Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature

by Susan Johnson

  Jo arched her brows faintly. “I hope you’re not going to say, like all the others.”

  “Very much not like all the others. He treats you altogether differently. He notices you for a start,” Blaze said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

  “Ah ... so I’ve stepped from the amorphous ranks of eager females,” Jo remarked with a half smile. “How fortunate, since I feel as though I’m caught up in a tumultuous whirlwind. Not that I’m complaining. I might as well enjoy it while I may. We both have lives we must return to soon.”

  “How very practical. You and Daisy are much alike—able to see reality clearly.” Blaze surveyed the young women fondly. “I find it commendable.”

  “Recognizing reality is a necessity in my profession. Engineering is factual and concrete.”

  “While the law is rife with equivocations,” Daisy observed. “In my personal life, however, I prefer certainty.”

  “Which means Daisy has yet to meet the man who can sweep her off her feet in a whirlwind of any kind,” Blaze teased.

  “Nor will I,” Daisy retorted. “I have no wish to be swept off my feet, thank you.”

  That topic—although less poetically defined—was being discussed over brandy in the dining room.

  “When will you be returning to your ranch?” Hazard asked. “In a few days,” Flynn replied. “I can’t be away for long.” “Have you told Jo?”

  He hesitated. “Not in so many words . . .”

  Trey grinned. “You haven’t mentioned it.”

  “Not yet.”

  Hazard was lounging in his chair, but no hint of languor was visible in his gaze. His dark eyes were grave. “I’d appreciate your most courteous explanation when the time comes.”

  “Of course.” Flynn ran his finger over the rim of his glass. “It’s not as though this is normal for me .. . staying... I mean.”

  “No need to explain,” Hazard murmured, eschewing unnecessary details with typical male restraint.

  Trey grinned. “Damned if you aren’t blushing, Flynn. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Screw you,” Flynn muttered, but he was smiling.

  “Another one bit the dust.” Trey lifted his glass. “Hell, you almost got yourself married.”

  For the briefest moment, Flynn regretted he hadn’t—a transient insanity quickly overcome. “I decided I didn’t want you for a brother-in-law,” he drawled.

  “Or maybe Jo had more sense than you.” Trey’s silvery eyes were amused.

  “Or maybe they both regained their sanity,” Hazard noted, drily.

  Chapter 14

  The time and manner of Flynn’s leave-taking was thrust upon him the next morning when one of his men burst into Daisy’s office, red-faced from taking the stairs at a run.

  “Empire burned down the barn—and stables!” he cried. Flynn surged to his feet, his expression grim. “Were any of the men killed?”

  Out of breath, his chest heaving, the cowboy shook his head.

  “How many brood mares did we lose?”

  “They got—most o’ them out,” the man panted. “But McFee thought—mebbe ten, twelve—was caught in the blaze.”

  “Have my mount brought up.”

  “Already done, boss.”

  “I’ll be down in five minutes.” Glancing at the clock, Flynn turned back to Daisy as his range hand exited the office. “Do you have enough information to get started on the case? I won’t be back for some time.”

  “More than enough. If I have any questions, I’ll send a messenger to the ranch.”

  “If you’ll excuse us for a minute,” he murmured, his voice almost inaudible.

  But Daisy understood and quickly rose from her chair.

  As the door closed on Daisy, Flynn found himself momentarily at a loss for words. “I’d planned on speaking to you at a more opportune time,” he began, the hesitancy in his voice unmistakable. “Certainly not like this . . He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say—”

  “I know,” Jo said, kindly. “You have to go. I always knew you did.”

  “I was hoping to stay a few more days . . . explain to you with more gallantry”—he blew out a breath. “Obviously, that’s not possible now.”

  “I understand, really, I do. How could you not leave under the circumstances.”

  “I appreciate your understanding.” Touched by an unfamiliar pang of regret, when in the past taking leave of a woman had always been a relief, he found himself saying, “If you’re planning on staying in Helena, please feel free to use my home. The staff is always there.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll be staying, but thank you.” Jo half-lifted her shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I was going to say it depends on what my mother does, but perhaps she’s old enough to manage her own life.”

  “I’d like it if you’d stay.”

  No doubt, but she didn’t care to be a convenience. “My plans are uncertain.” She shrugged again. “I’ve been away from Florence for some time.”

  He didn’t know what he’d expected, but certainly not this casualness, as though she’d not heard his unprecedented offer, as though the sensational passion they’d shared was so commonplace it could be dismissed with a shrug. “Will you be going back to Florence?” His voice held a faint edge.

  “Will you be going back to the Sun River?”

  “I have to.”

  “Maybe I have to go back to Florence.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Should I just wait here and hope you survive?”

  He was comforted by her anger; that he understood. “You don’t have to hope. I’ll survive.”

  “Then I should just bide my time until your return.”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.” “How soon? Days—weeks . .. months?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, a forced mildness to his voice. “When Empire decides not to kill me, I suppose.”

  “Perhaps I should take up embroidery in your absence and keep a lamp lit in the window?”

  He frowned. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Ask me to come along and don’t say you can’t.” The mockery was gone from her voice. “I won’t be in the way”

  “Yes, you will,” he replied, gruffly. “We’re riding fast and they’re going to be waiting for us. I can’t put you in that kind of jeopardy”

  “I ride well. I can shoot. The monks in Florence hunt; I’m the best shot in ten parishes.”

  “No,” he said, blunt and hard. “I don’t care if you’re the best shot in all of Italy. Nor does your father.”

  “Then, maybe I won’t embroider,” she said, peevishly, annoyed with his misguided chivalry, more annoyed that he might be taking advantage of the situation to dismiss her like all the other women in his life. “Maybe I’ll go dancing every night. Maybe I’ll meet someone who surpasses you in bed . . . although you were quite extraordinary last night. Perhaps I’ll just have to settle for second best.”

  His frown deepened. “You’re beginning to annoy me. I have to go. I should have left five minutes ago.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not docile and obedient. What a shame for you. Do they always say, yes, Flynn, whatever you want, Flynn, how far should I spread them, darling Flynn?”

  He crossed the distance between them in a second flat, gripped the arms of her chair and leaned in so close, she could count the painted quills decorating the collar of his leather jacket. “Go dancing every night,” he growled, his long black hair framing the grim features of his face. “Do whatever you damned well please, but be warned—when I come back, I’ll find you and drag you from whatever bed you’re in.”

  “That depends, I suspect, on the man with me,” she murmured, meeting his gaze with unflinching acrimony.

  “You don’t understand,” he whispered, his fury barely restrained. “I’ll take you away, guaranteed

  “I may not be here.” Cool as ice, she stared him down.

  “Just make sure you stay.” Abrupt
ly straightening, he jabbed his finger at her. “That’s an order.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “That’s my plan. Now be a good girl,” he murmured, silkily, “and behave yourself while I’m away.”

  An instant later he was gone and Jo was left trembling with rage. How dare he order her about as though she were another submissive female subject to his whims! Not likely that! Not in a million years! Not in ten million!

  But regardless of her mutinous, hot-blooded temper, she was already feeling a sense of loss, as though he’d become an addiction in her blood and she was suddenly deprived. Softly swearing, she reminded herself that she was a rational woman and men like Flynn—too familiar with acquiescent women— were best forgotten. Furthermore, she had no intention of allowing herself to be added to his list of readily available, compliant females.

  A fierce wave of longing suddenly overwhelmed her as though in willful contradiction and she fought down the urgent desire flaring through her body. So much for rational thought, she reflected, as images of Flynn in various guises of hot-blooded, rampant urgency made her shiver with excitement.

  Dear God, how was she going to exist without the fierce pleasure Flynn dispensed so freely, so frequently—so exquisitely? How was she going to survive until he returned? Was it possible to be addicted to his touch? Or was she crazed?

  Or was he just much too accomplished in bed for her peace of mind?

  Resentful of his virtuoso skills or perhaps only resentful of the other women on whom he’d bestowed them, Jo’s expression was sullen as Daisy re-entered the office. “I hate him,” she muttered.

  Daisy smiled indulgently. “You didn’t really think he’d take you, did you?”

  “Yes—no”—Jo grimaced—“probably not, but that’s not the point. I should have been given a choice. But what’s much worse,” she grumbled, “is the provoking fact that he may have spoiled me for other men.”

  “I doubt anything so drastic is at stake,” Daisy replied, sitting down at her desk, surveying Jo tolerantly. “You’ve only known him for a few days.” While sexual obsession wasn’t in her nature, she wasn’t unaware of the principle. “If it’s any help to your sense of frustration, I can assure you, Flynn had no choice. The Empire wants his land and his life. He had to

  go.”

  “Oh, Lord! Will they actually kill him!” Shocked from her self-absorption, Jo imagined Death hovering over Flynn’s head, sickle poised.

  “They’ve been trying for a long time.” Daisy lifted her hands as though in apology. “With luck, they won’t. On the other hand, if we can make it markedly unprofitable for them in court, they might be inclined to give up.”

  “Might?” Jo’s voice rose in alarm, issues of desire sublimated by more fearful considerations. “You never said might, before.”

  “I’m just realistic. The courts are extending their influence, but”—Daisy sighed—“the judges are unpredictable and at times, corrupt.”

  “Is it even possible to defeat the Empire in court? Tell me the truth.”

  “With the right judge, yes.”

  “Otherwise?”

  “We appeal, of course.”

  “Please, let me help. I’d feel less guilty about my behavior if you’d let me assist in some small way, although I still blame Flynn completely. Tell me he has enough men to keep him from harm. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t have to make sense. I’m too distrait.”

  “Flynn and his men will be fine. They’re very good at what they do.”

  “Killing, you mean.”

  “Not always. But sometimes,” Daisy said, guardedly, “it’s inevitable.”

  “I should apologize to him,” Jo murmured. “I was outrageously rude when his ranch was in ruins and his future in peril. And now it may be too late. Lord, Daisy, what if he should—”

  “He’ll be back,” Daisy said, firmly.

  “You’re just saying that to cheer me up.”

  “No, I heard him tell you he would.” Daisy grinned. “Something about dragging you out of bed.”

  Jo groaned softly. “I don’t know why I was so insufferable.” “I’m sure he’s had women disagree with him before. You’re not the first.” Daisy spoke with a considered calm.

  “Because there are always women, and he’s always leaving?” . . .

  “Something like that. Flynn and Trey are in great demand and it’s not for their conversation. Although, if it’s any consolation, Flynn didn’t treat you like the others.”

  Jo’s gaze was direct. “You’ve seen him often with other women?”

  Who in Helena hadn’t, Daisy wanted to say. “Once or twice,” she said, instead. “He treated them quite casually, and I know for a fact,” she added with a playful smile, “he never asked any of them to marry him.”

  “That was out of respect for Hazard,” Jo mumbled. “He wouldn’t have otherwise.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Really.” Strange how even equivocation could be consoling if you wished it to be. Stranger yet, why she needed consoling when the rational portion of her mind understood their liaison was just that and no more.

  “I’d bet a new set of law books on it.”

  That sounded much more certain and jettisoning reason without a qualm, Jo smiled. “I’ll send Flynn an apology with your messenger.” Or, she suddenly decided, with the confident presumption that had always served her well, she might as well deliver her apology in person.

  Chapter 15

  "You are not to see that disreputable man again!” Lucy A exclaimed later that day, stamping her silk-slippered foot on the Turkish carpet of the Plantation House’s best suite. “I absolutely forbid it!”

  “Your message said you wanted your accounts balanced.” A task Jo had been managing since she was ten. “And even if I cared to wager a guess as to the identity of this disreputable man,” she said, disgruntled and annoyed, not moving from her position just inside the doorway, “I’m well past the age when you can dictate to me.”

  “My accounts are fine,” her mother said, dismissively, as though she’d not lured Jo to her suite on false pretexts. “I hear you’ve quite destroyed your reputation in this town and, I might add, compromised mine in the bargain!” Indignation rang through her voice. “That scoundrel, Ito, is not a gentleman and I forbid you to see him again! What will my friends think! How can I hold up my head at the Finnegans tonight?” “Perhaps Ed Finnegan could speak on your behalf. I understand he’s a frequent visitor to this suite. I’m sure he’d be willing to vouch for you to his friends,” Jo noted, leaving out the comment concerning his wife she’d like to have added.

  “How dare you imply Mr. Finnegan is anything but a very dear friend!”

  “And how dare you imply my dear friends are any less acceptable than yours. Flynn Ito is ten times the man Ed Finnegan is ... and richer too. That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it, Mother? Unless you can trade it for a handsome face. In my case, Flynn is both handsome and rich and he’s asked me to marry him. Something I suspect, Mr. Finnegan won’t be doing.” Other than score a point in their argument, she had no idea why she’d mentioned marriage, particularly with a man like Flynn who was apt to turn and run if she said yes.

  “You cheeky little tart, I have a good mind to wash your mouth out with soap! For your information, Mr. Finnegan is advising me on the purchase of some stocks!” Purse-lipped and flushed, Lucy added heatedly, “I should have known better than to think you’d take my advice!”

  “Yes, Mother, you should have, because your advice, as you so loosely term it, always has to do with protecting your image or wanting me to participate in your latest scheme or substantiate your most recent slander. These little bits of advice you dispense never have anything to do with me. If you’re truly concerned with your reputation in this town, my friendship with Flynn Ito is the least of your worries. I’d reconsider the number of other wives’ husbands you have up for tea.” “Whom I entertain is none of your concern.”

/>   “Then you should understand my feelings. I’m twenty-two, Mother. I’m quite capable of making my own decisions. But if it will ease your mind, I won’t be seeing Mr. Ito for some time.” Vagueness was always appropriate when dissembling. “Apparently, a portion of his ranch has been set afire by the Empire Cattle Company. He’s left Helena.”

  “Good riddance.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “I know of him and that’s sufficient. He’s a cutthroat thug.” “That’s open to interpretation, but whatever he is, he’s very wealthy—like Cosimo’s father-in law who has an equally ambiguous reputation.” Rumor had it the Cavallieri fortune had connections to the Naples underworld.

  “Count Cavallieri has impeccable blood lines,” Lucy replied, haughtily.

  “Some might disagree. I wouldn’t contemplate returning to Cosimo’s bed if I were you. I hear the old count uses the Arno to dispose of his enemies.”

  Lucy turned ashen. “Where ever did you hear such rubbish?” Although, it might be wise to meet Cosimo in Monte Carlo or Paris should she choose to see him again, she quickly decided.

  “I heard very specific stories, Mother. The maids know everything. You just never talked to them.” If she had, she would have known that Cosimo was sleeping with sweet little Lucia who did their laundry and pretty Flora who helped in the kitchen. He was, if nothing else, an aristocrat of democratic tastes. “Are we done with the lecture now? Because I have another engagement.” Another of those suitably vague phrases.

  Lucy surveyed her daughter with a squinty-eyed gaze. “He’s gone? This Ito man has left town?”

  “Gone, Mother. Perhaps for good. You’ll be happy to hear any number of fine upstanding Englishmen are out to murder him.”

  She sniffed. “You needn’t be facetious.”

  “I’m not. Although I’m hoping mightily that he survives. And if I decide to accept his marriage proposal, you’ll be the first to know.” She couldn’t resist a last little goad.

  “Very droll, I’m sure,” Lucy returned, surveying her daughter with a jaundiced eye. “Will you be living on a ranch in the wilderness, then?”