. In some ways it wasn’t as fresh as when she’d first learned the news, but she’d loved him too much to let him go easily.
So for Michael, and for Jesse, too, she invited Lucas Stoner to her small house and into her bed in the hope of learning enough to get him arrested. For justice’s sake she played the whore and made him believe he was all she’d ever wanted.
Sometimes when she wondered how she could stand it another minute, she reminded herself she wanted to see Stoner in prison, then she wanted to watch him hang. With any luck his death would be slow and painful. At least that was what she prayed for each and every night.
“Did I smell pie?” he asked and raised the left corner of his mouth in a mocking imitation of a smile.
“Yes. I know it’s your favorite dessert and I couldn’t help myself.”
He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. The feel of his hot lips and the scent of his body made her stomach turn. She forced herself to stay completely still until he’d straightened back in his seat.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“Anything for you.” She rose to her feet and began clearing the table. As always, she refused to think about what would happen in the next few hours...what always happened. The idle chatter about his day and how brilliant he was. How he sipped coffee from the delicate cups that had been brought to this country by her English grandmother. The way he would set the cup on the table in front of the sofa, place his hands on his thighs and leer at her.
“I think it’s time, Daisy dear,” he always said, then waited for her to lead the way to her bedroom.
She hated it all. Especially his calling her “Daisy dear.” But at least he was quick. Sometimes he didn’t bother undressing all the way. He simply unbuttoned his trousers and thrust himself inside of her. Sometimes, if she ignored the burning pain and telltale wetness he left behind, she could convince herself nothing had really happened.
As she took a step toward the kitchen, someone knocked on her front door. Daisy frowned and glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway. It was already dark and after seven. Who would be calling at this time of evening... especially when Stoner left his carriage carelessly in front of her house for everyone in town to see?
She set the dishes back on the table and brushed her hands against her skirt. “I’ll just get that,” she said.
“Perhaps I’ll come with you.” Stoner pushed back his chair and stood.
Daisy crossed to the door and pulled it open. An older man stood on her small porch, his hat in his hand. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to his face. Stoner moved close behind her and supplied the information.
“Charlie, what are you doing here?” he asked.
“Mr. Stoner, I’ve brung you a message.”
Daisy frowned at the man, realizing he drove the stage. “Were you expecting a package?” she asked, glancing at Stoner over her shoulder.
“In a manner of speaking,” he answered. “What message? Was there a problem?”
Charlie turned his hat in his hands, spinning it faster and faster. He swallowed twice and a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Mr. Stoner, we had us some trouble with the stage.”
“Would you like to come in?” she asked Charlie.
“That won’t be necessary,” Stoner said, never looking away from the driver. “What happened?”
“There was a holdup.”
“I didn’t have any packages or money on the stage.”
“I know that. But you did have...” Charlie trailed off and glanced pointedly at Daisy. “You know.”
“My mail-order bride. Yes, I do know. Go on.”
Charlie began speaking, but Daisy wasn’t paying attention. So the woman had arrived. There was nothing to be done about her, of course. The poor innocent had answered an ad from a man looking for a wife. No doubt she thought she was marrying someone kind and ordinary. Not a monster. Not Lucas Stoner.
“Jesse Kincaid took her off, bold as you please. Right in front of all of us.”
That got Daisy’s attention. “What did you say?”
Charlie’s head bobbed several times. “That’s right, ma’am. Jesse kidnapped Mr. Stoner’s bride. Said he would bring her back when Stoner agreed to talk with him.” He shrugged. “So that’s what I come to tell you.”
Daisy didn’t want to look, but she forced herself to turn slowly and raise her gaze to Stoner’s face. The cold, ugly hatred there made her shrink back against the door frame.
There were several moments of silence. All Daisy heard was the sound of the hat brim brushing against Charlie’s callused fingers and the faint ticking from the clock in the hall.
“Thank you for bringing me that information,” Stoner said at last. “I’ll take care of it.”
Charlie bobbed his head again. “Yes, sir, Mr. Stoner. I just wanted to be the one to tell you. When he took her off, she wasn’t hurt or anything.”
“Thank you,” Stoner repeated, drew Daisy inside the house and firmly shut the door.
Daisy tried to gather her composure. She had to figure out how to act. She hadn’t known about Jesse’s plans, so her surprise about that had been genuine enough. The fool boy was trying to get himself killed, she thought grimly, then pushed the thought away. There was no time to deal with Jesse’s folly right now. First she had to handle Stoner. She was supposed to be his loving mistress, and as such, news about a mail-order bride should bother her. Stoner had no way of knowing she’d overheard him talking to the wire operator when he had sent the money for the woman’s ticket.
“Lucas?” she asked, as he led the way back into the dining room. “I don’t understand.”
He motioned for her to take her seat. She hesitated, then did as he requested. She rested her hands flat on the table and opened her eyes wide. For a couple of heartbeats, she allowed herself to remember the pain of watching Michael Kincaid hanged for a crime he didn’t commit. As always, the memory of the senseless
