The Engagement Bargain Read online

  Judging from her dedication to the cause, most likely not. She already had her own legacy in the making. Probably why she kept her distance. Anna had a calling.

  Anna.

  Her name whispered at his conscience. He should have kept their relationship on a more formal footing. Calling her Miss Bishop kept him detached. First, Jo had gone and said they should pretend to be an engaged couple. Then, he’d blurted out that he found her attractive. Anna must have thought their whole family was daft.

  No doubt she was ready to see the last of them both. The longer they stayed in Kansas City, the more he worried about their deception, of Anna discovering she’d been hiding out as his fiancée. He and Jo had offered their assistance, and she’d refused. There was nothing more to be done.

  Another knock sounded, and Jo scooted past him to admit a young, uniformed maid clutching a handful of bedding.

  The girl bobbed her head. “Fresh linens, miss.”

  “Thank you,” Jo replied distractedly, then turned toward Caleb. “We should talk with Anna. Make some decisions about what to do next. I don’t want to abandon her, but I can’t be away from the children any longer.”

  Her obvious longing for her children reinforced his own plans. “If Miss Bishop refuses our help, there’s not much else we can do. This was never our responsibility in the first place.”

  The maid straightened from her crouch beside the bed. “You know Miss Bishop? Did her relatives find her? Her uncle seemed quite concerned.”

  Caleb and Jo exchanged a confused glance.

  Jo touched the girl’s arm, halting her exit. “Are you certain the man was looking for Miss Bishop?”

  “Oh, quite certain.”

  His sister frowned slightly. “I don’t recall Anna ever mentioning an uncle.”

  Caleb sprinted into the corridor, relieved to see the guard stationed before Miss Bishop’s door. Taking a slow deep breath, he stilled his racing thoughts. For all any of them knew, she had a whole bevy of aunts and uncles and cousins. No need for panic. He’d speak with Anna before charging off in a frenzy. Then he’d alert the hotel staff as an additional precaution.

  A commotion snapped him upright. A shrill scream sounded from Anna’s room. Glass shattered. A male voice shouted.

  The guard whipped around and kicked open the door. In a blaze, Caleb raced after him and tripped over the maid’s linen basket. He cracked his knee on the floor. A flurry of movement caught his attention. From his awkward crouched position, he managed to grasp the man’s leg as he raced by. The assailant went down hard. Caleb scrambled upright and the man kicked out with his free leg. The blow glanced off the side of Caleb’s head. An explosion of pain burst behind his eyes.

  He lost his hold and his vision blurred. Staggering upright, he braced one hand against the wall. Someone shrieked. Squinting, Caleb made out the hazy form of the maid. He blinked a few times, unable to clear his vision.

  The man shoved the maid forward and she careened into Caleb. The collision tipped him backward and they slammed into the wall.

  Bracing his hands against the maid’s shoulders, he caught only the blurred image of her pale face in a halo of blond hair because of his impaired vision. “Are you all right?”

  “Shaken, that’s all.”

  He set the woman aside and staggered toward the stairs. Feeling along the banister, he managed his way to the lobby. By the time he reached the front doors, his vision had mostly cleared, but the improvement was too late.

  The assailant had disappeared. He spun around and searched the surrounding streets. People hustled to and fro. There was no sign of the intruder.

  He turned back to the hotel and nicked something with his foot. Bending, he caught sight of a knife, blood still visible on the blade. His heart seized.

  He took the stairs two at a time and burst into Anna’s room a moment later.

  Miss Bishop leaned over the guard who lay writhing beneath the broken window, his hands clenching his face as blood seeped through his fingers.

  Caleb’s pulse thundered in his ears, adrenaline still coursing through his body. “Are you hurt?”

  He knelt beside Anna and grasped her shoulders, turning her toward him. He kept his arms rigid, resisting the urge to crush her against his chest. Her scream had taken a decade off his life. The vision of the bloody knife was still forefront in his thoughts.

  Seconds before, he’d been making plans to leave her. Now he couldn’t let her go. His fingers remained clenched on her upper arms, his arms shaking. She was safe and nothing else mattered. Nothing else mattered except finding the man responsible.

  “I’m fine,” she replied, a tremor in her voice. “This poor man took the brunt of it. The intruder had a knife. He must have thought I was sleeping.”

  Caleb released her, tearing his fingers away, hoping she didn’t notice his reluctance. Jo caught his stricken gaze, and he quickly looked away, afraid she might read the raw emotion behind his actions.

  After quickly ensuring the guard’s wound was superficial, he stood and crossed the room.

  While Anna and Jo plucked glass from the floor, Caleb leaned out the broken window and briefly searched the roofline and the ground three stories below. A flash of silver pipe caught his attention. No other movement flickered in either direction. The intruder had obviously swung in from the fire escape attached to the adjoining room, a dangerous endeavor, but obviously not impossible. Even if Caleb made the jump as well, the man already had a head start, he was no better off than before. He’d never find him.

  With a muttered curse, he snatched a towel from the washstand and pressed it against the guard’s face. “This isn’t as bad as it looks. Facial wounds, well, they tend to bleed more.”

  He should have been with her. He should have alerted the guard instead of lingering in the corridor like an inept fool. He should have done a lot of things differently. Anna might have lost her life because of his hesitation.

  From that moment on, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. “What happened? Did you see who did this?”

  Anna swiped the hair from her face, inadvertently smearing the guard’s blood across her forehead. “I was resting and I heard a noise. A man broke through the window.”

  A desperate act. Though the room faced the much-less traveled alleyway, it was broad daylight. The man had climbed the fire escape three stories and navigated a narrow ledge, probably holding the pipe Caleb had eyed below in order to break the window. The guard outside the door had thwarted any attempts of gaining entrance through the hotel, forcing the ill-fated break-in attempt.

  Reality slammed into him. The man had been mere feet from Anna. Shooting someone from a distance was impersonal. Stabbing or bludgeoning someone at close range was far more heinous.

  Jo turned toward the stricken maid cowering near the door. “Fetch the doctor. He should know the way by now.”

  Anna’s jaw tightened. “This has gone too far. I’m going to hire that fidgety Pinkerton detective and find out who’s responsible before someone gets killed.”

  “The offer still stands.” Jo crouched beside them. “You can come to Cimarron Springs with us. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. Won’t we, Caleb?”

  “Of course.”

  Anna didn’t answer immediately, and neither of them pushed her for answer. Not that her reply mattered. He’d talk her into coming back with them, no matter how long it took.

  Caleb caught his shirt cuff over his wrist and anchored the material with his fingers, then lifted his arm, gently wiping the blood from her face with his sleeve. The events of the previous week came rushing back. How close they’d come to losing her. Not once but twice.

  When the last evidence of the blood had been wiped away, he realized his hands were shaking. He’d let Anna say her piece, but he planned on arguing their case un
til she saw reason.

  She lifted her lashes and met his steady gaze. His breath caught in the back of his throat. She had the most fascinating, expressive eyes. A blue so deep and pure, he was drawn into the exquisite pool of color.

  She tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m wondering... That is...”

  Her rare hesitation had his attention. He edged closer.

  Close enough that if he leaned just a little farther, he might touch his lips to the curve of her ear. “You were saying.”

  His breath whispered against her cheek.

  Curiosity overcame him. Her unspoken words became paramount.

  “I’m wondering if we should...”

  The guard sat up between them with a grunt, bumping them apart, the reddened towel pressed against his face. “Hey, now, what’s wrong with you people? I’m bleeding to death here.”

  Caleb bristled at the interruption. “It’s only a scratch.”

  The guard lurched upright, and Caleb hooked his arm beneath the man’s elbow, pulling them both into a standing position.

  He reached for Anna, but she’d turned away. Disappointment knotted in his stomach. The moment was gone. She’d lost her courage. Whatever she’d been about to say was lost to him forever.

  With a startled gasp, Mrs. Franklin appeared in the doorway. “For goodness’ sake. I only left for a moment and it’s chaos.”

  Guiding the injured man toward a chair, Caleb motioned for the widow. “Can you see to him? He’s been cut on the cheek. It’s not deep. It looks bad, though. You know how these facial wounds are.”

  She studied the wound with an expert eye. “I saw plenty of those from my boys growing up.”

  A sorrowful shadow passed over her eyes. She cleared her throat and dusted her hands, as though brushing away the troubled memories of her lost sons. “Let’s see what’s to be done.”

  Caleb held out his hand and reached for Anna. Her fingers clasped his, trembling.

  His momentary annoyance at the interruption fled. “You’ve had a fright. Would you like to lie down?”

  A delicate shudder swept through her. “I’ve had enough of lying about to last a lifetime. Besides, I believe the bed is otherwise occupied.”

  The guard had slumped from the chair onto the bed. Flat on his back, he clutched his face and stared at the ceiling, moaning.

  Mrs. Franklin reached between Anna and Caleb. “Just amongst us,” she spoke in a harsh whisper, “I’ve tended children with stronger constitutions than this one.”

  In a scene eerily reminiscent of the one that had played out only a week before, the room descended into a flurry of controlled pandemonium. The doctor arrived, his chest puffing with exertion, and the guard was stitched up with much groaning and complaining before he was hustled away.

  Once the four of them were alone again, Anna perched on the edge of the bed. Jo continued gingerly plucking the shards of glass from the floor, and Caleb took the only chair.

  Mrs. Franklin paced the room, her hands behind her back. “Mr. McCoy, you’re a far better surgeon than Dr. Smith, and Anna is a far better patient.”

  Jo paused in her work and scrunched up her nose. “You’d have thought he’d been cleaved in half with all that whining.”

  “Let’s not be so quick to judge.” Anna hid a grin. “We all experience pain differently.”

  Mrs. Franklin straightened the plain white collar adorning her serviceable gray dress. “It is becoming increasingly clear that the detective was correct. This is the second attempt on Miss Bishop’s life. She cannot possibly stay in Kansas City, and St. Louis is equally unsafe. There is an obvious solution to our problem.”

  When Mrs. Franklin failed to complete her thought, Caleb rolled his hand forward. “And what solution is that?”

  “I shall accompany Miss Bishop to this town of yours. What was the name?”

  “Cimarron Springs,” the three other occupants of the room spoke in unison.

  “I shall accompany you to Cimarron Springs. While one person might raise a few eyebrows, the two of us will attract less attention.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jo offered cheerfully.

  Anna shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.”

  “You’re not asking. I’m offering. This is the best solution. You need care. Jo has her own family.”

  Caleb’s sister, normally eager to add her opinion to any conversation, remained oddly silent.

  “I took the liberty of making a few inquiries while the three of you were foiling murder attempts,” Mrs. Franklin continued brusquely. “There is a property owned by a Mr. Stuart for rent.”

  Caleb slanted a glance at Jo. “Surely you don’t mean that shack at the end of Main Street. It’s hardly habitable.”

  “Idle hands make the devil’s work.” The widow paused once more in her pacing. “I shall enjoy the challenge.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” Anna sputtered. “But why would you do such a thing? I don’t know how long I’ll be staying. Won’t you be missed here?”

  “I’m a widow. I go where I please. And I want to help. Isn’t that enough?”

  Jo broke in before Anna voiced another objection. “I think it’s a good idea. The Stuart house is on the same side of town as ours. And it’s right across the way from Caleb. You’ll practically be neighbors.

  “Neighbors,” Anna said weakly. “This all seems a little too neat and tidy. I sense collusion.”

  Jo had the decency to look abashed. “I might have mentioned the availability of the house and its convenient location over breakfast with Mrs. Franklin.”

  “The location is fine.” Caleb made a mental note to strangle his sister once they were alone. “It’s the condition of the place.”

  Not to mention Anna would be a stone’s throw away. Every day. Even if he wanted to ignore his longing for her, how could he? The more time they spent together, the harder it would be to forget her.

  She looked at him then, and for the first time he realized she’d done something different with her hair. Her appearance was softer somehow. She’d donned a blue dress this morning, almost identical to the color she’d worn that first day. The shade suited her. One silky, dark curl rested against her flushed cheek. His fingers ached to touch the loose strands.

  “Caleb.” She spoke his name softly. “What do you think?”

  If she’d called him Mr. McCoy, his answer might have been different. He might have been stronger.

  But she hadn’t.

  She’d called him Caleb. He knew at that moment he’d do just about anything to hear her speak his name again. He’d do just about anything to see her like she was that first day—shaking her fist at the crowd, bullying them all into action.

  He’d give her the answer he dreaded most, because even if her presence scraped at his resolve, he’d rather have her near. For an hour, for a day, for a week. For whatever amount of time God deemed fit.

  He’d rather spend this little time with her than never see her again.

  “I think it’s an excellent idea.”

  All he had to do was avoid her for the next few weeks. She’d be living a stone’s throw away from him. In Cimarron Springs. A town with more cows than people.

  Avoiding her shouldn’t be a problem at all.

  As long as he never left his house.

  Chapter Seven

  “If you’re certain.” Anna exhaled her pent-up breath.

  For reasons she didn’t want to explore, his opinion mattered. If he’d offered any dissent, any sign of reluctance, she’d never agree.

  He’d spoken without hesitation. Her fate was decided.

  “I still have absolutely no idea who would want me dead. This all seems a little ridiculous,” she said.

  She was no
t the Great Victoria Bishop. She was only the daughter of the Great Victoria Bishop. There was no reason for anyone to want her dead.

  Caleb remained pensive. He’d moved from the chair and stood with his shoulder propped against the door, his arms crossed. The pose was already familiar. Comforting.

  “There’s something else.” Anna stared at her folded hands. “The guard was hurt today because he was protecting me. You must consider the safety of your families. Mrs. Franklin, you have your own well-being to consider.”

  “I survived the War Between the States,” Izetta said. “Nothing can frighten me off after that horror.”

  “My husband is the town marshal,” Jo said in exasperation. “You can’t get much safer than that.”

  Caleb spoke last. “I can take care of myself.”

  They’d offered their friendship and protection, though she had nothing to give in return. The realization humbled her even as a nagging sense of unease lingered. This was not the sort of arrangement her mother would approve of. Quite the opposite. Victoria Bishop would stand fast. Face the problem dead to rights. She’d never scuttle to the countryside like a startled crab cowering beneath a dark ledge.

  The three impersonal telegrams her mother had sent rested on the night table. Boston was a world away. If Victoria Bishop didn’t like her daughter’s choices, then she could tear herself away from the cause and help Anna instead.

  For once Anna didn’t want to be the new rising star in the suffragist’s movement. She didn’t want to be the illegitimate daughter of Victoria Bishop. She wanted to be herself, not a figurehead or, worse yet, a legacy. Mostly, though, she didn’t want to see the censure in the townspeople’s eyes.

  And there was always censure. The women’s movement brought change, and change frightened people. Men and women alike. They’d thrown eggs and rotten tomatoes at her. Often before a picketing, her knees quaked and her heart pounded. The trick wasn’t gathering courage like seashells along the beach; the trick was trusting that courage would come when one needed it most. This time she wasn’t waiting on nerve.