Page 60 of Fairest of Heart

She’d have to make sure he eluded the law long enough to help her retrieve the jewels, but after that . . . well, the mention of a certain black velvet sack filled with melted-down gold and silver pieces in the right ear should do the trick.

Narcissa dropped Penelope’s corset and crossed back to the bed. Sliding beneath the covers, she smiled when Cecil reached for her in his sleep and tugged her close.

The heroic man was about to sacrifice his future for hers. He just didn’t know it yet.

26

The three-hour ride to Granbury in the quiet of the early morning gave Titus plenty of time to think. Unfortunately, most of his thinking centered on recollections of the almost-kiss he’d shared with Penelope the previous evening. The woman was proving quite difficult to dislodge from his mind. Yet the closer he came to Granbury, the more his senses sharpened.

Sometime during the last two days, the investigation’s purpose had shifted from seeking justice and an occupational promotion to ensuring Penelope’s safety. Hunt had been in her bedroom, for Pete’s sake. He could have strangled her or slit her throat while she slept, and Titus wouldn’t have even known of the danger until it was too late. The thought iced his blood.

Thank you for protecting her, Lord. Help me do the same.

A part of him wanted to turn Rex around and head back to the ranch to watch over her himself. But a good Ranger didn’t sit around waiting for trouble to knock on his door. He sought it where it lived and cut it down before it could wreak its havoc on law-abiding citizens.

The best way for him to protect Penelope was to find the proof necessary to arrest Narcissa LaBelle. He probably had enough evidence to charge Cecil Hunt for abducting Penelope, if she would testify against him. When she first recounted the kidnapping, she’d asked him not to prosecute Hunt, but maybe he could get her to change her mind after Hunt had broken into her room. If not, Titus could still pursue the housebreaking and corset theft. The evidence was circumstantial since Penelope had kept her eyes shut during the invasion, but if Titus could find a few corroborating details, he might have enough to take it before a judge. Only problem was that Hunt was just a puppet. One that could likely be replaced. Titus needed to take down the woman pulling the strings. A woman skilled at stretching the wool over men’s eyes and keeping them blind to her intent.

When the town of Granbury came into view, Titus eased Rex out of his canter and back into the walking pace he’d alternated between every three miles or so for rest.

“You made great time, boy,” Titus praised as he leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck. “Just a few more minutes before a nice long drink and the best rubdown money can buy.”

Titus recalled seeing a livery half a block from the jailhouse when he’d been here at the start of the week. He’d stop there first.

It was too early in the day for the livery to have collected its normal contingent of jawing old-timers, so Titus had the owner’s full attention when he dismounted.

“Name’s McGaughy,” the man said by way of introduction. He held out a hand to Titus, but his gaze fastened on Rex. “What can I do for this fine beast?”

“Titus Kingsley.” He gripped the man’s hand. “Just rode in from Glen Rose. If you’ll see Rex gets water, a rubdown, and a good brushing, I’d appreciate it. Fresh hay, too, after he’s had a chance to recover. I’m glad to pay extra. I’d like to board him overnight, as well, if you have the space.”

“For this beauty?” McGaughy grinned as he patted Rex’s shoulder. “I got all the room he needs.” He turned back to Titus. “I’ll tend him myself, Mr. Kingsley.”

“Thanks.”

After giving Rex a final pat, Titus headed over to the jailhouse and found Sheriff Morris nursing a cup of coffee.

“You carry yourself like a lawman.” Morris eyed Titus from hat to boots before setting down his cup and rising to greet his company. He was a rangy fellow, probably in his late fifties, sporting a gray mustache that matched his stern eyebrows. His forehead was tall, and his gaze direct. “You here about Clayton?”

“Yep. Ranger Titus Kingsley.” Titus pulled his credentials from inside his jacket and handed them to the sheriff.

Morris unfolded them, gave them a cursory glance, then handed the papers back. “’Fraid Ambrose ain’t here. Left town yesterday to tend to some business down in Austin. I can show you the statement I collected from him, though.”

Titus swallowed his disappointment. “That would be helpful. Thanks.”

Morris strode to a cabinet and opened the top drawer. He retrieved a leather-bound logbook, thumbed through the pages until he found what he was looking for, then, using his thumb as a placeholder, twisted the slender volume around to face Titus, and handed it into his keeping.

The sparse entry barely filled half a page. It listed a pair of diamond cuff links as the missing items, their estimated value, and the date Mr. Clayton first discovered they were missing. A short narrative followed outlining the interviews with Clayton and his housekeeper. Titus weeded out only one helpful piece of information. The last time Clayton recalled seeing the cuff links was when he dressed for a night at the theater. Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized they were missing until he began packing for his trip to Austin a few days ago and discovered they weren’t in the padded box where he kept them.

Morris leaned a hip against his desk. “Kerr told me a Texas Ranger passed through a few days back, asking about that group of actors from Chicago. Figured the Rangers were more interested in catching crooks than catching a show, so I wired in the details of the theft just in case it turned out to be pertinent.” He tipped his head toward Titus. “With you showin’ up, I reckon it was the right call.”

“Yes, sir.” Titus closed the logbook and handed it back to Morris. “There’s been a string of robberies over the last few months. All in towns where that troupe has performed. I’m hoping to catch up to them in Weatherford this afternoon, but I wanted to talk to Clayton first. See if he could testify against any member in particular.” He met the older lawman’s experienced gaze. “We’ve got a pile of circumstantial evidence pointing to the guilty parties but nothing solid enough to ensure a conviction.”

“And now that they know you’re sniffin’ around, they’re likely to keep their hand outta the cookie jar.”

Titus nodded. “Or make a run for the state line.”

Morris slapped his leg, then straightened away from the desk. “When the rifle’s empty, best reach for the six-shooter. Ain’t as accurate, but it’ll do in a pinch.” As if slapping his own leg hadn’t been sufficient, the cagey sheriff slapped Titus’s shoulder, too. “Come on. I’ll take ya to see St. Helen.” Morris grabbed his hat from a hook near the door, then headed out to the street.

The wiry sheriff with his bowlegged stride ambled south down Crockett Street, past McGaughy’s livery on the left and the Hood County Courthouse on the right. He tipped his hat to a pair of ladies with shopping baskets hooked over their arms. The ladies nodded in return, though their attention diverted to Titus with uncomfortable speed.