LITMIR.BIZ

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address.”

      His attention riveted on the papers before him, Prescott scratched his salt-and-pepper beard and patently ignored her. Laney widened her stance, calling upon the patience she’d lost the day before while standing in this very spot. The constant, even ticking of the wall clock beat in stark contrast to the banker’s furious scribbling. The rich smell of polished mahogany and perfectly aged leather extolled power, ownership.

      Laney refused to be intimidated.

      She poked at the stack of papers nearest to her, sending them scattering to the floor. “Oh, my, look what I’ve done.”

      Prescott’s head snapped up. Frustration knitted across his bushy brows. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear. As of this morning, you now have two days left to come up with the money.” He dipped his pen in the inkwell on his left, then returned his gaze to his paperwork. “You know the way out.”

      Oh, no. He wasn’t sending her away yet. Not before she’d settled her loan. “I will take only a moment more of your time.”

      Silence was his only reply.

      Laney released a small sigh of satisfaction and plucked the neatly wrapped bundle of money from the hidden pocket in her skirt. “Perhaps you’ll be interested in what I have to say now.”

      With a steady hand, she set the sizable pile directly where he’d fastened his attention after dismissing her so coldly.

      In one swift movement, he snatched the money off the desk and looked up. His small, sharp eyes hardened. Sputtering, he flung his ugly glare from her face to the money in his hand and back again.

      “It’s all there.” Laney granted him her most pleasant smile. “All five hundred dollars.”

      For a moment his gaze filled with disdain, but then he set the money back on the desk and cleared his expression of all emotion, save one. Suspicion. “How did you come upon this much money in one day?”

      A flicker of conscience ignited, making it no longer possible to escape the truth any longer. Yes, Judge Greene had owed Laney the money for Johnny’s room and board over the past three years. And, yes, he should have been paying all along for his son’s care. But that didn’t make what Laney had done the most ethical of routes she could have chosen to raise the money.

      She’d used the man’s former “friendship” with her mother—as well as his current one with several other women in Mattie’s brothel—to insist he pay off his debt. Worse, Laney had led him to believe she would make his life difficult if he didn’t do so at once.

      That had been wrong. Justified, perhaps, but wrong.

      Forgive me, Lord.

      Drawing in a slow breath, Laney fought to keep the shame out of her voice as she spoke. “Does it matter where the money came from?”

      Eyes narrowed, Prescott slapped both palms on his desk and leaned forward. “Yes, Miss O’Connor, it matters significantly. I must know, without a single doubt, that every dollar of this money is truly yours.”

      Laney sighed. She should have been prepared for such a reaction. But she’d been so relieved Judge Greene had cooperated without a fuss she hadn’t thought much further. After convincing Katherine all was well, she’d changed clothes, helped with the children’s morning routine, then hurried to the bank.

      Tired now, and more than a little frightened, she did what came naturally. She fought for what was hers. “Telling you where or how I got this money was not part of our agreement. All you said was that I had to pay off my loan in three days. And there is my payment.” She pointed to the money.

      A succession of creaks and groans exploded in the air as the banker shifted his considerable frame into another position. Resting his elbows on the chair’s arm, he steepled his fingers under his chin. “Did you steal it?”

      “No.” The very idea.

      “Then I’ll ask just one more time, before I throw you out of my office. Where did you get the money?”

      How she detested that smug condemnation in his eyes. A man like Prescott, with his fancy clothes, obscene wealth, and judgmental nature exemplified all that threatened her children’s chance of a secure future. “Let’s just say I have a...benefactor.”

      Now why had she said that, as though she were a woman cut from the same cloth as her mother? She had no doubt Marc Dupree would positively go apoplectic if he heard what she’d just claimed, all but confirming his bad opinion of her.

      Disturbed by the direction of her thoughts and that she’d think of the handsome hotel owner at a time like this, she batted at a stubborn curl falling loose from its pins below her hat. What did it matter what Dupree thought of her? If she’d done her job properly last night, and had fully misled him into thinking she lived on The Row, she would never see the man again.

      A pity.

      No. Not a pity. A blessing.

      Studying her with narrowed eyes, Prescott rose from his chair and made his way around the desk.

      Laney threw her head back and held his stare, refusing to stir as the banker drew closer. No matter what happened in the next few minutes, she would not let this man see how much she abhorred his self-serving attitude. The one that led him to give and take money whenever it pleased him.

      “You have a...benefactor?” He practically spat the word.

      “I do.”

      “You expect me to believe some misguided soul gave you five hundred dollars? Your friends on The Row may help you out on occasion, as well as a few saloon owners, but I know for a fact that none of them have the kind of money you just delivered here today.”

      Laney swallowed back a nasty retort and concentrated on remaining calm. “Is it so hard to comprehend?”

      “I find it impossible. No one would give money to you or that...home...of yours. A place filled with illegitimate children with mothers working on The Row.” His face inflated with fury. “It’s beyond repulsive.”

      Laney recoiled at the callous words. “No child is repulsive.” Let these little ones come to me. “There are many people in Denver who see the need for my orphanage.”

      “You mean the shamed mothers of your kind who need a place to discard their brats.”

      Her knees buckled at the venom in his tone. Hands trembling, she grasped the side of the desk to steady herself. This man, with his refined eastern accent and overfilled belly, had never cared about Charity House. Or the children. But surely, he held a fondness for one of them. “What about your son?”

      “Don’t ever mention that boy in my presence again.” His rage reverberated in his voice.

      “But I thought you wanted to provide for Michael’s future, if not for the other children.”

      “That was never my intention.” Prescott’s lips twisted in a snarl. “He’s Sally’s problem, not mine.”

      Hypocrite. Just like the men who’d come to Laney’s mother, wanting their pleasure and paying handsomely for it, then cursing her unholy profession once back in their daily lives on the righteous side of Hollady Street. “If that’s how you feel, then why lend me the money in the first place?”

      “Simple.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I knew you could never pay back that much money in time. I gave it to you so you would fail. And then Denver would be rid of you and your brats for good.”

      He’d wanted her to fail? He might as well have grasped her heart and squeezed the very life out of it. She clamped her lips tight shut, shunning the weak tears that would proclaim her despair to this man. All this time, Laney thought Prescott had loaned her the money for the benefit of his six-year-old son. She’d been wrong. So...very...wrong.

      “It doesn’t matter what you think,” she said, realizing the truth as she spoke it out loud. “You signed

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