Blood Blade Sisters Series (Entangled Scandalous) Page 2

Carmen hustled toward the kitchen, calling to them over her shoulder. “Your nightshirts are by the fire. Move!”

  Cilla heard the door to the cellar being thrown open as she and Lucy yanked and peeled sodden clothing off their chilled bodies. A sound of splashing water came from the kitchen. A moment later their older sister Brynne came in, her hair wrapped in a towel with several wet tendrils escaping down her back.

  She tossed a towel to each sister and gathered their soaked clothing. She glanced around the room for a place to hide them, but the sound of several horses riding into the courtyard seemed to spur her on.

  “Quick! By the fire!” Brynne motioned to the hairbrush lying on the hearth and Cilla smiled, amazed by her sister’s quick thinking.

  With a look of triumph, Brynne lunged at the wood box and shoved the clothes inside. Cilla looked down to make sure she was decent and noticed a smear of blood on her hand. She scrubbed at it, removing some of it, but doing so left a red stain across the palm of her other hand.

  There was a heavy-handed banging at the door. Cilla quickly ran her hand through her damp hair to remove the bit of blood left on her palm.

  The fist hammered again. Lucy slid to the floor, making room for Brynne as she took her place at the hearth and started attacking Cilla’s damp hair with the brush.

  When Frank burst into the room, he found his three half-sisters, drying and brushing their hair by the fire, looking for all the world as though they had spent the evening grooming each other. His two bottom-feeders marched in after him. Cilla’s squeal sounded almost as convincing as her sisters’ as they grabbed at quilts to cover their nightclothes.

  Carmen immediately bustled into the room. She marched right up to Frank, wagging her finger in his face and cursing at him in Spanish. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Cilla would have laughed as Frank stumbled back a few steps under the housekeeper’s fury.

  “Calm yourself, woman!” he shouted, his hands raised as if to show her he came in peace.

  “Don’t you ‘woman’ me, Frank Richardson. Your poor papa would turn over in his grave if he knew you were being so disrespectful to your sisters. Bursting into their house in the middle of the night with these…these matones,” she said, gesturing to the two goons who were wisely hovering near the door.

  “Now, Carmen, I have every right to check on my sisters and make sure everyone is where they are supposed to be. These are dangerous times and—”

  “They’re only dangerous because of you!”

  Frank’s anger burned off whatever residual fear he had of Carmen. He glared at her. “Enough! You’ve said your peace. Now get out of my way.”

  “It’s all right, Carmen. We’ll be fine,” Cilla assured her. “Why don’t you go find Miguel?”

  Carmen pushed passed Frank, spewing Spanish profanities as she went.

  “What is the meaning of this, Frank? Get these men out of here, this instant!” Brynne glared at him.

  Frank took in the scene, a million different emotions flitting across his pasty face. He nodded at his men and they trudged back out the door, slamming it behind them.

  Cilla focused on her half-brother, waiting to see if he suspected anything. He might have been handsome once, with his dull copper-colored hair and deep brown eyes. The dance hall girls certainly seemed to like him. But all Cilla saw were the years of drinking that had sucked the life from his features. The angles of his face were too sharp. His eyes held the remnants of a miserable life, full of bitterness and cruelty instead of warmth.

  Cilla might have been tempted to feel sorry for him had he ever shown any sign of common human decency. But by the time their father had discovered his existence, the product of a drunken night with an opium-addicted prostitute, every ounce of compassion and morality had been beaten or starved out of him. Their father had believed there was still good in him. But no matter how much love and attention he had lavished on his only son, Cilla didn’t think there was anything redeemable left.

  “Sorry to intrude.” Frank’s sneer conveyed just how unapologetic he was. His bottom lip bulged with tobacco and Cilla cringed, dreading the moment when he’d need to spit the disgusting juice from his mouth. “A carriage was robbed tonight and we have us a few witnesses that saw the good-for-nothing bandits comin’ this way.”

  Cilla squared her shoulders. She’d gotten good at lying to Frank over the years, an unfortunate side effect of their father’s untimely death. “Ah, and you thought you’d come by to check on us? Why, how brotherly of you,” she purred, trying not to lay the sarcasm on too thick.

  Frank glared at her. “The thieves made off with Mrs. Langley’s prized ruby brooch, and roughed her up some as well.”

  “What?” Lucy straightened up, her face blazing with indignation.

  Cilla patted her sister’s leg, giving it a warning squeeze beneath the soothing gesture. “We’re very sorry for any trouble that has befallen the Langleys, of course, Frank. But why are they traveling about in the dead of night? It’s not a surprise that they ran into mischief.”

  “Is it not?” Frank said, his dark eyes wandering over the room. They focused for a moment on the wooden box and Cilla risked a quick glance. Her blood ran cold when she saw a small puddle forming near the edge. Frank took a step toward it. Cilla threw off the quilt she’d been holding to her chest, tossing it into a heap at the foot of the box. She moved to stand in front of him.

  “While we appreciate your…visit, we really must insist you take your men and go. We are in no state to be entertaining company.”

  With a glance at her, Frank started to step around when the front door crashed open again. Jed, one of Frank’s men, stumbled in, shaking his dripping hat all over the rugs and furniture. He held one hand tight against his chest.

  “Did you search the grounds and the barn?” Frank asked. Cilla held her breath, hoping Frank didn’t hear her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest.

  “Searched the grounds. Didn’t find nothin’. Can’t see any tracks with all this floodin’. And can’t see nothin’ in the barn. I can hear them horses all right, but couldn’t find a lantern nowhere. Lit a match and tried to take a look but one o’ them damned animals bit me!”

  Cilla had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. Good ol’ Maynard.

  Frank sighed and dug into his lip, extracting a lump of tobacco that he flung to the corner. He spit a few times, emptying his mouth of tobacco juice all over their polished wood floor.

  Jackson strolled in. He stopped next to Frank, his one good eye roving over Cilla. She looked down and stifled a gasp. In her haste to dress, she had forgotten to button her nightgown all the way and was showing a good bit of cleavage. She clutched her gown together, planting her feet to keep from taking a step backward.

  Jackson had been ugly even before the knife fight that had disfigured his face, leaving a thick white scar running through one eye, across his nose, and down the other cheek. Cilla could handle ugly, but Jackson was also just plain mean. Torture-a-puppy-just-for-the-fun-of-it kind of mean. Cilla would geld a bull barehanded before she’d willingly be alone in a dark room with Jackson.

  “What about you?” Frank asked him.

  Jackson didn’t take his gaze from Cilla. “Didn’t find nothin’.” He licked his lip. “But maybe I can get some information for you anyway,” he said, reaching for Cilla, “if’n you leave me alone here with this lyin’ little bit—”

  Frank’s fist smashed into Jackson’s mouth. Jackson dropped to the floor, shaking his head like the wet dog he was. Frank stood over him, his pistol in his hand.

  “I’m more than capable of handling one weak little girl, understand?” Frank growled.

  Cilla had no illusions that Frank actually cared what happened to her. But he had a mighty high opinion of himself and since she was blood and all…well, if Richardson blood was going to be spilt, Frank would be the one to do it. Not that Cilla would bet on that always being the case.

  “Besides,” Frank continued,
shooting a nasty look at Cilla before turning back to Jackson, “there ain’t no need for any of that…yet. Got it?”

  Jackson dragged his hand across his bleeding lip, his eyes blazing fury. But he wouldn’t stand up to Frank. “Whatever you say…Boss.”

  Frank nodded at the door. “Git outside.”

  Jackson dragged his sorry carcass out. Cilla didn’t relax her stance.

  Frank spun around, the back of his hand slamming into her cheek. She dropped to one knee, the room spiraling so much she nearly crumpled to the ground. Brynne cried out. Lucy jumped up to come to her, but Cilla shook her head. No way would she let Frank see her weak. She took a deep breath and fumbled for the cold metal at her ankle. She came back up with a tiny pistol in her hand.

  Frank looked at the gun and laughed. “And just what are you gonna do with that?”

  Cilla tensed her arm to keep it from shaking. Her face throbbed, radiating heat from her cheek up into her eye and temple. Her vision blurred but she refused to let him see her flinch. She felt Lucy and Brynne at her back. Brynne’s hand gripped her shoulder and Cilla stood straighter, drawing strength from her sisters.

  “Why don’t you just tell us why you’re here, before things get uglier.”

  Frank tilted his head in a mocking bow and stuck his hand inside his coat.

  “Stop!” Cilla cocked the gun.

  “Relax. Just gonna pull out a paper that you’ll want to see.”

  Cilla nodded for him to continue, but kept her gun trained on him.

  Frank revealed a thin folded paper with a flourish.

  “And just what is that supposed to be?” Brynne asked.

  “Why don’t we all get a little more comfortable,” Frank suggested. “You’ll want to be sitting down for this.” He grinned at each of the girls, apparently relishing whatever surprise he was about to spring.

  Brynne stomped to the chaise by the fire and plopped down with a huff, though she was careful to keep her thick quilt pulled tightly across her, hiding the small mound of her belly that was becoming more and more noticeable. They wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer. Cilla pulled her gaze from her sister, forcing the thought from her mind. They had other things to worry about just then. Lucy followed Brynne to the chaise, sitting on the floor by her feet. Frank looked at Cilla, his eyebrow raised.

  “I prefer to stand,” she said, though she did lower the gun. She was almost surprised at her gumption, but the last few years had worn her patience to the breaking point. Eking out a living from the failing ranch by day, raiding coaches by night, watching her sisters toil and struggle—it was enough to turn the sweet nature of any girl…and her nature hadn’t been all that sweet to begin with. Or so she’d been told. And Frank was going to be the tick that sucked her dry. It wasn’t wise to cross him. But Cilla just couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Frank grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into a chair. “I said, sit.”

  Cilla glared at him, every fiber of her being aching to thrash him within an inch of his life. Lucy’s whimper stopped her from jumping back to her feet. “Spill it, Frank. We haven’t got all night.”

  He sat in their father’s favorite armchair. “I think you can make time for this.” He slowly unfolded the paper, clearly enjoying dragging out the suspense. Cilla’s finger itched to pull the trigger, but it would have been a shame to get blood all over their mama’s Persian rug.

  “What is it, Frank?”

  “Well, see, it seems you all have been squatting on my property. The ranch, the house, and everything in it rightfully belong to me. As sheriff, I’ve come to enforce my rights and tell you you’ve got three weeks to clear out.”

  Brynne, Lucy, and Cilla shouted and sputtered.

  “What?”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “You no-good, lyin’ son of a—‘”

  “Don’t you three go airin’ your lungs out at me! Cussin’ like liquored-up sailors at your betters.” He shook his head. “Now I know y’all was raised up better than that.”

  Cilla ached to wipe the smug smile from the bastard’s face. Instead, she concentrated on breathing.

  One heartbeat.

  Two.

  When she felt like she could speak without shrieking like an old biddy, she said, “This property was our mother’s, Frank. She left it to us when she died. So you can take your lies and just get the hell out.”

  “Wrong.”

  Cilla stood but Brynne grabbed her arm and hauled her onto the chaise. She carefully took the pistol out of Cilla’s hand. Cilla didn’t want to let it go, but vaguely recognized the wisdom in Brynne’s actions. If Frank didn’t shut his lying, yapping mouth, there was a very real possibility that Cilla would put a bullet through it.

  Brynne sighed and turned to Frank. “Look, Frank. We all saw Mama’s will after she died. She left the ranch, the house, and everything on the property to us.”

  Frank smiled. “Right. But there’s one unfortunate little detail that everyone’s forgotten up ‘til now.”

  Cilla started counting again. She couldn’t take much more of this. “And what exactly would that be?”

  “Y’all are underage. Brynne’s not twenty-one yet, and she’s a year older than you, sweet little Priscilla. And Lucy there is only fifteen.”

  The girls sat in stunned silence. Cilla stopped breathing altogether as Frank’s words sunk in.

  “Which means, my dear sisters, without a husband to claim your property for you, everything you own falls to the jurisdiction of your nearest male relative.” He paused, pinning each one with his greedy gaze. “Which would be me.”

  He grinned and leaned forward. “It’s too bad that bastard you were pantin’ after didn’t stick around long enough to marry you,” he said to Brynne.

  Brynne sucked in an outraged breath. “He did marry me, Frank, and you damn well know it!”

  If their lives weren’t crumbling around their feet, Cilla might have taken the time to be shocked at Brynne’s unaccustomed swearing.

  Frank’s thin lips stretched over his tobacco-stained teeth in a grimace that made Cilla’s blood run like shards of ice through honey.

  “He ain’t here. And there ain’t no record of no marriage. Your shackin’ up with him ain’t no proof of nothin’ except what a whore you are.”

  Brynne gasped, her hand straying to her belly. Cilla lurched to her feet. Her fist shot out, connecting with Frank’s chin. His head snapped back and Cilla nearly grinned at his shocked expression. It felt so good to wipe the smirk from his face. She pulled her hand back for another blow, but this time he caught her fist in his.

  He hauled her against his chest, pinning her arm behind her back.

  He brought his face so close to hers it blurred in her vision. “Girl, you’re even dumber than you look, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

  He trailed his finger down the scar near her eye. “Unless you want another one o’these, you better keep your little hands to yourself.”

  He flung her away. Lucy was there to steady Cilla before she fell, and kept her arms around Cilla’s shaking frame as Frank stalked to the door.

  “Air out Pa’s room for me. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  The door shut, leaving pure, stunned silence in its wake.

  “What are we gonna do?” Lucy asked.

  Cilla angrily wiped at her nose, grimacing at the metallic smell of her skin. She looked at the blood that stained her hand and sucked in her breath. Maybe…no, it was crazy.

  But it was the only thing she could think of. “I may have an idea.”

  Chapter Three

  Leo thrashed his head, rubbing it against the ground, but the blindfold had been tied too tightly across his eyes. He had no idea where he was, though by the smell of it, he’d guess he had been deposited in a stall of some sort.

  His head throbbed where that bastard had hit him. Blood Blade! Well, he’d wanted to find him. Guess he should have been more careful about what he wished for. But what on
earth was a bandit doing riding with a woman? Woman…hell, she looked like she was barely more than a baby. Leo had no idea how his plans had gone so horribly wrong. All he had wanted to do was find his brother. He hadn’t heard from Jake in months. The last letter he’d received hadn’t given him much information to go on, either. Jake had heard about Blood Blade and the bounty on his head. And he’d been determined to be the one to bring him in. He’d apprehended other criminals. In fact, Jake had been on his way to being one of the best bounty hunters on the western coast. But something must have gone wrong.

  The last Leo had heard, Jake had given up hunting Blood Blade and taken a job working as a ranch hand for three sisters near some dried-up gold mining town called Bethany Ridge, some thirty miles northeast of Sacramento. It hadn’t made any sense to Leo until Jake had mentioned that he’d fallen in love with one of the sisters: Brynne Richardson.

  Precious little information to go on, but it was all Leo had. The Richardson sisters must have been the last to see Jake alive, though Leo refused to believe his brother was dead. Perhaps he’d just married the Richardson girl and was living in such a state of marital bliss that he’d forgotten to let his family know that he was alive and well. Anything was possible. Unlikely, but possible.

  What was more likely was that Jake had had a run-in with Blood Blade and lost. Though that didn’t fit with what Leo had heard about the notorious bandit. Stories of Blood Blade had filtered down to Sacramento, and from what Leo had heard, the bandit was the one to talk to if you wanted something found.

  He seemed like an interesting fellow. Leo hadn’t heard of many bandits who took cases for hire, but then you didn’t often hear of bandits who gave away most of their ill-gotten gains, either. But apparently Blood Blade was something of a Robin Hood. Leo didn’t know if he worked missing person’s cases, but he figured it didn’t hurt to ask. If Blood Blade hadn’t been the one to cause Jake’s disappearance, maybe he’d be amenable to finding him. And if he had had something to do with it…well, Leo would cross that bridge when he got to it.

  The problem was contacting him. Bandits weren’t known for being easy to find. But the Richardson sisters supposedly served as a sort of go-between for the bandit and his would-be clients.