Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature

by Susan Johnson

  He asked himself how important his family’s mission when he was the last member of that family?

  Who was he doing this for?

  Until he’d met Jo he’d never questioned his world; he’d accepted it without thought of his connection to it or his future.

  She’d changed all that.

  It wasn’t her intention, he knew, nor was it his. He’d tried to tell himself she was just more beautiful than most and more tantalizing, but he’d known from the beginning that she was important to his life in other ways. She made the sun shine brighter and the air seem purer; the world looked better, felt better, was better when she was around.

  Truly.

  He set down his brush, his ink painting of a sparrow on a branch unfinished. Rolling up his paper, he rinsed his brushes, stowed them away in their small cloth carrying packet and came to his feet. He looked around as though seeing his environment for the first time. The sun was brilliant, the birds were singing in all their colorful plumage, a slight breeze brought the scent of smoke from a campfire to his nostrils. Surveying the landscape spread out before him, he saw a thin plume of smoke in the southwest. One of his line camps, no doubt.

  It was the thirty-fourth day since he’d left his ranch and he realized there is good and no evil when there is wisdom and reason. And he realized as well where the goodness in his life dwelled.

  He packed up his books, and brushes and change of clothes and headed down the mountain, finally knowing what he wanted.

  Knowing what he was going to do.

  Chapter 33

  "I didn’t know if I’d be seeing you again,” Hazard reX marked, rising to greet Flynn in the club room of the Montana Club. “Sorry about the venue. Blaze is still angry.”

  “I don’t blame her. I was hesitant about even approaching you.”

  “Whiskey?” Hazard queried, indicating a decanter on the table next to his chair.

  Flynn nodded and took the chair Hazard waved him into. “I have to apologize, although the word is insufficient to convey my remorse.”

  “It was a messy situation. Difficult at best, horrendous in truth. Everyone responds to things like that in a different way. But Jo was damned unhappy. I hope you can do something about that. Not that I’m matchmaking, I wouldn’t be so presumptuous, but she needs an explanation at least.” He handed Flynn a drink.

  “That’s why I’m here. To apologize to her and ask for her hand in marriage if she’ll have me after my stupidity.” He smiled ruefully and gently swirled the liquor in his glass. “I’ve been living in a cave, trying to understand what I wanted, where I was going.”

  Hazard wasn’t surprised; the Absarokee went on vision quests, fasting for days until they saw and heard the spirits and found their way. “So have you decided?” His gaze was piercing, his voice sober. “Jo’s fragile after what happened to her. You have to be sure.”

  “I’m absolutely sure. I’ve been miserable without her.” Lifting the glass to his mouth, Flynn drained it.

  “Nervous?”

  “No—yes . . . not nervous, but contrite as hell and nervous about explaining to her. Is she available to see me today?”

  “No.”

  Flynn met Hazard’s gaze, something in his tone disturbing. “Will she be available soon?”

  “She left for Florence two weeks ago.”

  “Alone?” It was the most frightening thought he’d ever had, that she might have found someone else.

  Hazard nodded. “She’ll be back for the holidays.”

  A wave of relief washed over him, quickly replaced by a restless impatience. “Christ, that’s months away,” Flynn muttered, frowning. “She’s left the States by now, I suppose.” “She sailed from New York ten days ago.”

  “Alone?” He couldn’t restrain himself. She could have met someone in transit; she was an impetuous woman.

  Hazard smiled faintly. “As far as I know.”

  Flynn shot him a glance. “Don’t bloody well fuck with me.” “It’s the truth,” Hazard calmly replied. “I can’t be certain she’s alone. She probably is, but with Jo, nothing’s guaranteed, as you well know. But she didn’t mention anyone in her last telegram from New York.”

  Flynn groaned, held out his glass and softly swore under his breath.

  As Hazard was refilling Flynn’s glass, Ed Finnegan walked into the room with a drink in his hand and nodding at the men, came over to join them.

  “Haven’t seen you in town lately, Flynn. Congratulations on ridding the territory of those hired guns. It’s not good for respectable business. We all appreciate your work, there,” he said, reaching out and shaking Flynn’s hand before he sat down. “Can’t say I miss those three useless excuses for Englishmen, either. They were trouble every time they came into town. The sporting ladies at Lily’s are damned glad they’re gone as well.”

  “Didn’t think you were spending time at Lily’s anymore with Lucy back in town,” Hazard said, amusement in his gaze.

  “Two different things, there, Hazard.” Ed winked. “You know that. We’re both men of the world. Which reminds me,” he added with a sly smile, “that son of yours is right friendly with the women at Lily’s—a great favorite, I hear—like his father before him.” He lifted his glass in salute.

  “That was a long time ago, Ed.”

  Ed smiled. “You know small towns. Who ever forgets. Like when Lucy returned, she picked up right where she left off,” Ed remarked. “It seemed like she’d never been gone.”

  “Except for my daughter,” Hazard pleasantly noted.

  Ed laughed. “That must have been a damned surprise.”

  “You might say so.”

  “She turned out to be a glorious young lady, didn’t she, though. Some lucky young man has snapped her up, apparently. Lucy tells me Jo is getting married when she returns— big wedding ... all the trimmings . . . Lucy’s already tapping my pockets for it,” he sportively said. “Not that I mind. Lucy’s a charmer.”

  Flynn set his glass down with a bang. “Who’s getting married?”

  “Lucy’s daughter, Jo. You’re out of the picture, aren’t you, Flynn? That’s what Lucy said. Must be someone here in town from the sounds of it.” He smiled. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t listen.”

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Flynn came to his feet, his jaw clenched.

  Hazard gave him a cautionary look. “Don’t do anything rash.”

  “I just remembered an appointment,” Flynn said, brusquely.

  “I’ll talk to you later.” He strode away, exiting the room like a bull on a rampage.

  “He don’t look like he’s out of the picture,” Ed murmured, watching Flynn stalk away.

  Hazard’s brows rose faintly. “He and Lucy might have conflicting opinions.”

  “She seemed right certain to me.”

  “I doubt she finds Flynn acceptable.” Hazard tipped his head and smiled. “Unlike you.”

  Ed beamed. “Lucy’s a real sweetheart. No hard feelings, between us, I hope, Hazard.”

  Hazard shook his head. “Not at all. Your wife might take issue, however.”

  “Not so long as she gets a right fair sum in a divorce settlement,” Ed said, casually.

  “So you and Mabel have talked about it. Gossip precedes you, of course.”

  “Hell, I know that.” He smirked. “Just like I know about the choir director. So it’ll be a fair settlement, if you know what I mean. More than any choir director could ever hope for. Actually, Lucy has two weddings to plan for.” Ed’s face turned a bright red. “You’re the first to know. I just asked her right and proper last night.”

  “Congratulations.” Hazard was almost as happy as Ed, although for different reasons. Lucy should cease to be a problem—not only for him, but for Blaze.

  “Thank you.” Ed grinned. “Hell, I’ll drink to that,” he said, draining his glass.

  Hazard lifted his glass and drank his as well.

  “To the joys of marriage,” Ed remarked with a chuck
le. “Again.”

  “As ever,” Hazard softly said.

  Chapter 34

  A man burst through her door without warning.

  Lucy squealed, dropped her sherry glass and swore in a very unladylike fashion as the sherry spilled over her new gown.

  “Tell me who Jo’s marrying,” Flynn growled, standing like a prophet of doom, dark and threatening in her doorway.

  Distracted from her petulance by the sight of an unbelievably gorgeous man, Lucy surveyed Flynn from head to toe with a much practiced gaze. “You must be Mr. Ito. I didn’t realize you were so beautiful. Do stop scowling at me and come in.” She smiled. “And shut the door.” Surely this tall, powerful, glorious man with long black hair and exquisite eyes that tilted up in the most delightful fashion could only be the dangerous and disreputable Mr. Ito.

  If Flynn weren’t in a towering rage, he might have been more wary of that tone of voice in a woman. But maddened by the desperation of his thoughts, he took no notice.

  “Do come in and sit down”—Lucy patted the settee beside her—“and tell me what’s brought you here in such a tumult.”

  Flynn stepped inside and shut the door, but he didn’t move from the entrance. He wasn’t in the mood to sit; he wanted his question answered. “I just saw Ed Finnegan at the Montana

  Club and he said you’re planning a wedding for Jo on her return.”

  “Dear, dear, you have such a glowering frown, Mr. Ito. Could I get you a glass of sherry or whiskey, cognac perhaps?”

  “No, nothing,” he said, clipped and curt. “If you would be so kind as to answer my question, I won’t bother you further.”

  “You’re no bother at all, Mr. Ito. On the contrary, do sit and I’ll tell you all about Jo.” She waited then with the certainty of a manipulator par excellence, her smile amiable and obliging.

  Mr. Ito was dressed in the height of fashion, his frock coat tailored to the inch, fitting his broad shoulders in the most intriguing way. She could almost feel those delicious muscles that bulged beneath the fine broadcloth. A shame Ed didn’t fit a coat so well, she mused, but then he had all those lovely mines as compensation. Although even mines didn’t completely compensate for the strength of Mr. Ito’s powerful legs and, she silently sighed, the lovely way his form-fitting trousers made one want to immediately take them off.

  There was no question why Jo had been so enamored of this magnificent man.

  He was sinfully alluring.

  Taking a small breath, she reminded herself of her splendid prospects with Ed and curbed her covetous desires.

  Even in his fretful, hot-tempered mood, Flynn knew that assessing look in a woman’s eyes and kept his distance. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. If you could answer my question, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Do sit down,” Lucy cajoled. “I’m not going to eat you alive, although it’s tempting,” she said with a smile.

  “No offense, ma’am, but I’m in love with your daughter.”

  “So I presumed with that unrelenting scowl. You may sit over there,” she indicated, pointing at a chair some distance from her.

  He sat.

  “Now then, what do you wish to know?”

  “Who is Jo marrying?”

  “No one at the moment.”

  “But Ed said—”

  “He doesn’t listen. Did he say that as well?” Her brows rose. “We women aren’t completely without intellect although there are times when such a pose is practical. Now, seriously, Mr. Ito”—Lucy’s voice took on a chill briskness that couldn’t have been improved on by a Spanish inquisitor intent on making some tortured soul recant—“exactly what are your assets? What can you offer my daughter?”

  His moment of shock quickly overcome, Flynn understood what approach would serve him best. “I’m a wealthy man. My parents struck gold in Sixty-four and much of it is still in my bank account in Ed’s bank. He’ll vouch for me. I also own twenty-thousand acres of the best grazing land in Montana, ten-thousand head of cattle and a horse-breeding operation that nets a tidy sum every year. Your daughter won’t go without. She’s welcome to all I have.”

  My goodness, what outrageous generosity. But Lucy concealed her shock and said in a normal tone of voice. “You hurt her dreadfully, I understand. She may not want to see you.” Although she’d personally drag her daughter back to Helena for the kind of fortune Mr. Ito was willing to bestow on her. “I could write to her and offer my support of you if you wish,” she kindly offered.

  “So she’s not involved with someone else.”

  Lucy shook her head. “She was blue-deviled the entire fortnight she was here before she left. Poor girl, would hardly look at another man although they buzzed around her like bees.” She had seen the phenomenon at Claudia’s party so she could speak from experience although she would have been willing to improvise should it have been necessary. “Although,” she said with a soft sigh, “dear Jo can be very obstinate and her coterie of friends in Florence is extensive. I can’t guarantee she hasn’t found someone of interest in Florence.” Perhaps it would be best to send Mr. Ito abroad immediately, rather than wait until Jo returned. In her experience, men’s interests could be fickle and a handsome, wealthy man like Mr. Ito surely had legions of women in pursuit. “If I might suggest, perhaps you should go to Florence and press your suit in person.”

  “Where is she staying?” he asked, without hesitation.

  “The Grand Hotel.”

  He instantly came to his feet and bowed. “Thank you, very much, Mrs. Attenborough. I appreciate your help.” He smiled, bowed once again and bid her adieu.

  As the door closed on him, Lucy sat in a mild daze. He had bowed in such a civilized manner and actually said, adieu, his accent as good as any Frenchman’s. How gallant he was and of course, beautiful beyond words and rich as a pasha.

  Whoever had described him as disreputable and dangerous should have their head examined. He was a consummate gentleman. And if he’d killed all those men people said he had, well, they must surely have deserved it.

  She would ask Ed directly he arrived just exactly how much money Mr. Ito had in his bank.

  But right now, she must write to Jo posthaste. And she would tell her in no uncertain terms, that if she didn’t agree to marry Mr. Ito, she would disown her on the spot.

  Chapter 35

  Flynn had never been abroad before. He’d been to San Francisco often and now New York. But Helena was enough of a microcosm of the world with the population of the gold camps and resulting mines having been drawn from far and wide that he well understood the practicalities of le beau monde.

  If one were sufficiently wealthy, most anything was available—for a price.

  Including a suite beside Jo’s in the Grand Hotel—hastily vacated by its occupant, the direction of Father Alessandro, the cafes Miss Attenborough frequented and even the names of some of her acquaintances ... in this case, male acquaintances. Flynn was unconcerned with her female friends.

  The extent of his rudeness to her at his ranch made him wary of directly approaching her. She might refuse to see him. He would reconnoiter first, a long-standing practice for a man of his background.

  It was midafternoon. He’d begin with Father Alessandro.

  The curate was a small, elderly man, he discovered, who spent his afternoons cultivating his flower garden. And perhaps without actually acknowledging the fact that he’d been anxious, he was able to dismiss Father Alessandro as a rival.

  He surveyed the first of the half-dozen cafes suggested to him from afar, but there were few patrons at that time of day and none of them was Jo. He’d look again when the establishments began to fill; cafe society was most active from late afternoon through evening. He was optimistic about finding her, if not now, later tonight, when she returned to her suite.

  But she didn’t appear at any of her usual haunts, although he kept close watch. He returned to the Monastery of San Marco, thinking she might be there. He even walked through two museums she�
��d mentioned as her favorites without success. As the hours passed and he wasn’t able to locate her, his frustration escalated. She hadn’t come back to her suite; he had the maid look when he returned to the hotel. And she didn’t sleep in her room.

  He knew because he sat in the alcove opposite her door all night.

  By morning, nearly insane with jealousy, he called on Father Alessandro, only waiting for him to leave morning matins before accosting him in the monastery courtyard. Flynn was hoping the curate might know her whereabouts.

  When he approached the elderly man, Father Alessandro looked up. “So you’ve come,” he said, gruffly.

  “You know who I am?”

  “Yes, of course, the samurai.”

  Even dressed in well-tailored clothes, he was conspicuous, apparently. “Jo spoke of me?”

  “Yes, on more than one occasion.”

  Father Alessandro’s brusque manner, his tone, his critical gaze was disconcerting. Had she said he was a brute? No doubt from the look in the man’s eyes. Although he couldn’t argue with her assessment. “I came to apologize to Jo, but I can’t seem to find her. Do you know where she might be? Is she out of the city?”

  “What makes you think she wants to see you?”

  “I don’t expect she does.”

  The priest didn’t speak for a moment, surveying Flynn from head to foot, his mouth pursed. “She’s at the Grand Hotel,” he offered, finally.

  He must have passed muster—no devil’s horns visible— Flynn thought, but the priest’s answer had been grudging. He was careful to reply with courtesy. “As I understand, she hasn’t been there recently.”

  “She has many friends. She may be with them.”

  That was the damnable problem, particularly if a male friend was involved, but he could hardly speak of his jealousy to this man of God. “I’ll just have to wait, then. Thank you for your time.”

  “If I see her, I’ll tell her you’re in Florence.”