by Shirl Henke
Yes. Carrie knew she still loved him, savage or not, faithful or not, but he was so cold, so accusing, as if he blamed her for the death of that vile man who had captured her. Her pride had been dealt a bitter blow. He had loved his Cheyenne wife and valued the life he had with her and her people more than he valued Carrie Sinclair. That was obvious. But what of Perry? The boy had a right to a father even if she was too proud to demand the right to a husband. Tomorrow she would simply ask him outright what he planned to do. A small voice taunted her: If he's tied to his son, he's tied to you as well. Isn't that what you want?
She punched the pillow another fierce blow and rolled over. “Damn if I'll beg him to marry me! He can just stay in Marah's house, and welcome to it!”
Carrie brought her cup of scalding black coffee from the stove to the table. It was barely light, but knowing Hawk's predilection for rising with the sun she decided to wait for him in the kitchen. He would have to take his meals here, at least until he stocked his cabin with supplies. Knowing Feliz`s reaction if he tried to get out of eating her cooking, he would probably continue having supper with them regardless. She and Kyle had taken to eating with Feliz in the big, comfortable kitchen. Since Noah had died, the dining room had not been used. Carrie was not interested in using it now. Better to keep things simple and informal.
Her chaotic thoughts were interrupted as the back door swung open and Hawk entered as silently as ever. He had shaved and changed his shirt, but otherwise looked as barbaric as he had yesterday, with his earrings and long braids.
Looking at him over the rim of her cup, she blew on its steaming surface. “Get your hair cut, or one of Krueger's men'll shoot you for a Sioux raider.”
He threw her a cynical smirk as he poured some coffee. When he tasted it, he grimaced and said, “Feliz didn't make this coffee.”
“I did,” she dared him.
“It's lousy. Too strong,” he replied levelly.
“Kyle and I like it that way,” she shot back.
“You didn't get up this early just to make rotten coffee or drum up business for the barber. You have something to say to me, Carrie?” He straddled a kitchen chair, leaning his chin on its backrest. As he sipped his coffee, he stared into space, giving her time to collect her thoughts and speak her piece.
She took a deep, steadying breath and plunged in. “I suppose Kyle's told you about our trouble with K Bar.”
“Yes.”
Damn him, he wasn't going to make it any easier for her! “Well, are you staying? Circle S belongs to you.”
He continued staring, then sighed and said, “That's not what the law says, and you know it. It's yours—yours and Perry's.”
“And Perry is your son,” she persisted, goaded to unreasonable anger by this hardheaded man.
“Yes, I'm staying, Carrie. At least for now, to see this through with Krueger.” He looked at her wearily, sorry things had to be this way.
Carrie misinterpreted his dejection as disgust with her, the feeling of being entrapped by the accident of Perry's birth.
“Fine. Settle it with Kyle about who runs what. I expect he'll want you to take charge.” She set the cup down with more force than she intended and rose. Stopping midway in her retreat from the kitchen, she said, “After all, you are the Sinclair around here now.”
That morning Hawk and Kyle made plans for a fall roundup, posted the work assignments for all the hands, and agreed to hire several more men who were good with guns. If Krueger planned a range war, Circle S would be well prepared to stand him off. The men accepted Hawk's return as natural. He was Noah's son and certainly capable of running the place. If they were curious or uncomfortable about his scandalous relationship with Noah's widow, they kept it to themselves. All were relived not to be working for a female who was an easterner at that.
Two weeks later the first warning of possible new trouble with Krueger materialized. Kyle rode in with a body tied across the saddle of a strange horse.
“Yew ever seen him 'er thet bronc afore?” Kyle swung down from his horse, tossing a careless glance back at his prize.
Hawk strode over and raised the head of the dead man by the hair. After a careful inspection he let it drop. He circled the buckskin gelding and checked its shoes. “Don't recognize the man, but I remember the horse—at least I've seen his track before. On the north range last week, when fifty head were missing.” He looked at Kyle's shrewd, assessing gaze. “You shoot him?” It scarcely needed to be asked.
Kyle nodded. “Come up on 'em red-handed, but afore I cud do more'n draw, they's shootin' an.’ jumpin' like a sack o' Mexicali beans. Two others got away. This varmint warn't so lucky.”
“Well, we figured the winter's truce with Krueger would end sooner or later. Guess it's overdue at that,” Hawk said, wondering what the crafty German's next move would be.
* * * *
“But Karl, aren't you glad to see me?” Lola pouted prettily, posing by the enormous carved oak mantel in Krueger’ s study. Her lavender silk dress was as cool and fresh as a spring sunrise, carefully chosen to complement her pale hair and blue eyes. She had spent the last of Ernst's money on this elaborate wardrobe. Now she must play her role with utmost care.
Krueger looked over her artfully curled blond hair and reddened lips. She was beginning to get hard-looking, but then, she was pushing forty, he considered philosophically. “You hardly look the part of a bereaved widow, Liebchen.”
Lola shrugged and swished over to him, her silk skirts rustling seductively. “Karl, darling, you know Ernst and I had an understanding. He wanted a young, beautiful wife and—”
“You wanted his title and his fortune. Pity you were cheated of both,” he supplied nastily. “Since he died without issue, I am now Baron von Krueger. My poor brother also died in virtual penury.”
At her intake of breath and shocked facial expression, the big man laughed. “Who do you think he came to for loans, my dear, when the family estates in Germany were milked of all they had to give? My elder brother was a good match for you in profligacy, dear Lola.”
Lola shrugged, a careless, sophisticated gesture that she had cultivated to conceal her temper. “Well, it was quite an unhappy surprise to me, Karl, to learn that my husband, the baron, held an empty title. It seems I chose the wrong brother..the first time,” she purred seductively as she looped her arms around Krueger's neck.
He stood still, seeming to evaluate her blatant offer momentarily. Then he shook with laughter, the sound rumbling from his barrel chest.
“What's the matter?” she spat at him in fury, withdrawing her arms and standing back to glare at him with icy blue eyes.
“I have been turning the matter of marriage over in my mind here of late, Liebchen, but not to a penniless fortune hunter. I do not share my brother's bad judgment in matters financial—or amatory.”
She squelched the overwhelming urge to slap him soundly and smiled archly instead. “If not me, darling, on whom would you consider bestowing the honor of becoming Baroness von Krueger?”
A fleeting look of distaste crossed his saturnine features but quickly vanished. “Another of Noah Sinclair's women, my dear. The present owner of Circle S. You would have done well to outlast him as Carrie did. Now she is a rich woman and you are once more impoverished.”
Lola was completely taken aback by his statement. “You'd marry her after all the scandal, with her Indian brat in tow?” She was frankly incredulous.
His face darkened and he turned sharply, striding over to the liquor cabinet in the opposite corner of the large room. As he poured himself a shot of schnapps, he spoke thoughtfully. “I would not normally consider lowering myself to take the leavings of a savage, regardless of how beautiful she might be.” He paused and sipped the fiery liquor. “However, I am a practical man. I want Circle S. With all the southern range in my control, I will run eastern Montana and drive out all the small cattlemen, dirt farmers, even the Indians. I will be the power broker when Montana becomes a state.”
&nbs
p; His eyes took on an intense, dark gleam. “I shall be a real baron, not just the holder of a bankrupt European title!”
Lola considered his speech and then said carefully, “What makes you so sure Carrie Sinclair will fall in with your plans? She's had a child by Hawk. Maybe she'll marry him now that he's come home.” Making a comparison between the big, corpulent German and the lean, handsome half-breed, Lola had no doubt whom she'd choose were she Carrie Sinclair!
He brushed her comment aside. “He has been living in a separate house. He runs the ranch for her, but she has not married him. From all reports I have received they seem to be polite strangers these days. Perhaps her ostracism by the whole community has finally made her see the folly of involvement with a penniless gunman, much less one with the added stigma of being a half-breed! No, she will never marry him, and no respectable man in the territory will marry her unless she once more gains social acceptance.”
“And you plan to revive her fallen reputation,” Lola supplied with a cynical laugh. “Don't count on too much gratitude, Karl. You may just have to think of another way to get Circle S.”
It promised to be a very interesting fall in this godforsaken wilderness after all, she thought to herself, settling down on the plum velvet sofa to sample some of Karl's schnapps. Very interesting indeed.
* * * *
It was time to get a haircut, Hawk decided that morning as he considered the hot, cumbersome braids hanging down on his bare chest. He nicked himself shaving and swore absently. The long hair had been like a badge of defiance, to soothe his hurt pride and fierce anger when he first returned. But what the hell was he proving by continuing to dress like a Cheyenne? And to whom? He threw down the towel after wiping the remnants of soap from his face. He would ride into town this afternoon.
Miles City had changed somewhat since the coming of the railroad. A few new faces were scattered among the old familiar ones. Jeb Brighton had sold his livery stable to a young Swede named Magnusson and the bank had several new clerks. Business was booming. Cattle prices were high back east and the easy access to rails made rapid delivery of livestock a reality for the ranchers.
As he rode by Cummins' Emporium, Hawk noticed the fancy new title and sign hanging on the wooden facade of the big old store. Idly he thought of Kitty, then dismissed her from his mind. He would get a bath and haircut, then head to Clancey's for a much-needed release. He thought back over the better part of a year's celibacy, now amazed at his lack of interest in women.
When Wind Song died, he was so numbed by guilt and grief he had no desire for months afterward. But when Carrie came back into his life, his feelings quickly changed. The air at Circle S was charged with sexual tension every time he encountered her. Damn her veho soul to hell!
If the citizens of Miles City were not exactly overjoyed to have Noah Sinclair's half-breed son return, everyone knew better than to cross him openly. His shocking liaison with his father's wife gave the town gossips plenty to talk about. They sniped behind his back, and Hawk certainly provided ample grist for their mills, alleviating the boredom on many a long, hot summer afternoon.
No one contributed more to keeping the fires of scandal blazing than Mathilda Thorndyke. She had settled in town after having been discharged from Circle S and now worked at Cummins' Emporium and resided at Mrs. Crump's boardinghouse. Her nest egg was safely deposited in the local bank. Since her arrival she had devoted her life to making sure every last soul in the eastern territory heard the sinful tale of adultery that surrounded Carrie Sinclair.
Hawk saw her standing on the wooden porch of the newspaper office. “Probably going to take out an ad denouncing me as a heathen killer and despoiler of white women.” He smirked bitterly. Then, unable to resist, he swung Redskin over toward her and paused to tip his hat insolently. “Good day, Mathilda. You look in the bloom of health, like you just strangled a litter of newborn kittens.” When she gasped and jumped back, almost falling over a bench next to the plate-glass window, he laughed and kneed his big red horse on toward the barber shop down the street.
Lola Jameson took in the exchange between Hawk and the Thorndyke crone from her vantage point inside the bank. She had come to town today to check on her meager resources and make discreet inquiries about Hawk and Carrie. Lola did not believe they could continue to live at the same ranch and not resume their earlier relationship. Krueger was a fool, hoping to win the Sinclair girl. Lola had decided to take a gamble and wait it out as her brother-in-law's houseguest. She was desperate. Her money was running low, and she must find a husband soon.
Karl was her perfect answer—titled, rich, and worldly. They could appreciate each other and overlook one another's flaws. If only she could make him see how stupid it was to pursue Carrie Sinclair. Her eyes narrowed as she thought of her rival. Lola had wanted revenge on the acid-tongued redhead ever since their encounter at the ball two years ago in Miles City.
As she watched Hawk, Lola felt the same old hungry compulsion seize her. What was it about dangerous men that had always drawn her to them? Her reputation was in shreds back east despite her marriage to a titled European. During her years with Ernst, she had flitted from one scandalous amour to another, earning the censure of eastern society. Now she felt that yearning stir her again, made doubly strong by the unattainable status of her quarry. Hawk had resisted her blandishments since he was a youth, but Lola loved a challenge. Taking what was Carrie Sinclair's would sweeten the bargain even more.
Wetting her red lips with the tip of her tongue, she stepped out of the bank just when she saw him leave the barbershop. Her timing had never been better as she stepped onto the walk at the exact moment he looked out to cross the street. They narrowly missed colliding, and she reached one silk-gloved hand out to steady herself on his arm.
“Why, Hawk Sinclair! I heard you had come home.” She scanned his freshly barbered black hair, now cut crisply above his shirt collar. One inky lock fell across his high forehead as he reached down to extricate himself from her grasp. “Still sinfully handsome, and so aloof, darling. I've heard all sorts of the most delicious gossip about you since I came to visit Karl. You have heard my poor, dear Ernst died this spring? I'm a widow, too.” She emphasized the first and last words of the sentence overmuch.
He scoffed. “I can see how much you mourn poor, dear Ernst's passing.” His black eyes took in her elegant red suit with its matching feathered hat. Her overblown curves were displayed so no man could miss their blatant invitation.
“Don't be cross, darling. After all, you can scarcely throw stones now, can you? If I'm willing to overlook your rather obvious lapse with Carrie Sinclair, you should be willing to overlook my past indiscretions.” She saw him stiffen and quickly went on, “Besides, I have some news you'd be very interested in hearing. It concerns Karl and your redheaded light o' love.”
“Whatever Carrie has to do with Krueger is her own business. I just run Circle S, that's it.” His eyes were shuttered, his voice carefully controlled.
“Even if Karl is at your ranch right now, having lunch with her, inviting her to a special party next month? Aren't you the least bit curious about why he's willing to negotiate her re-entrance into polite society?” She could tell she had his attention now.
Hawk slid her hand on his arm and they began to stroll up the street. “Suppose you just let me in on Karl's plans, Lola.”
* * * *
“But why on earth invite me to such an elegant social occasion, Baron von Krueger? You must realize all the right people in the area will decline to attend if they know a harlot like me will be there.” Carrie was frankly baffled by Krueger's unexpected visit and oily, effusive European charm.
He smiled. “Please, my dear young woman, do not distress yourself. I realize that you have been ostracized since last summer. If I may speak bluntly, your reputation will continue to be in shreds as long as that gunman lives on this ranch with you and you are not married.”
She smirked archly. “I scarcely thin
k my stock would go up in town if I married him at this late date!”
“But of course not! I did not mean to imply you should ever marry the barbarian who took advantage of you. I merely meant that you need the protection of someone whose influence and respectability are above reproach.”
“Such as yourself? Why sponsor a fallen woman like me?” Could he possibly have the gall to think she'd marry him and hand Circle S over to him just to regain her reputation!
“Would you not like to—how do you Americans put it?—thumb your nose at all those snobbish women? How long has it been since you have dressed up in a beautiful gown or waltzed with a man? Would it not be a pleasure to be admired by all the gentlemen? You are a very beautiful woman, Carrie Sinclair.” His hooded eyes shone with lust as he spoke.
Carrie repressed a shudder of revulsion. His manner reminded her so much of Noah. The naked ruthlessness of him, the enormous bald nerve. He wanted her ranch and would do anything to get it. Well, two could play his dangerous game of intrigue. It might be interesting to see the palatial mansion he had built on K Bar land. And, yes, she would love to flaunt herself in front of every hypocritical, psalm-singing man and woman in the territory! Accepting Krueger's invitation would infuriate Hawk and possibly make him jealous as well.
“I accept, Baron.” As he bowed and kissed her hand, she smiled wickedly.
* * * *
“You can't seriously consider going to a party at K. Bar!” Hawk glared at Carrie across the parlor as he paced back and forth in agitation.
“Why not? Surely you don't think I'm so naive and gullible that I'll fall in his arms and hand Circle S to him, signed and sealed for some marriage lines?” She stood squarely in front of him now, hands on her hips, glaring right back.
“Then why go at all?” His look was both cynical and accusing.
“You wouldn't understand,” she replied bleakly, thinking of all those women in town who crossed the street to avoid contamination from her skirts, and the men like Cy Cummins with his insolent demand for cash payments on all Circle S supplies.