The Dancer Read Online Free
Author: Jane Toombs
house. And the small ranch had no sleep-over hands. Bothwick hired by the day. Except for the young and skinny stable boy, there were no men on the ranch at all. Only women.
And Rory's baby.
He'd hit Los Angeles two weeks ago, blowing in on a chubasco from Mexico. An ill wind for the Burwashes. He'd taken care to stay out of sight of anyone who knew him, frequenting Sonoratown, the Mexican slum east and south of the plaza. The yellowbellies were edging into Sonoratown, just like they'd already done to Nigger Alley north of the plaza. Wouldn't surprise him if Los Angeles turned all Chinese some day.
A man could learn damn near anything he needed to know in Carmona's place on Buena Vista Street. It was there he'd learned that Meg Burwash was married to Bothwick and she'd had a baby named Patrick. Damned clever of Meg to get herself married to some trusting fool so quick. She was like all Burwashes--no damn good.
Not that he cared. Patrick was all he was interested in. Patrick Dugald, he liked the sound of it.
Elena lifted the baby from the arms of his sleeping mother. His blue eyes fluttered open only to close again as she carried him to the door. Patrick's cradle had been in her room for two weeks now, ever since he was born. Meg nursed him but otherwise Elena cared for him, since Ysabel was still in El Doblez caring for her ill daughter.
Because of Meg's feelings for Rory, Elena had expected her friend to dote on little Patrick. But Meg seemed content to have the baby with her only long enough to nurse him.
"Mrs. Bothwick has a delicate constitution," was Dr. Evans's pronouncement. "It'll be sometime before she regains her strength."
Perhaps that was it.
Warren smiled when Patrick was brought to him but showed none of a father's pride, leading Elena to wonder if he didn't suspect the truth--though he seemed as devoted as ever to Meg.
Elena adored the baby and was convinced he already recognized the sound of her voice. Since Patrick's hair was slow to grow back, it was hard to tell if it would be as red as before.
As she closed the door to Meg's bedroom, Elena heard someone climbing the front staircase and paused. It wasn't like Warren to return so early on a Friday night and the servants weren't supposed to use the front stairs, though they sometimes did.
"Warren?" she asked.
No." A man's voice. A man's figure approaching along the dimly-lit corridor.
Elena tensed. She'd narrowly avoided Davis last week when he came to see his new nephew. He was the last person in the world she wanted to meet now. "Who is it?" she demanded.
"Only little Patrick's uncle," the man said.
Not Davis's voice. Uncle? "Mike Dugald!" she exclaimed in dismay as he strode up to her. "What are you doing here?"
He reached for Patrick, trying to take the baby from her arms but she turned away, resisting him. "No, don't, he's asleep. And, anyway, you shouldn't--""
Mike glared down at her. "Don't you go telling me I can't hold my own brother's child."
"He's not--" she began.
"I found a note written by his mother that says he is."
He reached again for the baby. The rank smell of whiskey filled her nostrils.
A note? The lost note? It must be. Elena shrank against the wall, intent on protecting Patrick. "How did you get into the house?" she asked, realizing no one had announced his arrival.
"Walked in." Mike put his hand on the hilt of his holstered gun. "You can make this easy on everyone or you can do it the hard way but I mean to take my nephew with me. Bothwick don't want another man's child and she don't deserve him, she's a Burwash."
"Take Patrick? Are you crazy as well as drunk? He's only two weeks old! What do you know about taking care of a little baby?"
"Not a damn thing." He smiled at her, a thin-lipped smile that curdled her blood. "Guess you'll have to come along with me and Patrick to save him from his drunk ole uncle." He
And Rory's baby.
He'd hit Los Angeles two weeks ago, blowing in on a chubasco from Mexico. An ill wind for the Burwashes. He'd taken care to stay out of sight of anyone who knew him, frequenting Sonoratown, the Mexican slum east and south of the plaza. The yellowbellies were edging into Sonoratown, just like they'd already done to Nigger Alley north of the plaza. Wouldn't surprise him if Los Angeles turned all Chinese some day.
A man could learn damn near anything he needed to know in Carmona's place on Buena Vista Street. It was there he'd learned that Meg Burwash was married to Bothwick and she'd had a baby named Patrick. Damned clever of Meg to get herself married to some trusting fool so quick. She was like all Burwashes--no damn good.
Not that he cared. Patrick was all he was interested in. Patrick Dugald, he liked the sound of it.
Elena lifted the baby from the arms of his sleeping mother. His blue eyes fluttered open only to close again as she carried him to the door. Patrick's cradle had been in her room for two weeks now, ever since he was born. Meg nursed him but otherwise Elena cared for him, since Ysabel was still in El Doblez caring for her ill daughter.
Because of Meg's feelings for Rory, Elena had expected her friend to dote on little Patrick. But Meg seemed content to have the baby with her only long enough to nurse him.
"Mrs. Bothwick has a delicate constitution," was Dr. Evans's pronouncement. "It'll be sometime before she regains her strength."
Perhaps that was it.
Warren smiled when Patrick was brought to him but showed none of a father's pride, leading Elena to wonder if he didn't suspect the truth--though he seemed as devoted as ever to Meg.
Elena adored the baby and was convinced he already recognized the sound of her voice. Since Patrick's hair was slow to grow back, it was hard to tell if it would be as red as before.
As she closed the door to Meg's bedroom, Elena heard someone climbing the front staircase and paused. It wasn't like Warren to return so early on a Friday night and the servants weren't supposed to use the front stairs, though they sometimes did.
"Warren?" she asked.
No." A man's voice. A man's figure approaching along the dimly-lit corridor.
Elena tensed. She'd narrowly avoided Davis last week when he came to see his new nephew. He was the last person in the world she wanted to meet now. "Who is it?" she demanded.
"Only little Patrick's uncle," the man said.
Not Davis's voice. Uncle? "Mike Dugald!" she exclaimed in dismay as he strode up to her. "What are you doing here?"
He reached for Patrick, trying to take the baby from her arms but she turned away, resisting him. "No, don't, he's asleep. And, anyway, you shouldn't--""
Mike glared down at her. "Don't you go telling me I can't hold my own brother's child."
"He's not--" she began.
"I found a note written by his mother that says he is."
He reached again for the baby. The rank smell of whiskey filled her nostrils.
A note? The lost note? It must be. Elena shrank against the wall, intent on protecting Patrick. "How did you get into the house?" she asked, realizing no one had announced his arrival.
"Walked in." Mike put his hand on the hilt of his holstered gun. "You can make this easy on everyone or you can do it the hard way but I mean to take my nephew with me. Bothwick don't want another man's child and she don't deserve him, she's a Burwash."
"Take Patrick? Are you crazy as well as drunk? He's only two weeks old! What do you know about taking care of a little baby?"
"Not a damn thing." He smiled at her, a thin-lipped smile that curdled her blood. "Guess you'll have to come along with me and Patrick to save him from his drunk ole uncle." He
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