Faith’s eyes widened, and the fear exploded in her mind. If she screamed, would anyone hear? The depot next door was empty for the night. The ferryman down at the dock had retired for dinner and bed. There was a warehouse on the opposite side—perhaps someone remained there this evening. Or perhaps someone walked by on the street out front of the office. She opened her mouth, but all that emerged was a squeak before the man clasped his other hand over her mouth and turned her like a side of beef that hung from the hook in the butcher shop down the road.
He propelled her to the door, saying, “Let’s go awaken that husband of yours, shall we?”
Faith pressed against him with all her might, but it was like struggling against a brick wall. The man was a giant compared to her, and all she could do was force her feet to move in the direction he wanted. He pushed her through the open door.
Faith’s eyes watered as they entered. Something about going inside felt far too final. He would discover soon enough that Beau wasn’t here . . . and then what would happen?
“No loud noises, understand?” he whispered in her ear.
She nodded as best she could with his hand still pressed against her mouth. He didn’t need to elaborate on what might happen if she didn’t comply; her imagination easily filled in what went unsaid. He removed his hand and she drew in a shuddering breath as he dragged her to the table where she’d left the lamp. He lit it easily before turning his attention back to Faith.
“Where is he?” the man asked, his fingers still digging into her arm.
Faith swallowed hard. It wouldn’t take him long to discover Beau wasn’t here at all. Which, it seemed now, was for the best. She didn’t want to think about what this man might do if Beauwashere. “He left.”
The man narrowed dark eyes that looked even more ominous in the shadows cast by the lamp. “You said he was asleep.”
“I certainly wasn’t going to tell you I was here alone.” It was too late to continue that farce. All she could hope was that she didn’t interest him in the least—or that she could reach that pistol in the office.
He grunted, his eyes already searching the room. Without a word, he grabbed hold of the lamp and dragged her down the short hallway. He kicked open the door to the only bedroom, which was, of course, empty. Finding nothing there, he pressed her forward through the door to the office. The room was dark with no fire lit on such a warm night.
He looked about the space before finally setting the lamp down on the table. And then he bellowed into the house, “Landry! It’s Lyon, and I’ve got your woman. Show your face and I’ll consider letting her go.”
Silence greeted him in return.
“I told you he isn’t here,” Faith said.
He turned a sharp gaze back to her. “When do you expect him back?”
Faith tried to shrug, as if Beau’s leaving and this Lyon’s presence didn’t bother her in the least. While in reality, her stomach knotted, her palms had gone damp, and she was sure Lyon could hear every beat of her heart. “I don’t. He’s gone and left me.”
He snapped his gaze back to her, that scar shining in the lamplight. “Of his own accord, or did you run him off?”
“I don’t see how our marriage has any bearing on your business with Beau.” Faith lifted her chin. She’d decided it was best if he didn’t think she feared him.
He gave a short laugh and finally let go of her arm. “Sit.” He pointed at the settee where Beau usually slept.
Faith settled onto the cushions, forcing herself not to rub her arm where he’d gripped it so tightly. Lyon still stood, looking around the room again. His perusal stopped at the corner, between the settee and the wall.
Where Beau’s carpetbag sat.
In two steps, he’d scooped it up and dropped it on the settee next to Faith. He rifled through what was inside and then looked back at her. “If he’s left town, as you say, why didn’t he take this bag?”
Faith pressed her lips together. In truth, she didn’t know. He’d also left his clothing where it hung in the bedroom. “I suppose he was in too much of a hurry.”
Lyon shook his head and tossed the bag back into the corner, where it hit the wall and fell open on its side. “I don’t think he’s left at all.” His eyes gleamed at Faith. “Why don’t we wait right here for his return? He’ll come dragging his tail between his legs as soon as he loses enough money.”
He believed Beau had gone out to play cards. What would he do when it became evident that wasn’t the case? “I spoke the truth,” Faith said, clasping her hands together in her lap. “He won’t be back tonight.”
“We’ll see. If he doesn’t show his face before morning, then you and I will go back to New Orleans. He’ll come crawling out once he discovers we have his pretty wife.”
Faith pressed her hands to her stomach. She had to do something, but what? Lyon stood with his hands on his hips, pistol easily visible now as the metal glinted in the lamplight. Not that he needed it. After all, what match was she against a man of his size? He could drag her out to the prairie or down to the river right now, and there would be nothing she could do about it. And it was far too late for customers—no one was coming here to save her.
Desperation rose from deep inside, and Faith bit her lip to keep from letting tears spring to her eyes. She wasnothelpless. She had survived so much already—a move from the only home she’d known to this desolate place, the death of her adoring husband, running this office without him as she grieved, being pushed into another marriage . . . and losing her heart to a man she wasn’t entirely certain she could trust, much less one she could depend upon seeing again.
If this Lyon thought he could cart her off to Louisiana to use as bait to trap Beau, he didn’t know her at all.
He settled himself into one of the chairs across from her, and Faith’s mind began to clear itself. Aaron had kept that pistol behind the counter because while he loved and trusted the people in Last Chance, he was also smart enough to know they were living far enough from civilization that this town could draw desperate men. He was resilient and self-sufficient. And so was Faith.
