Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) by T. K. Lukas Read Free Book Online

saddle. “Mr. L-L-Lévesque! That horse a-a-a-ain’t out th-th-there,” he stuttered in a loud, excited gush of words. “Ain’t no Indian’s h-h-horse out there. J-J-Just your saddle laying on the gr-ground.”
    Hughes ran out of the saloon doors, followed by Lydia, Tandy, and the others who crowded around the hitching post, staring at the vacated spot where Hughes had tied the white stallion. The tomahawk he had kept as a souvenir from his fight with Quanah was now embedded in the wooden rail, his belt swinging from the weapon’s handle as if it had just been tossed there moments ago.
    The empty street held no sign of the white stallion, or of the chief, or of the other warriors who rode with him. Not even a speck of dust hung in the quiet, still air. The crowd pressed together, looking left and right, searching for a clue. There was none.  
    “It appears that our visitors didn’t care to stick around, but I’m happy he returned this.” Hughes threaded his belt through the loops, tightening the buckle that bore his family’s crest. The heirloom symbol was a small gold fleur de lis centered in front of a larger silver Maltese cross embedded on a background of black onyx, its border a thin line of crushed red rubies. “I’m fond of this particular buckle.”
    “How rude of our visitors not to stay. Oh. . . . You had another today,” said Lydia, feigning revelation. “She’s staying at the Brazos Guest House. Oma Klein told me that she put her into the master suite next to the rose garden. Oma never lets just anyone stay in the master suite. Your visitor must be important.”
    Hughes looked perplexed. “She? My visitor? Did she leave a name?”  
    Lydia teased out the narrative. “She indicated that she was an old friend of yours. I told her you left for Fort Worth and I didn’t know how long you’d be gone. She was very pretty, but thin and frail. She looked ill.”
    Hughes raised his brows in curiosity. “An old friend of mine? Here? In San Antonio?”
    “Yes,” said Lydia, peering up at Hughes, who towered a foot above her head. “A somewhat older lady, yet lovely nonetheless. She said her name was Leighselle Beauclaire.”
    Hughes stopped. “Leighselle? Here in San Antonio? My God if that doesn’t take me back. I haven’t seen her in, hell, almost eight years.”
    “Are you happy that she’s here?” Lydia pouted, her voice thin with jealousy.
    “Happy—yes. And curious. She was like a big sister to me. She saved my life many years ago when I left New Orleans.”
    “Saved your life? That frail thing? How?”
    “By telling a crafty lie.” Hughes took Lydia by the elbow and escorted her inside, a sliver of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

C HAPTER T HREE
    S EPTEMBER 27, 1860

    Leighselle sat straight-backed, high-chinned, and perched on the edge of her chair, a queen presiding over her court. She reigned at the head of an empty table that took up most of the space in the sunny breakfast room at the Brazos Guest House. Her black woolen shawl was pulled tight around her thin shoulders despite the warm breeze that fluttered the gingham curtains. The windows were thrown wide to the garden to invite in the scent of musk rose that perfumed the morning air.  
    Sipping from her teacup with her left hand, pinky finger extended, her right hand lay tucked in her lap. In it she clutched a black silk and lace handkerchief embroidered with her initials in bold red script. The long skirt of her black receiving dress puddled at her dainty feet, which were buttoned up in fashionable leather boots. Dark mourning colors she wore not to show a lady in bereavement. She preferred yellow, even though yellow was the color of her youth. She chose dark fabrics as a practical matter. It was easier hiding the speckles of blood that often accompanied her cough these days.
    “Miss Beauclaire, your guest stands at the door.” Oma Klein stepped into the entryway of the breakfast room, her curly white hair