The Lady Who Drew Me In. Thomasine Rappold
bespoke her opinion on the matter, and he reined back his frustration.
“I am defending the man accused of the crime. I do not believe he is the killer. The boy may be able to help prove that. Several other vendors from the city pass that farm each week, and attaining their identities is crucial in producing other suspects.”
“Or eliminating them,” she pointed out.
“Either way, the boy may have seen something. Neighbors say he was out in the fields when his father was killed, but he refuses to speak of it. In the months since finding his father dead, he hasn’t spoken a word. That’s where you come in.”
She pursed her lips, as though wresting with the dilemma. The shift in her features told him she was as distressed by the prospect of using her strange ability again as she was for the boy’s situation.
“You’ll be compensated, of course. I’ll pay you for your time.”
“I have my own money, Mr. Gallway. But my husband’s cronies won’t let me have it.” She straightened her spine. “But if you assist with my husband’s will, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
He knew she’d help regardless of his answer. There was a child involved, and that’s what mattered to her now. Still, Jackson admired her attempt to use the situation to her advantage. A woman after my own heart.
“I’ll agree to review the will for loopholes, but I won’t make any promises.”
“Promises are worthless,” she snapped. “But we have a deal.”
“The child will be difficult. As I said, he refuses to speak.”
“He won’t have to,” she murmured.
The confidence in her quiet assertion was encouraging. While he still didn’t fully believe in her fantastical ability, he’d find out soon enough.
“We’ll have to travel to a farm in the Barston Mountains where the boy is staying.” He held his breath. Her reputation was at risk by traveling alone with him through the woods, but there was no way around this.
“All right.”
Jackson exhaled in relief. The boy held the key to Randal Morgan’s freedom, and with any luck he would relinquish that key to the Widow Lansing. Jackson would have what he wanted. But at what price?
“We’ll be discreet,” she said. “The child needs help.”
And with her words came a sinking feeling he couldn’t ignore. Guilt. She didn’t trust lawyers, and she didn’t trust him—and with good reason. Still, she would help. Despite her reluctance, she’d do what she could for the boy’s sake, which was just as Jackson had predicted. One day of her time was worth it to her, if she could help a child. The insight into the woman and her worthy motives prompted more guilt.
Jackson stiffened against his nagging conscience. Landing that position in St. Louis hinged on this case, and the young widow was living proof that he would use anything—and anyone—to win it.
Chapter 2
Five more minutes. That’s all he’d give her. Jackson sat in the driver’s seat of the old buckboard he’d rented in town, gazing down the deserted road through the middle of nowhere for any sign of the Widow Lansing. Involving her was a damn foolish idea, and the longer she gave him to think about it, the more tempted he was to snap the reins and move the bucket of bolts beneath him toward the mountains without her.
As he’d discovered while investigating this case, there were no guarantees, and her assistance could put her in danger. He pushed through his reservations about dragging her into his business. He was desperate.
A moment later she appeared in the distance, her slender form moving briskly through the early-morning fog. A basket in one hand and a small case in the other had left her unable to adjust her bonnet, which the breeze of her pace had blown to the nape of her neck.
Jackson jumped down to meet her.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile. A flush of exertion highlighted the sprinkle of freckles on the bridge of her nose. She looked as young as a school girl. “I’m not late, am I?”
He reached for the basket still swinging in her hand. The smell of fried chicken wafted through the checkered napkin inside. Jackson frowned. “This isn’t a picnic.”
Her smile faded. “I know that, Mr. Gallway. But it’s a long trip. I tend to get surly when I’m hungry.” She handed him the case that he assumed contained her sketching supplies. “What’s your excuse?” she mumbled as she made her way to the side of the wagon and climbed aboard, unassisted.
With a shake of his head, he placed the case and the basket into the back of the wagon and hopped up to join her. The floral scent of her hair was difficult to ignore. He sat for a long moment, entranced by the smell, staring down at the reins in his hands. He couldn’t go through with this. He had no right to jeopardize her safety, especially when he’d misled her about the real purpose for the trip.
He inhaled a long breath. “I’ve withheld from you an important detail of this case. By doing so, I’ve understated the—”
“Withheld? Understated?” She stared incredulously. “Lawyers,” she said, shaking her head. “So what is this detail you’ve withheld?”
“I believe the boy witnessed the murder.”
She gaped. “But you said he was out in the fields—”
“The neighbors said he was in the fields. They questioned him.”
“And you think he’s lying?”
“I think he’s afraid. I think his father suspected trouble when the killer arrived at the house and told him to hide.”
“To protect him.”
“Yes. Which means he may have seen the killer from where he was hiding.”
She winced as this registered. “He’s so afraid he can’t speak,” she uttered.
“Now you understand my dilemma. And discretion,” he said.
She nodded slowly, her gaze soft and contrite. “You’re protecting him too.” Her blue eyes shone with admiration, and he was struck by a sudden longing to be worthy of it.
“It’s best you go home—”
“No.” She straightened her spine. “If the poor child saw something, I can get it down in a sketch.”
“It could be dangerous.” He spoke with a fondness he’d felt for her the moment he laid eyes on her. “If I’m right…”
“You must let me try. The boy needs help.”
How anyone could refuse the woman anything, he didn’t know. Her eyes could melt ice. Not that he’d ever been a glacier when it came to women, but the young widow had a fire inside her.
“Besides, I know a shortcut,” she said. “There’s a logging trail straight through to the mountains.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come. Like it or not, he needed her help. He snapped the reins, refusing to dwell on misgivings. He’d tried to dissuade her, what more could he do? The woman was a stubborn advocate for children. Even without a change in her late husband’s will, she’d succeed with her plans for a day home, somehow. He didn’t doubt it for a second.
Jackson had a job to do, too, and he couldn’t afford distractions. Or another mistake. His scandalous affair in Troy had cost him more than his last position, but it could have been worse. He was lucky to be alive to regret it, and he’d never again let his weakness for the fairer sex overpower common sense.
His attraction to Daisy Lansing would be a challenge, but tonight he’d be miles away. That he might have a sketch in hand when he returned to