When Passion Calls

by Cassie Edwards

  Outraged by the man's obvious ignorance and his inability to tell the true, good man from the bad, Melanie stared with silent disgust at Ken, then spun around and headed toward the house. She went in without knocking.

  Sighing heavily, hating to have to tell Shane this latest bit of gruesome news, she looked up the steep staircase, then rushed on up to the second floor. Sad for Shane, not able to even guess what his reaction would be to this latest revolting act, Melanie slipped into his room and tiptoed across to the pile of furs.

  Standing over him, seeing him lying there so innocently asleep, stretched out on his stomach on his thick pallet of furs, she wasn't sure she could even tell him what had happened. At this moment he was at peace with himself, with the world. Soon she would change everything for himagain!

  Settling down on her knees beside him, Melanie's eyes filled with tears. She reached a hand to his sun-bronzed face and touched him gently on the cheek. Asleep, he looked no more than a child, his sculpted handsome face catching the rays of the sun as they crept into the room from the gaping sides of the closed draperies.

  Awash with pure adoration for him, Melanie studied Shane. His lips were parted, revealing his white, clean teeth. His eyes were closed, shuttered by thick blond lashes. His golden hair lay about his shoulders, wide and muscled. Her eyes traveled down his broad back, his tapered thighs, and his thin hips.

  She could not help herself. She was drawn into lying down beside him, hugging him closely to her. "Oh, Shane," she whispered. "How can I tell you? Who is doing this to you? Who?"

  Shane stirred. He raised his lashes and looked slowly to his side, then smiled when he discovered

  Melanie looking him squarely in the eye. "I awaken from a dream of you, and you are here," he said, turning on his side to face her. He placed his hands to her waist and drew her against him. "Did you also dream of me? Is that why you have come? To make it real?"

  Melanie wove her fingers through his hair and brushed a kiss across his lips. "Darling, we had plans for this morning, or did you forget?" she whispered. "I hadn't expected you would still be in bed."

  Shane eased his hands from her waist. Moving to a sitting position, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I haven't been in bed that long," he said. "I was outside all night, guarding my cattle."

  "You were?" Melanie asked, sitting up beside him. She began running a hand down the smoothness of his bare back. "Shane, exactly when did you come in and go to bed?"

  "When dawn began to break along the horizon," he said, looking at her, suddenly aware of something different about her. Why the questions? Turning to her, he grabbed her hands. "Melanie, has something happened?"

  Melanie swallowed hard and nodded.

  Shane dropped her hands and jumped to his feet. In wide strides he went to the window and jerked the draperies open. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively when he saw the group of men assembled outside the stable.

  Then his gaze shifted, and he saw the morning sun shining brightly on the pools of blood spread across the ground. He drew a shocked breath.

  Melanie went to his side. "Somehow, after you came in and went to bed, someone did something horribly macabre," she said in a rush of words. "Someone decapitated one of your longhorns and brought its blood and poured it all over the ground close to the stable."

  She placed her hands to his cheeks. "Shane, someone did this to frighten your cowhands," she murmured. "It was meant to scare them away so that you will be left alone to run your farm."

  She looked from the window and her eyes narrowed in on Ken, recalling his assumptions. She looked slowly back up at Shane. "Ken suspected it was done by an Indian," she said, her voice drawn. "Could Chief Gray Falcon have done this terrible thing?"

  Melanie could feel Shane grow tense at her suggestion. She did not know whether it was because he agreed that it could be the chief, or because he did not like anyone to suspect the Indians because he had been raised by Indians. To him it was a delicate subject.

  "That is not the work of Gray Falcon," Shane said, looking solemnly down at her. "I was wrong ever to suspect that he could have been responsible for poisoning my longhorns. I know him well enough to know that he values the life of animals too much to kill them senselessly." He turned away from her and stepped into his breeches. "No, Melanie, it was not Gray Falcon. It was someone else whose values are as dim as his morals!"

  "If not Chief Gray Falcon, then who?" Melanie grew ashen with a thought. Her own

  brother! It could be! Hadn't he been behaving out of character only moments ago? He hadn't risen with the dawn in months to work on the farm. He hadn't been as cheerful in months!

  She rushed to the door, and Shane looked at her, puzzled. "Where are you going?" he asked, slipping into his cotton shirt.

  "I have someone to see," Melanie said from across her shoulder. "I have questions to ask!"

  Shane watched her leave, full of wonder.

  Melanie jumped from her buggy and ran into the stable. Terrance was just putting his pitchfork away. He turned with a start when Melanie cleared her throat behind him.

  "What have you been up to?" Melanie asked, placing her hands on her hips. "I hope it's not what I'm thinking. If so, I can honestly say that I don't know you at all."

  Terrance toyed nervously with the end of his mustache, eyeing Melanie closely. "If you're accusing me of something, you may as well just come out and say it," he grumbled. "What's got you in this mood, anyhow? You were on your way to see Shane. Why'd you come back home?"

  "Are you saying that you don't know what I found when I arrived there?" Melanie said, lifting her chin angrily.

  "Why the hell should I?" Terrance asked, waving a hand wildly in the air. "Am I supposed to be a mind reader, or what? You know I don't own a crystal ball, Melanie, and my game is poker, not looking into the future!"

  "You're not at all amusing, Terrance."

  Terrance grabbed her shoulders and glared down at her. "Are you going to tell me what's got you all riled up or do I have to go to Shane's and question him about it?" he asked, his teeth clenched.

  "If you have to ask, then perhaps I was wrong," Melanie said, reaching to remove his hands from her shoulders.

  She stared at Terrance, searching his face and his eyes to see if he was lying. She wanted to believe that he wasn't guilty of such a vile act, yet she could not help but suspect him.

  But she would not come right out and ask him. If he was responsible, he would not tell her the truth, anyhow. If he was responsible, at this moment he was proving that he knew the art of lying well!

  "Melanie, are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" Terrance asked, frowning down at her. "Why didn't you stay at Shane's?"

  In Melanie's mind's eye she was seeing the spilled blood; she was envisioning the torment that Shane must be going through at this very moment. He needed her and she wasn't there! She must go to him!

  She whirled around and began running from the stable. "If you want to know, come with me!" she said, then stopped and turned to face Terrance.

  "Perhaps you can offer some advice to Shane as to what to do about the evil person who is destroying his cattle," she said, studying Terrance's expression again, trying to see his reaction to what

  she was saying. "Who knows? They might slaughter some of our cattle next."

  Terrance seemed not at all moved by the declaration. Instead he put an arm around Melanie's waist and led her to the buggy. "Let's just see what happened at Shane's that's so terrible," he said.

  Chapter Twenty

  Shane stood watching his men pitch hay on the ground, soaking up the blood with it. His mind was tormented. Who was responsible for this latest macabre act?

  He turned and stared at his house. Not a word had been heard from Josh. Could his absence point to him as the culprit? Would he be staying away purposely to draw guilt away from himself?

  Then Shane's attention was diverted by the sight of Melanie and Terrance approaching in the buggy. His eyes narrowed, kno
wing that Terrance could be responsible. Terrance made no bones about not being pleased over Shane's arrival in his sister's life.

  But could he be this determined to get rid of Shane? Was he this low? This vile?

  Melanie reined the horse in beside the fence. She left the buggy and went to Shane, Terrance at her side. "Terrance has come to help in whatever way that he can," she said. "My brother is as appalled by this as we are, Shane."

  She looked at Terrance again, her jaw firm. "Isn't that so, Terrance?" she asked.

  Terrance shifted his feet and toyed with his mustache. "Yes, quite," he said, his voice drawn.

  Shane studied Terrance, wondering. Yet he had already decided that Josh was the one he was going to narrow in on with questions this morning. As far as Shane was concerned, Josh had a lot to answer for.

  "What can Terrance do to help?" Melanie asked, folding her hands together behind her. "Shane, what can I do?"

  "Nothing," Shane said, brushing past Melanie into the stable. "I'm going into St. Paul. I've someone to see."

  Melanie's lips parted with surprise. She started to follow him, then shuddered when she stepped into a pool of blood that was not yet covered with hay. Gasping, she lifted her skirt past her ankles and stepped over the blood, then raced into the stable. Shane was determinedly placing his saddle onto his horse.

  "Shane," she said, "who are you going into St. Paul to see? Of course, it must be Josh, for there is no one else in St. Paul that you know." She placed a hand on his arm, causing him to turn and look down at her. "Do you think he's the one responsible for this, Shane? Do you?"

  "Do you?" Shane said in a deep grumble. He looked past her at Terrance, who was standing among a group of the cowhands, speaking low, occasionally glancing Shane's way.

  Melanie's eyes followed Shane's steady gaze. She recoiled inside, knowing that Shane must also suspect Terrance. Yet he had not openly accused him. Was it because Terrance was her brother and Shane wanted to save her embarrassment and torment should Terrance prove to be the guilty party? If it was Terrance, dare Shane wait for any reason?

  She turned her eyes slowly back to Shane. "You asked if I thought Josh is responsible," she murmured. She lowered her eyes. "I cannot say."

  Shane grabbed the horse's reins and led it on past Melanie. "Nor can I," he growled. "But I damn well intend to find out!"

  Melanie ran after him. "Let me go with you, Shane," she said, reaching up for him. "I can unsaddle my horse from the buggy quickly. I won't delay you. I want to go with you."

  Shane placed a foot into a stirrup and swung himself up into his saddle. "No," he said flatly. "I think I know where I might find my brother and it is not a place for a lady. This time I go into St. Paul alone."

  Melanie circled her hands into tight fists at her sides. "Oh, Shane . . ." she whispered, watching him wheel his horse around and ride away.

  Terrance sidled up close to Melanie and whispered into her ear, "Sis, you're making one damn fool of yourself over that man," he said. "Look

  around you. Don't you see yourself being gawked at?''

  Melanie felt a heated blush rise to her cheeks. She glanced around and saw that the cowhands really were staring at her. She stamped a foot and went to her buggy. "Terrance, since you agreed so heartily to help here at Shane's, get to it!" she hissed, snapping the reins against her mare.

  After taking a wide turn on the drive, she traveled briskly away, leaving Terrance standing with his fists on his hips, glaring angrily after her.

  Sitting tall in the saddle, Shane rode into town. He looked from saloon to saloon. He knew the terms of his father's will and understood them all, even why Josh had been left less of their father's inheritance than Shane. It was a well-known fact that Josh loved his whiskey and poker too much. Even at this mid-morning hour, Shane expected that he could find his brother in a saloon, losing himself in his two favorite pastimes.

  Securing the horse's reins to a hitching rail, Shane walked determinedly toward the saloon. He stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk, then flung the saloon's swinging doors aside and stepped into the room.

  The stench of whiskey lay heavy in the air, intermingling with gray swirls of smoke, almost choking in its intensity. The room was noisy with laughter, cursing, the tinkling of a piano, and the clink-clink of coins.

  Women in gawdy short skirts and plunging

  necklines mingled with the men, giggling, kissing, fondling.

  At the bar, Shane purchased a cigar. Then, leaning his back against the bar, he bit off the end of the cigar, spat the tip onto the floor, and thrust the cigar between his lips. The light of a burning match suddenly appeared and was placed to his cigar by a hand with long, lean fingers, their nails brightly polished. Shane looked up into seductive, dark eyes, feathered by thick, even darker lashes.

  He accepted the light and puffed on his cigar, slowly looking the woman over as she dropped the burned-out match to the floor. She was nothing less than beautiful, yet not the sort that Shane was attracted to. Her dress was brightly-colored and scant, revealing all but the nipples of her breasts. There was a wickedness in the way she smiled up at him as she leaned into him, brushing her breasts against his chest.

  "Somethin' else I can do for you, hon, besides light your cigar?" she asked in a seductive purr. She nodded toward the staircase. "I've got a room upstairs. Go with me and I could make you feel real good." She nodded toward a bottle of whiskey on the bar. "If you're the shy sort, we could sit down and begin with sharin' a drink or two.'' She bumped up against him again. "What do you say? A handsome fella like you'd be good to be around for awhile."

  Shane placed his hands to her waist and moved her aside. He smiled slowly down at her when he saw rage fill her eyes. "Thank you for the compli-

  ment," he said, taking his cigar from his mouth, flicking ashes from it. "But I don't think I've got the time today for the sort of fun you're offering me."

  Sauntering away from her, Shane thrust the cigar between his lips again. He peered intently through the smoke as he walked slowly from table to table, looking for Josh.

  Seeing no sign of him in this saloon, Shane went to another and another. Then he finally found his brother in a saloon that sat squeezed in between two brothels.

  Shane stood across the room from where Josh sat at a table, gambling and drinking, and looked at him disbelievingly. His brother's face was stubbled with golden whiskers. He wore a white, ruffled shirt and dark breeches, both of which were wrinkled and soiled with whiskey and food spills down the front. Standing behind him, a skimpily attired whore clung around his neck possessively.

  Something akin to regret for his brother, for what Josh had let himself become, washed over Shane. It seemed that he had no pride. Yet, Shane felt as though he was to blame for his brother's misfortune. Josh had left his farm because of Shane! Why couldn't brothers live together? Work together? Did it have to come down to this?

  Then Shane recalled what had brought him there. He had come to question Josh, to see if his brother was responsible for the recent mishaps at the Brennan farm. Did Josh gamble by day and wreak havoc by night?

  Shane's eyes moved back to the woman who still clung around Josh's neck. He grew cold inside as he watched her motioning to a man across the table from Josh, giving him finger signals to tell him what was in Josh's spread hand of cards. The woman was helping the man cheat!

  Taking slow, calculated steps closer, Shane positioned himself behind the man who was the recipient of the hand signals. He removed his knife from the sheath at his waist and waited for Josh and the man to discard, and for the man to drag in his winnings.

  "Seems you've got a run of bad luck today, Josh," the man said, laughing boisterously as he reached out his hand and covered the coins with them. As he started to drag the coins toward him, Shane flipped the knife down beside his hand, causing the man to yowl with fright and jerk his hand back.

  Cursing, the man turned and eyed Shane angrily. Slowly he pushed his chair back and rose
to his feet. "You'd better have a good reason for doin' that, sonny," the man said, scowling at Shane as he slowly eased his hand toward his holstered revolver.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Shane said, eyeing the pistol. "My brother has a gun on you beneath the table."

  The man's eyes wavered, looking from Shane, to Josh, then back to Shane. "Yourbrother?" he stammered.

  "That's what I said," Shane said, not taking his eyes off the man's hand, now frozen in mid-air.

  "Josh ain't wearin' no gun," the man said, laughing nervously.

  "Are you positive of that?" Shane said, grinning slowly.

  The man kneaded his chin. "I didn't notice one before," he said.

  "One way to find out is to test him," Shane said, inching his way around the table. He grabbed the whore by the wrist and held her immobile beside him. "But I think the best way to settle this is to have this little woman here admit to what she was doing to help you win against my brother."

  The man swallowed hard. "I reckon you saw?" he said, dropping his hand to his side, away from his gun.

  "You damn well know that I did," Shane said, shoving the whore away from him. "And so did everyone else. I guess you all wanted to see Josh Brennan lose today, huh?"

  "Take the money, Josh," the man said, leaning down to shove the coins back over to Josh. "No hard feelings, I hope."

  Josh had sat through all of this scarcely aware of what was happening. He had drowned his brain, and his ability to think straight, with alcohol. He looked up at Shane, blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

  "Shane?" he said in a drunken slur. "What'cha doin' here? Huh?"