by Jill Gregory
Amusement filled her. She couldn’t keep the tart words from her lips. “How strange, Roger. You didn’t seem overly concerned about wagging tongues that evening at Miss Marsh’s School when you sneaked into the courtyard to visit me! That too, was highly improper,” she reminded him.
“Precisely, my dear. It was a foolish, careless act, and one I shall not repeat. Your reputation, and mine too, must remain unsullied, and I have no intention of damaging either by becoming your house guest. Besides,” he added, “I will be conducting a series of business meetings with a banker from Tucson who is coming to Winchester to meet with me, and it will be more convenient to hold our discussions in my hotel suite.”
Bryony gave a shrug. “Of course, if that’s what you prefer. But you must at least come out to the ranch for dinner this evening. Rosita, my housekeeper, is preparing quite a banquet in your honor.”
He smiled down at her. “Sweet Bryony. Of course, I’ll be delighted to dine with you. And I intend to spend every possible moment that I can at your side.”
When you’re not conducting your important business meetings, Bryony thought in silent amusement.
But all she said aloud was, “Let’s store your baggage at the hotel, and then head out to the ranch. I can show you around before dinnertime.”
While Frank Billings escorted Roger upstairs to his suite, Edna leaned over the wooden counter on the ground level to speak to Bryony.
“That young dandy is mighty handsome, girl.” She winked knowingly. “And from the way he looks at you, I’d guess you could wear his brand any time you said the word.”
She laughed as Bryony blushed and shook her head.
“I reckon that fiesta you’re planning will be quite a party. Between this young city feller and Matt Richards, and all those other crazy young cowpokes who’ve got their eye on you, you’re not goin’ to have time to breathe with all the dancin’ you’ll be doing!
Bryony forced a smile, but made no reply. She was thinking painfully that the only partner she wanted to dance with was a man she could not have.
When Roger returned, they left the hotel and walked to her wagon outside the blacksmith’s shop. The wrangler who’d driven into town with her was waiting for the horse he’d brought in yesterday to be shod, and would ride back to the ranch later, so Bryony and Roger drove back alone, she handling the reins with skill while he gazed about in grudging admiration of the glorious countryside.
“Tell me about St. Louis.” Bryony tried to inject a note of interest into her voice. The emotions that had swamped her after the scene with Jim Logan had dissipated, leaving her as drained and empty inside as ever before. Though she tried hard to listen to Roger’s smug chatter, she couldn’t concentrate. The heaviness had returned to her spirit, and she only prayed that Roger wouldn’t notice it and question her.
She needn’t have worried, though. He was no longer studying her; he was engrossed in his own witty recital of gossip involving the acquaintances they had once shared in St. Louis, and in an explanation of the importance of his business trip to San Francisco.
“And if I’m successful in negotiating this matter, my father will be quite pleased with me. It will be a large feather in my cap, Bryony, I assure you.”
“Yes. How... nice.” She was trying hard to sound interested, but her thoughts were elsewhere. All she could think about was the expression in Jim Logan’s eyes when he’d kissed her. And those magical words he’d uttered.
I love you.
With an effort, she forced her attention back to Roger.
“I’ve planned a wonderful fiesta in your honor. Everyone in town is coming. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at how grand life can be in Arizona.”
“Perhaps. But, Bryony, surely you know that however grand it might be, it can’t hope to compare to the splendor of San Francisco. I’ve heard fabulous accounts of the gaiety and sophistication of that city. And I must tell you,” he added confidentially, “if all goes well with these negotiations, I may very well be settling there, heading up a very important banking deal. How does that sound to you? Does the idea of living in San Francisco appeal to you?”
He turned his head to study her profile when she didn’t answer. Reaching out, he brushed a soft, manicured hand across her fingers.
“You know, don’t you, Bryony, my real reason for stopping in Winchester? I want to persuade you to accept my proposal. The one you so foolishly cast aside the last time we met.”
He hushed her as she began to speak and gave a short laugh. “Now, now, I know that we had a dreadful quarrel, and I may have said some unkind things to you. For that, I apologize. I trust you’ve forgiven me by now, and that you too, regret your own loss of temper.”
His smooth hand closed on hers. “I’ve been able to think of no one but you, Bryony. Tell me, has it been so with you? It must be. Say that it is.”
Before she could reply, they were both startled by a sudden hiss directed at them from the side of the trail. A mountain lion, its tawny fur stretched over a lithe, powerful body, was crouched to spring, snarling at them from atop a boulder.
In panic, the horses reared, screaming their terror. At the same instant, Bryony thrust the reins into Roger’s hands and whipped her derringer from the pocket of her dress, firing unhesitatingly at the animal that was already bounding forward.
The mountain lion dropped with a heavy thud to the earth, blood oozing from its lifeless form.
But the horses, panicked out of control by the incident, bolted headlong up the road, dragging the careening wagon behind them.
“Oh my! Good Lord! Help!” Panicked, Roger nearly dropped the reins, but Bryony acted swiftly, grabbing them from him and pulling back with all her might.
“Whoa, there! Whoa!” she called authoritatively to the plunging sorrels. “Whoa, boys—easy. There’s nothing to be afraid of!”
The team gradually slowed, snorting and dancing nervously on the trail. Bryony brought them to a halt at last and jumped from the wagon. Hurrying to their heads, she soothed them. When they were calm once more, she returned to her seat, glancing ruefully at Roger’s white, sweat-filled face.
“Are you all right, Roger?”
“Damnation! How... can you be so calm?” He wiped his face with a handkerchief clutched in trembling hands. “We were almost killed!”
“Oh, no such thing,” she replied, replacing the derringer in her pocket and gathering up the reins.
With a click and a shake of the reins she sent the horses into a brisk trot. “There are lots of mountain lions in these parts. I learned long ago how to handle them.”
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Roger stared as if he’d never seen her before. This calm, competent woman was vastly different from the flirtatious, vulnerable schoolgirl he’d courted in St. Louis. He couldn’t believe the alacrity with which she’d responded to the threat, taking the entire situation in stride.
“You fired so quickly.” He mopped his face with a handkerchief. “I can’t bear to think what would have happened if you’d missed.”
“At that range? Impossible.” Bryony couldn’t help a burst of laughter as she saw Roger’s incredulous expression. She remembered how important it had been to her to show him that she’d adapted to her new life, to let him see that she could take care of herself.
Well, she’d done that. But she felt less satisfaction than she’d expected. It no longer seemed important.
A sigh escaped. How pleasant it would be to return to those carefree days at boarding school, before love and danger had taken a toll on her innocent world. But she knew it wasn’t possible to go back.
She was different now.
“We’re almost home,” she told Roger quietly.
He’d settled uneasily back in his seat, and was surveying the surrounding countryside with wide eyes, as if expecting another ferocious creature to pounce upon him.
At least the moment’s danger has distracted him from his proposal, Bryony thought.
She knew, though, that eventually she’d need to give him an answer.
This time she’d have no difficulty deciding what to do. She didn’t love Roger—she never had. She’d met only one man with whom she’d like to spend the rest of her life, and he was hopelessly ineligible.
As they drew near the ranch, she halted the horses, pausing to stare ahead at the Circle H ranchhouse and outbuildings set in the midst of the vast, sprawling valley.
Beside her, Roger gave a low whistle of admiration.
“So this is your father’s ranch, is it? Quite impressive, I must say.”
“Yes,” Bryony murmured in a low, strained voice. “This is my father’s ranch.”
***
Texas Jim Logan burst into the Silver Spur saloon like a man pursued. Swiftly, he stalked to the bar where Luke, the lumbering, bearded bartender, was wiping glasses with a worn cloth. He ordered a bourbon and downed it in one gulp, glad the place was nearly empty, except for a few old-timers playing cards near the wall.
He wasn’t in the mood for Ginger’s attentions, or even for Meg’s friendly conversation. He was in the mood for a drink—a strong one. Curtly, he ordered a second.
Jim didn’t usually imbibe this early in the day, but after the encounter with Bryony he needed a drink badly. Glaring at the liquid in his glass, he cursed to himself.
Damn it. He hadn’t meant to tell her that he loved her. He wished to hell he hadn’t.
But there was something so intoxicating about her presence that he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
Oh, hell, he thought, taking another gulp of liquor. He didn’t suppose it made any difference, one way or another. Nothing would change the way things stood between them. The only thing that had been accomplished, he reflected, was to make him more determined than ever to find proof of Wesley Hill’s and Matt Richards’s illegal activities.
And to protect Bryony from further harm.
If he could only get his hands on that missing document, it would solve the whole damn problem. He’d covered every angle, talked to every person who might have the slightest knowledge of its whereabouts. Yet he’d come up with nothing.
Suddenly, as he stared at the liquor in his glass, a thought flashed into his mind. He remembered someone he’d spoken to once, without success, who might be more cooperative now than in the past. Someone who might know more than anyone else in Winchester about Hill’s criminal activities.
His eyes glinted as he set down his glass. He’d have to find the right time for the interview.
Maybe tomorrow, or even the next day. And the two of them would have to be quite alone.
Smiling grimly to himself, he suddenly felt more hopeful than he had in weeks. Soon he’d know more. Soon he might just have a way to save the life of the woman he loved.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The mid-afternoon sun slid across the western sky as Bryony rode for home on the day of the fiesta.
Glancing up at the fiery golden ball that was relentlessly broiling the parched valley, she reflected that it was going to be a long, sultry desert night, a night ideal for romance and festivity.
She couldn’t help smiling bitterly to herself. Well, at least Annie would have the right atmosphere in which to bedazzle the unsuspecting Buck.
Having just come from the Blake ranch after making last-minute adjustments in Annie’s toilette, Bryony was more than ever convinced that the girl would create a sensation when she arrived at the Circle H tonight. Clad in her pretty new silk gown, with her chestnut hair sleek and shining, she would cause Buck, as well as a number of other men, to sit up and take notice.
Annie would look a very different girl from the plain, tomboyish figure the young men of Winchester were accustomed to seeing.
Even nature was contributing to the aura of romance planned for the evening. Tonight, according to Rosita, would be the evening when the night-blooming cereus opened to reveal their beauty to the world. Every year in June on one night and one night only the fragile white blossoms of the unusual plant opened magically for a few hours, carpeting the desert with their lovely flowers before shutting themselves away again at dawn to sleep another year until their next fleeting burst of glory.
And Rosita had predicted that tonight would be the night of their blooming.
Bryony was looking forward to this event even more than she was to the fiesta. Somehow, the prospect of the dancing and gaiety in store held little appeal for her.
Her thoughts turned disconsolately to her father. If only he’d lived. If only Jim Logan hadn’t killed him! Things might have been so different. Perhaps she might have found love with both men, instead of being forced to do without the love of either.
She was riding homeward at a fast gallop, immersed in her loneliness, when she had the sudden urge to stop at her father’s grave. As she veered toward the graveyard, she caught sight of a totally unexpected figure kneeling by one of the gravesites.
Rosita.
Her housekeeper was crouched on her knees, her head bent, her hands covering her face.
What in the world is she doing here at this hour, with so many last-minute details needing attention at the ranch? Bryony wondered.
She urged her horse forward, her brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
At the sound of hoof beats, the Mexican woman glanced up quickly, an expression of fear in her eyes. Seeing Bryony, she stumbled to her feet, giving a small, half-anguished cry.
“Rosita, what is it?” Bryony dismounted lightly and deftly tethered Shadow to a nearby ironwood tree. She hurried forward in concern as she saw the tears streaming down Rosita’s face. “What’s wrong? Heavens, are you hurt? Tell me why you’re crying.”
But loud, racking sobs shook the housekeeper and she made no reply, instead turning her grief-stricken face away.
Bryony glanced down at the headstone before which Rosita had been kneeling. The name on the stone was that of Johnny Blake. Without knowing why, a chill came over her.
“Senorita, I am sorry!” the housekeeper gasped suddenly, her dark braids flying as she shook her head wildly back and forth. “I cannot bear this burden any longer. Es malvado! I told him the truth—that cold-eyed hombre with the gun. And I’m glad I did. I do not care if I die now because of it!”
“What are you talking about?” Bryony stared at her in sudden, sick apprehension. “What hombre?”
Rosita wiped away her tears with the hem of her flowered apron. Her voice shook with emotion. “Senor Logan.”
Then she closed her eyes, a shudder passing through her.
“Finalmente, I have spoken out the truth.”
“The truth? What do you mean?”
Bryony’s heartbeat quickened as she waited for the housekeeper’s next words.
“I mean the truth about this! This boy. This pobre muchacho.”
Pointing at Johnny Blake’s headstone, Rosita sank down again to her knees and fresh sobs shook her. “I know who murdered him. I have known por macho tiempo. He was killed by Senor Richards and others. And I have kept silent about it for many, many months!”
Bryony couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze from Rosita’s guilt-ridden face. The woman stared at her, and something in Bryony’s stricken expression must have penetrated her own anguish, for she got heavily to her feet and put a work-roughened hand on the girl’s arm.
“Por favor, Senorita, forgive me! I have shocked you, but it could not be helped. When you found me here, you told me to tell you why I weep over this poor grave, and I have done so. It is because of my own wickedness in keeping silent. But you must understand, as he did, that cold-eyed one. You must understand that I kept silent because I was afraid. You see, many was the time Senor Richards threatened to kill me. And your padre, too. They promised me death if I did not remain silent about all that I knew. And about all that I heard in that wicked house. So until this day I have obeyed, never speaking what I know to any living soul. But today I spoke,” she said breathlessly and with relief. “And Senor Lo
gan has promised to protect me! He promised to see justice done to those animales who murdered este pobre muchacho. And so I told him the truth. All of the truth.”
“Rosita.” Bryony grasped the woman’s hands in her own trembling ones. Her voice was unsteady and her green eyes bright with shock, but she managed to speak coherently, her tone carefully controlled, as if at any moment her voice might crack and shatter like fragile glass.
“I want you to tell me everything that you know, Rosita. Por favor. Everything.”
And so it gradually came out. Slowly, agonizingly, punctuated by the housekeeper’s own guilty condemnation of her cowardice in keeping quiet, the long story of her father’s involvement with Matthew Richards in a devious rustling scheme came tumbling out.
Rosita had tried to quit her position at the Circle H, to accept Edna Billings’s repeated offers of employment at the hotel, but fearing that she might let something slip if allowed to leave, Bryony’s father had refused to allow her to go.
Bryony listened to the tale in numb silence. At one point she broke in, speaking in a tremulous tone.
“But, Rosita, why did you stay on after my father’s death? Why didn’t you leave then and go to work for Edna before I arrived here?”
She remembered suddenly the stolid unfriendliness of the housekeeper when she’d first arrived at the ranch. Now Bryony understood the reason behind it.
Rosita shrugged in answer to her question. Her dark eyes were pools of distress.
“I was frightened, Senorita. Senor Richards came to see me, and he told me that he would be watching me closely, and if he caught me talking to anyone about what I knew...”
She made a cutting gesture with her hand across her neck.
“Un animal, that one! A beast for all his fine smiles!”
Bryony pressed her hands to her pale cheeks. “What a fool I’ve been,” she whispered. “But he seemed so kind, so decent! And he was a friend of my father!”
Rosita nodded, pity in her face. “Si, they were friends. Companeros. I am sorry that you must learn this truth from me in this way.”