Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

Jules, who had scampered upstairs at the rapping on the front door, heard him say to Michael, “It hurts, Doc. Bad.”

“Come in here, Avery,” Saint said, “and let’s have a look.”

When he joined Jules sometime later, he saw that she was pale and looked very guilty. He took her in his arms and hugged her. “No, sweetheart, it’s all right. The man is just fine. No infection. I gave him some laudanum.”

“I feel so bad!”

“I didn’t charge him, not even for the laudanum, and you know how much I pay for that. How’s that for salving your conscience?”

She nodded—reluctantly, he thought—then said unexpectedly, “Do all men consider a woman to be a whore if she’s alone?”

“Of course not. Well, not always. It’s San Francisco, sweetheart. So many of our females are prostitutes. Poor old Avery probably took one look at you and didn’t give a damn about what you said to him. In the future—”

“I know, I know, Michael. Behold a docile creature!”

“I should live so long,” Saint said, and kissed her. “What about Thackery?” he asked her sometime later.

Jules was thoughtfully silent for a long while. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I do know that Wilkes is out there somewhere. I feel it, as odd as that sounds. I don’t understand why he would still want me, but I know that he does. It really makes no sense, does it?”

It made no sense to Saint either, but he privately agreed with her. He said nothing, however, for it would only add to her fear. He said instead, “How about we find Thomas and invite him over for dinner this evening.”

She brightened immediately. “Yes,” she said, “I should like that, if . . .”

“If what?”

“If he leaves early!”

“Greedy woman,” he said fondly.

Thomas was aware of the change the moment he saw his sister’s face. “Well,” he said, “how are you?”

“Wonderful!” Jules hugged him close. “Lydia made your favorite dish—roast sweet potatoes and pork chops.”

“Lead on,” said Thomas.

They had no sooner got settled at the dining-room table than Saint said, “Why don’t you move back here, Thomas?”

“But—”

“No, no, please, brother,” Jules said.

“I really don’t think it would be wise, Jules,” Thomas finally forced himself to say. “Just as for Saint, the sofa’s a bit on the short side for me.”

Jules flushed just a bit, then levered her chin upward. “You may have the spare bedroom. Michael has decided that he misses his old room, his old bed—”

“—and his young wife,” said Saint. “I’ve finally tamed the little twit, Thomas.”

“So I see,” Thomas said, “so I see. It’s about time. Did you beat her, Saint?”

“Not really,” Saint said, frowning a bit at himself as he remembered her reddened bottom. “Well, not much, in any case. Just enough to get her attention.”

“Ha!” Jules said. “He’s a brute, Thomas.”

“I don’t suppose I’m going to hear this story?” Thomas asked somewhat pensively.

Saint sent a wicked glance toward his wife. “You mean the story of my pulling down her drawers and beating her—”

“Michael!”