Winds of Fortune

By Victoria Thompson

Tates of Texas (#4)
“Scorching passion and colorful Texas history.” –Romantic Times
“Exceptional characters!” –Rendezvous
Victoria Thompson shares another of her dynamic, passionate Tates of Texas series, Winds of Fortune, and delivers a story that will sweep you back in time – to and reignite your belief in the power of love.
Heir to an enormous Texas fortune, ruggedly handsome Sean Tate sets off to join the daring Rough Riders, eager to prove himself as an independent Texas man.
But after meeting gentle Maud Campbell, a Clara Barton nurse, Sean’s whole world is turned upside down and his priorities have changed…
Their love is powerful, passionate, all-consuming...everything they’d ever wanted. But when a reckless lie threatens to destroy what they’ve shared, Sean must fight to reclaim his fortune…and the love of his life!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: NYLA
• Release date: Jan 1, 1995
• ISBN: 9781617509018

Victoria Thompson

Victoria Thompson is the author of twenty bestselling historical romances. She is also the Edgar nominated author of the bestselling Gaslight Mystery Series, set in turn-of-the-century New York City and featuring midwife Sarah Brandt. She also contributed to the award winning writing textbook Many Genres/One Craft. A popular speaker, Victoria teaches in the Seton Hill University master's program in writing popular fiction. She lives in Central PA with her husband and a very spoiled little dog.Please visit Victoria Thompson’s www.victoriathompson.homestead.com to learn about new releases and discover old favorites!

Book preview

Thompson

Prologue

Sean Tate glanced around his grandfather’s store one last time to make sure everything was in place as he turned the sign in the window to read CLOSED. His practiced eye told him he hadn’t missed a thing, which meant Grandpa Mac wouldn’t be able to find any last-minute chores to keep him here past closing. Sean didn’t want to be held up this evening. He had plans. Big plans. Plans that involved the prettiest girl in Texas.

Got the store closed up already, have you? Grandpa Mac asked as he stepped out of the back room that had served as his office for over fifty years. The old man was almost eighty now, and the years had shrunk and stooped him, but Sean could still see what he had once been: the adventurer who’d won his fame by rescuing Sean’s grandmother right out from under the noses of the Comanches, who’d then become a Texas Ranger and a hero of the Mexican War. Now his once-flaming red hair was snow white and his broad shoulders stooped, but his brown eyes still sparkled with life, and he still moved with the confidence of youth, albeit a bit slower with each passing year.

Yes, sir, Sean replied with a grin. The place is all cleaned up and the money counted, ready for you to put in the safe.

You sound like a young fellow in a hurry to be out of here, the old man said, shaking his head in wonder as he moved to the counter where Sean had laid the moneybag containing the day’s receipts. Saturday was always a busy day at the mercantile, which was the excuse Sean used for coming in to help his grandfather out whenever he was home from school, and today had been busier than usual. I don’t suppose you’d accept an invitation to have supper with me and your grandmother, would you?

No, I… Sean replied too quickly, then caught himself. I mean, I reckon Mama expects me back at the ranch this evening.

I’ll just bet she does. Grandpa Mac glanced up, and Sean caught the glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. You being in a hurry to leave couldn’t have anything to do with some young lady, now could it?

The old man’s gaze drifted to the front window of the store, and when Sean looked, he saw two girls standing outside on the board sidewalk. Dressed in their town finery, they were giggling and talking and most pointedly not glancing in Sean’s direction.

Sean knew them both, had known them since they could walk, and neither held the slightest attraction for him. Still, he grinned appreciatively for his grandfather’s benefit. Let’s just say I’m hoping to have some plans with a young lady for the evening.

Grandpa Mac nodded, hefting the moneybag absently. Just be careful no girl gets her rope on you before you’re ready. You’ve still got one more year of college left, remember. Your folks’ll be heartbroken if you don’t finish.

Sean’s grin felt stiff. He knew perfectly well what his parents’ plans were for him. Finish college and take over running the Tate ranch. They’d made those plans for him the day he was born, and no one had ever considered the possibility he might not fulfill them. Might not even want to, once he became a man. But he was a man now, and he knew he couldn’t ever be what they wanted. So he had made some plans of his own, plans that included the prettiest girl in Texas. The girl who was waiting for him right now. Don’t worry about me, Grandpa. I know what I’m doing.

The old man nodded again, looking his grandson over from the top of his golden head to the scuffed toes of his cowboy boots. Keep reminding me, will you? Sometimes I forget you’re a man grown. I still want to set you up on the counter and give you a peppermint stick.

Sean grinned at the picture of his grandfather lifting his six-foot, one-inch frame up onto the counter. I wouldn’t advise you to try it, but I will take the peppermint stick, he added striding over and reaching into the glass jar on the counter for a handful. He knew a pretty girl who had a sweet tooth.

To his surprise, his grandfather grabbed his arm, reaching over the counter and stopping him when he would have turned away. You don’t have to be afraid to tell them, you know, he said solemnly.

Tell who what? Sean asked in alarm. How could his grandfather have discovered his secret? He’d been so careful…

Tell your parents that you don’t want to be a rancher, the old man said, surprising him again. But Sean couldn’t help also feeling relief. He’d only guessed half of Sean’s secret.

Whatever gave you an idea like that? he tried, but his grandfather was shaking his head.

It’s as plain as the wart on a billy goat’s nose, to everybody but your father, of course, who doesn’t want to see it. The rest of us know, though, those of us who love you and want what’s best for you. Don’t be afraid to tell Hunter. He’ll be mad, but he’ll get over it after awhile.

And if you know I don’t want to be a rancher, I suppose you also know what I do want to be, Sean ventured.

Grandpa Mac smiled wisely. Let’s just say I’ve got a good idea. Oh, did I tell you I had my will changed a year or so back? In case I ever die, which I’m not planning to do, mind you, but just in case. I’ve left you a half-share in the store along with your grandmother. Her will leaves her half to you, too, so eventually you’ll own the whole damn thing.

Sean felt breathless, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. It was what he’d dreamed about ever since the first time his grandfather had set him up on the counter so he could survey all the wonders of MacDougal’s Mercantile. I… I… he tried before he got hold of himself again. Then he managed a mock glare. Fat lot of good that’ll do me. By the time you die, I’ll be a grandfather myself. He stuffed the peppermint sticks into his shirt pocket. Meanwhile, you probably expect me to clerk for you for free out of gratitude.

Oh, I suppose I could do better than that. Maybe we can work something out where you get a share of the profits in the meantime, Grandpa Mac replied, not the least perturbed by Sean’s feigned disgust.

Sean didn’t know what to say. In fact, anything he did say could be mighty dangerous, considering that if Grandpa Mac knew the rest of Sean’s secret, he’d probably disown him completely instead of fulfilling his fondest desires. I’ve got to be going. Mama…

… is expecting you, I know, the old man said with a sly smile. Hope you get a good-night kiss, he called as Sean opened the door and stepped out into the late-afternoon sunshine.

Sean waved and bit back a grin. He would get a lot more than a kiss, which was all he could expect from girls like the ones still standing on the sidewalk outside the store so they could accidentally run into him.

Hello, Sean! they called in unison, smiling prettily and waving their handkerchiefs.

’Afternoon, ladies, he offered, tipping his hat and smiling the smile that never failed to charm the girls. You both look pretty as a picture this fine day. You wouldn’t be standing out here waiting to break some poor fellow’s heart, now would you?

As he’d expected, they exploded into more giggles and blushed furiously. If he’d been so inclined, Sean could have stood there and flirted with them, and eventually one or both of them would have invited him home for supper. But he wasn’t so inclined. Before either of them could gather her wits for a reply, he said, Well, I’m not looking to get my heart broken today, so I’ll be seeing you!

One of them called something after him as he strode away, but he pretended not to hear and kept on going, down the sidewalk to the livery where his horse was stabled. In just a few minutes he’d be at that little house across the river in Spanish Town where a real woman waited for him.

His body tingled at the thought of her. Rosita with her long black hair and laughing eyes. Rosita with her soft, willowy body that knew every possible way to please a man until he lay gasping and begging for mercy…

Sean drew a calming breath and quickened his step. If his family could only understand how he felt about Rosita, not even his father would blame him for being willing to give up everything for her.

And that’s what he would have to do, he knew. They would never allow him to marry a Mexican girl, at least not a poor nobody like Rosita who had to make her living serving drinks in the cantina. Never mind that the Tate blood wasn’t exactly blue. Never mind that Grandpa MacDougal wasn’t really his grandfather at all, that he’d married Rebekah Tate and raised her illegitimate half-breed Comanche son as his own. Never mind that the half-breed son was Sean’s father and that one-quarter of Sean’s own blood was Comanche, too, regardless of his blue eyes and blond hair. Never mind any of that because they’d still consider him too good for a girl like Rosita.

But Sean didn’t care what they thought. He was going to quit school and marry her just as soon as he could figure out a way to support them both. He was hoping his grandfather would let him continue to work at the store, but he couldn’t count on that, couldn’t count on anything. All he knew was that he would even punch cows for some stranger if he had to if it meant he could be with Rosita.

He got his horse from the livery and hurried through the streets of Tatesville, which were still crowded with the Saturday shoppers. Soon he was racing across the flats and splashing through the trickle of water that passed as a river and separated the town proper from the cluster of shacks where the Mexican residents lived.

Sean would never forget the first Saturday night after he’d come home from college for the summer this year. His friends had taken him to both the bars in Tatesville to celebrate, and when their amusements had paled, the boys had ridden over to Spanish Town where the liquor was stronger and the girls were prettier. That was when he’d first seen Rosita.

He’d known instantly that she was different from every other woman he’d ever known. Not only more beautiful, but more passionate, with a fire he’d imagined could consume him if he’d let it.

She was a good girl, too, even though she worked in a saloon. Sean had wooed her for a month before she’d invited him back to her tiny house. She hadn’t been a virgin, but of course she’d explained about the man who’d seduced and abandoned her after promising marriage. Sean had held her when she cried over this old betrayal, and he’d sworn he’d never let anything bad happen to her again. He would keep that vow, too, even if it cost him everything he’d ever held dear.

Sean swung down from his horse outside of Rosita’s house and called a greeting. Usually she ran out to meet him, dark hair streaming behind her as she threw herself into his arms and lifted her face for his kiss. Today she didn’t appear, but Sean wasn’t alarmed. He could see the front door was ajar and figured she was waiting inside to surprise him. Maybe she was already undressed and in bed. She’d done that once. His body quickened at the memory, and he hastily tied his horse outside.

Two long strides took him to the door that he pushed open. As he stepped inside, his gaze eagerly swept the small room, touching the bed first and finding it empty and still neatly made, then moving on.

Where are you hid—? he began, then stopped when he saw her standing in the corner.

She was in a shadow, and at first he couldn’t make her out, but he felt her terror in the instant before his eyes registered it.

Rosita, what…? he began, and then he saw she wasn’t alone. Someone else stood there with her, behind her, in the shadows. A man with one arm wrapped around her slender waist, the other hand holding a Colt .45 aimed right at Sean’s heart.

Sean swore in surprise and instinctively recoiled.

Run, run! Rosita cried, wringing her hands anxiously, her dark eyes wide with terror. Then she started babbling in Spanish, something about how sorry she was and how she hadn’t told him and other things, but she was talking too fast and not really making any sense so Sean stopped trying to understand.

What in the hell is going on here? he demanded furiously, certain that he knew, certain he’d interrupted someone trying to attack the woman he loved, and sickeningly aware that he was unarmed and helpless.

That’s what I been wondering, a familiar voice replied, and then Sean knew who it was there in the shadows.

Jinks, what do you think you’re doing here? If you’ve hurt Rosita, so help me God, I’ll —

Hurt her? Jinks Vance scoffed. I haven’t laid a hand on her… or maybe that ain’t exactly right. I’ve laid my hands on her plenty of times, haven’t I, sweetheart? he asked, giving the girl a shake.

Rosita yelped in alarm, and Sean instinctively took a step toward her, but Jinks stopped him with a shout.

Stay right where you are, Tate! I ain’t going to hurt her none, so don’t think you’ve got to be a hero and rescue her. Oh, no, I want Rosita in one pretty little piece just like she’s always been. You’re the one who’s gonna get hurt. In fact, I’m gonna kill you here in a minute, but before I do, I figure you oughta know why.

Sean’s mouth went dry when he heard the click of the old Colt being cocked. Dear God, he was going to die and that would leave Rosita at the mercy of a madman. He’d never had reason to believe his old friend was crazy before, but no other explanation made any sense.

Look, Jinks, Sean tried, forcing himself to sound reasonable and not panicky. I know we’ve had our differences, but those were family arguments. There’s never been any trouble between the two of us.

Your folks killed my old man! Jinks cried furiously. You don’t think that makes trouble between us?

But — Sean began and caught himself just in time. There was no use in reminding Jinks his father had been raiding the Tate holdings at the time. We were just kids!

And you ain’t spoke to me since!

You haven’t spoken to me, either! Sean countered, knowing instantly he was wasting his breath trying to reason with him. Okay, maybe you’re right, but there’s no reason to involve Rosita in any of this, he continued, wishing his mouth didn’t feel as if it were stuffed with cotton. Why don’t you let her go, and we can settle this man to man.

You really don’t understand anything, do you, college boy? Jinks sneered. Rosita is involved in this right up to her lying little mouth, ain’t you, darlin’? He gave her another shake, and this time her cry became a sob.

No, please, do not shoot him! she begged, the tears streaming down her face. I am your woman! I will always be your woman! Just do not kill him!

Hear that, Tate? Jinks demanded, and Sean gaped.

Don’t say that, Rosita! He’s not going to kill anybody! He’ll hang if he does and —

Do you think I care? Jinks shouted. You Tates! You think you’re next to God his ownself! You’ve taken everything I ever cared about, killed my old man, swallowed up our ranch when we had to sell out, and now you’ve taken my woman! That’s right, he insisted when Sean opened his mouth to argue. Rosita is my woman, and she’s been my woman for over a year now! Who do you think pays the rent on this place? Who do you think buys her food and her clothes? And then you show up, fancy college boy with your fancy manners, and she spreads her legs for you like she don’t even know I’m alive!

Sean stared at them both in horror. You’re lying! he shouted. Rosita, tell me he’s lying! But she was too hysterical to reply. She sagged against Jinks’s arm, sobbing uncontrollably.

But Sean didn’t need to hear her answer. Her refusal to deny it was proof enough, and the knowledge was like a blade in his heart. He’d loved her! He’d wanted to marry her, for God’s sake!

Stunned by the pain and the humiliation, he almost forgot the Colt and the danger.

And then Jinks growled, So now you know why I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch!

He shoved Rosita aside and raised the heavy Colt, using both hands to steady it. Rosita screamed and lunged to stop him, but the room exploded as the gun belched smoke and flame.

The roar filled the room, and Sean felt the impact against his chest. Rosita! he cried, reaching for her in the instant before he knew he must die.

But the instant stretched into seconds, and he didn’t die, didn’t even fall, and the pain he had been expecting never came. But Rosita slumped to the floor between him and Jinks, like a broken doll.

Rosita? he croaked hoarsely, instinctively touching his chest where the bullet had struck him. He felt no wound, only a pocket full of crushed peppermint sticks. Then he knew. He’d been hit by a spent bullet, a bullet slowed down because it had passed through someone else first. No! his mind screamed.

No! Jinks cried aloud. Noooo! He howled like an animal, dropping the Colt and falling to his knees beside her. I didn’t mean it, Rosy! Rosy, please, I didn’t mean it!

When Jinks gathered her into his arms, Sean saw the blood blossoming between her breasts like an obscene flower.

Rosy, say something! You’ll be all right! We’ll get a doctor! Jinks insisted, rocking her like a sick child. You’ll see, I’ll take care of you! Don’t I always take care of you? He looked around wildly and seemed surprised to find Sean still standing over them. Get a doctor! Can’t you see she’s dying? he shouted.

Sean could see she was already dead, but he ran anyway, calling at the top of his lungs for help. But it was too late. It was too late for everything.

Chapter One

Sean stared at the mound of earth marking the month-old grave and thought about his loss. The hand-lettered wooden marker read SEAN MACDOUGAL, a temporary measure until the marble headstone his grandmother had ordered for her husband arrived from San Antonio. It would read, SEAN MACDOUGAL, BELOVED HUSBAND OF REBEKAH, BELOVED FATHER OF HUNTER TATE. THE MAN WHO RESCUED REBEKAH TATE.

His grandmother had added the last, she’d explained, because of a promise she’d made him long ago. Sean hadn’t really listened to the explanation. He’d been too lost in his own pain. Grandpa Mac had been the only one who really understood, and now he was gone.

Looking at his grandfather’s grave, he couldn’t help thinking of another over in the Catholic cemetery outside Spanish Town. A grave now three years old and marked by a stone placed there by a killer. Jinks Vance had insisted on buying the marker himself after the law had cleared him of any crime. He hadn’t intended to kill Rosita, after all. It had been an accident. And besides, nobody really cared that she was dead, nobody but the two men she had betrayed.

He taught Mama to read. Did you know that? a voice behind him asked.

He looked up to see his sister Becky smiling down at him. She’d walked over from the house, the house that had been the original Tate homestead over sixty years ago and where Becky now lived with her husband and children.

‘Yeah, I know, Sean said bitterly. She couldn’t read when she married Pa, and Grandpa Mac taught her how. That’s why she’s always been so dead set on me getting an education, on finishing college even though it was the last thing I wanted to do at the time."

Sean remembered the terrible arguments after Rosita’s death and how Grandpa Mac had been the one who finally convinced him to take hold of his life.

It was the best thing for you, Becky said. After that girl…

Rosita! Sean snapped angrily. She had a name. She was a real person, even if the rest of you don’t want to admit it.

Becky frowned worriedly. We don’t like to speak of her at all, because we know it upsets you, but Sean, it’s been three years. Do you think she would have mourned you for three years? A woman like that, she would’ve found herself another man before your body was even cold!

Sean jumped to his feet from where he’d been hunkered down beside the grave, ready to defend Rosita’s honor yet again, but in the face of Becky’s determined glare, the words died on his lips — and the anger died in his heart. She was right, he knew. He’d always known but hadn’t let himself admit it, had nursed his hurt, keeping it alive when it should have died with the girl who had betrayed him. All right, I’ll stop mourning her! he cried. But what am I supposed to do instead?

Exactly what everybody else has been wondering, Becky replied, gesturing toward her house where the rest of the Tate clan had gathered for Sunday dinner. Where they were all waiting for him now. You’re twenty-five years old, Squirt, she reminded him, using her childhood nickname for him, a name that hardly applied since he now stood a head taller than she. We all figured you’d be taking over the ranch, since that’s where you’ve been working ever since you finished school. But now that Grandpa Mac’s left you half the store, you’ve got us to wondering again.

Sean had done his penance for two years, ever since he’d finished school, figuring he owed it to his parents to be a dutiful son after he’d caused them so much scandal. Somewhere along the line, he’d all but forgotten his childhood dreams.

Becky laid a hand on his arm. Come on back to the house, Squirt. You know it bothers Mama when you brood.

Don’t worry, I’m done brooding, he promised, hoping it was true, and he followed her through the gate of the picket fence that enclosed the Tate family cemetery, shutting it behind him.

As they approached the house, which had been enlarged to accommodate Becky’s growing brood, Sean could hear the happy screams of children at play. Four of Becky’s five were playing tag among the cluster of blossoming redbud trees she’d planted in the yard fifteen years earlier when she’d first moved here with her new husband, Clint Masterson.

Becky’s children had grown up like the trees, tall and sturdy, and Sean felt a familiar pang of envy as he watched her oldest, Wakefield, snatching his seven-year old brother off a low hanging branch. His sister had everything. All he had was the memory of betrayal.

Becky led him down the dog trot, the covered walkway that separated the living quarters of the house from the bedrooms on the other side and provided a cool, shaded spot for the family — and the family’s dogs — in the heat of summer. She disappeared into the kitchen, glancing once over her shoulder to make sure he was still coming. With a sense of doom, he followed her inside where the rest of his family still sat around the table.

He’d half expected them to be discussing him, but he should have guessed they’d be talking about what everyone at church had been talking about this morning: the newly declared war in Cuba.

They say hundreds of people are starving to death every day, his mother was saying. She was holding Becky’s youngest daughter on her lap. The child was fast asleep, oblivious to the outrage being vented over her head. They keep them penned up in camps, like cattle! How can we call ourselves human if we don’t do something?

We’re doing plenty since they blew up the Maine, her husband reminded her, referring to the American battleship that had exploded to tinder in Havana harbor in February, killing hundreds of American sailors. Didn’t you hear they’re calling for volunteers to fight? Some fellow named Roosevelt wants cowboys in his army, and they’re signing up by the hundreds. We’ll be lucky if we have enough men left around here to do the spring roundup.

Everyone chuckled at the prospect of the Texas plains being deserted by men enlisting in the army.

I guess I’m lucky Clint has a bum leg, Becky said, going to stand behind her husband. Otherwise, he’d probably sign up just to get away from me and all these kids.

She rested her hands on Clint’s shoulders, and he reached up to pat one of them, smiling up into her eyes with such adoration, Sean had to look away. I’m not real anxious to get away from you, sweetheart, but sometimes the peace and quiet of a war does sound inviting.

As if to prove his point, his seven-year old son let out a bloodcurdling scream just outside the door.

Jason! his mother chided as everyone else laughed. But the boy was gone, being chased by one of his sisters.

I don’t suppose we have much choice about going to war after what they did to that ship, Grandma Mac said solemnly. And heaven knows, the Spanish have about destroyed the Cuban people, but I still can’t help wondering if anything at all is worth the lives of our young men. War is a terrible thing, as you ought to remember, Hunter, she chided her son. I almost lost my husband to one and my son to another. I’ve got no love for men’s fightings.

The other women murmured their agreement, but Sean barely heard them. In fact, he wasn’t even listening. Instead he was studying these people to whom he’d been so close all of his life.

His father, Hunter, whose dark hair and brown skin gave evidence of his natural father who had been a Comanche war chief. A half-breed bastard who had grown up to become a hero of the Confederacy and one of the most successful cattle ranchers in Texas.

His mother, Sarah, who had buried one husband and two children before she was twenty but who had made a new life for herself with a new husband. Sarah, who had never gone to school herself, was now president of the school board and had managed to force the taxpayers into supporting the school she and her daughter had founded for the children of former slaves.

His sister, Becky, who had inherited her father’s coloring and along with it the type of prejudice reserved only for half-breeds. Who had dedicated herself to making sure those less fortunate had an equal chance in life.

Becky’s husband Clint, a former Texas Ranger who’d broken his bum leg in the fight to protect the Tate’s ranch in which Jinks Vance’s father had died.

And his grandmother, Rebekah Tate MacDougal. In her lined face, Sean could still see traces of the lovely girl with whom a red-haired Comanchero had fallen in love over fifty years ago. A girl for whom a man would risk even the wrath of the Comanche nations to have for his own. Their story was a legend in Texas.

And then there was Sean, named for one of the heroes of the state, but who had won only infamy in his short life. What had he ever done but love a faithless woman and bring shame to his family? And what would he ever do, whether he chose to take his place at the Tate ranch or to accept his grandfather’s legacy of the store?

You’re awful quiet over there, Sean, Clint observed. Don’t you have an opinion on this business in Cuba?

Sean realized he hadn’t really thought about it, at least not until this moment, although he’d heard and read everything the rest of them had heard and read. War was coming, that much was certain, and they were calling for volunteers to free the enslaved people of Cuba from the evil Spaniards. Someone would have to go and fight. Someone would have to liberate them.

And then Sean knew the answer to the question they were going to ask him this afternoon. The question about what he intended to do with himself. The question of what path he would choose. And also of the matter of what he could do to make himself worthy to be a Tate.

I reckon I’ve been thinking about Cuba some myself, he informed them. If this fellow Roosevelt is looking for cowboys to be in his army, I’m going to be one of them.

Maud stepped off the trolley and hurried to the sidewalk, watching so she didn’t step in any horse droppings on the cobblestone street. Looking neither right nor left, she strode purposefully down the side street lined with the rowhouses that were so distinctive of Baltimore. Women sat on the scrubbed white stoops, gossiping and watching over the children dodging horses and wagons to play stickball in the street, but Maud didn’t look at them for fear of seeing someone she knew.

If she got caught up in conversation with someone who had known her all her life in this neighborhood where she had grown up, she would never be able to see her father, tell him her news and get back to the hospital in time for her shift.

Still she was conscious of the stares of the people she passed. She had purposely worn her uniform for her trip across town. In an ordinary dress, Maud Campbell would be just an ordinary woman, someone’s daughter or wife, defined only by whatever male relative currently claimed her. In her uniform, however, she was a nurse. A woman who belonged to no one but herself, who was somebody in her own right. Somebody who would never have to depend on a man for anything ever again.

She had reached the rooming house where her father currently lived and was just about to climb the steps to the front door when she heard a familiar voice shouting in the alley that ran next to the building.

Lonnie? she called, wondering what her brother would be doing in the alley at this time of day. He should still have been in school.

Other voices joined the one she’d recognized, drowning out her call, so she entered the alley, lifting her skirts so they wouldn’t drag in the debris scattered around the garbage cans.

The alley was L-shaped, and she found the owners of the voices at the end of the L. What she saw them doing made her gasp in horror. Lonnie! she cried, startling all the boys crouching around her brother who had just gathered a pair of dice for another throw. Are you gambling?

The boys stared at her in surprise for one long second, and then they jumped up and ran. There was a brief scuffle when someone tried to grab the pile of money lying at Lonnie’s feet, but he managed to salvage most of it before the others disappeared down the alley, darting around Maud as they went.

Hello, Sis, Lonnie said, stuffing the money into his pocket as he rose with studied nonchalance. Only then did she notice the cigarette dangling from his lips.

What in God’s good name are you doing, young man? she demanded furiously, marching up to him and snatching the offending object from his mouth. She threw it down and stomped on it contemptuously, her face flaming with indignation. She wanted to give the boy a good cuff, but decided it wasn’t really her job. Gambling and smoking cigarettes when you should be in school! Does Pa know about this?

The boy shrugged, his own face flaming. He had the same red hair and fair complexion as his older sister and had never been able to hide his emotions either.

Well, let’s ask him, shall we? she suggested venomously, taking firm hold of his ear just in case he decided to make a break for it.

Aw, Sis, he don’t care what I do just so long as I bring him a bottle every night, Lonnie argued as he stumbled along beside her down the alley.

This time she did cuff him. That’s for talking disrespectful about your father, she informed him as he howled in protest. She led him up the steps to the tenement, keeping a firm grip on his ear.

It’s true and you know it, Lonnie insisted, and she did know it, although she wasn’t going to admit it to the boy.

That doesn’t give you any excuse for missing school! What if the truant officer had caught you!

He never does, Lonnie informed her as she shoved him ahead of her up the stairs to the second-floor room he shared with their father.

You mean you’ve missed school before! Maud cried, thoroughly outraged. I ought to call the truant officer myself!

The door to her father’s room was unlocked, and Maud threw it open and pushed Lonnie in ahead of her, slamming the door behind them.

Her father lay on the unmade bed, clad in his long underwear and a pair of faded pants, his toes sticking out of the holes in his socks. He was snoring softly, and he looked so small and shrunken and old with his unshaved whiskers gleaming white in the afternoon sunlight, Maud felt a stab of pity for him. Until she saw the empty whiskey bottle on the bed beside him.

She bit back a curse — ladies didn’t swear, no matter what the provocation. Pa! she shouted, startling her father awake.

What the hell? he muttered, struggling up to a sitting position and looking frantically around through bloodshot eyes. He finally focused on his children, first on Lonnie who stood, shamefaced but surly, in the center of the small room, and then on Maud who glared at him, arms akimbo.

Maudie, what’re you doing? Trying to wake the dead? her father complained, rubbing his forehead as if he had an ache there.

No, I’m trying to wake the drunk, Maud said in disgust. The last time I was here, you told me you hadn’t touched a drop in six months.

And I hadn’t, Ian Campbell informed his only daughter. At least not then. I only took a wee dram to celebrate with my friends the other night…

And it tasted like another and another, Maud finished for him. She wanted to stamp her foot or howl in exasperation. Instead she glared ferociously. Her father had never been a match for her temper. Lonnie didn’t go to school today, and heaven only knows how many other days, and I caught him just now out in the alley gambling and smoking a cigarette!

Her father’s bloodshot eyes widened with what might have been shock but which Maud guessed was alarm that she had found out. Lonnie, is that true? he demanded of his youngest son.

Lonnie scuffed his toe on the wooden floor and refused to meet his father’s eye. Yes, sir, he allowed.

It’ll not happen again or I’ll have the hide off of you, do you understand, young man?

Yes, sir. Can I go now? Lonnie asked, not sounding the least bit repentant.

Be off with you! I can’t stand to look at you! Ian Campbell declared with exactly the proper amount of disgust.

Lonnie took the opportunity to bolt, running out before Maud could stop him, although

Reviews for Winds of Fortune

[jessica11_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

By far the best novel written by E. V. Thomson, why this has not been made into a film I don't know, I has it all! Female highwaymen, pirates, romance and above all is set in one of my favourite parts of the world - Cornwall!

[alisonb60 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is a fast moving story, a real page turner. I know the locations but it was fascinating to learn about life on St Michael’s Mount. Apparently Thompson has written about 40 books so I’m looking forward to more stories by this wonderful author. Gripping from start to finish (in a Cornish sort of way).