by Shirl Henke
Something else about him was different, though, not just the surprising clothes. His hair, Carrie thought with a start. It had been freshly barbered; no longer shoulder-length and unruly, it was significantly shorter, emphasizing the long, carefully trimmed sideburns, giving even more dramatic definition to the harsh planes and angles of that arresting face.
As if daring any man in the assembly to question his right to be there, he moved with arrogant grace. None did. Although some eyed him with veiled hostility, most spoke to him in perfunctory politeness, a few in what seemed to be genuine friendliness. The noise level in the room had not changed with his entry, but it was obvious to Carrie that the topic of many conversations had done so. Hawk walked casually to the buffet table and took a glass of whiskey from Sam Waters.
The women, too, were all aware of his unexpected arrival. A few older matrons sniffed in disgust, but most looked at him in fascination, a few in brazen invitation, most in concealed hunger. Kitty Cummins danced with a plump young man with reddish hair, never casting so much as a glance toward the buffet table, although Carrie was certain she knew Hawk stood there, watching her with amused black eyes. Dorothea Eldridge slipped her hand coyly onto a gray-haired man's arm and engaged him in intense conversation. Probably the cuckolded husband, Carrie surmised, feeling the tension thicken despite the sprightly music and false joviality filling the air.
Watching the assembly's reactions to Hawk Sinclair, Carrie suddenly recalled Frank's words: Yew see all them purty white females makin' eyes at him when their daddies ain't around, but he ain't th' one's gonna git Circle S, 'n' without it he's jist a half-breed gunman. They might look at him, but none o' them’d marry him. She realized how closely Lowery had hit the mark. The men were afraid of him and the women were attracted to him, but they all resented his Cheyenne blood. A half-breed gunman, indeed, she thought ironically, staring at the barbarically handsome man across the room.
As if sensing her thoughts, Hawk swiveled his gaze from the dance floor and Kitty Cummins over to her. Black and green eyes locked and it seemed as if some spark of empathy was transmitted between them.
She knows, he thought bitterly, anger consuming him that she would understand his precarious position in white society. He did not choose to analyze why it should bother him so much. Kyle and Frank—even Noah—knew. With no one else did it rankle so.
Noah strode over to Carrie and proprietarily took her arm, leading her to the dance floor. “Have you been enjoying yourself? I noticed you certainly don't seem to lack for escorts,” he said by way of offhandedly excusing his own lengthy absence.
“My dance card is full,” Carrie responded dryly, thinking to herself how glad she was that he had chosen to closet himself with railroad men for the past hour. She positively hated the knowing smirk of the predatory females in town whenever he squired her about.
“Every man here thinks you're the most beautiful woman in the territory.” He chuckled in self-congratulation. “They may even be right.”
“And I'm your wife. That's really the point, isn't it, Noah? Your property!” Unexpectedly, her long-suppressed hurt over their brutally arranged relationship hit her with sickening force.
Noah's face flushed in anger and he tightened his grip on her, sweeping her into the waltz with fury.
As they moved in stiff angry silence, she watched Hawk dancing with a pretty brunette she had seen in town but never met. To keep her mind off the pain Noah was relentlessly inflicting on her hand and rib cage, she speculated about who the attractive woman was as they whirled away into the crowd. Abruptly the waltz was over. As Carrie massaged her hand surreptitiously and breathed deeply, letting air back into her aching lungs, the music resumed.
Before Noah could again seize her, Hawk appeared with the brunette in tow and made introductions. She was Evelyn Hutchinson, owner of the Lazy H, a large spread to the west of Circle S. “Evelyn here was just telling me about her new shorthorned cattle from Ohio. Thought you might like to know what luck she's had with them.”
The brunette smiled devastatingly at Hawk, then turned her attention to his father. “Yes, my herd has grown quite a bit since I mixed the eastern strain with our own Montana range stock from Oregon.”
“You must tell me all about it, my dear.” Noah's charm was suddenly turned on, and Carrie was aware that this woman must be a rancher of some importance in the territory.
As they began to talk, Hawk edged closer to Carrie. “May I have the pleasure?”
Since Noah was already taking Evelyn's arm, preparatory to dancing, it was obviously her only graceful alternative. From the pan into the fire, she thought grimly, nodding in acquiescence.
He was a superb dancer. Of course, considering how graceful a horseman he was, it should have been no surprise. After Noah's harsh grasp, the way he held her seemed incredibly deft and sensitive. Shyly she looked up at his face, still amazed at the transformation in him: Her eyes ran up the faultless white shirt, across the swarthy skin of his jawline, now cleanly shaven. Then she caught sight of his right ear and noticed several tiny scars on it that his long hair had previously hidden.
Why, his ears are pierced! Then she recalled the various Indians she had seen. All the men, even the children, wore large earrings. Oddly, it lent added attraction rather than frightening her as it might have only a few months ago. She speculated about how he would look with golden rings in his ears. Ruefully, she realized how westernized she must be becoming. The image was not at all unappealing!
Carrie was still sore from the earlier rough treatment by Noah and found it hard to relax in the crowded room where people had stared at her all night. Sensing her stiff demeanor, Hawk said in a silky, mocking voice, “What's the matter, Carrie? Don't you want to be in my arms?”
Almost in reflex reaction, she spat back, “Not nearly as much as your beloved Dorothea, I'm sure!” No more than the words escaped her lips, she winced in abject mortification. Good God, after being caught eavesdropping in Cummins's Store, now she had allowed herself to be trapped again!
He laughed as he whirled her toward the side door. Despite the press of the crowd, he did not doubt someone would inform Noah of his wife's scandalous behavior, but, perversely, Hawk did not care. He guided her out into the cool starry night before she had a chance to protest.
“Surely you don't hope for a replay of your earlier scene,” she said scathingly, hating him for the effect he had on her.
He laughed. “No, but I am a little curious about how you happened onto us.”
Carrie blushed in humiliation, then began once again to rub her sore hand unconsciously. She was grateful that the darkness at least hid her flush, but it could not blanket her awareness of his tall, hard body standing so very close. “I—I just came out for some air and overheard—oh, damn you, I'm going back inside immediately! I don't owe you any explanations. Let me—”
She whirled, like a frantic wounded sparrow trying to escape a hawk's talons. He could hear her voice break and sensed the unshed tears in it. “Wait, Carrie. Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.” He reached out and held her fast. Suddenly he felt disgusted with his own perverse cruelty. It was not a game anymore.
He noticed her hand then, the way she was favoring it, and recalled Noah's bruising grip earlier. Gently he took the pale fingers and softly caressed them, then raised them to his lips for a velvet kiss. “He hasn't exactly been easy on you, has he?” The intensity of his eyes mesmerized her.
Acutely aware of his nearness and disturbed by it as she remembered the scene at the lake, Carrie was in a turmoil. Why did he have to affect her this way? “I don't want your pity and I don't need your passion! Leave me alone!”
As she quivered with fury, he drew her slowly, unresisting toward him. She was tall for a woman, fitting perfectly into his embrace. He was strangely gentle as he said, “You may not want my pity, but as to the other...” He lowered his mouth and devoured her neck with the most exquisite, wonderful play of his lips. She thr
ew her head back instinctively as he nibbled upward and captured her flaming hair in his hand. “Firehair,” he breathed softly, pulling the pins free while kissing the bright silky tangle as it tumbled down, spilling pearls in its wake.
“No,” she gasped, but he took her open mouth, softly at first, then with searing intensity, intertwining their tongues in a delicate dance. His warm firm lips brushed, sucked, rubbed across hers with mesmerizing pressure. She found herself returning the erotic motions, letting her tongue travel into his mouth. For one blinding moment she prayed it would never end as she pressed her body against his and ran her hands through his thick midnight-black hair. Never had Carrie felt anything like this fire and dizziness. Her heart raced and every nerve in her body cried out to him. Breathless and beautiful sensations rioted through her. If Gerald Rawlins had pleased her, his embraces were insipid and boyish compared to what this man was doing to her.
Hawk's hand roved down from her back to press her buttocks firmly against his lower body. His need was as obvious as her own, and he growled out an unintelligible word of passion. A sudden sense of desolation engulfed her. This was going too far, and she must stop it. She was married—and doomed.
Finally, achingly, she pulled away. Hawk did not try to stop her. “Please, Hawk, please let me go,” was all she could gasp as her voice broke. Her eyes were dilated in the moonlight, huge and full of terror, like a fawn brought to bay by a hunter.
Wordlessly he freed her and watched her step back, fingers on her lips, numbly standing still for a second, staring hauntingly into his eyes. He could tell she was genuinely shocked by her wild response and surprised that she could feel such passion. After he watched her flee up the back stairs, he looked down at the pearls lying scattered across the stone patio, gleaming like tears in the moonlight.
By the time Estrella had repaired her destroyed hairstyle, Carrie calmed her nerves a bit. She must return to the party before she was missed. The scandal would infuriate Noah, and Lord knew what vengeance he might exact on her. Forcing down the bile that rose in her throat, she descended the stairs and searched for her husband's blond-gray head, praying a glossy black one would not fall into her line of vision.
Carrie dared not confront Hawk again tonight, but her thoughts kept straying back to him. She wondered what brought him to the gathering. Then, as if in answer to her unspoken question, a tall, thickset bull of a man came in the front door, talking in a boisterously loud voice with a slight German accent. He was expensively dressed and bedecked with flashy jewelry, but it was at the woman on his arm that people stared.
She was almost as tall as Carrie, with a full-figured body that virtually spilled out of her shockingly low-cut gown of powder-blue taffeta. Her blond hair was pale and elegantly coiffed. Glittering diamonds winked at her ears and throat. Carrie guessed her age to be somewhat past thirty, but could not be sure from a distance. Her long, thin face was carefully made up, and she was strikingly handsome rather than actually beautiful.
Piercing dark blue eyes swept the room and then lighted on Hawk, who returned her stare with a feral grimace, hostile and watchful. Slowly she began to move across the crowded floor, and this time the noise level did drop appreciably. People literally stepped aside to let her pass.
Carrie caught sight of Noah from the corner of her eye, standing by the side door with two other cattlemen and the woman rancher he had danced with earlier. His face was ashen, and he seemed frozen to the spot. The large German escorting the blond followed her toward Hawk. Both seemed to ignore Noah. However, numerous people in the crowd whispered and cast surreptitious glances toward him, then nervously eyed the blonde. Finally, someone signaled the orchestra to play, and the music broke the spell, raising the conversational level to normal once more.
“Hello, stranger. Don't you look good enough to escort me to Delmonico's,” she said, eyeing Hawk's attire appreciatively. “Too bad we're not in New York.” The blond smiled archly and placed her hand on his arm as she turned to the German behind her. “Karl, darling, this is Hawk Sinclair. He's been, er, away for a while, as have I.”
Hawk's eyes were like shards of black glass, cold and hard as his voice. “But now I'm back and so are you. I know what I'm doing here, but why you should return to the wilderness and desert New York baffles me.”
“Oh, a variety of reasons. For one thing, I recently remarried. I'm Baroness von Krueger now, and my dear husband wanted to visit his younger brother Karl. We had no more than arrived when Ernst was taken ill. My sweet brother-in-law was kind enough to escort me tonight.” She beamed at the formidable-looking man next to her.
Hawk smiled thinly. “You always have had a penchant for marrying rich, old men. I take it Ernst is expected to recover?”
“Naughty, Hawk. You might offend Karl, if not me.” Her eyes traveled measuringly between the two men. Krueger's impassive face revealed nothing but watchfulness.
“I think I already have offended Krueger here, haven't I, mein Herr?”
“Then you two have met before,” she interjected.
The German spoke in level irony. “In a manner of speaking, Liebchen. We share some, ah, common acquaintances.”
“Jake Squires, for one,” Hawk put in pleasantly. “Yes, I have him.” His eyes skewered Krueger. “If you want him back, we need to talk somewhere in private.”
The blond pouted and the German nodded warily, but before anything more could be said, Noah walked directly up to the trio with Carrie in tow.
Stiffly and deliberately he nodded to the blond and to Krueger, then, fairly pulling Carrie to his side, he said, “Carrie, may I present Karl Krueger, a fellow stockman, and Lola Jameson, late of New York, I believe. This is my wife, Carrie Sinclair.”
Carrie was mute, cursing herself for not figuring out who the showy blond hussy was. She noticed how Lola's hand curved like a talon on Hawk's forearm.
Hawk stood back, taking it all in, now suddenly amused. “Let me bring you up to date, Noah. Lola is now Karl's sister-in-law, the Baroness von Krueger, no less. Karl and I have some private business. If you'll excuse us, ladies? Noah?”
Hawk and Krueger left the trio and retired to the hotel manager's office just down the hall from the ballroom. Without preamble Krueger began, “So, you have Squires. What is it that you want from me, you and Kyle Hunnicut? Perhaps Squires’s job? Since he was so clumsy as to allow himself to be captured, I might be willing to discuss the matter.” Krueger's geniality did not extend to his cold eyes.
Hawk snorted. “I may hate Noah, but I don't need to steal from him, for you or anyone else.”
“What, then?” Krueger waited.
“You know the railroad's coming. Did you also know Noah's bought enough homestead claims to prompt the surveyors to favor his southern route?” He withdrew a sheath of documents from his coat pocket and handed it to the big German.
Krueger smiled broadly now. “I have heard rumors. That is why I came tonight. Already I recognize some familiar faces from Chicago in the crowd.” He looked at the information Hawk had given him. “But tell me, why do you want the K Bar to beat out Circle S if you won't even steal your father's cattle?”
“If it's escaped your attention, Krueger, I'm half Cheyenne. I want the railroad as far away from the Yellowstone hunting grounds as I can get it, both of your ranches be damned!”
Krueger took out a cigar and bit off the end, then lit it while Hawk was speaking. Exhaling a deep puff, he said, “And maybe a little revenge against your father and the new bride who will give him his heir? That would sweeten any bargain, nein?”
When Hawk only stared impassively, Krueger shrugged and went on in a businesslike manner. “So, we agree about the route the railroad should take.” He pocketed the documents. “I have every intention to talk with Herr Grossman and Herr Rogers about that tonight. What do you want for Squires?”
“No more stealing, Krueger,” came the level reply. “Pay him off and send him packing, or Kyle'll kill him. I don't want a range wa
r, but if you keep after Noah's stock, you and I both know it's bound to happen.”
Krueger’s cunning face split in a smile of understanding. “Now I begin to comprehend. You want what our Chancellor Bismarck would call a balance of power between the Circle S and the K Bar, to protect your red interests.”
“That's right. If either of you takes all the graze in eastern Montana, every Cheyenne and Sioux—not to mention nester and sheepman—will be in danger. Just keep a snarling truce. I'll let you win this round; deal yourself in with the railroad.”
Hawk started to leave, then casually turned back and said over his shoulder, “But cross me with any more hired guns, Krueger, and I'll take a lot of embarrassing information about the railroad and the rustlers to the governor. Then I'll come after you.”
* * * *
Noah had dragged Carrie over to confront his bitch of an ex-wife, wanting to flaunt her youthful beauty in front of the older woman and to quell the titters in the crowd. People would have made him out to be a coward if he tried to ignore Lola and Krueger. Now, watching’ Carrie's irritatingly unsophisticated pallor and Lola's knowing smirk, he wanted only to extricate himself from the damnable situation. What in hell did Hawk and Krueger have to talk about? Dual alarm bells went off in his head.
“So, you are the third Mrs. Sinclair,” Lola said, arching one silvery blond brow in amusement. “Really, Noah, your fourth bride will be young enough to be your granddaughter, I do believe.”
Noah bristled, tightening his grip on Carrie's arm unconsciously as he ground out, “Do attempt some veneer of civilization in public, Lola, as much as you may scorn it in private.”
Carrie cut into the high, trilling laughter of the blond. “In the first place, Baroness,” she fairly spat the title in contempt, “I won't be replaced by another wife. Secondly, I suspect you would like the age difference between you and your elderly Baron to be as great as it is between Noah and me.”