by Jill Barnett
“And as to the reason I’m here,” she continued, “I’ve been to the bank.” Hah! she thought, take that. She leaned back against the oak slat of the chair, waiting to see him squirm.
“You’ve been to the bank?” His looked was puzzled.
“Yes. I have.”
The silence stretched out. He looked at her as if he were waiting for an explanation. He really did think she was stupid.
“You must still think of me as a clumsy, ignorant child. I can assure you, I am not. My father has trusted me to check on his account.” Once this fibbing started, it was hard to stop. It was little wonder the twins told such whoppers. “I just left Mr. Adams. Where exactly is the money from my father’s last cargo?”
Kit was stunned. Had he heard her right? Was this the same girl who had been acting like a frightened rabbit? Now, she was accusing him of evading her and suspiciously questioning his business methods. What could a kid like her know about his business? Nothing. She was acting just like a woman, twisting everything around. Did they all, even the young ones, have the ability to convolute reality on a whim? Hell, he and his brothers grew up watching his mother and aunt hone word-twisting to a fine art. It took about fifteen years to realize that when all else failed, women would usually confuse their victim with an illogical statement.
And here was Jan Fredriksen’s skittish young daughter honing her craft on him. At least the girl had developed some . . . gumption. The first term that had popped into his head would have been anatomically incorrect. He could imagine her face if he asked her if she were trying to grow balls. The image made him laugh.
“I find nothing funny about the money you owe my father,” Hallie huffed. “That money should have been deposited months ago.”
Kit liked that her eyes glittered and that pale skin of hers tinged pink.
“I’m here to see that the funds are transferred now, Mr. Howland.”
“Relax, Hallie.” Kit waved his hand in a gesture that suggested she should calm down. From her narrowed eyes he seemed to only make her angrier. “Your father’s tonnage is stored at the DeWitt warehouse. It’s consigned to a merchant clipper that’s late.”
“You mean the cargo hasn’t been sold yet? Her wide eyes reflected her surprise.
“I expect the ship to dock any day.” Kit hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. In truth, he was worried himself. If the clipper didn’t arrive by the end of the week, he would have to begin to make his own inquiries. He chose not tell her that.
“I don’t understand. Da’s cargoes have always been consigned and sold within a few weeks of unloading. That load was from a voyage that ended last November. This is April.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Why the delay?”
“Your father and I have an agreement. I held back the shipment to wait for an increase in the price of oil. The clipper that’s overdue is owned by a . . . relative.” Kit didn’t divulge that Charles Taber had been his brother-in-law or that he had purposely held out on selling Jan’s oil to get the satisfaction of scalping his in-laws.
“They need the oil and are willing to pay more per barrel than the other merchants.” Kit was making excuses to the young daughter of his friend. She was really too young to understand the economics of his business, so why was he trying to explain?
“You needn’t worry over it. I’m sure this is too much for a kid like you to understand. Your father trusts me to do what’s best.” Jan never questioned his motives.
But Hallie did.
“Are you telling me that my father’s cargo has been sitting profitless in a warehouse for five months, just so you could line the pockets of your relatives? You’re right, my father did trust you, and he worked hard for that load—too hard to let it sit virtually abandoned for all this time.”
She ran on, unaware of the desperation in her voice. “I have the children to take care of. I need that money!”
Kit knew instinctively that something was wrong. Her voice sounded too frenzied.
Hallie caught his knowing expression and realized she had given herself away. But to admit to being caught up a tree would make her look like the child he’d just called her. And to this man, who she wished would think of her as a woman, the silly incident with Abner Brown’s tree would just confirm his opinion of her.
Kit leaned back with a sigh, “Okay, Hallie, let’s have it.” He laced his fingers together behind his head. “And none of this nonsense about lining my family’s pockets either. Believe me, they don’t need it nor am I helping them out. Now what is going on?”
How could she get out of this? Maybe she could convince him that she needed the money for the household. Although, if the cargo was still in storage, she stood little chance of getting the money to Abner Brown. Still . . . he might consign it to someone else if he thought she was desperate enough, or even advance the funds into their account.
He was waiting for her answer. She stared at her folded hands. “Da’s been gone since the first of the year, and he hasn’t been gone this long since Mama died.” Hallie sighed, for emphasis. “The household money is gone, so I went to the bank, and the account is almost empty.” She was purposely vague in her explanation.
“That is odd.” Kit frowned. “I understood you had an account at Oatt’s. Is there some problem?”
Oh rats! Her father must have told him about the mercantile account. He looked sincerely worried, and it made Hallie feel guilty, but not guilty enough to admit to Kit Howland that she needed five hundred dollars because she’d been caught up in a tree. She felt cornered. She needed to confuse him. Hallie covered her face with her hands and promptly feigned some surprisingly realistic-sounding sobs. Cracking her fingers a smidgen, she saw Kit stand quickly and pat his pockets, obviously in search of a handkerchief.
Her whimpers grew to wails as she began to get into the spirit of things. All the while, her mind rapidly plotted a way to get him to transfer the money early.
Kit pulled out his handkerchief, and as he walked toward her, Hallie heard him mumble something about being a brash idiot. Peeking through her fingers, she caught sight of a piece of white linen hanging from his proffered hand. She kept her head down and added a few wails to prevent him from seeing her dry eyes while she grabbed the hankie. With a couple of loud sniffles, she covered her eyes and nose with the fabric.
His masculine scent radiated from the cloth, and Hallie felt suddenly light-headed.
Kit was consoling her with gentle words. His strong voice had softened as he told her she was a spunky thing and that he knew it must have been tough, raising the younger Fredriksens since the death of their mother.
Listening to him speak so sweetly, she wavered and forgot to add some more wails. Luckily, she was saved from revealing herself when he pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in the vee of his vest and wrapped her arms tightly around his upper back. The action pressed her full breasts flush against him, and she thought she felt the rumble of a groan.
Hallie clung to his back, still attempting to hide. The hard button of his shirt was pressed against her nose, which began to itch from all her phony sniffles. She turned her head quickly in an effort to keep from sneezing, and her chest rubbed against his. It felt so good, she was contemplating twisting again when she let loose with an indelicate sneeze.
She opened her eyes to look up into his. Her cheeks, unmarred by tear blotches, and her guilty dry eyes gave her away.
He expression changed. “Why you little faker!” He grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her.
Hallie’s jostled mind screamed run, but his grip held her tight, so she drew her foot back and kicked him hard in the shin.
“Ouch, dammit!”
His grip loosened while he hopped on one foot, blocking the path to the door. Hallie spun around and ran to the other side of the desk. He turned, and for a moment she was mo
tionless.
“You brat!” It seemed as if his dark pupils had disappeared. All she saw was the deep, green gleam in his eyes that somehow chained her gaze to his.
Kit leaned forward. She stepped back.
He placed his hands on the front corners of the desk and moved his taut-featured face even closer.
The desk somehow shrunk.
Hallie locked her knees to keep from shaking, and she grabbed his wheeled chair. Her hands gripped its tufted leather back like a shield, inching it back and forth in readiness.
His wide shoulders shifted to the left. Hallie and the chair slid right. She didn’t dare gauge the distance to the door, because his feline movements signaled that he would take that instant to pounce.
Kit, and his menacing glare, edged right. Hallie rolled the chair left. Her wary stare moved to his body, hoping to get a clue to his next movement.
“Jan should have laid his hand to your backside, Hallie.”
“Da never hit me!”
“That’s obvious.”
His words broke her concentration, and Hallie shifted her weight to her right foot.
Kit shot around the desk. She shoved the chair straight at him and ran, but his long reach clamped on the back of her dress. Her buttons pinged as they bounced on the wooden floor, and her bodice suddenly gaped open.
Cool air pierced through Hallie’s thin camisole.
She felt another tug and looked over her shoulder. Kit now sat in his chair, one hand anchored to the desk and the other clutching the back yoke of her dress. His smirk was triumphant.
Hallie tried to jerk forward, but she could feel the seam threads of her dress pop. If she ran to the door, she’d arrive without her bodice. Before she had a chance to think further, Kit rolled the chair, and his hard knees, into Hallie’s skirted legs. She fell backward into his lap.
“A brattish act . . .” Kit grunted as he struggled to pull her, facedown, across his knees, “deserves a brat’s punishment.”
He was going to spank her! She felt his thigh muscles tighten against her ribs as he tried to restrain her flailing arms and legs. Hallie yelled for all she was worth.
She kicked; she fought; she screamed.
One powerful leg clamped over the backs of her knees, pinning her kicking legs between his, and before Hallie could blink, she was staring at the wooden floor. When she felt the first smack on her already-battered behind, she tried to swing upward, but his arm held her down. She struggled some more and realized that her squirming kept him too busy to smack her again.
And then she saw it—the perfect spot.
Her hand shot up to the tender flesh behind his knee and she pinched as hard as she could, twisting her fingers just for good measure. She heard his grunt of pain, and wanted to smile, but she was flung upward so fast she didn’t have time.
He held her inches away from his angry face.
Hallie glared right back. She could give as good as she got. “Da would never hit a woman! He’s a gentleman and doesn’t get perverse pleasure from violence,” Hallie taunted, lifting her chin a notch higher.
“Perverse pleasure?” Kit’s lips thinned. “A woman?” His look spoke volumes. “So, Hallie . . .” his words grated through his teeth, “you want to be treated like a woman? Let me show you some ‘perverse pleasure.’”
His right hand shot out and spanned the back of her head. She felt the hard knot of her hair as it crushed into the well of her nape. His mouth engulfed hers.
Hallie was pinned by his legs and his lips. She pushed against his chest in a fruitless effort. His lips parted and his teeth lightly scored her upper lip. She gasped, and Kit’s tongue delved into her open mouth, foraging its depths and taking away her life’s breath.
Kit swirled his tongue around hers, then his hold relaxed and her arms entwined themselves around his neck. The movement left a space between their upper bodies, and he moved his hands to her waist, possessing her lightly and drawing her torso forward to rub the tips of her breasts slowly, back and forth across his cloth-layered chest. Her nipples hardened.
So did he.
Hallie’s head spun. Her body felt light, except for her breasts. Deep inside, they were blooming with a warm heaviness that sped in concentric swirls and crested at her tight nipples. Her breasts and mouth were intensely alive and her head was so dizzy she actually heard bells.
“Glad to see you’re not working too hard, old friend.” The deep voice echoed in the steamy silence of the room.
Kit pulled back suddenly, releasing Hallie and cursing under his breath.
When her head cleared, Hallie looked at the handsome man with a devastating smile who leaned casually against the doorjamb. “So this is what whaling agents do. I always wondered what made the job appealing enough for you to give up the sea.”
“Shut up, Lee.” Kit stood abruptly, setting Hallie on her feet and blocking her view. Immediately she stood on her toes so she could peer over his shoulder.
The man lifted his red-bearded chin in an attempt to see around Kit. “Maybe I’ll retire and give you a little competition.” He kicked the door shut with his heel. The bell peeled a late warning. Removing his cap, he combed his fingers through the wealth of reddish-blond hair that framed his strong-featured face. He walked toward them, stopped a few feet away, placed his hat over his heart and bent in a dramatically gallant bow. “Leander Prescott, ma’am, the incredibly handsome and wealthy captain of the infamous ship, the Wanderer, at your service. I also happen to be this devil’s friend, but I’m sure you can overlook that bit of bad judgment on my otherwise flawless and charming person.” This eloquent speech was delivered with a smile warm enough to melt the Sierra snow.
“Stuff all that rot, Lee. You already know her.” Kit spoke the clipped response before he stood back to give Lee a clear view of Hallie.
“Hello, Captain Prescott,” Hallie said quietly. She was embarrassed. Lee Prescott was another friend of her father’s.
Lee looked speechless, almost. “Hallie? Hallie Fredriksen?” He looked back and forth between the two of them. After a seemingly endless few seconds, his eyes locked on Hallie’s chest. “You’ve grown . . .”
Hallie grabbed the front of her dress.
“ . . . Up,” he added lamely.
Hallie was so uncomfortable that all she could think about was getting away fast. “Well,” she said, her voice rushed as she began to scoot toward the door, clinging to her dress like a child to its mother’s skirts. “I’m sure you gentlemen have plenty to talk about, so I’ll just be on my way—”
“Sit down now!” Kit bellowed.
Lee and Hallie plopped down simultaneously in the two chairs facing Kit’s massive desk.
Hallie knew she was in for it. Kit looked mad enough to grow horns. And he had every right to be, too, since she’d tried to bamboozle him. She should have told him honestly why she needed the money. She had waged a mental battle, quick as it was, between swallowing her pride and lying. Lying won. Was it her fault she couldn’t think when he was around? Her brains turned to mush, and she did the most childish things.
There was little chance she could continue to lie. Besides which, she couldn’t think of a good story when her mind and stomach were all queasy.
Kit sat down behind his desk, afraid to take his glaring eyes off Hallie, for he knew that, given the chance, she would be gone in a flash. He noticed that Lee appeared to have recovered and was watching Hallie, chest level, as she squirmed.
“I suppose I should tell you what was going on before you arrived.” Kit had the sudden urge to draw Lee’s attention away from Hallie’s attributes.
Lee’s face took on a knowing gleam. “Oh, you needn’t do that, my father told me all about it when I was twelve. In fact, he took me to this—”
“Spot, Lee! You’re not funny.
This is not funny. Dammit!” Kit saw Hallie flush bright red at Lee’s inane teasing. “This is serious. She needs money for something, and Jan is still gone.” He turned to her. “Tell us, Hallie, and no more of those theatrics.”
“I need five hundred dollars,” she mumbled.
“Speak up, girl, I didn’t hear you.” His voice was so loud that she cringed. Good, he thought, a little fear should wrangle the truth out of her.
“I need five hundred dollars,” she said in a voice loud enough to be heard in Sacramento City.
He ignored her impertinent tone, although his spanking hand began to itch. “Why?”
“Because of the shoes,” she answered vaguely.
“What shoes?” Kit and Lee questioned together.
“Why Liv’s shoes.” Hallie’s tone was inflected with reason.
Kit sat there . . . waiting for more.
Lee leaned over and patted her hand gently. “Don’t be upset, my dear.” He smiled reassuringly. “You just take your time and tell us the whole story.”
Hallie took a deep breath despite the look it was giving her, and blurted out the whole tale. When she got to the part where Abner Brown demanded his money, she paused, for Kit’s neck was turning a dark red. Attributing it to rightful anger for her girlish foolishness, she rattled on, “I know it was stupid to climb that tree, but I had to get those shoes. I never thought the limb would break and I know five hundred dollars is a lot of money but he said he was going to report me to the Sheriff. I try so hard with the children and all and Da’s been gone and I’m—” She could feel tears of humiliation rise as she bit back the words I’m scared.