by Shirl Henke
“Like you?” Her eyes caressed his face heatedly.
“I'm just a working cowhand, Lottie. I don't own a ranch,” he said darkly, taking her arm and propelling her toward Clancey's.
* * * *
Carrie put the napkin daintily to her lips and sighed. “Wolf, that was a wonderful meal, but I'm afraid I'm gaining weight from all these luncheon meetings.” She looked around the Excelsior dining room at all the other cattlemen and townfolk who were carefully avoiding her eyes. They pretend I'm invisible.
Wolfgang Krueger smiled at her and arose to pull out her chair. “If you are fishing for compliments on your lovely figure, you already know, Liebchen, how much I admire it.”
When she stood up, she looked him squarely in the eye. He was perhaps an inch taller than she, but no more. Still they made a striking couple, he muscular and elegant with his blond good looks and European charm, she willowy and graceful with her flaming hair and sun-kissed complexion.
Talk around town had not escaped her ears. In point of fact, with Mathilda Thorndyke stirring it up, it was impossible not to know that everyone thought she had abandoned her shocking liaison with Hawk and taken up with the baron. Why, she might actually get the fool to marry her and take her off to some foreign land to escape her shame. The injustice of her becoming a baroness rankled a great many more folks than just poor old Mathilda, not to mention the fact that if she left Montana, the juiciest source of scandal in a generation would be removed from their midst. Unthinkable!
It was unthinkable to Carrie as well, despite the fact that she liked Wolf and enjoyed his company. He had become the charming kid brother she had always wished for as a child. Even though he was three years her senior, she felt much older than he. She liked him, but she was not in love with him and never could be.
As they walked from the hotel dining room, laughing and talking, Carrie's thoughts were drawn to Hawk. Often in the past two weeks she had wondered how he was doing with their cattle sale, when he would return, and how he had spent his free time in the large, wicked city.
As if in answer to that very question, she happened to glance across the street and see him, obviously travel stained and tired, in the company of a woman who could best be described as flashy. No, make that vulgar and cheap, she amended to herself. Vulgar, cheap, and very, very pretty!
Feeling her grip on his arm stiffen, Wolf followed her stricken gaze to see Hawk and Lottie entering Clancey's Place. The dark-haired beauty was clinging to him in artless abandon, obviously one of the creatures who inhabited the bordello. What a fool the man was, the German thought, but said noncommittally, “I see your business manager has returned home.”
Hawk quickly placed Lottie in Clancey's best room and left her as she wailed, begging him to return soon. Clancey was delighted to have such a comely addition to his staff and distracted the girl by telling her about all the rich cattlemen who frequented the place. He did not elaborate on the far larger crop of impoverished cowpunchers who were regular customers.
Hawk decided the bank drafts he was carrying were an even higher priority than the much-longed-for bath, so he headed toward Miles City Savings to deposit them, preoccupied about his upcoming meeting with Carrie tonight.
He was to see her far sooner than he anticipated, almost colliding with her and Wolfgang von Krueger in the bank door as he was entering and they were departing. Simple but cool pleasantries were exchanged between Hawk and the baron. Hawk noted Carrie's guarded expression, which by now he knew was her attempt to hide pain or anger.
“Hello, Carrie. I just got off the train and thought these should go into the account before I headed for the ranch.” He showed her the drafts.
As she quickly scanned the figures, she said, “You did even better than we'd hoped, Hawk. I'll deposit them, if you like. After such a long, arduous journey, I'm sure you need all the rest you can get.” There was a barbed malice behind the sweet words that he could not miss. “Oh, I've invited Wolf for dinner tonight. We'll discuss final terms for our operation of K Bar.”
“Until tonight, Herr Sinclair.” The young German nodded politely and turned to escort Carrie back into the bank with a proprietary air.
With ground-eating strides, Hawk went to the livery stable to rent a horse for his ride to Circle S. God forbid he should intrude on their privacy by riding with Carrie and “Wolf” in their rig!
The one bright spot in his homecoming would be giving Perry the present he had brought from Chicago. First he went to his cabin to bathe, shave, and dress for dinner, deciding the hell with European nobility. Comfortable western clothes were in order. He had suffered enough in suits, ties, and tight shoes. If he wasn't grand enough for the dining room, he would eat with Feliz and Estrella. Riding up to the big house, he went to the kitchen door where he knew Feliz would be, likely with Perry playing on the floor nearby while she cooked tonight's feast.
“Hawk! It is you at last! Bienvenido!” Tossing a large wooden spoon carelessly into a pot, she embraced him. Despite her considerable bulk, he lifted her off the ground and gave her a return squeeze.
“Feliz, love of my life, I could smell good things cooking all the way down the road. Where's—”
Before he could say anything more, he spied his son, toddling toward him on uncertain feet. “Pa-pa! Pa-pa!” The squeal was repeated over again as Perry was scooped up and swung high in the air by his tall father.
Hawk looked incredulously at Feliz, then back at the giggling boy.
“We have been practicing while you were gone. He almost said it many times in the past month or two, but now he has it mastered.” Feliz's face fairly beamed as she gazed up at the handsome pair. She could see the emotions in Hawk's eyes that he tried so hard to erase from his face. Always the Indian in him tries to hide his feelings.
“I have a present for you, Perry. All the way from back east.” He had brought a small wooden horse on rockers, sturdy and quite realistically carved, just the size for the long-legged youngster. Seating the boy on it, he showed him how to hold on and make it rock to and fro. Soon squeals of delighted laughter echoed through the backyard, where they had adjourned to play while Feliz oversaw dinner and watched from the kitchen windows.
Carrie had arrived at the house several hours earlier and had gone upstairs for a nap, pleading a headache. A certain petite brunette had more to do with her malaise than any headache, but she would never admit it. She rose and began to dress for dinner, deciding if sophisticated elegance did not turn Hawk's head, she would try it his way.
She selected a simple apricot silk shirt, clinging and open at the throat, along with a soft burnt-orange wool skirt and delicate high-heeled brown boots. She brushed her hair down and caught it simply at the back of her neck with an orange ribbon the same shade as the skirt. No jewelry; she would be a plain, unadorned western woman. It might be a good way to let Wolf see her, too, she decided, realizing guiltily that he was growing increasingly attached to her in a most unbrotherly fashion.
When she came downstairs, she could see his rig pulling up in front of the drive and went out to greet him. No sooner had they exchanged pleasantries and begun to ascend the front steps than deep baritone laughter and high-pitched squeals sounded from the backyard. Curiously they walked around the side of the house, past the path to the rose garden, to the source of the noise.
Carrie stood frozen, watching Hawk and Perry as the boy held on to the wooden horse for dear life, fairly flying back and forth. Hawk knelt protectively, guarding against the small rider's becoming unseated and urging him on at the same time. Unaware of the spectators, Hawk laughed and talked to Perry, who responded with gleeful cries of “Pa-pa” again and again.
“You belong with them, Liebchen. Why do you deny it?” Wolf said the words softly and reluctantly, but the truth of the situation was written all over her face.
Brightening in false cheerfulness, Carrie smiled at him. “I can't belong where I'm not wanted, Wolf.” Quickly she turned and hailed her s
on, running over to plant a kiss on his chubby cheek and to inspect his new treasure.
Hawk stood up then and greeted Krueger politely. The restrained gesture was returned by the German, and the tone of the evening was set. Kyle was working late and would not be joining them for dinner, Carrie explained, exasperated by the way he was jeopardizing his recovery with overwork.
This dinner was even more of an ordeal than the one prior to Hawk's trip. Without the easygoing banter of the Texan to smooth over tense spots, the two men were both fiercely guarded in their conversation. Awash in misery, Carrie did little to alleviate the situation. All her foolish schemes for using Wolf to make Hawk jealous had been abandoned. She liked the young baron too much to lead him on, and it was useless anyway.
Over and over during the meal, she gazed at Hawk, dressed in a linen shirt, open at the throat with black hair curling out onto the stark white shirtfront. The silver medallion winked at her from its luxurious resting place, taunting her. She could just see that strumpet in the red dress running greedy little fingers across that hard, hairy chest, playing with the medallion—her medallion! No, you gave it back to him.
The three of them agreed on the leasing operation of K Bar for a trial period of one year. Wolf let it be known he would return to check on his property during the ensuing year. The message left a great deal unspoken between them.
Hawk was swift to read much more into the young German's words than the baron intended. It seemed to him that Wolf was assuring Carrie that he would be there if she needed him, if she changed her mind about Sinclair. Hawk saw only that a perfect husband for Carrie had materialized from the far reaches of Europe. Krueger was wealthy, cultured, and attractive, young and genuinely enamored of Carrie. He would not consider Perry an impediment or a disgrace for her to live down. He could take them back to Europe, away from the hate and bigotry in this country.
They could educate Perry in European universities. That was a bitter thought to accept, but as he rode to his lonely cabin late that night, he turned his son's future over in his mind. Here Perry would always be branded as a half-breed's bastard, given as little chance to fit in as his father. But Perry was only one-quarter Cheyenne. He had no ties to the People, would never know of them. He could grow up with none of the divided loyalties that tore at his father. Hawk should give up his son, let Carrie take him abroad. They could build a new life in an old land.
God knew she was morose enough about having him sit at the table tonight he thought bitterly. As if he should expect a welcome from her! For now, he was needed to coordinate the handling of the two huge ranches. In fact, he would doubtless do so after she and Perry were gone. He had discovered on the Chicago trip that he had a real flair for dealing with businessmen. He had always been a fine stockman, and now even the brief time he would have to spend in eastern cities no longer repelled him. It would be a life, better than getting shot as a hired gun. Grimly he turned Redskin toward town. He needed to get drunk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hawk rolled over in the big bed, only one turn, but it felt as if he'd been keelhauled. Sweet Lord, his head hurt! Very carefully he opened his eyes to the blinding October sunlight bathing the room. Agony. He shut them again quickly and that hurt, too. He lay still, flat on his back and tried to orient himself and recall what had happened last night after he left the ranch.
A shrill burst of off-key singing in Spanish immediately jarred his memory and his throbbing hangover. Carlotta Hernandez swished brightly into the room.
“Querido, you are finally awake! Here, I have made coffee for you.”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she offered him the mug and snuggled against him as he unwillingly sat up. She rubbed her large breasts against his arm while her red satin robe hung loosely off one shoulder. Was everything she owned red? God, it hurt his eyes!
He closed them and took a pull on the coffee. Christ! She made even worse coffee than Carrie. Forcing down the urge to spit it back into the cup, he swallowed. “Guess I was drunker than I thought last night,” he said noncom-mittally.
She laughed. “Ah, no, querido, you will not get out of our bargain so easy as that.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he was sure at least one if not both his eardrums shattered.
“What bargain?” His voice was cautious.
She pouted and then took the cup from him, sitting it on the bedside table. “Why, I am to be your housekeeper, cook, and, most important of all,” she punctuated her remarks with light, teasing kisses to his face, neck, and chest, “your woman, here.” She spread one little hand across the bed expansively.
It did not take much convincing to get him to lie back down. Then she began to work her most skillful wiles on him. Soon he forgot about the coffee, even about the hangover.
* * * *
Gossip always traveled fast, and if it dealt with the Sinclairs, it traveled fastest of all. Within two days everyone in town and on Circle S knew that Hawk had the whore who came with him from Chicago ensconced in his cabin. He went about his business as usual, running the ranch and dealing with the men. He did not take his meals in the big kitchen any longer, though in truth Feliz's cooking was far to be preferred to Lottie's. He had successfully avoided Carrie, or in point of fact, she had avoided him for the past week. Feliz looked at him with sorrowful eyes, but made no comment. Kyle, however, was downright hostile.
“Yew got no right lettin' thet female live in yer ma's place. Ain't fittin', I tell ya.” Hawk had invited him to his cabin to go over the month's tally books, but they had no more than sat down at the kitchen table when the Texan launched into his friend. “Bad enough Carrie 'n' thet ferrin' feller sashayin' ‘round town but at least it's respectable. He don't invite her ta spend th' night at K Bar!”
“She's made her choice, Kyle, and I can't say I blame her. You know I'm no monk. I have to live, too.” His face was bleak and closed. “I don't want to talk about it.”
Knowing that tone of voice, Kyle subsided with a few inventive oaths and turned to the business at hand.
Carrie spent a great deal of time riding by herself in the next weeks. Autumn deepened and the rolling prairie grasses rustled, whispering that frost was near. The days grew shorter and the evenings cooler. It was the mating season for deer and elk, the last of the garden vegetables grew ripe and juicy, and apples were dropping from overladen branches in orchards kissed by the warm fall sun. Everywhere she went, Carrie saw the richness and beauty of the land, her land. Montana with its open sky, trackless grasslands, and bitter winters was her home. Despite all its harshness she would never leave.
But how can I stay and watch him with that woman? It tore at her heart, and she hid herself from him, not wanting him to see her pain, to pity her. Even a whore was a better substitute for his dead wife than Carrie Sinclair. Sobbing, she kicked Taffy in the sides and rode toward the ranch.
It was nearly lunchtime, and she had promised to help Feliz with the bread baking that afternoon. When she slid off Taffy, she realized she had unconsciously been scanning the stable area for signs of Redskin again. But Hawk had his own “cook” now and did not eat with them. Doggedly she trudged into Feliz's aromatic kitchen.
Perry was eating small bits of steak with his fingers. Sitting on a kitchen chair with a large block of wood for a booster seat and a belt holding him secure, he could just reach the table. He was growing so rapidly that his high chair was already too small. The new one had not yet arrived, so Kyle had rigged up the block as a stopgap measure.
“Why did you give him whole pieces of meat, Feliz? He might choke!” Carrie moved to take the plate from the boy, who put up such a fierce squall she relented, watching carefully as he chewed the tiny pieces doggedly with erratically spaced but sturdy little teeth.
“Humph. He has been eating solid meat for weeks,” Feliz retorted.
“I've never fed it to him. Neither have you, before this!”
“His papa has been sharing his breakfast steak with the
little one for a month or more. Only the other day I caught them, and he confessed. See how well he can chew it? It does no harm.” She kneaded a large slab of dough as she spoke, watching Carrie's reaction at the mention of Hawk.
“I thought his ladylove took care of feeding him breakfast! He doesn't eat his other meals here.” Her voice was petulant, and she knew it.
“He must see his son, Carrie. Maybe he wishes to cause you no embarrassment, so he comes when he knows you are not here.”
“If he wishes to cause me no embarrassment, then why does he keep that—that vulgar woman living with him!” There, it was out; she had said it, sobbed it in truth.
Feliz kept pounding the bread dough relentlessly. “So, you don't like it that he has a woman. You, of course, can have your young baron over here every evening, meet him in town, go riding with him. Everyone says you will marry with him.”
“Well, Hawk certainly needn't bother marrying that trashy little baggage from Chicago,” she shot back. “Anyway, you know I won't marry Wolf. I don't love him.”
“I know, but does Hawk?”
“I doubt he cares or has even noticed.” Try as she might, she could not keep the hurt from her voice.
“Carrie, you cannot expect Hawk to go without a woman from June to October while you make up your mind. He has not touched you—or has he?” Her compassionate brown eyes became assessing as she watched Carrie flinch at her shrewd sally.
“One time, last August,” she replied, her voice choked and low.
“At the lake?”
Carrie nodded, cheeks flushed.
“And you, of course, turned on him and accused him afterward.” Feliz's voice was gentle, but the accuracy of her description cut deeply.
Dashing back tears, Carrie said, “I told him he was just like Noah. Oh, Feliz, that was a lie, a lie....” She sobbed. “I didn't mean it.”
“Did you mean it when you called him a filthy savage that day in Iron Heart's village?”