Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

She said, “I must see him, Michael, before we leave.”

“Yes,” he agreed. Jesus, the last thing he wanted was to face her damned father again, but there was no hope for it.

He heard Jules whisper, “It’s my fault, all of it.”

12

Unfortunately, Saint saw, there were no signs of iodine on Reverend Etienne DuPres’s jaw.

“Get out and take my harlot of a daughter with you!” he shouted, and tried to slam the front door.

Saint, without much effort, pushed him back.

“It’s your fault,” Jules’s father yelled as he fell back, shaking his fist at Jules. “Your poor brother, beaten because he tried to protect you!”

“Ah, so now you will admit that John Bleecher attacked your daughter and not the other way around?”

“I admit nothing!”

“Father,” Jules said calmly, “I would like to see Thomas.”

Saint saw the man’s face flood with rage, and quickly said, “We will both see Thomas. A

fter all, he was to accompany us back to San Francisco today. Come, Jules.”

“No!” DuPres shouted. Saint shoved him aside as if he were naught to be bothered with. “You little slut—you should have been destroyed the moment you emerged from your mother’s womb!”

Saint turned at the foot of the stairs and said very calmly, “If you do not keep your mouth shut, sir, I will break your jaw. This time, I will ensure it is broken. Do you understand?” He took one menacing step toward the man.

“This is my house!”

“Fine,” Saint said. “Remember that this is also your daughter and that I, sir, am your son-in-law. I assure you, that fact is the only blot I know of in my family history.” He shook his head. “You really are quite a paltry man.”

He felt Jules’s hand on his sleeve, and turned to walk up the stairs with her. “Easy, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “You knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. Ignore him. He is not . . . well.”

“I have come to realize that he is rather narrow,” Jules said. She gazed up at him a moment. “Even if your children were awful, you wouldn’t treat them like he treats me, would you?”

“If they looked like you, I’d give them huge bear hugs.”

Thomas managed a travesty of a grin when his sister and Saint came into his bedroom.

“Good Lord,” Saint said on a whistle, “you look colorful enough to become a country’s flag!” He walked to the bed, lifted Thomas’ hand, and took his pulse.

“I’ll live, Saint,” Thomas said. He winced slightly when Saint gently placed his hand on his belly and pressed here and there.

“Yes,” Saint said, “you most certainly will—we need more good doctors. I’m taking Jules away today, Thomas. You of all people understand that she must leave. I am leaving money with Reverend Baldwin. When you are well enough, you will book passage and come to San Francisco. All right?”

Thomas closed his eyes a moment and choked down his tears. “Yes, Saint,” he managed. “God, everything has been such a muddle, and now this!”

“I know. Now, tell your sister that you’re going to live.” Saint rose and stood aside.

“Stop looking at me as if I were on my last legs, Jules,” Thomas said to his white-faced sister. “Don’t be a fool . . . come on now. I’m fine, just fine. Don’t you believe your husband? I’ll be with you in a month, you’ll see.” The spate of words exhausted him, and he laid his head back heavily on the pillow.

“Thomas, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Women,” Thomas scoffed, biting down on the awful pain in his ribs. “Watering pots and silly twits, all of you. Cut line, Jules. You heard Saint—I’ll be fine.” He was beginning to feel like a parrot, dammit! But birds didn’t want to kill, he thought, and to kill John Bleecher would give him the greatest pleasure at the moment.

Jules leaned down and kissed her brother’s pale cheek. She stroked her fingertips over his bruised jaw. “I love you, Thomas. We will both build a fine life, you’ll see.”