by Bella Bowen
Considering the plans that started forming in his mind that night, Dev should probably been thankful. His dreams of a horse ranch evolved from his need to leave.
Then Gen had found the journal.
Devlin stopped lying to himself. He’d left it where she couldn’t help but see it, then sent her into David’s study half a dozen times to look for this or that. He’d known she would find it. Hoped she’d open it and discover how truly cold David’s heart had become. And deep down in the recesses of his soul, in a place he never examined too closely, he’d hoped it would mean the end of the marriage. Gen would go home. Dev would follow. And if the two were divorced, she wouldn’t be his sister-in-law any longer.
Yes, David was right. Dev wanted her for himself. But he never would have acted on that desire if David hadn’t treated her so badly. Genevieve—at least the Gen he’d known—deserved far better than David Zollinger.
But Gen finding the journal had a result he hadn’t expected.
She hadn’t packed her bags and left him. She hadn’t demanded a divorce, or an apology. Dev wondered if she ever suspected there was an entire case of journals filled with seven years of David’s vile thoughts. Not just a few pages. He’d been tempted to sneak the case from the bottom of David’s wardrobe and set it squarely in front of her bedroom door. But things changed too quickly.
Genevieve was not in her room the next morning—she was in David’s.
She’d confronted her husband. Berated him for not coming to her from the beginning. Laid all his worries to rest.
They’d reconciled.
Dev had been happy for her. He’d enjoyed seeing the original spirit of the girl he’d met in New York. The Gen who had slowly disappeared over seven years had returned in a matter of days. The entire household changed, as if there’d been black curtains across all the windows and someone had finally removed them.
And David had changed.
He’d come to Dev and apologized for suspecting him and asked if they could be true brothers once more. Dev had capitulated. He hadn’t meant a word of it, of course. In the end, he simply couldn’t forgive David for torturing the woman all those years. The woman Dev loved. No matter how penitent David had been, no matter how mindlessly happy he’d made Gen, it wasn’t enough.
Perhaps, if David had lived longer, if he’d given Gen seven solid years of happiness to make up for the seven bad, it might have been enough.
As for their own relationship as brothers, it wasn’t truly mendable. There was still a look in David’s eyes when he thought Dev didn’t notice. On the edge of his vision, Dev could see David watching him, narrowing his eyes at him, listening a little too closely to every word Gen and he said to one another, even though he was in the room with them.
David knew Dev loved her, and he could never really trust him. For all Dev knew, he never really trusted Gen either, but if so, he’d disguised himself well for that short time.
But now that Dev knew someone was reading his journals, now that he realized what he’d done by pouring his heart out on those pages, and that someone else was examining his naked soul, he had to face the truth. David had set him up. David had wanted to know what Dev was thinking and planning and doing with Gen, and Dev had told him. On those pages, he’d confessed everything. And he’d never suspected his brother’s true motivation because writing in those journals had turned out to be as cathartic as David had promised. He’d professed his love without ever telling her. He’d said everything he was determined to say, only not with his mouth.
And at that very moment, Genevieve was learning just how much he’d loved her.
Heaven help him! What would she do with that knowledge?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gen paced the study. It was the safest place for her, really.
Though the staff had come running and cleaned the mess she’d made of her room, she couldn’t go back there. Not now. Not after discovering that Devlin had slept in her bed most of the past ten years...just to be close to her.
The furniture went untouched throughout the house because she’d arranged it how she’d wanted it. He’d never replaced the clothes she’d given him. When they moved on, he’d mourned the loss of each of the house staff she’d chosen. He’d relished the memories of her. He’d even hired a man to go to New York and learn how she was faring. He’d also wanted a photograph, or an image of her, even if the man had to steal one.
Dev had loved her. For seventeen years.
She looked at the little blue volumes she’d placed on the desk when she’d finished reading. It had taken the better part of the night, but she’d read every word at least once. Some she’d read a dozen times. She wanted to open the second one and check the dates again. How long had it been since he stopped writing in them? Perhaps he’d stopped loving her. When? A year ago? Sixteen then. Sixteen years.
And what about David? Had that last month of bliss only been a lie?
For ten years, she’d imagined David watching over her, loving her, missing her, wishing they could have those first seven years back. But perhaps it had all been just her imagination.
Still stunned, she paced, waiting for the pieces of her mind to settle back into place.
Perhaps, if she sat...
She sat.
A minute later she was on her feet again. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she stop wondering?
There would be shadows under her eyes if she didn’t try to sleep a little, but since no bed seemed a refuge from disturbing thoughts, she decided to lie on the davenport. A heavy cushion for a pillow. Her robe for a blanket. She closed her eyes.
Sleep. So tired. Think about it all later. Sleep.
None of it made any sense. If Devlin loved her, why did he send her away? While it was true they could never have married and not been shunned by society, they could have lived under the same roof. They could have been…something.
He’d sent her away so quickly, before they had a chance to discuss things. And so quickly, with a dowry to marry again, to another man. Why? Unless he’d killed David and worried that she would find proof of it.
Her thoughts muddled together in a familiar repetition and then faded completely.
~ ~ ~
She awoke to the sound of shuffling papers.
“What’s this?” Mary Willot mumbled.
Gen instantly sat up, remembering she’d left the journals on the desk. The other woman gasped. “Forgive me, Mrs. Carnegie. I didn’t realize you were in here.”
Gen forced a smile and headed for the desk. “I couldn’t sleep, you see.” She snatched one journal from each of the woman’s hands, grateful Mary hadn’t started reading them in silence. Who knows what she might have thought and then been unable to keep those thoughts to herself? The last thing the people of Sage River needed was to believe there was some love affair going on between their new benefactress and the enemy.
Guilt pecked at her conscious like a bothersome bird. Apparently, to have peace in her own mind, she would need to find another term for Devlin Zollinger.
Meg, her upstairs maid, poked her nose into the room and sighed, clearly relieved she’d been able to locate her mistress. “Beg pardon, mum. A message for you.”
Gen opened the message and read it as she climbed the stairs. The lawyers had arrived. Judge Van Fleet was expected the following day. They suggested they meet late that afternoon to prepare. She sent a reply with Fontaine, telling them she’d arrive at the hotel at two o’clock. She needed to do a little preparing of her own.
~ ~ ~
When Gen arrived in her buggy, Sheriff Toller was there to hand her down and she couldn’t help but compare his friendly smile with the reception she’d received from the man just days before. Of all the folks of Sage River, she expected him to be the last man to win over, but perhaps she’d misjudged him.
There was a good mob of people milling about the boardwalk in front of the only hotel in town.
The sheriff nodded toward them. “Too sm
all a town for anyone to go unnoticed. Your lawyers are inside, of course. But before you join them, maybe you could satisfy their curiosity a bit.” He nodded again to a contingent of sweaty men resting on the steps. “They’re working on the walls of the town hall, but with all the hubbub between you and Devlin, they worry that they’re workin’ in vain. What’s going to happen, for instance, if that judge decides the ranch belongs to Devlin?”
She scanned the crowd and could tell by their faces that what Toller said was true. They all feared their hopes were about to be dashed.
Gen smiled. “My good people. I assure you, that if by some miracle Diamond Springs is awarded to Mr. Zollinger, I have funds sufficient to erect an entire city on his front doorstep.” She couldn’t miss the audible, collective sigh. And with the jerk of Mr. Willot’s head, his men jumped to their feet, suddenly revived. To them, she said, “As soon as I’m finished here, I’ll come over and take a look at your progress, shall I?”
Willot smiled. “You won’t be disappointed, ma’am.” He tugged on the tie of a bandana around his head and marched away with his men.
“Much obliged,” Toller said.
From the man’s stance, she suspected he’d like to be allowed inside to listen to her meeting, so she stepped into the middle of the threshold and turned to face him, disabusing him, and anyone else, of the idea of following her into the hotel. “Thank you, Sheriff. Perhaps you could return in an hour and escort me up to the square. I’m sure you’ll be able to give me an honest opinion of Willot’s carpentry.”
He smiled and nodded. “Ma’am.” Then he shooed the rest of the onlookers from the boardwalk and pried a boy away from the window where he’d been trying to see inside.
Mr. Fredrick Reynolds hid his enthusiasm behind a careful facade of professionalism. His smile was picture perfect when he met Gen at the doorway and gestured for her to join him and his assistants inside the parlor. The snap of the French doors coming together was announcement enough that no eavesdropping would be tolerated.
After formal greetings were seen to, Freddy started speaking before Gen had finished settling in her chair.
“Your timing is truly impeccable, my dear.” He held out his hand to Mr. August, on his right, who laid a large envelope across his palm. Fredrick then presented it to Gen as if it were made of delicate gold leaf that might blow away if he breathed too hard. “For you, my dear. From Washington.”
She could see it was from Washington. From Lady Cecilia Howard, judging by the coat of arms stamped into the wax.
“What is it,” she asked, knowing full well Freddy wouldn’t be so excited if he didn’t know precisely what the letter said.
“In invitation to a ball in Lord Henry Howard’s honor. All the British nobility currently in the states will be attending, of course, since he’s their ambassador.”
She had heard about the celebration, of course. There had been details in the newspapers. It was no small gathering. And of course she was flattered to have been remembered. But if Gen never set foot upon another train, it would be fine with her. She’d travelled continuously with Bartie, and she was perfectly happy with the home she’d returned to. If Cecilia and Henry wanted to show off for their British nobility, they’d have to find some other rich American to invite.
She opened the invitation, appreciated the artwork, but since it wasn’t done in watercolor, she wasn’t interested in keeping it.
She set it aside. “Remind me to pen my apologies when our business is concluded.”
Freddy was crestfallen. If there was some way for Gen to suggest to Cecilia that her attorney attend the celebration in her stead, she’d do it. But that was hardly realistic.
Freddy wasn’t alone. Many envied her the life she’d lived at Bartie’s side. But she simply wasn’t interested in the inanities of travelling about the world just to acquire the rights to brag about with whom one has drunk tea. Or in whose home she was entertained.
The only thing she’d actually appreciated about her travels was the artwork. She had fallen in love with watercolors and even dabbled in painting now and then, when she was feeling particularly content. In a few days, a shipment of her own things would arrive, including a number of her favorite paintings, and she hoped the sight of them would help her to remember what contentment felt like. After last night, however, she wondered if she would ever know peace again.
And with the reminder of their business at hand, she set aside thoughts of travel and artwork, and indicated with a gesture that Freddy should get on with it.
“I have some bad news, I’m afraid. I know you wanted to buy up any and all debt incurred by this Devlin Zollinger. But our Crawlers found none to buy.”
Holding promissory notes over Dev’s head had been only one of many weapons she’d hoped to acquire, but no matter.
“All that I care, in the end, is that the ranch is deemed mine. Free and clear. All mine to do with what I will.”
Freddy nodded confidently. “And it will. I have no doubt.” The man grinned and leaned closer. “Judge Van Fleet told me just last Monday how fond his wife is of the new curricle. He didn’t see how he would be able to find time for such discussions once he arrives, so he asked me to tell you...” Freddy paused for dramatic effect. “That if his wife broke her pretty neck while racing the damned thing, he’d have to sue you. Nothing personal.”
“Which did she pick?”
“The green and gold.”
Gen nodded. Gold is what the little conveyance cost after having it shipped from England. Of course, she wasn’t about to point out to the judge, or his wife, that such buggies were nearing the end of fashion.
Freddy straightened and preened. “So, barring any clear and unquestionable evidence by the other party, the ranch is yours. But since you already knew that, I wonder why you went to the trouble of bringing me all the way from New York.” He swallowed nervously, then inclined his head. “Of course, you will have your reasons. I didn’t mean to imply that you should explain...”
“Relax, Freddy. I wanted you here so there would be no question. Wyoming only a new Territory and the laws here are bent at the whim of the wind. I want you here to give the impression that we’ve followed correct procedures and my stand is defendable. I was also hoping the mere mention of my lawyers might chase a certain someone out of town. It still may, but I can’t rely on that happening. Devlin Zollinger was always one to wait around and bide his time...and see how things shake out.”
Her mind wandered back to the words he’d written. Biding my time. To be here if she needs me. To see how this all will end.
And it did end, along with David’s life.
Gen shook her head to clear her thoughts. Her lack of a good night’s rest was making her feel vulnerable. She needed to get back to the ranch and lock herself into a new bedroom—and drink herself to sleep. But of course she wouldn’t. Her stomach didn’t handle spirits well, for one thing. And for another, she wanted to appear, at least, as quietly powerful and intimidating as possible.
It was a trick Bartie had taught her. But she couldn’t appear as if she knew more than everyone else unless she could believe it herself. And at the moment, she was desperate to know just what Devlin thought of her now. Not two years ago, or seventeen, but right at that moment.
Too bad there were no Crawlers headed her way who might be able to discover the truth. And she’d be damned if she was going to ask him herself.
Not that it would make a difference. No matter what he felt for her, or what she had once felt for him, she was still going to ruin him. It was the very least a murderer deserved.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gen sealed the apologies she’d penned to Cecilia and handed it to Fredrick, who then handed it reverently to Mr. August.
“I’m sure the Howards will be amused to learn that instead of crossing the plains for their event, I’ll be busy with my matchmaking enterprise in the wilds of America, instructing women how to keep chickens alive and shoot a gun. And
teaching manners and dance steps to cowboys.”
The sheriff was waiting outside and offered his arm as if he’d been taking a bit of instruction himself. The sun was still high in the sky, but she tipped her hat against the brightness and used her umbrella for a walking stick. Strolling down the street, she made no hurry. Instead, she stopped to greet the women and ask the names of their children, trying earnestly to remember those names.
It wasn’t from personal experience, of course, but she knew the way to any woman’s heart was through her children. And she did need to win over the women of Sage River. Without their approval, her enterprise would fail. Diamond Springs was going to be famous, and she’d learned that nothing lasted without a firm structure. Sage River would supply that structure.
Of course, she’d ensure the ranch was self-sustaining in every possible way, in case the town failed on its own. But that wasn’t her first choice. She wasn’t vindictive. She knew the townspeople who had failed to come to her rescue ten years ago weren’t the people lining the streets that day. But she still wanted to prove she hadn’t been beaten, if only to herself and to Devlin. She’d only been subdued for a while. And none of those people needed to know how important that victory was to her.
Gen turned the corner and admitted, freely, that she was overwhelmed by the progress already accomplished for the town hall. The square held over fifty men, women, and children who ran back and forth with their heads bent to various tasks around the wooden skeleton lying on the ground waiting to be brought to life.
Mr. Willot beamed. “Norbert had more wood on hand than he thought, and we’ve had plenty of volunteers, as you can see.”
She praised him honestly and confessed she’d been praying he was half so good as his wife had claimed he was. His crew was also praised until their sunburned heads beamed a bit redder. She made no mention of the fact that the Hanging Tower was no more. And the ground where it had been was now covered by an island of wood.