“I could’ve brought your mail, Carianne.” Dorcas looked up from the open book in her hands. “I clean forgot, but you don’t have to worry about running into Rhyan at the dance. Tim Ranke, that boy who records meetings for the new lawyer, says they’re trying to work out a settlement. Of course Tim wasn’t supposed to let that slip.” She snapped the book shut with a light chuckle.
Carianne repaired the mistake in the book log, fuming. Why did Dorcas do that? She was so careful to note another’s sins, but took no thought what she said might harm others. Maybe it was true women gossiped more. No. If they did, it was only because they talked more.
“Are those ranchers really trying to sue him?” Rachel asked.
Dorcas laid the book on top of Carianne’s log. “Oh, my yes, trial date’s already been set, if he don’t settle out of court, but I doubt it—too stubborn, just like his grandpa.”
Martha set out the lemon cookies she’d brought on a low coffee table. She stretched with hands on hips. “Oliver Cason would never let them take Sollano. I was here in the beginning when he was the law of the land.” She took her seat in the rocker. “Some of you know the story of how he handled those slave trackers.”
Rachel selected a cookie and waved it in the air. “Luke told me he shot their dogs and told the trackers they’d be next if they didn’t get off his land.”
Martha nodded, chuckling at the same time. “That’s right. They left too, promising to send the army in, but the war started, and no one came back.” She laughed again. “If they had, they’d’ve found Oliver had a sizeable army of his own. Never known a man who hated the government more.”
“And the banks. Don’t forget the banks.” Dorcas flopped in the chair adjacent to Martha. “He did everything with cash or gold.”
Rhyan had told Carianne how his grandfather had amassed a fortune in gold in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. A flash of memory flitted in her brain. Books. Gold.
Oliver Cason wrote in some of the books she’d catalogued at Sollano. Rhyan’s father, Cortland, wrote notes too, brief reviews of the book. She’d used the information to prepare the card catalog.
Rhyan’s grandfather, on the other hand, wrote things that had nothing to do with the books, general musings that made little sense at all. One of his notes told of his gold.
Agnes pulled her from her thoughts. “Here’s mine.” She plunked two books down on the desk. “They’re for the girls.”
Carianne recorded the information. Agnes’s voice held yearning. She wanted to learn to read for herself. As soon as the culture center was established, Carianne would begin literacy classes. But there was something more important to think about today.
She closed the book log and stood to address them all. “If that’s all ladies, let’s dismiss for the day. I have a lot to get done to…before the barn dance.” That nugget tossed in so casually would motivate them to leave better than anything.
“Wear that new buttercup colored dress with the eyelet trim.” Rachel recommended. “That’ll get everyone’s attention.”
Carianne had ordered several summer frocks from her dressmaker friend, Ramee, including the one Rachel mentioned. It was cool, so of course she’d wear it. But clothes didn’t concern her at the moment. She murmured words of good-bye and closed the door.
Something niggled the back of her mind, just out of reach. About Oliver Cason. About his gold.
Oliver Cason had panned the streams of the Sierra Nevada Mountains for gold and accumulated a lot of it. She remembered Rhyan told her his grandfather had gone all the way to Chicago and St Louis to deposit the money because he didn’t trust western banks. But he hadn’t deposited all of it, didn’t even have it assayed. In the beginning he’d paid the Indians for the use of the land in raw nuggets. Before the government ran the Indians off.
He’d written about that gold in a book she’d catalogued.
After pacing around the room, racking her brain for what she could remember, she came to one conclusion. This wasn’t just a whim. She felt the Spirit with her, guiding her.
She also knew the only way to make sure Oliver’s message had any meaning at all required finding that book and reading what he’d written. An image of the thousands of books filling the library at Sollano towered before her, daunting her. Yet there might be no other solution but to go through each one.
Had she ever discussed that cryptic note with Rhyan? She’d meant to, but she didn’t think she had, believing Rhyan would surely know what became of his grandfather’s gold. It must have been accounted for in Oliver Cason’s will. But what if it hadn’t been? What if Rhyan didn’t know?
Would he agree to search all those books on her whim? With helpers, they could go through the whole library in a day’s time. She certainly couldn’t be cloistered in the room alone with Rhyan like during those innocent days. What if he kissed her again? And she didn’t have the resolve to break away?
The possibility of finding a way to save Sollano excited her. Not so much for Rhyan’s sake, but for all those who depended on the ranch.
Even if it didn’t pan out, the effort to find the book was worthwhile. It might give a clue about what happened to Oliver Cason’s gold. Any idiot would want to check every possibility. Of course sometimes Rhyan could act like an idiot.
He probably wouldn’t listen to her, but she’d get Colt’s help.
Her glance fell on the clock sitting on the mantle. Never had she been so mindful of time, and it getting away from her. There was enough daylight to go out to Colt’s ranch. All she had to do was change into her riding costume.
Chapter 13
Rhyan threw his accountant’s report on his desk and hunched over to rub his eyes. Nothing was wrong with his eyesight. The figures didn’t change. He’d have to get Higgins to write for an extension—again.
He refused to dwell on business any more today. His mind searched for something more pleasant and didn’t have far to go. Carianne’s soft, yielding lips, tasting like heady nectar. The light, tantalizing smell of her perfume. Lilac, or was it honeysuckle? Reminiscent of a lazy summer afternoon. Her arms around him.
Until she’d pushed back.
He let head sag, reliving the moment. This way of thinking would take him to the edge of sanity. He had to put it all behind him so he could put some intelligent thought to the problems lying ahead.
Doubts bunched in his mind like so many cattle trying to get out of a shoot at the same time. How could he give her up? It wasn’t too late, even now. That last kiss may have earned him a slap, but she’d let her guard down. Her desire had matched his at the beginning of that soul wrenching kiss.
No, he’d already gone over this before and made his decision. He had to give up any foolish notion of getting her back. He’d only bring her more heartbreak. Colt was better for her. In time he’d be able to put her out of his mind.
He’d never found it hard to walk away from a woman before. This was different. Harder. He still loved her, but given enough time, even love would die a natural death.
Stiff muscles forced him up. He flexed his shoulders, glancing around the room, trying to remember what the house was like before Carianne first came here, and couldn’t. If he were in his right mind, he’d be able to find a solution to the ranch’s problems. He excelled in planning and strategizing. But what did it matter? Without Carianne, the future spread out cold and dreary.
A light cough brought him out of his reverie. Maria stood in the doorway. “A gentleman is here to see you…a Mr. Yardly.” The pinched look on the housekeeper’s face told Rhyan she knew he didn’t want to see Yardly.
He started to ask Maria to turn the man away, but he couldn’t leave Maria with his dirty work. “I’ll take care of it.” He passed her and made tracks to the foyer. No need to give Yardly the impression he’d be received. Rhyan knew what he wanted.
He opened the door and stepped out onto the portico, forcing Yardly to jump back. The man’s thin lips and uneven teeth showed between a careful
ly trimmed moustache and beard. An expensive, black tailored suit gave his slight frame an air of importance. He clutched a top hat to his chest in one hand and held out the other, which Rhyan ignored.
Yardly smiled. “I agree. No need to waste time with pleasantries.”
“What are you doing here?”
“A favor to you, Mr. Cason. I’m willing to overlook our past quarrels, even that time you forced me out at gunpoint to keep me from seeing your father.”
“Should I get my gun now?”
Yardly laughed. He pulled a folded paper from his coat and held it out. “I still want the house, and I know you need the money. It’s the most generous offer you’re likely to get.”
Rhyan took the paper and, without reading it, wadded it into a ball and tossed it back at the man. It bounced off his chest and landed at his feet.
Yardly squatted to retrieve the paper ball. After putting his hat on his head, he smoothed out the crumpled document. “An immature reaction, Mr. Cason. I’d hoped the years would have given you some maturity.”
The criticism made Rhyan clench his hands into fists—another immature action. He forced himself to relax. “Why are you obsessed with Sollano?” This was something he’d wanted to know since the man had been after him to sell the ranch. Even back to the time he’d tried to get Rhyan’s father to sell.
“That’s an interesting question, Mr. Cason. Maybe I am obsessed. I’m not interested in the land, just the house. It’s unique, like a magnificent castle in a desolate wasteland. It draws me like a beautiful woman can draw a man.”
His chuckle was low and menacing. “Speaking of women, your…lady friend and I are of the same mind it seems.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought that would get your attention. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happily married.” He chuckled again. “Well, married anyway. I have no designs on Miss Barlow, but she has plans that intrigue me. She’s going to establish a theater and concert hall. It’s her thinking that travelers will stop off to see those wild-west shows all the rage now, and in time be attracted to the more cultural events.
“I believe she’s right. And many of those travelers are important men I want to influence. I want to invite them to this place.” He threw his arms wide. “They won’t have to put up with the primitive conditions of the usual prairie town.”
Was Carianne still planning a culture center here in Westerfield? Rhyan was sure she’d given that up. She’d had enough trouble getting the ladies library off the ground. Where did she intend to put on these wild-west shows?
Yardly threw Rhyan a knowing glance. “Great business decisions are going to be made in this house, all to my benefit.”
“No they won’t, because you’re the last person on earth I’d sell to.” Rhyan moved past him, halting at the steps.
Yardly followed him. “I was afraid you might take that attitude. It doesn’t bother me. I’ll buy from anyone you do sell to, probably at a lower price than my offer you rejected.” He started down the steps. At the bottom, he turned. “Or perhaps I’ll just buy it on the courthouse steps.”
Rhyan went back inside and started to slam the door, but stopped when he caught sight of Colt galloping into the yard.
With a nod to Yardly, whose horse was tethered at the courtyard hitching post, Colt tied his mount and crossed the stone paved portico.
“What did that fellow want? He still wanting to buy the place?” Colt followed Rhyan across the foyer and into the library to their favorite chairs.
“He just wants the house to entertain his business associates. He started jabbering about Carianne’s business ventures being a draw to the town.” Maybe Colt would volunteer what he knew.
“She’s hoping they’ll be a draw. Aside from the library, she’s planning a theater and a lot of other things I don’t rightly know about.”
Maybe it would be better to steer Colt away from Carianne. “I don’t want to waste time on Yardly. What brought you out?”
Colt sent him a questioning glance, then grinned. “Oh, my business. I wanted to know if I could buy your race horse, Dasher.”
Rhyan’s jaw tightened a split second before he smiled. “You know how much that horse costs?”
“Recon I do. I was the one who went all the way to New York to pick him up for you.”
Why not? Rhyan couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have Dasher. “Are you going to resell him?”
“No, I’m going to keep him for stud, but you can buy him back in the future, if you want.”
“You’re making it easy for me, aren’t you?”
“As easy as I can. Carianne wants to save that horse.”
Rhyan couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone. “And you’ll do anything Carianne wants?”
Colt’s gaze dropped to his boots, and he sounded a half-hearted chuckle. “Guess you’re right about that, but I actually came to see how you’re doing. See if you needed my help.”
“You have a couple hundred thousand dollars laying around?”
“Nope, I couldn’t scrape up that amount in the next ten years.”
“All right. I’ll send Dasher over to the Double H tomorrow.”
Colt got to his feet and Rhyan stood, intending to see him out, but his friend halted after a few steps. He turned and twisted his hat in his hands. “You mind if I keep your girl a little while longer?”
Rhyan halted too. “What?”
“Harriet. She’s been coming over to help out. Ma’s coming home next week, but I’ve…well, managed to make a mess, and I don’t want Ma to get overloaded right after getting home.”
“Sure, after Emma returns, Harriet can just move in for a while. You’re better able to pay her.”
“Good.” Colt made no move and kept staring at the floor, still worrying his hat. “I’m going to take Carianne to the barn dance. You going?”
“Haven’t decided.” Why would he care who Colt took to the dance? Caring wouldn’t do any good.
“Well, I just wanted you to know, I guess.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. You’re not getting any younger. It’s about time you thought about getting married.”
“Married?”
“Yes, married. You wouldn’t need a maid if you had a wife. Bring in a woman who can do a lot more for you than keep house. Most ranchers your age are already settled down with two or three kids running around.”
“What about you? You’re the same age as me. In fact, you’re four months older. That’s something you never let me forget when we were kids.”
“I’m not the one taking a girl to the dance.” Rhyan shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “But Carianne might not suit you.” He was fishing for Colt’s reaction. They both knew it was an outright lie. Carianne was perfect for Colt. Still, no harm in planting a seed of doubt. Why he wanted to make Colt doubt, he didn’t know.
As he figured, Colt took the bait. “Why not?”
Rhyan jingled the coins in his pockets as he walked back and forth. “Haven’t you noticed? She’s independently wealthy. Oh, I know she doesn’t live that way, but she has a big bank account. She’ll lose her money if she marries. She has a notion to start a business. That might appeal more to her than cooking a husband’s grub or washing his clothes.”
Colt gave him as defiant a look as he’d ever mustered. “She’s told me about her money, and what she intends to do with it. I can wait until she gets her business set up. I could help her with her business while she helps me cook the grub and wash the clothes.”
Rhyan stopped in front of him and grinned. “Yeah?”
Colt slammed on his hat with a sigh. “If you can think of anything I can do to help, that don’t cost a lot of money, call on me. I’m praying for you, and a lot of other people are too.” He punched Rhyan on the arm and made for the door.
“Thanks for taking Dasher off my hands.” And Carianne. All the prayers in the world wouldn’t help him, but he knew what he’d always known
deep inside. Colt wanted Carianne, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He ought to be happy for them. But the thought of them together revolted him.
Chapter 14
Carianne met Harriet at the door of the Double Bar H ranch house. “Is Mr. Holloman at home?”
“He is indeed, Miss. Got back a little while ago and took the parlor rug out so I can beat it proper before Mrs. Holloman gets home. He said he was going to check on a new horse in the correl. I expect he’s still there, but he should be back in a cat’s whisker.”
“Then I’ll wait for him.” Carianne followed the maid through the door that opened to the spacious parlor. The scent of beeswax hung in the air, and every window was open with curtains flaring out at each side.
The parlor held the atmosphere of a real ranch house. Rustic furniture, cow horns fashioned into hooks, a rack of rifles, horsehair settee. A huge stone hearth and wide mantle dominated the room. The narrow staircase rose on one side and the dining room and kitchen lay beyond the other side. The only touch of gentility was a vase of summer roses sitting on a low roughhewn table. Very homey, very comfortable. She could image living in this house.
“Are you going to continue working for the Hollomans?” Carianne asked. “I’m sure Emma could use the help.”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to have the house neat as a pin for her home coming.” Harriet laughed. “The ranch hands will be glad to have her back. She did all the baking. Speaking of which, I have a cobbler in the oven. Please excuse me.”
“Don’t let me detain you. I’ll just sit in here.”
Harriet bobbed a curtsey and scudded toward the kitchen. Carianne settled on the edge of the settee, suddenly nervous. Why, she didn’t know. Colt might think her idea crazy, but even if he did, he’d give her the benefit of the doubt.
It was good to have someone to rely on, not one to make you think he’d support you, care about you, then twist in the other direction as quickly as grass in a thunderstorm. If she could detach herself from her emotions, she’d see that Colt offered security and faithfulness. What else could a woman want?
Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2) Page 14