Prince Charming

She could feel the ruffians gaining on her. She picked up her skirts and hurried on across the road. She kept the elderly couple between her and her stalkers. She spotted several shops ahead. Her panic eased just a little. She decided she would go inside one of the establishments and ask for assistance in handling the men chasing after her.

She was sorry she hadn’t thought about bringing her gun with her. Because Cincinnati was such a polished, sophisticated city, she’d never considered the possibility she might need that sort of protection. Why, they were civilized here, for God’s sake. Didn’t the country ignorants behind her realize that?

She turned to see how far they were behind her and noticed the couple she’d been using as a shield had turned to walk down the alley she’d just passed. She wasn’t about to follow them. God help her, she was suddenly all alone on the street. She heard one of the hooligans giggle. Her stomach lurched in reaction.

She was certainly frightened, but she was also becoming furious. She wasn’t going to become a victim, she told herself. By God, she would scream, bite, and kick and make enough racket to draw a good-sized crowd.

Where were all the bobbies when you needed them?

Her panic was growing. What she really needed, she instructed her Maker, was a little miracle. Nothing fancy, she hastily qualified, just a tiny, barely noticeable miracle. Please, God, please . . .

Her prayer was answered. The miracle was just a half a block away. A gun shop. Right smack in the middle of the next block. Taylor had only just finished her prayer when she noticed the boldly painted sign waving like a banner above the shop for anyone and everyone to see.

God bless Mr. Colt, Taylor thought when she reached her destination and saw the display of sixshooters in the window. She let out a sigh of pleasure and rushed inside.

The bell hanging down over the door alerted the shopkeeper she was there. He seemed to be the only other person in the store. She smiled in greeting and hurried down the center of the aisle to the counter at the back of the store.

The owner was actually a little frightful looking at first glance. The poor man had obviously been in a fire, for his face, neck, and hands were covered with thick burn scars. He didn’t have any eyebrows at all. Because of his marks, she couldn’t judge his age. He had a full head of brown hair though, and because it was tinged with gray, she assumed he was at least forty. He wore thick wire-rimmed glasses. They kept slipping down the narrow bridge of his nose, and he kept pushing them back up.

The owner was obviously uncomfortable about his appearance. He averted his face when she drew close and asked her in a clipped, no-nonsense tone of voice if she required any assistance. He addressed his question to the countertop.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I would like to look at the Colt on the shelf behind you. Is it perchance loaded?”

The owner handed the gun to Taylor, then reached behind him to collect a small square box of ammunition. He placed the box on the counter next to the gun.

“We don’t keep any of the guns loaded here,” he explained.

Taylor opened the box of ammunition, then picked up the gun. Before the owner could stop her, she loaded the weapon.

“Whatever are you doing, miss?” the man asked, his alarm obvious in his tone of voice.

He dared a quick look up at her face. She gave him a wide smile. She was about to explain her reason for loading the weapon when the bell sounded behind her.

“You’ve got a loaded gun there,” he told her in a stammer.

She nodded agreement. “Yes, I do, thank God, and just in the nick of time. Will you excuse me for a moment?”

She didn’t give him time to argue with her. She turned around just as the two hooligans started down the center aisle. The wooden floor creaked under the pounding of their boots.

They came to a quick stop when they spotted the gun in her hand.

“It ain’t loaded, Elwin,” the shorter of the two companions told his friend. He smiled at Taylor then, a nasty, malicious smile, and she noticed he was missing a considerable number of teeth. He was without a doubt the most disgusting individual she’d ever come across.

“She’s trying to bluff us all right, Wilburn,” his friend said.

The man named Elwin looked around the shop, then nudged his friend. “Lot’s of fancy guns in here,” he remarked with another loud snicker.

Wilburn nodded. “You the only one working here?” he shouted to the owner.

“I’m betting he is,” Elwin speculated.

The owner started to bend down below the counter. “Stay right where you are,” Wilburn shouted. He turned to his friend. “Might as well rob the place while we’re here. There’s got to be a storeroom in back. We could take turns with the little lady in there.”

Elwin snickered again. Taylor wanted to shoot him.

“Oh, Lordie,” the owner whispered behind her.

She didn’t take her attention away from the vile men in front of her when she sought to calm the shopkeeper. “It will be all right, sir.”

“It ain’t going to be all right for you, little lady,” Elwin drawled out. He nudged his friend in his ribs and let out a low giggle. His hat dropped down lower on his brow. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she guessed they were as ugly as the rest of him.

They took a step toward her. She cocked her gun in preparation. He stopped, grinned, pushed his hat back on his forehead, and took another step.

Taylor blew his hat clean off his head.

He let out a howl. The sound of gunfire muffled his cry and reverberated throughout the store. The glass in the front window shivered from the noise. The bullet lodged in the door behind the villain.

Elwin looked flabbergasted. Taylor thought that was an appropriate reaction.

“She get you, Elwin?” his friend asked. He squinted at his friend, looking for a mark.

Elwin shook his head. “She didn’t even nick me,” he boasted.

“She wasn’t bluffing,” his friend whispered.

Wilburn’s face turned red. He took another step toward her. Taylor shot a hole in the tip of his boot.

Wilburn made a try next. Taylor was losing her patience. She shot a hole through his boot, too. He jumped back and stared down at his feet. He wiggled his toes to make sure they were all still there, then glared at the woman who’d just ruined his boot.

“Nope, she ain’t bluffing us,” he told his companion. “We’re going to have to rush her.”

Taylor let out a dramatic sigh. “They’re really very stupid, aren’t they?” she called out to the owner.

She heard his chuckle behind her. “Yes, they are,” he agreed.

Elwin didn’t like hearing the insult. His face turned as red as a ripe tomato. He started to reach into his pocket. Taylor cocked her gun again.

“We’ve got to wrestle that gun out of her hand,” Wilburn decided.

Elwin shook his head. “You wrestle with her,” he suggested in a mutter. “Can’t you see where she’s got her fancy gun pointed? My personals are in her sights. She’s crazy, Wilburn. No telling what she’ll do. She might not miss us with her next shot.”

Both men mulled the matter over for a few seconds before they started backing away.

“We ain’t going to forget you,” Elwin promised.

“We’ll get you all right,” Wilburn added.

The shopkeeper took control then. He snatched up the loaded rifle he kept hidden on the bottom shelf and shouted a warning.

“I’ll shoot you both if I have to, and I’ll get you in your middles. Now get over there by the wall and keep your hands up high where I can see them.”

Taylor turned to the owner. “How much do you want for this gun? I’ve taken a liking to it. I would like to purchase it, sir.”

He shook his head at her. “You can have it without charge. You saved me from getting robbed and most likely killed. I’m in your debt, miss. If you’ll only just tell me your name and address, I’ll put it in my log. Each

Colt is registered, you see, with its own number. It’s a way to match the gun up with the owner.”

“My name’s Taylor Ross,” she answered. “I’m staying at the Cincinnati Hamilton House, and I do thank you for this gift.”

The shopkeeper kept his rifle trained on the two culprits now cowering together against the wall. Taylor tucked her gun in the pocket of her coat. She took the long way around the men on her way to the front door.

“Will you make certain they stay here for a little while? I don’t want them following me.”

“Don’t you worry none, miss. As soon as my partner gets here, I’ll send him to get the authorities.”

“Good day to you then,” she called out as she opened the door.

“Miss?” the owner shouted.

She paused at the threshold. “Yes?”

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

“Scotland.”

She was pulling the door closed behind her when she heard his response to her answer.

“If that don’t beat all.”

Taylor walked all the way back to the hotel. She stopped at the first Catholic church she came upon and went inside to light a candle for Madam. She sat in the pew for close to an hour. First she prayed, and then she talked things over with her grandmother. She felt better and certainly more in control after her visit to the church. In truth she wasn’t certain if it was because she’d prayed or because she had the protection of a gun in her pocket.

It was dinnertime when she reached Hamilton House. As much as the thought of food repelled her, she knew she should eat something. She was already feeling nauseated.

She hurried to the Ladies Ordinary, took a table in the corner, and ordered soup, two biscuits, and a pot of tea. The waiter tried to talk her into eating a more substantial meal. She graciously declined his suggestion. She nibbled on one biscuit and decided to take the other one back to her room in case she started feeling queasy again. She barely touched the vegetable soup, but the tea tasted wonderful to her. When she was finished with her sparse meal, she felt refreshed. The feeling didn’t last long. After she’d had her bath and changed into her nightgown, she was worn out. She fell asleep on the settee while she waited for Lucas to come back.

She didn’t wake up until the following morning. She found herself in her bed. Lucas must have carried her there. He’d changed his clothes, too, for the shirt he’d worn yesterday was looped over a chair.

They were still looking for the babies. Why was it taking so long? Taylor tried not to become discouraged. She got dressed, then went over to the writing table to make a list of things she could do to help in the search.

The more people they had looking for the children, the quicker they’d be found, she reasoned, and so she wrote out an advertisement to place in the local newspapers. Then she considered hiring several private investigators. If they’d been raised in Cincinnati and kept their ears opened to the goings on around the city, one might have already heard about the twins. Perhaps the hotel’s management could recommend a few good investigators.

Taylor also considered making up flyers and pinning them all around the city offering a substantial reward for information about the twins.

If they were still in the city . . .

The day dragged. She decided to show Lucas her list that evening. If he didn’t have any valid objections to her plan, she would place the advertisement with the papers in the morning. Perhaps he or Hunter would have a few suggestions to make as well.

Being idle was driving her crazy. She paced and she prayed, but the time still dragged by. Oh, how she wished Victoria were here. She needed someone to talk to and her friend was such a compassionate, caring woman, she would know the torment Taylor was going through.

She prayed her friend would be on the four o’clock train today. It was almost half past three now. Taylor went to the wardrobe to get her coat. She was going to go back to the station, of course, but this time she was taking her gun with her.

She filled the chambers with more of her bullets, tucked the gun in her pocket, and was just putting her coat on when the door opened and Hunter and Lucas walked inside. She was thrilled to see them until she got a good look at their faces. They both looked disheartened.

“You didn’t find them, did you?”

Lucas shook his head. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “Not yet,” he qualified when he saw her crushed expression.

He looked exhausted. The weariness was evident around his eyes. And in his voice.

She wanted to tell him he mustn’t lose heart or give up but caught herself before she voiced what he would surely take as an insult.

“You need to get some sleep, Mr. Ross,” she said. “Rest will clear your head. Are you hungry? There’s a biscuit on the table over there.”

She realized how inadequate the offer was as soon as she made the suggestion. “I’ll be happy to go and get both of you some proper food.”

She turned to Hunter. He was leaning against one of the wardrobes watching her.

“What about you, Hunter?”

“I’ll get something later,” he replied.

Taylor nodded. Her expression was filled with anxiety. She was gripping her hands together and looking close to breaking down. Hunter looked at Lucas to see what he was going to do about comforting his wife.

No help there, he realized. Lucas looked bone tired. Hunter shook his head at his friend. “You never could keep up with me, could you?”

“The hell I couldn’t,” Lucas replied.

Hunter snorted. He turned back to Taylor. “We have one lead that could prove helpful. We’re waiting to hear.”

“Might prove helpful,” Lucas stressed before Taylor could get her hopes up. He didn’t want to see her disappointed again.

“We should know in a little while,” Hunter interjected.

“Where were you going?” Lucas asked. He seemed to have only just noticed she had her coat half on.

His question reminded her of her errand. “To the station to see if Victoria is on the four o’clock train,” she explained while she struggled to get her arm in the sleeve of her coat.

Hunter started across the room. He stopped suddenly and turned back to Lucas. “She’s got a gun in her pocket,” he told his friend. “She always carry one?”

Because she was standing directly in front of him, she decided to answer his question. “Cincinnati is far more dangerous than I thought it would be,” she explained. “I had a near miss yesterday. How did you know I had a gun in my pocket?”

“The bulge,” he answered.

She told him how astute she thought he was because he’d noticed, then pulled the gun out of her pocket to show him. “It was a gift,” she explained.

Lucas was still leaning against the door. He was so tired he barely paid any attention to the conversation. He wanted a hot bath and hotter food. He needed a good eight hours sleep, but he knew he couldn’t waste the time on such a luxury. Time was critical now. The leads were still warm, and if they were ever going to find Taylor’s nieces, they would have to move fast.

His instinct told him the little girls were still in the city. Hunter felt the same way. He’d questioned a man, more drunk than sober, but still reasonably coherent, who swore he’d seen the little ones with the Border brothers just two days before.

The Border brothers. Lucas’s skin tightened at the mere mention of the name. The two men were as evil as Satan, as sneaky as a jackal, and as mean dispositioned as a rattler. Lucas couldn’t wait to get his hands on the bastards. They used to be in the business of selling for a couple of prostitutes. The younger of the brothers took a fancy to cutting up the women, and it wasn’t long before his butchering put an end to the enterprise. They moved on to another profitable business. They still bartered anything and everything, but their specialty was children now. Orphans, the man told Hunter, were their preference. No complications, he’d explained. The more fortunate ones were sold to coupl

es out in the wilderness who needed help running their farms. The prettier children weren’t as fortunate, for there were men with . . . What had the man said? Unusual cravings.

Oh, yes, the Border brothers. They deserved to die a slow, agonizing death, and Lucas felt he was just the man to deal out the punishment. Hunter would probably get in his way though. He’d already made the claim that he was going to skin the pair alive.

No doubt about it. One way or another, by Hunter’s knife or his own hand, the brothers were going to die. Justice would be served.

Lucas pushed himself away from the door, rolled his shoulders to take the stiffness out, then turned his attention to his wife. For the last few days and nights, he’d been forced to move in the shadows of the dark, foul sewer of the city, and he desperately needed to cleanse his mind now. He needed Taylor. She represented warmth and brightness and beauty. He would confront the beast later. For now he wanted only to surround himself in her scent and her magical touch. She was as welcoming as the sun to a man who’d been hiding in the darkness for too damned long.

Hunter was drawn to her as well. Lucas had never seen him spend this much time talking to any woman. He was sure talking up a storm now. Lucas wasn’t jealous or even irritated by his friend’s behavior. His trust in Hunter was absolute. He understood his need as well, for the two of them were very alike.

Taylor didn’t realize how she’d affected his friend. She accepted his smile as an ordinary occurrence. She didn’t have a clue how amazing it was for Hunter to ever smile at all.

Hunter looked like he wanted to laugh. Taylor was leaning against his side while she pointed out all the clever little changes in the gun Hunter held.

His friend kept giving him glances. Lucas walked forward. He decided to find out what his friend found so amusing.

“The gun is registered with its own special number,” Taylor was explaining. “But did you know that each piece, before it’s fitted, is also etched with the same number? If only a part of the gun is found, the number could still be read.”