Cade's Justice. Pat Tracy

pump. Various tall cabinets and a sturdy wood table surrounded by half a dozen chairs added to the room’s aura of secure abundance.

      At the rich aroma wafting from the apple pies, smoked ham and expanding bread dough, Emma’s steps faltered. She’d been so upset by Miss Loutitia’s news about the academy closing that she’d paced her bedchamber instead of going downstairs for supper. Emma’s stomach growled in recognition of how long it had been since she ate. She sympathized more keenly with Duncan for having to depend upon the kindness of strangers to supply him with food.

      Forcing herself to ignore the thickly crusted apple pies’ siren call, she looked around the meagerly lit room in hopes of finding the stray hound.

      “Duncan, where are you?”

      Only her own rapid breathing disturbed the chamber’s silence. She saw the vague outline of a door through the shadowy darkness and walked toward it. She’d almost reached it when her right foot slammed into a chair leg. Pain shot from her toes through her entire body.

      “Ow! Ooh, oh, that hurts!” She didn’t know which was louder, her cries or the raw scrape of the chair against the wood-planked floor.

      Standing on one foot, she leaned forward and massaged her throbbing toes. It was difficult to see past the tears that had sprung to her eyes, but she forced herself to limp the rest of the way to the door. It opened to the outside. She was dismayed to discover a thick fog had drifted into town.

      “Duncan,” she called again. Then she realized the fickle mutt probably didn’t comprehend that he’d been newly christened. “Here, doggy, it’s time to leave.”

      Nothing disturbed the dank grayness that enveloped her. “I’m going now. I’ll be at the academy.” She was wasting her breath. Even if the dog was hiding nearby, he couldn’t possibly understand her.

      She waited a moment longer, listening for a canine whine or whimper. Hearing nothing, she shifted her attention to the misty, otherworldly landscape that surrounded her. In even the best of circumstances, finding her bearings was challenging. In this macabre situation, she felt utterly disoriented.

      She tried to visualize the position of the side doorway she’d stepped through in relation to the mansion’s exterior as it faced the street. It seemed that, if she walked straight ahead for a couple of yards and then turned right—no left—she would be heading toward the flagstone path she’d used to reach the front porch. When she found that path, she would go in the opposite direction and turn left…or was it right? No, a left turn would point her in the direction of the academy. Well, she hoped so, anyway.

      Emma drew her thin cloak about her and tried to remember why she’d been so opposed to having Courtney’s uncle give her a ride in his carriage.

      Oh, yes, he was an arrogant cur who terrorized others so that he could have his way. Also, there was a predatory look in his brooding eyes that made her skin tingle and her heart pound. She didn’t like how she felt when he was breathing down her neck, as if she were melting from the inside out and not in control of her mind and body.

      Hoping for a stroke of good fortune, she surged forward into the fog. A fresh bolt of pain radiated from her right foot. It did little for her tranquillity to realize she would be limping all the way back to the academy. She tried to dispel the feeling that she was an injured warrior surrendering the battlefield to a superior foe. Besides, if she had been vanquished, it was only because he’d employed unfair tactics.

      She took only a few steps before she smacked into what must have been a brick wall. Her injured foot registered its anguished protest. Emma braced one hand against the wall and reached down to comfort her battered toes.

      The wall shifted unexpectedly, and she lost her balance. “Oh!”

      Amazingly, the wall reached out to steady her.

      “Well, Miss Step, now that we’ve established your word is worthless, shall we be on our way?”

      As he’d certainly intended, the insulting question stung her pride.

      She refused to feel one iota of guilt for trying to escape his odious company. “I was under no obligation to stay.”

      “Only the obligation of having agreed to do so.”

      “You…you bullied me into agreeing to wait.”

      The powerful fingers gripping her arms tightened. She didn’t delude herself that she possessed the strength to pull free. He wasn’t hurting her. He was effectively demonstrating that his strength was superior to hers.

      “I don’t resort to bullying to achieve my goals. I simply insist that those who deal with me abide by the laws of logic.”

      Had her foot not been in such agony, she would have kicked the smug man soundly. And the blow would have landed where Johnny McGuire had taught her all men were vulnerable. While he was doubled over in pain, she would have sprinted away.

      “Would you do me a favor?” she asked with as much calm as she could muster.

      “What is it?” Definite suspicion laced the query.

      “Put your lips together and keep them that way until we bid each other farewell.” That event could not come soon enough for her.

      “Considering your age, don’t you think it’s time you stopped lapsing into such childish baiting?”

      Emma choked down a hiss. Why did he insist on harping about her age? Just how old did he think she was? “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m twenty-four.”

      “Really? I’d thought perhaps you were thirty.”

      “Let me go.”

      “Now I’ve upset you.”

      Upset her? She was miles beyond upset. How dare he make such a cruel and thoughtless remark! He might have just as easily said she looked like a shriveled old maid with a hump on her back and had the word spinster branded on her forehead. Oh, she knew thirty wasn’t such an advanced age, but when a woman was single, she tended to be sensitive about such observations.

      “Take me to your carriage.”

      “I’ve noticed that even when you’re being reasonable, Miss Step, there’s a definite edge to your voice.”

      He released his hold. Before she could celebrate the victory, he moved beside her and cupped her elbow in a guiding gesture. She gritted her teeth and began walking. Blasted, aggravating—

      “Why are you limping?”

      “Because one of your kitchen chairs attacked me before I could gain my freedom from this monstrous edifice you call a house.”

      He stopped and knelt down. “What were you doing in the kitchen?”

      “I was looking for that stupid dog, of course.”

      He began to fiddle with the hem of her skirts. “You planned on taking him with you?”

      “I considered it my duty to liberate him from—” She broke off and tried to back away. When had he suddenly become fascinated with her petticoats? “What do you think you’re doing? Stop that!”

      She batted ineffectually at his roving hands. Instead of answering, he pulled her unceremoniously to the ground. She landed in a sitting position.

      “I said to stop—”

      “Hold still.”

      “I will not! Get your hands off my limbs.”

      “Relax, I’m just raising your skirts.”

      “If you think I’m going to let you molest me in your yard, you’ve lost what little sense you have.”

      He looked up. Because his face was so near, she had little difficulty making out his rugged features. “Miss Step, I have no doubt you are right. I do seem to have lost my senses where you’re concerned, however, I can assure you that