****
Connor sat behind the mahogany desk in the library, his head in his hands. Love for Susanna filled his heart, soothing away the lonely years, but he knew that some of the horrors he had witnessed would never leave him.
Why had he been cursed with such deep emotions? Many men went through life taking what they wanted and damned be the rest. Why couldn’t he be more like them? Why did he have to worry about others, and rights and wrongs, and which way his actions tipped the scales?
His gaze strayed to the bottle of whiskey and glasses set out on the side table. After a moment’s hesitation he turned away. Getting drunk might serve to blot out the past but for the present he wanted a clear head.
When he’d learned that Hartman had raped Claire, fury had descended over him. He didn’t even know the girl, but she was Susanna’s friend, and a guest under his roof. And yet, a small ray of satisfaction had eased his anger. If the law failed to do its duty and string Hartman at the end of a rope, Connor now had the justification he needed to gun the man down.
But then Claire had foiled his plan by agreeing to marry Hartman. The bastard had come up with a way to protect himself, and Claire had shocked everyone by going along with it. Offering him a way out.
The library door swung open with a soft whoosh. Connor raised his gaze and saw Claire hovering at the entrance. Her clothes hung loose on her, as though she’d lost weight. He recalled Susanna’s comment that Claire no longer wore the denim pants and shirtwaist blouses around the ranch but struggled to iron her elaborate gowns.
She jerked to a halt, then pulled back a step. “I thought you’d gone out.”
Her forlorn air made a knot of pity twist in Connor’s gut but he suppressed the impulse to offer comfort. After Claire had accepted Hartman’s proposal, he no longer felt able to show her sympathy.
“Are you looking for Susanna?” he asked. “She’s resting in her room.”
“No…I came to find something to read…perhaps later…” Claire stood still for a moment. Then she retreated into the corridor and closed the door between them.
Connor jumped up to his feet behind the desk. “Claire,” he called out.
He didn’t have to go after her, for Claire halted and slowly opened the door again. “Yes?” she asked in a listless voice that was barely louder than the rustle of her gown. Her face settled into a blank mask that hid her emotions.
“Why are you doing it?” Connor asked bluntly.
She didn’t pretend not to understand. “I have my reasons.”
“I’d like to know what they are.” When Claire failed to reply, Connor pressed on, “If it is about your honor, or your marriage prospects, there’ll be other men—”
She cut him off. “Please don’t ask questions. I have to do this.”
Connor gritted his teeth. He raised his hand to his side where the bullet wound had left a puckered ridge that itched. “Hartman is evil.”
Claire surprised him by bursting into a bitter laugh that died abruptly. “I’m the last person in the world who needs convincing of his lack of human worth.”
“You know he was behind this?” Connor rubbed the scar on his chest.
“Of course he was,” Claire said sharply. “He is behind everything. We all know it but there is no evidence to prosecute him—no legal means of stopping him.”
Connor took a deep breath and gave voice to the thoughts that troubled him. “Claire, if you’re marrying Hartman because you believe that with you as his wife he’ll no longer try to kill me and take Circle Star, it’s too high a price to pay.”
“I have to—”
He silenced her with a gesture. The thought of a woman putting herself in peril so he could sleep more soundly in his bed made him quiver with rage. “I won’t let you sacrifice yourself to protect me and Susanna. Hartman raped you once. If you marry him, he’ll rape you again and again, and there’s nothing anyone can do to help you.”
“He has agreed the marriage will be name only.”
“You’re a fool if you believe him.”
Claire raised a single eyebrow in a manner that no longer seemed meek or vulnerable. “You think that he has no intention of keeping his promise?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Connor said with scorn. “I’ve known men like him before. Ruthless, cruel men who see women as chattels. To be owned. To be dominated. To be used for their own sadistic amusement. He’ll take what he wants and laugh at your tears.”
Claire squared her slim shoulders inside the wrinkled gown. Her gaze captured his, calm and unwavering. “Whatever happens afterwards, please remember that I did what I thought was right. Not just for me, but for all of us.”
“All of us,” Connor said, his anger ebbing. “This isn’t best for any of us. Susanna is distraught about your marriage plans, about the way you’ve withdrawn into yourself. You don’t talk to her any more. You stay in your room and avoid everyone.”
They contemplated each other in silence. Connor saw Claire’s delicate throat ripple as she swallowed, a small, fragile movement that made him realize how hard she struggled to maintain her composure.
“This is what I have to do,” Claire said finally. Her voice gained a sharp edge. “Please don’t make it any harder than it needs to be.” She spun on her heels and hurried out. The door creaked as it slowly swung to a close behind her.
Connor sat back in the big leather chair, emotions battling inside him. What right did he have to criticize Claire and the choices she made? For thirteen years, he’d cut himself off from Susanna and Circle Star. If Claire was neglecting the duties of friendship by remaining aloof, it was no worse than he had done.
****
“Don’t you want me there?” Susanna fretted. Tears welled up in her eyes but she tried to remain brave for the sake of Claire. Her friend had changed so. The old Claire was full of life, always laughing and joking. Now she walked around with a stony face and a pair of haunted eyes.
Last night Susanna had wept against Connor’s broad chest, inconsolable over how her friend had become lost to her. Connor had held her close, whispering gentle words into her ear, but even his compassion hadn’t dulled her grief.
She had hoped that something might have blossomed between Claire and Rafael De Santis. When she had seen the two of them together at the barn, she had sensed a current of emotion, but with Rafael it was always impossible to tell what he felt, and Claire no longer shared her secrets. How Susanna missed the confidential talks they used to have, telling each other about their hopes and fears.
“No,” Claire replied now, sounding terse. “I don’t want you there for the wedding ceremony. I need to do this alone. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Why?” Susanna pleaded. “Why are you doing this? He is such an evil man.”
Claire opened her mouth to speak but closed it again without a word. She reached out a hand and Susanna took it. Their fingers laced together. Claire’s skin felt cold and clammy against hers, and Susanna clung tight, trying to deliver warmth, trying to read her friend’s mind.
For a second the stony look on Claire’s face crumpled. “Trust me,” she said. “Soon you’ll understand.” Her expression grew hard again. She withdrew her hand and turned back to the mirror. “How do I look?” she asked, adjusting her gown.
Susanna made an effort to smile. Claire had left her hair loose, and it cascaded in a curtain of gold down her back. A few glass beads on a leather thong decorated the riot of curls. Through some trick of nature, her blue eyes seemed even more vivid against the silvery sheen of the fine satin gown.
“You look lovely,” Susanna said. “You always do.”
“Wish me luck,” Claire said in a voice that held no emotion.
Susanna felt a chill trickle down her spine. She stepped forward to hug Claire, doing her best to appear sincere. “Good luck,” she whispered. She had planned to make one final attempt to dissuade her friend from marrying Hartman, but something in Claire’s manner stopped her. Susa
nna felt powerless to resist the unfolding events.
“Where is my small travel bag?” Claire asked abruptly.
“I’ve put in the buggy. Pete will drive you to Deep Valley.”
“No.” Claire’s voice rose. “I want to ride Estrella. I can tie the bag to the saddle horn.” She turned to Susanna, and the unfeeling mask cracked, revealing the fear beneath. “Don’t you see?” Claire begged. “I have to go alone. I have to leave everything familiar behind. Otherwise I won’t be able to go through with it.”
“Then why do you?” Susanna said. “Why don’t you just call it off?”
Claire shook her head. “Stop asking questions.” She whirled on her dainty kid slippers and rushed toward the door. “I’ve got to get my travel bag.”
“I’ll come with you.” Baffled, Susanna followed Claire down the stairs. She understood that Claire was nervous, but why was her friend making such a fuss over a bag that contained nothing but a nightgown and a few toilet articles?
They retrieved Claire’s belongings from the buggy and explained to Pete Jackson that he wasn’t needed after all. Then Susanna stood still, her shoulders sagging as she watched Claire walk across the sunlit yard to the stables, clutching the little bag in her arms the way a toddler clutches a favorite toy.
It pained Susanna that Claire had refused her company for the ride out to Deep Valley, wouldn’t even let her help to saddle Estrella. Susanna had believed their friendship was strong enough to survive anything, but it appeared that she’d been wrong. Claire seemed just as capable of hiding behind emotional barriers as Connor had been.
****
Claire curled her fingers around the fistful of bullets. “Thank you,” she said to Gomez, the young ranch hand with flashing dark eyes and a shy manner. “Some of the men at Deep Valley are a little rough. I’ll feel better if my gun is loaded.”
“Do you know what to do? Do you want me to show you?”
“No.” Claire shook her head. “I’ll get Mr. Hartman to show me tonight, after the wedding.” She managed a tiny smile. “Don’t tell Miss Susanna. She doesn’t know I’ve taken my gun. She’ll only worry that I’ll shoot my toes off.” Claire opened the steel jaws of her carpet bag and dropped the bullets in the small pocket sewn into the lining.
“Miss Claire.” Gomez held on to the reins after he had helped her up on Estrella. He peered uncertainly at her from under the brim of his hat.
“What is it?”
The young ranch hand snatched the hat from his head and pressed it against his chest. “You don’t have to do this, Miss Claire. Many men would want marry you, even after what happened.”
Claire reached down. She let her hand rest on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m afraid this is exactly what I have to do.” Her fingers tightened, giving him a tiny squeeze. “Thank you for getting me the bullets. They might save my life.”
Afternoon heat shimmered in the air, but Claire felt a chill inside her as she rode out toward Deep Valley along the river. She made a detour into the desert, looking for Rafael’s barn, and managed to find the place by sheer luck. He probably knew anyway, but she had promised to tell him when the wedding took place.
She dismounted outside the big timber building. The double doors were closed, and no horse stood tied to the stake by the entrance. Claire stared at the burnt-out remains of the main house, and realized how totally she had been absorbed in Rafael during the few days she had spent with him. She had paid little attention to the ruins, or the withered gardens that had once surrounded the house.
Intending to leave a note, she pushed the rickety doors open and went into the barn. She hadn’t thought to bring a pen and paper, but she remembered seeing both among the clutter that covered one end of the long wooden table where they had eaten their meals.
Her footsteps made a hollow echo across the timber floor. When she reached the table, she saw a small white envelope leaning against an unlit oil lamp. Nothing was written on top. Claire picked up the envelope and ran her fingers over the flat surface. She felt a small object inside, like a coin, but hollow at the center.
It had to be meant for her. She tore open the sealed flap and found a folded note inside. The paper rustled as she pulled it out and spread it open.
I want you to wear this tonight. Be very careful.
Claire tipped the envelope upside down to shake out the contents. A plain gold wedding band fell out, hit the tabletop, and spun on its side. The whirring sound slowly faded away, emphasizing the silence that surrounded her.
She picked up the ring and lifted it into the light. Nothing was engraved inside. Claire fisted her hand over the tiny circle. Rafael did understand. He had forgiven her. He wanted her to know that they belonged to each other. She hurried outside and closed the doors behind her. Opening her bag, she dropped the ring into the little pocket, where it made a tinkling sound as it fell on top of the bullets. The token of love mixing with the instruments of death.
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Chapter Twenty-Four
When Claire arrived at the white hacienda that had been the scene of the terrible events, the big foreman she remembered from before was crossing the cobblestone courtyard. He walked over and took her horse. The way he stood back as she gathered her gown and dismounted made it clear that he understood she didn’t want to be touched, not even to be helped down from the saddle.
Claire nodded her thanks but said nothing. As she hesitated about entering the house, a butler in a dark suit opened the door and invited her in. He escorted her to a bedroom at the rear of the single story building and offered to have hot water sent in for her. Claire accepted, and told him she didn’t wish to see anyone until it was time for the wedding ceremony to begin.
When the water arrived, she rinsed her face and brushed the dust out of her dress as best she could. Then she studied the room. There were two doors—one that opened into the hall, and one on the left upon entering. She assumed the second door connected to Hartman’s bedroom.
The layout was perfect, with the bed facing the connecting door. Even better, although the head of the bed had a canopy, there was no footboard. A dressing table with a mirror stood by the window, and a massive armoire in ornately carved wood dominated the opposite wall.
Daylight was already fading when finally a knock sounded at the door. Claire got up from the chair by the dressing table—the only seat in the room—and walked over to the entrance. She took a deep breath, turned the knob, and opened the door.
Hartman hovered outside, dressed in a tailored gray suit with a long jacket. “Are you ready?” he asked, his eyes skimming up and down her body.
“Yes.” Claire stood facing him. “I’ll just unpack my night things.” She retreated into the room and lifted her bag from the floor onto the bed. Opening the bag, she shook out a nightgown and spread it over the quilted bedspread, holding the sheer fabric up just long enough for Hartman to see it, and imagine her wearing nothing else.
Then she moved over to the dressing table and laid out a hairbrush and a box of ivory hairpins. “That’s it.” Looking uncertainly around the room, she turned back to the dressing table. She folded the bag and stuffed it into a drawer.
“I don’t like clutter,” she said over her shoulder.
Hartman didn’t reply. He seemed barely able to contain himself. Claire returned to the entrance and followed him out, hoping that the little charade would keep anyone from peeking into her bag, in case the household staff had orders to search her room.
When Hartman reached for her hand, she permitted him to take her arm, but her rigid posture told it was done with reluctance.
“The men and the maids have asked if they could watch,” Hartman said with a hesitant glance down at her. “What should I tell them?”
“By all means, let them watch,” Claire said. She decided it would be very fitting. The men had watched that first time too.
Shadows flickered around the courtyard. Two ranch hands stood up on crates, lighting a row of
lanterns strung high between the corner of the whitewashed wall and the solitary tree. A shiver crept over Claire. Seeing that tree from a distance had brought her to this place on that fateful day.
She spoke sharply. “I don’t want any decorations.”
Hartman patted her hand, as though she were a petulant child. “We need a little light. It gets dark here so quickly.”
Claire gave a brief nod, trying to control her agitation. It had alarmed her to see something unexpected, even something as simple as a man stepping up on a wooden crate to take care of a chore.
She needed to calm down. Nerves could ruin everything.
The priest awaited them, looking solemn in his black cassock. Hartman called out, and a crowd of people drifted into the courtyard. A young girl carried a wreath of purple flowers in her hands. She detached herself from the others and timidly walked over, arms held out. Claire turned her back on the offering but from the corner of her eye she caught the girl’s stricken expression.
“It’s for your hair,” the girl explained, her accent soft and lilting.
Claire turned around again and accepted the gift. She placed it around her head, like a crown of thorns to mark a day of suffering.
“It looks lovely,” the maid said and stepped back to blend in with the others.
Claire took her chosen position and halted there, standing still and erect. Hartman looked puzzled. He gestured for her to join him in front of the priest.
“The light,” she explained, gesturing with one hand to take in the lanterns and the fading glow in the sky. “If we stand here, and the priest stands there, the light it will fall upon him. We’ll be able to see him better.”
Hartman took his place next to her. She wondered if he realized that now they were standing exactly on the spot where he had raped her. Drops of her blood would still be mingled with the sand that filled the gaps between the cobblestones beneath their feet.
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