Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“Thank you,” he said, watching her closely. “Byrony, Laurel is a lovely woman, you know that. She’s also somewhat manipulative. Don’t regard anything she does.”

“Why should I?”

“You shouldn’t. Now, I believe it’s getting near time for dinner.”

Byrony didn’t want to see her husband. She got her wish. He didn’t appear for dinner.

“Lord only knows where he is,” Laurel said pleasantly as she eyed Byrony. “Doubtless he’s found something—or someone—to keep him busy. You know how he is, Byrony.”

“Yes,” Byrony said, “I know how he is.”

“Shut up, Laurel,” Drew said. “Byrony, would you please pass me a piece of that delicious chess pie?”

At five o’clock the following morning, Byrony slipped out of the house and walked briskly toward the stable. She kept looking behind her. Brent hadn’t returned the previous evening, and the slaves weren’t about yet. She had no reason to sneak about. She had one valise and six hundred and fifty dollars she’d taken from Brent’s strongbox. She saddled the mare, Velvet, took one long last look at Wakehurst, and urged the mare into a gentle canter. She wasn’t running away. She was giving Brent a choice. It would be up to him.

Besides the money, she’d taken his gold cufflinks. She’d detailed everything in a letter to him. Oh yes, she thought, she’d given him a choice. Dear God, he had to make the right decision.

Two hours later, the steamboat New Orleans belched smoke into the air and pulled away from the Natchez dock. Byrony stood on the deck, her hands on the railing. She found herself searching among the crowd of men and women on the dock. Suddenly she thought she saw him. But no. She turned her thoughts to her plan. She couldn’t wait to see what he would do, what he would say. He would eventually return to San Francisco, at least she believed he would, despite what he wanted to do about her. And when he did, he’d find her running his saloon.

My child, she said silently, touching her fingers to her stomach, I won’t cheat you out of what is rightfully yours. She was spinning her plans and developing more and more outrageous alternatives by the time Natchez faded from view.

Brent reined in his horse in front of Wakehurst, exhausted, but inordinately pleased with himself. Everything was finally set in motion.

He was met with pandemonium.

THIRTY-FOUR

The mare Byrony had hired from Luke Harmon’s stable in San Diego shied at the sound of a woman’s loud shout.

“Byrony, my darling girl, what a surprise. I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?”

Byrony scrambled from the mare’s back, quickly tethered her to the stable fence, and rushed into her mother’s arms. She felt te

ars sting her eyes at the burst of love she felt. She hugged her mother to her, talking all the while. Suddenly Byrony became aware of her fragility. My God, she thought, loosening her grip abruptly, she could feel her mother’s ribs clearly.

“Mother,” she said, her voice choking a bit as she drew back a bit to look into her beloved face. “I came to see you for a little while.”

“I’m glad, love,” Alice DeWitt said, wiping the edge of her apron over her eyes. “Come inside and we’ll chat while I make dinner. Oh, Byrony, it’s so good to see you!”

Byrony looked around as she walked beside her mother toward the house. The small homestead looked much better than it had before. The house was whitewashed, the sagging front porch railing repaired. There were at least a dozen squawking chickens pecking about near the stable.

“Yes,” Alice said, “it does look a bit better, doesn’t it? The money from your hus—from Ira Butler comes on time each month.”

“And your husband doesn’t spend it all.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Alice hugged her daughter to her side. “Where is Mr. Hammond?”

Byrony said smoothly enough, “He’s still in Natchez, Mississippi, working at the plantation. He will join me soon in San Francisco.”

“I wanted to meet him. He is good to you? He treats you well?”

“He doesn’t beat me, if that’s what you mean.”

Alice sighed. “Your father has known so many disappointments, Byrony, you really shouldn’t—”

“Everyone knows disappointments, Mother. Most people don’t resort to hitting others who can’t defend themselves.”

“Please, Byrony—”