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Cade's Justice
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Author'snote
Copyright
“What possible motive did you think I had?”
Cade’s darkly challenging stare made the fine hairs at the nape of Emma’s neck rise. “Let’s see…” His gaze performed a leisurely inspection of her bedraggled person. “Well, there’s always the possibility you might want to trade the use of your delectable body for a new wardrobe, some hard cash and plush living conditions.”
Emma’s corset seemed to have instantly shrunk. She couldn’t get a decent gulp of air. And, from the heat flaming across her cheeks, she knew her face must be scarlet.
“It’s not very flattering that the thought never entered your mind.” He sounded disgruntled.
“But why should I have thought that you’d…?” She swallowed. Her mind was suddenly filled with images of what he’d been thinking she was capable of doing. Kissing him. Letting him kiss her. And surely much more, though she wasn’t precisely sure what the “much more” entailed. She had some strong suspicions disrobing would be involved….
Dear Reader,
When a homeless schoolteacher is taken in by the wealthy uncle of one of her students, falling in love is the last thing on their minds, in Pat Tracy’s terrific new Western, Cade’s Justice. Don’t miss this first book in her series set in Denver, Colorado, called THE GUARDSMEN, from an author who always delivers a fast-paced and sexy story.
His Secret Duchess is a heart-wrenching new Regency romance from Gayle Wilson, a RITA Award finalist who is also making a name for herself with her spine-tingling mysteries for Harlequin’s Intrigue line. In this month’s title, a nobleman presumed dead returns home after seven years of war to discover his “secret wife” on trial for murder. And in Linda Castle’s new book, Temple’s Prize, rival scientists fight their mutual attraction when they discover that they are both after the same prize.
And popular author Suzanne Barclay returns to her bestselling series, THE SOMMERVILLE BROTHERS, with her newest medieval book, Knight’s Rebellion, the stirring tale of the leader of a band of outlaws who finds himself unable to resist the mysterious woman whom he has rescued.
Whatever your tastes in reading, we hope you enjoy all four books, available wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Harlequin Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Cade’s Justice
Pat Tracy
PAT TRACY
lives in rugged Idaho. No longer a country mouse, Pat recently moved to the city of Idaho Falls, population 49,000, where she writes, practices karate and dreams of times when rough-and-tumble heroes had their hands full dealing with independent, lofty-minded heroines.
Pat loves to hear from her readers c/o P.O. Box 17, Ucon, Idaho 83454
Dedication:
In honor of my heroine, Emma January Step, a tutor of refined young women, I would like to dedicate this book to Carolyn Horowitz, who taught English. and literature at La Puente High School. This wonderfully insightful teacher encouraged me to write and rewarded my efforts with lots of lovely A’s. I don’t know where you are, “Mrs. Horowitz,” but I want to thank you for loving English (you did, didn’t you?) and teaching your students to think for themselves.
If any of my readers happen to know a Carolyn Horowitz who taught at La Puente High School, California, 1963-1964, please write to me at P.O. Box 17, Ucon, Idaho 83454.1 would love to send her an autographed copy of this book.
* * * * *
SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Maxine Metcalf, friend for life. Thank you for your generous proofreading services. You saved my skin. Again.
Flora Jorgensen, Debbie Ricks, Sherry Roseberry, Martha Tew and Vonda Wilson. You’re the critique group from heaven. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Chapter One
The wrought-iron gate leading to Gideon Cade’s brick mansion stood ajar. In Emma January Step’s present mood, it wouldn’t have mattered if the gate was padlocked. She would have found a way through it.
She proceeded up the rain-slickened flagstone path. During the two-hour walk from the academy, the strips of newspaper she’d tucked inside her worn shoes had dissolved into squishy clumps. The numbing chill that seeped through to her feet added to her discomfort.
Emma sensed more than saw the dark blur that streaked past her. Before her startled eyes, a shadow materialized from the damp mist shrouding the front porch of the three-story residence.
She pressed a palm to her racing heart. “Good grief, what are you doing here?” The less-than-cordial question was directed at the huge, hairy hound now blocking the doorway.
“You followed me, didn’t you?” she demanded of the drenched creature. Without a flicker of apology, the dog’s steady gaze met hers. “And you raced ahead at the last moment to beat me here. I should have known it was a mistake to feed you.”
Emma continued up the stone path. Shrewd intelligence gleamed back at her from the disreputable mutt’s black eyes. Clearly, it had been a mistake to smuggle him table scraps from the academy’s kitchen. Obviously, the motley beast had decided he could count upon her as a source of food.
“You’ve followed me in vain,” she informed him in no uncertain terms, gingerly maneuvering herself around him on the porch. “I haven’t a morsel of food on me.”
She drew her damp cloak more closely about her and steeled herself against the reproach she detected in his unwavering canine regard. After all, one could hardly be expected to remember such minor details as feeding a stray animal when one’s world came crashing about one’s shoulders. From the dog’s point of view, though, she supposed being fed was a matter of vast importance.
“I’m sorry.” She sighed, unable to endure this added burden of guilt. “I should have thought to bring you something to eat. Just go away for now, and let me conduct my business without interruption.”
Guilt weighed more heavily upon her. “I promise to bring you a giant soup bone when we return home.”
Emma bit her lip. The academy where she taught was neither her nor the dog’s home. She couldn’t speak for the beast, of course, but, as for herself, she hadn’t known a place that could be so termed since she was three years old. Because she couldn’t remember anything of her early years, that meant that to all intents and purposes she’d never experienced living in a real home.
“Shoo,” she said forcefully, determined to accomplish her mission.
The animal’s lower jaw went slack. Looking for all the world like a fallen banner, his pink tongue drooped from the side of his mouth. Even though he cocked his head in an attitude of submission, the dog stayed put.
“Suit yourself, but I’m warning you. If you expect any more food from me, you better be on your best behavior.” Resigned to the dog’s presence, she reached for the oversize brass knocker that decorated the tall, ornately carved ebony door.
Emma engaged the knocker. A series of reverberating clangs broke the early-morning stillness. As she waited for someone to answer, she wiped the soles of her muddy shoes on the front mat. The potent stench of wet dog fur reached her. She could only hope that whoever opened the door wouldn’t think it was she who reeked of rainwater mixed with what was surely years of collected dirt and fleas.
Trying to dismiss the thought, she focused upon the fortunate coincidence of Gideon Cade’s residence having been pointed out to her the day before. She and several of her students had been returning to the academy after occupying a pleasant afternoon contemplating the beautifully rendered paintings and statues displayed in Mr. Burke Youngblood’s nearby private art gallery. As their rented conveyance passed through the affluent Denver neighborhood, Mr. Cade’s niece, Courtney, had proudly gestured to the brick mansion and identified it as her uncle’s home.
Emma was about to re-employ the knocker when the door suddenly swung open.
The best means of compensating for both her humble origins and a distressing lack of height, Emma had learned, was to get immediately to the point. “I must see Mr. Cade at once.”
The large, disheveled man glaring down at her said nothing, nor did his unfriendly expression alter.
From the frayed condition of his drab blue robe, she deduced that he was a servant and not the notorious Gideon Cade of whom she’d been reading in the daily newspapers. According to vitriolic editorials, the ruthless and incredibly rich freighting tycoon was hardly likely to be traipsing about his mansion in such shoddy garb. From the scores of unflattering stories being circulated about him, he would far more likely have been found strolling about with a crown upon his head and wielding a smoking pistol for his scepter. A recent article had portrayed Courtney’s uncle as a cross between a vicious vigilante renegade and an arrogant foreign potentate.
Emma returned the servant’s belligerent stare. “I trust I do not need to repeat myself, sir.”
The yellowish splash of light provided by the lamp on a table behind him made the shocks of white hair sticking up from his scalp look like oily shafts of lightning. Despite his giant frame, the man glaring down at her resembled an irate troll guarding the castle gate against any who had the temerity to trespass upon his master’s domain.
“Have you any idea of the hour?” the scowling troll demanded, his bushy eyebrows converging over his remarkably huge and pitted nose.
“Certainly.” Emma pushed back the cloak she’d worn to blunt the night chill and consulted the timepiece pinned to her gray bodice. Unfortunately, the light was so poor she couldn’t make out the position of the hands upon the inexpensive watch. “My best estimate is that it’s half past one. Now, please be so good as to fetch Mr. Cade.”
“In the morning,” the troll intoned balefully.
“That’s right.” She refastened her cloak. She’d checked on Courtney at 11 p.m., expecting to see her settled in bed. The subsequent seven-mile walk here had consumed a lot of time. “Now that we’ve established the hour, you may summon Mr. Cade. I’m here on a matter of grave urgency.”
The servant chuckled gruffly. “If I disturb him again tonight, it will be grave, all right. Yours and mine.”
“Now see here—”
“Miss,” he said, interrupting her, his droopy eyes and tone unexpectedly conciliatory, “you best come back at a decent hour.”
Emma had no intention of leaving without telling Mr. Cade his niece had disappeared. She inched closer to the doorway. If she had to, she would push her way past him. Returning her gaze to the dishearteningly massive figure of the overzealous gatekeeper, she realized she would hardly emerge victorious in a show of brute force.
Perhaps, if she pretended to swoon, he might catch her and carry her across the threshold he presently blocked. It was more likely, however, that he would leave her lying on the step until dawn.
Thoughts of Courtney wandering Denver’s often rowdy night streets sent a tremor of increased distress through Emma. “Sir, you don’t understand. I’m an instructor at Loutitia Hempshire’s Academy for Young Ladies. I have terrible news and fear the worst.”
Astonishingly, the troll seemed to take her announcement in stride. He didn’t so much as raise one caterpillar-size eyebrow. Emma wondered if perhaps butlers and stray dogs shared a distant but common ancestry. What would it take to startle the morosely self-contained man? She doubted a cattle stampede of longhorn steers rampaging down Larimer Street would shake his unflappable reserve.
He rubbed his jaw. She didn’t know if he was debating the truthfulness of her claim or the relevance of the news to his employer. When his cannon-size nostrils began to twitch, she realized he must have picked up the mongrel’s foul odor. Fearing he was about to slam the door in her face, Emma decided bold action was required. She would awaken Mr. Cade herself.
With little forethought, she launched herself through the puny space left between the uncooperative servant and the doorframe. That she wasn’t big meant she could move quickly.
“Hey, now!” the troll yelled, making a lunge for her.
His beefy paws closed around her cloak, dragging her to a skidding halt. A second later, the sound of ripping fabric heralded a burst of freedom. She sprinted past him into the entry hall.
Though Emma scarcely had time to catalog her elegant surroundings, an impression of quiet opulence struck her. With subtle impact, she perceived immense chandeliers, gilt mirrors, velvet draperies and mahogany furnishings. The scents of freshly cut flowers, leather and linseed oil reached her. The thought flashed through her mind that the combination of tasteful fragrances was probably how a vault full of money smelled.
Once inside, Emma wasn’t sure what to do next, but she had only seconds to make up her mind before the troll caught up with her.
She noticed a curving staircase. Surely at the top of those stairs she would discover Gideon Cade, nestled snugly in his bed. She vowed to check every bedchamber until she found him.
“Not so fast.” The servant’s fingers closed around her arm.
Emma turned to explain why it was imperative that she speak with his employer. Before she could speak, a feral growl froze the blood in her veins. Her gaze swung to the open doorway where the stray dog had staked its territory.
“Oh dear.”
“A bit of an understatement, I’d say.”
Emma glanced at the man who held her. His florid face had paled to the color of parchment “Uh, I think you ought to let me go…before he attacks.”
“You’d best heed the lady’s advice, Broadbent.”
At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, Emma looked toward the staircase where a tall man now stood. His dark green dressing gown appeared to be made of silk. The garment probably had cost more than she earned in a year. Obviously, she was making the acquaintance of Gideon Cade. In the privacy of his own home, he’d evidently forgone wearing a crown. Nor did he carry a scepter.
Even though the horrible events that had transpired thus far tonight were not directly his fault, she felt a wave of resentment. In a fiercely uncertain world, it was obvious at a single glance that Gideon Cade was the kind of man who knew exactly where he fit in the greater scheme of things. She was certain he considered his place to be at the top, not only in business, but in other venues, as well. When he spoke, he expected to be obeyed. Without delay or debate.
“Broadbent, you’d best release the fair damsel you’ve captured.”
The snideness of the man’s observation was not lost upon Emma. She knew she was neither fair nor in that category of select females who might be called “damsels.”
“Your only alternative appears to be having your throat ripped apart,” he pointed out mildly. Carrying a lamp, he descended the final stair.
Over six feet tall, with wide shoulders that clearly didn’t need a tailor’s skill at padding to achieve their daunting proportions, he projected the aura of a commanding general be ing called upon to chastise a troop of inept soldiers. Even his thick pelt of mussed black hair added to the forbidding image.
“I’m inclined to agree with your assessment, Mr. Cade,” the servant acknowledged, responding with his own brand of ironic dignity.
Emma hid a smile. From the troll’s less-than-subservient demeanor, it was obvious he didn’t hold his employer in complete awe.
She felt the constraining grip loosen, then disappear. Returning her gaze to the doorway, she slowly lowered her arm. The beast ceased growling, yet remained at rigid attention. As if charged with pulsating energy, his dirty coat of black fur still bristled outward.
“Call off your animal.”
The velvet-voiced order came from behind her. Not wanting to make any sudden moves, she kept her focus upon the stray dog.
“He’s not mine,” she felt obliged to explain.
“From his protective stance, he views your relationship differently.”
The soft but steely voice was closer. It took all Emma’s control not to turn her head to keep track of the man. Having him at her back aroused her survival instincts to full alert. Still, she didn’t feel it prudent to take her gaze from the illtempered beast who had invaded Mr. Cade’s entry.
“It’s true,” she protested. “He’s not mine. I don’t even know if he has a name. Our only connection is the dinner scraps I’ve fed him.”
“With a stray animal, that’s enough to forge a bond for life.”
The gritty observation sounded as if it had been spoken directly into her ear. Realizing that unless the hound relaxed his attack stance there would be no reduction in the escalating tension between herself, the dog and the men, Emma forced a smile to her stiff lips.
“Uh, nice doggy…Everything’s all right now. The mean man let go of my arm.” She added the last remark for the troll’s benefit, lest he think she’d forgotten his rude treatment.
Almost imperceptibly, she saw the dog’s hostile bearing eased. He cocked his head, as he’d done on the front porch. She moved forward. “You’re just unhappy because you’re hungry, isn’t that so?”
The animal whined softly, then moved toward her. His toenails clicked against the hardwood floor until the sound was cushioned by the oriental rug. The revolting smell of wet dog hair soon filled the entry. She didn’t consider herself a particularly demonstrative person, and yet, despite the beast’s rank odor, she felt he deserved a pat on his head for coming to her defense. In her entire life, no human had performed such a selfless act on her behalf.
She lightly brushed her fingertips through his black fur. “That’s a nice doggy.”
Her consoling gesture elicited another heartfelt whine and the startling assault of the animal’s wet, scratchy tongue upon the back of her hand. She flinched but didn’t pull away from the contact.
“It appears, Broadbent, that ‘Beauty’ has tamed the ‘Beast.’”
“Aye, so it does, sir.”
At the wholly facetious compliment, Emma’s cheeks grew warm.
“While he’s evidencing such tender devotion, I suggest you escort him to the kitchen and provide him with something to eat, Broadbent.”
Following his master’s edict, the servant approached the hound and held out his hand. He let the dog sniff it. Soon Broadbent’s thick fingers were being energetically licked. Telling herself it was foolish to feel betrayed by the animal’s fickle affection, Emma’s arm fell to her side.
“Come along…” The servant paused and affixed Emma with a disapproving glance. “He really does deserve a name.”
“You name him.”
“Very well.” The man pondered for a moment, deepening the lined indentations upon his ruddy brow. Then his reflective expression cleared. “I’ll call him Duncan.”
The name, coming as it did from nowhere, meant nothing to Emma, yet she saw Mr. Cade stiffen.
“Is that acceptable, sir?”
Her gaze flicked between the waiting servant and his frowning employer. For reasons unknown to her, the name Broadbent had selected must hold special meaning for both men.
“I couldn’t care less what you call the mongrel.”
At the indifferent response, a look of sorrow seemed to touch the troll’s eyes. “Aye, sir. Come along, Duncan. I’d say you’ve waited long enough for your supper.”
After flashing a reproachful glance at her, Broadbent sank his fingers into the fur at the back of the dog’s neck. The animal allowed itself to be led a couple of steps before stopping. Having only a vague idea as to its basic disposition, Emma tensed again.
The servant wisely removed his hand from the animal. Whimpering softly, it trotted toward her.
“Go along with Mr. Broadbent,” she urged, feeling awkward at having others overhear her stilted admonition to the uncooperative canine. “He’s going to feed you. There now, be a good doggy. Uh…Duncan, I’ll be perfectly all right on my own.”
He held her stare, as if by looking into her eyes he could somehow fathom what was expected of him. She smiled reassuringly, aware from the corner of her eye that Mr. Cade was studying her.
Without any warning, the hound planted its paws on the rug and shook his hairy body free of the excess moisture he’d been obliged to carry. A misting spray of rainwater, mingling with disgusting, foul-smelling dog residue, enveloped both her and Mr. Cade.
Emma jumped back. “Oh! Stop, you naughty dog!”
Mr. Cade stepped aside to avoid the full brunt of his dirty baptism. Mortified by the animal’s rudeness, she closed her eyes.
“He really isn’t my dog,” she said, again compelled to disavow any connection to the unruly stray following Broadbent from the room.
“So you’ve said, Miss—” Mr. Cade broke off, his lethal gaze fairly boring into her. “I assume, whereas yonder hellhound has no name, you, on the other hand, come with both a first and a last one.”
The man’s sarcasm was a chore to overlook. Nevertheless, considering that desperate circumstances had brought her to his home in the wee hours of the morning, she strove to contain her growing dislike toward Courtney’s uncle.
“Of course I do.”
“And that would be…” he prompted mockingly.
His insulting tone made her feel like a common beetle who had strayed beyond its prescribed territory and was in imminent danger of being squashed beneath Mr. Cade’s finely stitched leather slipper.
“Emma January Step,” she pronounced through clinched teeth, intimidated against her will by the man’s arrogance.
He raised a black eyebrow. “And what is it you want, Miss Step, other than to invade my home and terrorize those in my employ?”
A hot blush singed her cheeks. “I apologize for the dog. I had no idea he would follow me.” She pushed at the strands of hair that had fallen into her eyes: “You see, I have a matter of the utmost urgency to discuss, and your servant wouldn’t summon you so I could explain what’s happened.”
“I must remember to give him a raise.”
“A raise?” she repeated, infuriated by the man’s puffedup attitude.
He nodded. “I value any employee safeguarding my privacy.” His lips curved mockingly. “Especially after I’ve retired for the night.”
