Forever, Victoria

by Dorothy Garlock

  “Yes,” Victoria said. “I can see that you wouldn’t.”

  “I’ve got no plans for ridin’ out, ma’am. But I ain’t makin’ no promises if Kelso crosses my path.”

  “I can’t ask any more than that,” she said honestly. “Papa would be glad to know that you’re working for the Double M, Sage. He told me once that if you ever found your niche you’d be a heck of a man. Think you’ve found it?” Her eyes twinkled up at him.

  He threw down his smoke and ground it out with his boot. When he looked up the usually serious lines in his face had shifted into a smile. He’s quite handsome, Victoria thought. No wonder Nellie is smitten with him.

  “I just might have.” He was still smiling when she left him.

  Victoria thought about his words on the way to Ruby’s. There was no accounting for why people fall in love. She would have thought a woman like Ruby would have more appeal than Nellie for a man like Sage, that is if she had thought about it at all. Nellie, small, soft and shy, would have been last on her list of women Sage might fall in love with. But he had, there was no doubt about it.

  Clay didn’t come to the house until just before supper, and when he did, he went upstairs to the room he shared with Pete and Doonie. Victoria was determined not to let him ruin the evening for Nellie so she went to the foot of the stairs and called to him. He opened the door and stared down at her, resentment in every line of his young body.

  “Will you come down so I can speak to you?” she said firmly and led the way into the parlor. Once they were inside she closed the door and turned to face him. “I’ve invited Sage to supper and I—”

  “He told me,” Clay interrupted rudely.

  “And I expect you to be civil,” Victoria continued calmly, although she would have liked to slap him. “I could tell this afternoon when I came out to the woodpile that you were in a quarrelsome mood. You were rude and childish. I’ll not allow you to make the rest of us uncomfortable this evening. Nellie is looking forward to having Sage for supper. Don’t spoil it for her, Clay.”

  “So that’s your game! You get Nellie palmed off on that drifter and run me and Pete off and you’d have it all just the way you wanted it.”

  Victoria’s face whitened at his bitter onslaught.

  “That’s not true! And I’d like to remind you that you’re a guest in my home and to keep a civil tongue in your head!”

  “No more of a guest than you are, ma’am. I can see that you’re working on Mason to change that though, and he’s fallin’ for it. Women is scarce here and what better way for him to get what he wants—the ranch with no more trouble, you to keep the outlaws off his back, and a woman in his bed!”

  Victoria was stunned by the venom in his voice. A wave of sickness rose into her throat and she fought it down. The silence lengthened. She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her, but she refused to let him see how desperately hurt she was.

  “And does Pete share your views?”

  “No, ma’am. You’ve seen to that, too.”

  “I’m sorry you feel this way. But first and foremost what…arrangements Mason and I make are none of your business, and second you have no right to make Nellie unhappy. If Mason was against Sage calling on his sister he would have told me. We’ll be using the parlor after supper and I expect you to build up the fire so it will be comfortably warm.” She opened the door and propped it back with a flat iron. “That is if you can bring yourself to join us.” She wasn’t exactly proud of her parting shot, but she wasn’t about to sit by and see Nellie hurt.

  “I plan to join you, ma’am. Mason left me here to keep an eye on things and I’ll not leave my sister to be courted by a good-for-nothin’ saddle tramp.”

  “I’d like to remind you that that good-for-nothing saddle tramp is more of a man than you’ll ever be.” With her head high and her heart breaking, Victoria walked proudly down the hall to the kitchen.

  The evening was not the disaster she had feared. Nellie was radiant in her blue dress. She had brushed her hair to a shiny luster and tied it back with a blue ribbon. Dora chattered constantly, thrilled to have company. Sage took to her right away. If he noticed Clay’s quietness he didn’t let on. Occasionally he directed some of his conversation to Clay and was answered in the fewest possible words. Victoria was hoping Clay would leave them after supper, but he sat in the kitchen with Sage while she and Nellie did the dishes. Dora saved the day by showing Sage the reading books which she took from their place on the mantel.

  Outwardly composed, Victoria managed to get through the evening. She played the spinet. Dora sang the only song she knew. Sage and Nellie applauded and Dora was pleased. Clay watched with a sullen look on his face, making Victoria more determined than ever to arrange for Nellie to be alone with Sage for a few minutes before he went back to the bunkhouse.

  She rose from the spinet and closed the lid down over the keys. “We’ve got lessons again in the morning, Dora. It’s time you were in bed. Clay, will you bank the fires in the kitchen and bring in a bucket of water for morning?”

  For a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but he got slowly to his feet. He glanced at her and then at Nellie and left the room.

  Dora tucked her hand into Victoria’s. “I’m glad you come a courtin’ Nellie, Sage. Will you come back? I’m going to learn new songs. I’ll sing one for you.”

  “I’d like that fine, Dora.”

  Victoria had only a glimpse of Nellie’s red face and Sage’s amused one before she pulled Dora out into the hall.

  While she was pulling the covers up over Dora she heard Clay come in the back door and go to the kitchen with the water bucket. She hurried to the hall to intercept him before he could go barging into the parlor.

  “Clay—”

  At the sound of her voice, his body tensed and he pivoted slowly on the heels of his boots until he faced her. He didn’t say anything, only looked at her with cold expression in his eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The words were not meant to be respectful. They were heavy with sarcasm.

  “I was going to thank you for not spoiling Nellie’s evening, but I see you’re still in an ugly mood.”

  “Not ugly, ma’am. Watchful. Mason can handle you with his sweet words. God knows, he ought to be able to with his experience with women, but I’m going to see that my sister ain’t led off down the road by a no-’count drifter.” Clay looked at her squarely. “It’s workin’ out just like Mason said it would. He’s got you pantin’ like a filly in heat.”

  “Good night, Clay,” Victoria said in a firm tone. She met his challenging stare. He was the first to avert his gaze. Victoria stood in the hall until he stomped up the stairs and into his room.

  In her own room she undressed quickly and got into bed. She could cry here. There was no one to see her. She put her head in her hands and let the tears stream down her face. They came in an overwhelming flood pouring down her cheeks and seeping through her fingers. She cried for lost dreams and for the agony of disillusionment.

  Her happiness had lasted one short day.

  CHAPTER

  * 15 *

  The past weeks had been long and frustrating for Robert McKenna. Without Juney he would have gone out of this mind. In a large corner suite on the second floor, the best accommodations that the Overland Hotel afforded, he paced the length of the big parlor, then strode back to the window overlooking the street. His hands worked, clenching and unclenching, behind his back. He cursed, his voice a low rumble. From his breast pocket he took a long, black stogy and bit off the end. With a sweep of his hand he struck a match to the windowsill and drew flame to his smoke.

  The train had come in. He would have a half hour wait until he knew if his man had arrived. Waiting was the hardest part. It seemed he had been waiting all his life. He had waited to grow up so he could go back to England, waited for his grandparents to die, and waited for an inheritance from America. Then the letter came from his father telling him he was leaving everything
to Victoria. It was followed by another saying his father was dead. At that time he was desperate for funds and seized on the idea of selling the Double M to the American he’d met in London. The matter of the forged deed and mortgage papers had been child’s play, as was getting one of his friends to act the part of the solicitor. The money he received from Mason Mahaffey had gone to pay off his gambling debts. But it wasn’t enough. If Victoria were dead, as next of kin he would inherit the property and he could sell it again. However, there was the matter of getting rid of Mason Mahaffey. Without Mahaffey there was no way he could be connected with the swindle.

  Robert pulled the curtain aside and looked down onto the street. It had been a stroke of luck to meet that disgruntled Double M hand, although it had cost him a bit of money to put the lout up in a rooming house while they waited for Kelso’s friend Ike to come to town. That had come to pass yesterday and the man was on his way to the ranch with a letter in his pocket that should lure Victoria to town.

  He hoped the man coming up from Denver would not refuse to hasten the demise of his hated half sister. Hired killers sometimes were a superstitious lot. Some drew the line at killing a woman; others took each assignment in stride. The man coming from Denver was said to be hard and cold, a killer who never failed to finish any job he started.

  Robert strode across the room, smacking his right fist into his left palm again and again.

  “I thought that Cash was a bloody good man, too,” he said to the image in the shaving mirror. “‘Your troubles is over,’ he said. ‘We’ll get ’em both,’ he said. Bloody bastard, if he’d done What he was supposed to do I’d be out of this godforsaken country by now.”

  There was a light tap on the door. Robert smoothed the sides of his hair back with his palms.

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m looking for Mr. Granville.”

  Robert opened the door. The man who slouched there was sallow faced with lean cheeks and a handlebar mustache. His clothes were dusty and his boots were down at the heel. He had a twig brush sticking out of the corner of his mouth and brown snuff juice on his lips.

  “What do you want?”

  “Seems yore the one wantin’ somethin’.” His tone was bored, slightly impatient.

  Comprehension came into Robert’s eyes. He nodded his head and stepped aside so the man could come into the room. He was a short man, shorter than Robert, and his legs were permanently bowed. He pushed his hat to the back of his head. A few wisps of hair showed on top, but it was thick and graying around the edges. Robert didn’t know what he had expected, but this man wasn’t it. He poured a stiff drink from the bottle on the table and offered the bottle to the man.

  He shook his head. “Don’t drink.”

  “You are John Crosser?” Robert didn’t know where to start.

  “Sometimes.”

  “You’re hardly what I expected, old chap.” He finished his drink and refilled his glass.

  “If’n ya got any idee I ain’t gonna do what ya pay me fer ya can give me my train fare and I’ll vamoose.” There was something about the way he spoke that sent a chill down Robert’s spine. Appearances notwithstanding, the man was shrewd, tough, and dangerous.

  “I had to be sure you were the one. Cash told me about you. He said you were dependable.”

  “Why didn’t Cash do it?”

  “I don’t know. I gave him half the money when I hired him. He was to come back for the rest of it when he finished the job. He didn’t come back.”

  “Figures,” Crosser said drily. “Cash ain’t got the stomach fer it.”

  “He left me in a hell of a mess,” Robert grumbled.

  “Put your cards on the table, mister. I ain’t a lollygaggin’ round here all day.”

  “The man’s name is Mason Mahaffey and he’ll be at the stock pens south of here about twenty miles.”

  “How much?”

  “One hundred dollars.”

  “Two.”

  Robert stared at him, his lips tightening. Silence stretched taut between the walls, and then a board creaked as Robert shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Finally he nodded his head.

  “There’s a woman, too. How do you feel about that?”

  “Woman is five hundred, all aforehand.”

  Robert nodded, relieved. “She ought to be in town tomorrow or the next day. I’ll point her out. Make it look like an accident, old chap. People can get bothered about something like that.”

  “Don’t be a tellin’ me how, when, or where ta do my job, mister. Yore part’s over when ya give me the name and the gold.”

  “Her name’s Victoria McKenna.”

  “I’ve heard of ’er.”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “A job’s a job.”

  Robert opened a valise and took out a bag. “Here’s half for Mahaffey. I’ll wait in the saloon with the other half.”

  “All of it.” Crosser took the stick from his mouth and spit toward the gaboon, missing it by a foot.

  Robert hesitated, then reached for the rest of the money. “Will you be back to tell me if the job’s done?”

  “You’ll hear of it.”

  When the man was gone Robert mopped his brow with a handkerchief. The room was not warm but he was sweating. As soon as Mahaffey was dead his troubles were half over.

  “Don’t you think you’d better tell me what you’re up to?”

  Robert spun around, his face ravaged and contorted. The door to the connecting room was open and a slim, blond girl came through it. Her upper body and her feet were bare and her hair was in disarray about her face. She stretched her arms over her head like a lazy cat, pushing her firm breasts out and upward.

  Robert drew in a quivering breath. God, she was beautiful! He hadn’t dreamed he would find such a beautiful and wanton creature here in this godforsaken place, but he had.

  The girl came into the room. Her mouth twisted in distaste at the sight of the spittle on the floor near the gaboon. She gave it a wide berth and come to stand beside Robert. She trailed her fingers up and down Robert’s back, took the glass from his hand and finished the drink.

  “You know I’ve got to have my rest, Robert. You’re a very demanding lover,” she added softly.

  Robert smiled. Nothing mattered except Juney’s approval and hadn’t since that first night she had come up to him in the saloon and introduced herself as LaJune Buchanan. Some irresistible force had brought them together that night and they had been together since. Robert had told Juney about London and his life there and she had listened rapturously.

  “I’m trying to get out of here with enough money to get us to England, Juney.”

  “I knew you were having troubles, Robert,” Juney said and her arm circled Robert’s waist. “But you’re not alone now. You have me and I’ll help do whatever is necessary to get us out of this place and begin to live the way we should.”

  “Juney! I’m so glad to hear you say that. It’s been dashed awful to keep all this to myself. It’s a long story and I’ll have to start at the beginning.”

  “We’ve got lots of time.” Juney clasped her hands behind his neck and stretched again. “Let’s go back to bed, Robert, and you tell me about it. I’ll be a help to you, you’ll see.”

  * * *

  The days following the confrontation with Clay were the longest and most unhappy Victoria had ever experienced. During the long nights she relived each word she and Mason had said to each other. Over and over again she asked herself how she ever allowed herself to believe that he loved her. How could she have gotten involved in such a humiliating situation? She worked furiously during the day, trying to tire herself out so she could sleep. She carried out ashes, scrubbed and cleaned, washed and ironed. Mornings were long, but afternoons were longer still and by evening she was so tense she felt ill. Sheer willpower and determination forced her to smile occasionally, speak pleasantly when spoken to, and choke dona portion of the food she took on her plate at mealtime
. Not once did her expression reveal the panic that rose in her throat each time she thought of Mason coming back to the ranch. And never for a moment did she let Clay see that he had torn her world apart. Nellie was so in love with Sage that she failed to notice the dark circles that appeared beneath Victoria’s eyes, evidence of sleepless nights and exhausting days.