When Passion Calls

by Cassie Edwards

  Cassie Edwards

  When Passion Calls

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  "CASSIE EDWARDS IS A SHINING TALENT!"

  Romantic Times

  Bestselling author Cassie Edwards has been thrilling readers of historical romance ever since the publication of her first book, SECRETS OF MY HEART. With over 5 million books in print, she has won a Lifetime Achievement Award from Romantic Times, plus awards for Best Indian Series and Best Indian Romance. WHEN PASSION CALLS is a red-hot Western romance set in Minnesota, packed with all the love, passion and excitement that Cassie Edwards delivers every time!

  "Cassie Edwards captivates with white-hot adventure and romance!"

  Karen Harper, author of Passion's Reign

  Other Leisure Books by Cassie Edwards:

  SECRETS OF MY HEART

  ISLAND RAPTURE

  EDEN'S PROMISE

  ROSES AFTER RAIN

  TOUCH THE WILD WIND

  SAVAGE PERSUASION

  When Passion Calls

  Cassie Edwards

  A LEISURE BOOK®

  December 1991

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  276 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10001

  Copyright ©MCMXC by Cassie Edwards

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  With appreciation and admiration I dedicate When Passion Calls to Leisure's publisher, Jerry Brisman, a man who kindly gave me that most-needed helping hand at the beginning of my career. Having returned to write for Leisure I have come full circle in my career. I am enjoying working with Mr. Brisman again and look forward to being a part of Leisure's bright future.

  CASSIE EDWARDS

  I will not let thee go.

  The stars that crowd the summer skies

  Have watched us so below

  With all their million eyes,

  I dare not let thee go.

  I will not let thee go.

  Have we not chid the changeful moon,

  Now rising late, and now

  Because she set too soon,

  And shall I let thee go?

  I will not let thee go.

  Have not the young flowers been content,

  Plucked ere their buds could blow,

  To seal our sacrament?

  I cannot let thee go.

  I will not let thee go.

  I hold thee by too many bands:

  Thou sayest farewell, and lo!

  I have thee by the hands,

  And will not let thee go.

  ROBERT BRIDGES

  Prologue

  Spring 1827

  The sun was low in the sky, casting orange reflections upon two fifty-foot keelboats making their way up the Mississippi River. They were filled with settlers bound for the untamed territory of Minnesota. The two-week journey from Saint Louis had been tedious and uncomfortable for the men, women, and children on board, yet it now looked as though the journey were nearing an end. The Land of Many Lakes had finally been reached.

  Four-year-old Shane Brennan sat on his mother's lap in the second boat, straining his neck to see the lead boat as it disappeared round a sharp bend in the river. He wanted to get another glimpse of his father, Jared, and his twin brother, Josh, before the boat was lost from his sight. It had

  been his father's decision to separate the family into two different boats, hoping that in the event of an Indian attack, at least some of the family would complete the journey safely.

  No longer able to see the boat, Shane looked up at his mother, Amy, who was cloaked in a dark, hooded cape. "Are all Indians bad, Mama?" he asked. "If they come, will they take our hair?"

  "Hush, Shane," Amy scolded. "You've heard too many of the bigger boys telling tall tales. They only tell you such things to frighten you."

  "Then if I see an Indian, I don't have to be afraid?" Shane asked, his blue eyes wide.

  "I believe there is some good in everyone," Amy said. "Even Indians."

  Shane fell silent, satisfied with his mother's answer. He snuggled more comfortably against her, but was thrown from her lap when the boat jolted suddenly. As his mother lifted him back up, he looked over the side of the boat and saw that the craft had run aground on a sand bar.

  Amid shouts and confusion, the men began helping everyone from the boat onto the sand. The weight of the vessel had to be lessened so that it could be freed from the sandbar.

  Shane looked over his shoulder at his mother as a man carried him from the boat. Amy followed. When Shane was set down on the sand, his mother took his hand and moved with the others to more solid ground.

  "Will we see Indians, Mama?" Shane asked, looking trustingly up at his mother. "Will we?"

  "Oh, Shane," Amy said, sighing heavily. "Why

  are you so full of questions today? I'm so weary of traveling. So weary!''

  Shane hung his head, sad, then raised his eyes and began to look around while the men struggled to free the boat. The air was fresh and cool, smelling of the Norway pines that lined the sandy shore of the river. Chipmunks scolded and bluejays squawked from somewhere close by.

  Shane's attention was drawn to a covey of partridges that were just within the darker shadows of the forest. They were feeding on the bright red clusters of pigeon berries that were thrusting through the carpet of brown pine needles beneath the trees. Shane slipped his hand free of his mother's and moved slowly toward the birds.

  There was a great whirring of wings as the partridges took off, fast and low, disappearing into the lengthening shadows of the tall pines. Then everything around Shane became strangely quiet. The chipmunks were silent. The bluejays no longer squawked.

  Suddenly, terrifying screams and shouts of pain filled the silence. Instinctively, Shane crouched down in the thick underbrush. Terror gripping him, he watched men, women and children dropping to the ground as arrows hissed through the air, piercing the bodies of those who were still alive.

  Then it was all over. Frozen to the spot with fear, Shane looked at the carnage. His pulse racing, he saw his mother among the dead. He wanted to run to her, but instinct told him to stay hidden. As far as he could tell, he was the only survivor.

  Trembling, sobbing quietly, Shane watched as several w
hite men dressed in fringed buckskin emerged from the forest carrying bows and arrows. He bit his lower lip in frustration as he watched some of them begin to steal from the dead while others carried their victims' belongings from the boat.

  Shane covered his mouth to stifle a gasp of despair. A large, burly man was bending over his mother. He was removing her wedding band and slipping it into his pocket.

  When the man straightened to his full height and looked suddenly in Shane's direction, the boy thought discovery was certain. The man stared for a moment, yet did not seem to see Shane. Frozen with fear, Shane felt a tremor go through him as he looked into the man's gaze. Why, the man had one blue and one brown eye! Never had Shane seen anything like that.

  And he would never forget. All of his life he would remember those eyesthe eyes of the man who had killed his mother, the eyes of the man who stole her wedding band!

  Shane huddled low behind the bush until the men left. When he felt it was safe enough, he went to his mother and looked solemnly down at her. The evening air was becoming damp and cold. It seemed to be grasping at Shane with icy, groping fingers. Kneeling down beside his mother, he touched her face, then her hand. Some warmth remained. He snuggled down on the ground beside her and began to cry.

  "Papa, Papa," he sobbed. "Where are you, Papa?"

  A shadow fell over Shane. He looked slowly up into the dark, fathomless eyes of an Indian. But Shane was not afraid. Only a short while ago, his mother had taught him not to be afraid of Indians.

  Chapter One

  The Territory of Minnesota 1852

  Melanie Stanton stood beside her horse, a white-faced bay gelding with white hind legs, smoothing on her butter-soft leather gloves one finger at a time. With defiance, she looked from her brother, Terrance, to Terrance's best friend, Josh Brennan, as they mounted their horses.

  "Terrance, no matter how much you fuss at me, I am accompanying you into St. Paul," she said firmly. The soft morning breeze blew down the front of her white cotton blouse, billowing it away from her breasts. "I want to learn the cattle business. I want to have a say in our choice of cattle. Why shouldn't I? It's my right. The farm is partly mine."

  Terrance's spine stiffened as he glowered at Melanie. He circled his reins so tightly around his

  fingers that the leather cut painfully into his flesh. He could not help but resent his sister. She was eighteen, still a mere girl. He was twenty-five. Yet she had been given an equal share in the inheritance when their father died. Terrance had felt his manhood stripped away at the reading of the will. It was a man's place to run things; a man ought to have full control of his destiny.

  "Melanie, must you remind me of your rights again?" Terrance asked, sliding his wide-brimmed hat back from his brow, revealing dark, wiry hair. He toyed nervously with his narrow mustache. "Pop's been dead a year and since then you've been nothing but a nuisance."

  His gaze raked over her. She was slim and exquisite, with soft, perfect features. Her face was framed by lustrous, auburn hair that fell in drifts to her waist. Her neck was like a swan's, long and graceful; her eyes were brown, wide and innocent. His eyes fell to her high, well-rounded breasts. There was no denying that she had developed into a woman.

  But although she was beautiful and feminine in appearance, Melanie was still a high-spirited tomboy who enjoyed taking dares. She liked to show her strength and agility. For as long as Terrance could remember, he had been in constant competition with her. The fact that she now equalled him in wealth and possessions galled him unbearably. Lately, it had driven him to drink and gamble more than ever. And even before his father's death he had gained the reputation of being a hell-raiser.

  "Just look at you," Terrance scolded. "Where

  did you pick up that godawful outfit? A fringed buckskin skirt? Moccasins that reach up to your knees? You look like a savage."

  Hurt by her brother's reaction to her new riding outfit, which she had chosen for comfort rather than appearance, Melanie ran a gloved hand down the front of her skirt. "Maybe I would look better in skin-hugging breeches and chaps like you and Josh are wearing," she said, defying her brother with another stubborn stare.

  Then she looked over at Josh and offered him her most winning smile.

  "Josh, you think I'm dressed appropriately enough for riding horseback, don't you?" she asked, then wished she hadn't included him in the debate after all.

  Of late, Josh Brennan had become a thorn in her side. Though they had been neighbors for years, she had never cared much for him. As far back as she could remember he had been spoiled and arrogant. Though Terrance scoffed at Josh, saying that he was ignorant when it came to negotiating business deals, Melanie thought Josh was skilled enough at getting what he wanted.

  Though his blond hair and blue eyes were attractive, Josh was almost intolerable to be around. He was a gambler and a womanizer. And now he had the nerve to say that he had never gotten married because he had been waiting for Melanie to grow up so he could marry her!

  Josh circled a hand around the pommel of his saddle and leaned down closer to Melanie's face.

  "Hon, as far as I'm concerned you can wear any damn thing you want," he said in a lazy, teasing fashion. "Or better yet, you don't have to wear anything at all."

  Melanie's face grew hot. She set her jaw firmly and glared from Josh to Terrance, annoyed at her brother for allowing Josh to make such personal remarks to her. But she knew her brother would not correct anything Josh Brennan said or did. Terrance had his heart set on her marrying Josh, so that he could gain a hold on the Brennans' riches.

  She wondered if her brother had always been so scheming, so power-hungry. If he could, he would hand her over to Josh Brennan this very moment! Josh's father was on his deathbed. Josh would soon own all of his father's land. All of his father's cattle. His father's entire empire!

  Stubbornly, Melanie placed her foot in the stirrup and swung herself up into the saddle. She took up her reins and straightened her back as she looked pensively at Terrance. Though he was just as greedy and calculating as his friend, Josh, she could not help but love him. She had no choice but to keep an eye on him and the farm. She had to make sure that at least her portion of the inheritance was protected. If Terrance got unlucky at the poker table, he might be forced to gamble his portion of the farm away.

  Yes, she had to learn all of the details of how to run a cattle farm and make sure that Terrance never got hold of her portion. Their father had

  worked himself into the grave to make this farm what it was today. She could let nothing take away his dream, for his dream was now hers!

  "Well? What are we waiting for?" she said impatiently, her eyes dancing. "Let's go to St. Paul. The riverboat should be arriving soon with that new shipment of Texas longhorns. Those that have endured the trail drive from Texas to New Orleans and the boat ride to Saint Louis will be the sort we can be proud to own. They will be the strongest of the lot. But they've already been picked over at New Orleans and St. Louis. We don't want to have the last of the pick here in St. Paul."

  Terrance sighed heavily and shook his head in exasperation. "Melanie, ever since Pop died you've been behaving more like a man than a woman. Now get down off that horse and go back inside the house. Mary Ellen is making bread today. Watch her and learn how it's done. If I have to force you at gunpoint, you're going to be someone's wife one of these days. You can't spend the rest of your life outdoors playing around with the cattle. It's a man's job, damn it. It's my job. Allow me to do it?"

  Again Melanie's eyes sought Josh for support. "Josh, can you see why Terrance is so mad at me?" she asked, her lower lip curved into a pout. "Wouldn't you think he'd be happy that he has someone besides mere cowhands to help him with the farm? Don't you sometimes wish that you had a brother or sis?"

  Melanie's words trailed off when she saw a

  guarded look enter Josh's eyes. She had forgotten again! It had been twenty-five years since Josh had seen Shane, his twin brother, but it still se
emed to unnerve Josh when Shane's name was brought into the conversation. Though Josh's father, Jared, enjoyed talking of the son who had disappeared so many years ago, Josh never wanted to discuss him.

  Was it because the loss was still so painful? Or was it because his father had never let one day pass without talking about Shane as though he were there, alive? Had Josh been driven to drink and gambling because of his resentment of Shane?

  "I'm sorry," Melanie blurted out. "I always forget. I know that you don't like to think of your brother . . . and . . . and the massacre."

  Josh shifted his weight in his saddle. "The past is best left alone," he said. "Today and tomorrow is all I'm concerned about."

  He turned aside so that Melanie could not read the truth in his eyes. For many years now he had known that Shane was alive and well. It always made him uneasy, even a bit guilty, when he was forced to think of Shane, for Josh had not shared the discovery with anyone. Not even his father.

  When he discovered that Shane had been rescued by a band of Chippewa Indians, he had realized how difficult life would be for him if Shane returned home.

  Josh already felt as though he were an outsider in his own home. He hated living in competition with the ghost of a brother who most thought was dead. In Josh's father's eyes, Shane was perfect. If Josh's father knew that Shane was alive, Shane

  would end up with everything! Josh would lose his control over the Brennan riches.

  "Yes, I know how precious each day is to you while your father is still alive," Melanie said softly. "How is your father, Josh? Is he better this morning?"

  "I don't see how Father can last much longer," Josh said, repositioning his hat so that the brim shadowed his cool blue eyes. "He wastes away a little more each day. I sometimes think I shouldn't leave the house. I'd hate to be gone when . . . when he needed me."

  He looked over his shoulder, across the stretch of land that separated the Brennan farm from the Stantons'. A two-storied mansion loomed up, a pillared facade with a wide porch and mansard roof, white and stark. It was a large, empty home. His father had chosen not to remarry, but had instead mourned for the wife he had loved so intensely.