“Not me. Once she started ordering me around, I’d send her on her way as soon as I could be rid of her.” And that’s exactly what Tom intended to do, once he returned with her to Hannah’s. In fact, he might even offer someone a good week’s pay just to drive her back to Pleasant Valley.
“She looks like the kind of woman a man ought to keep for himself,” Abel said.
“Then you keep her,” Tom said.
When Abel laughed as if he’d been let in on a secret Tom had yet to learn, Tom shook his head and strode away from the house, eager to put some distance between him and Abel.
And eager to squelch any thought of Katie O’Malley as anything other than a pain in his backside.
* * *
As the ornamental clock on the mantel struck ten, which was well past Randolph Haney’s usual bedtime, Jeremiah Haney sat in his father’s study and stretched out his long legs.
He didn’t know why this conference couldn’t have waited until morning, but he’d come when his father had summoned him—as he always did.
When he’d arrived, he’d found his father pacing like a cornered bobcat. His suit, usually neat and pressed, appeared to have been slept in.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Jeremiah said. “What’s wrong?”
Randolph, his eyes bloodshot, stopped his pacing long enough to ask, “What do you think McCain told Harrison?”
Jeremiah reached for a cigar from the silver case that sat upon his father’s desk and chose his words carefully. “I don’t know what that half-breed told him. Maybe he’s just trying to get into the man’s good graces.”
“For financial gain?” Randolph shook his head. “Not likely. Even in his befuddled mental state, Harrison wouldn’t give a wooden nickel to a man like McCain. There’s too much Indian running in his veins.”
Jeremiah scoffed. “Who knows what a dying man would do? Harrison once rode the range like a king. Now he sits and mourns a woman who doesn’t want to be found.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Harrison did, after all, cast Caroline out without a backward glance. And you’ve gone in search of her time and again—to no avail. And she certainly hasn’t made any attempts to contact him.”
None that Harrison knew about, anyway. Jeremiah studied the Cuban cigar he held in his hand, then reached for a match and leaned back in the brown tufted leather chair. “As long as Harrison doesn’t change his will, his waning emotional state shouldn’t bother us in the least.”
“You’re right, son. I wrote the will, and I’m not about to let Harrison talk me into changing it. Besides, Caroline is the sole heir, and if she insists upon staying away, as executor I have full control.”
Jeremiah bit off the tip of the cigar and struck the match. “For what it’s worth, I may have picked up her trail on my last search in a place called Taylorsville. I don’t know for sure, but I think she may have suffered an unfortunate accident right before I arrived.”
“What do you mean, you might have picked up her trail?”
“I was just piecing together some rumors. And if it was her, she was going by another name.” Jeremiah lit the cigar, drawing on the end until the first wisps of sweet tobacco entered his mouth and filled his lungs. “Why do you suspect she’s dead?”
“Caroline was always headstrong and impulsive, so I wasn’t surprised that she ran off. But disappearing like a trail of smoke in the wind?” Randolph crossed his arms, resting them against the red silk vest that covered his distended belly. “She would have come home by now.”
“If she’s dead, then the only one left to inherit is you,” Jeremiah said. And, in due time, me.
Randolph stood and walked toward the oak filing cabinet that held a cut crystal decanter of his favorite brandy. “The half-breed worries me, though.”
Jeremiah found McCain a bit worrisome, too, although he kept that concern to himself. “So what do you want to do about him?”
“Nothing, but I want to know what he told Harrison. Or at least, what Harrison’s thoughts are.” Randolph poured two glasses, then handed one to Jeremiah. “And Harrison refused to talk to me until tomorrow, which is highly unusual. And that bothers me.”
Jeremiah swirled the liquid in his glass. He’d prefer to savor his cigar rather than have a drink, especially when his father had clearly imbibed more than a fair amount already.
“There’s a woman traveling with him,” Randolph said. “Maybe she’ll talk. Her name is Katie O’Malley.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Jeremiah asked.
“I’m going to introduce the two of you. I want you to do whatever you must do in order to find out what that breed knows.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve always been able to charm the ladies.”
Randolph clucked his tongue. “Don’t remind me. Your charm nearly caused your father-in-law to disinherit you two years ago.”
“My wife doesn’t see to my needs.”
“She has a wealthy father. That should fulfill a few of your needs.”
“It does.” Jeremiah inhaled deeply, then blew a large smoke ring. He watched it curl and twist above his head.
His father didn’t need to worry about him. He’d had a rather indiscriminate beginning, but he’d learned to be discreet. And careful.
“So how would you like me to proceed with Miss O’Malley?” Jeremiah asked.
“First of all, we need to find out whether Caroline is alive or dead. Then we need to learn whether there’s a child that may hold any claim to the estate. Surely you’ve thought about that.”
Oh, Jeremiah had thought about it, all right. “I’ll tell you what. The Cattleman’s Ball is tomorrow night. Make sure Miss O’Malley is invited. I’ll sweep her off her feet and find out all we need to know.”
“It’s not necessary for you to charm the pantaloons off her,” Randolph said. “Just get her to talk.”
“I’ll have her talking her pretty head off before you can blink an eye.” Jeremiah chuckled.
And if her pantaloons slipped off in the meantime? Then so be it.
Chapter Nine
Moonlight filtered through the lace curtains and danced upon the crisp white sheets, but Katie found sleep elusive.
She kicked the covers aside and climbed from bed. The cool tile floor chilled her bare feet. Had she been a guest in anyone else’s home, she might have slipped into the study to find a book to read, something to lull her active mind to rest. But she didn’t feel completely welcome at the Lazy G, so wandering through the house at this late hour wouldn’t be polite or acceptable.
Instead, she strode toward the window, placed a palm against the rough-grained frame and looked out into the starry Texas sky. There was something mournful yet vital about this land, and she thought about the many people who had fought and died to hold on to it.
Outside, a shadowy figure moved, sending her heart thumping and her pulse racing—until she recognized him. Tall, broad shouldered. That solitary stance.
Tom McCain.
Without a conscious thought, she decided to join him—just for a moment—so she could talk to him about Mr. Graves. She wanted to get an idea about what the man’s decision would be when she broached him about her desire to adopt Sarah Jane.
She slipped into a robe Maria had set out for her, a garment that had once belonged to Caroline, and left the room, tiptoeing softly down the hall. In her haste, she neglected to look for slippers, but she continued anyway. If she took time to search for something to cover her feet, he might not be there any longer.
She saw him clearly in the moonlight. Never had she seen a full moon so large, so silvery.
Nor had she seen a man who seemed so alone.
Without shoes, her footsteps hardly sounded. She wondered if she would surprise him, but she shouldn’t have considered it. The man turned sharply, as if he’d had the hearing of a wolf�
��a lone wolf, like the name Abel had called him when they’d arrived.
The name seemed to suit him.
In spite of her efforts to be quiet, he turned before she’d gotten within ten feet of him.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
Why did he have to sound so gruff? So threatening?
“I couldn’t sleep, and when I saw you outside, I thought you might like some company.”
Now who was she trying to fool? He’d never given her reason to believe he’d enjoyed having her company before.
“You shouldn’t be outdoors,” he said. “It isn’t safe.”
“Even with you?”
“Especially with me.”
She fingered the lace-trimmed lapel of her robe.
“See what I mean?” he nodded at her hand. “I scare you.”
She released her lapel and dropped her hand to her side. Then she lifted her chin and stood as tall as she could in her bare feet. “You most certainly do not. You’d never hurt me.”
“Wouldn’t I? Don’t be so sure.” He stepped forward in a move that ought to give her a start, then cupped her cheek in a large callused hand with a tenderness that surprised her. “I could tarnish your reputation if anyone saw me touch you.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t step back.
His hand moved slightly, his fingers reaching into her hair, combing the strands. She reached for his wrist to pull his hand away, or so she thought. Instead, she found herself holding his hand in place.
“Go into the house,” he said.
“All right.” Yet she didn’t move away. Something beyond her control rooted her in place.
He smelled of leather and soap, and his breath, which blew softly against her skin, held a hint of peppermint. “Go into the house before I forget myself.”
“And kiss me again?”
“Yes, but this time, I don’t want to get a slap for my effort.”
“I didn’t slap you for kissing me,” she said. “I slapped you for laughing at me afterward.”
In the moonlight, she watched him search her face. Had he realized she was inviting him to kiss her again?
That’s not why she’d come out here, but if truth be told, she wouldn’t mind sharing another embrace, another kiss.
“I promise not to slap you this time,” she said softly. Then she reached up, slipped her hands behind his neck and drew his mouth to hers.
His lips were soft, warm, and as they moved against hers, the kiss deepened. She leaned into him, her arms holding him tighter.
She didn’t dare open her eyes, but if she did, she imagined the stars would be spinning overhead. Her heart certainly was.
Before her conscience had a chance to speak up, Tom pulled away, breaking the kiss and putting the starry night back to rights again.
“Go inside,” he said, his voice a bit huskier than she’d remembered. “Now.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Being alone with me, especially here, isn’t good. And it isn’t right. You need to go back into the house. You’ve had your last kiss from me.”
Then he turned and walked away. As his boot steps faded into the night, she pressed her fingers against her lips.
At the very thought that he might never hold her again, that she might never feel his lips on hers, a nagging sense of loss shuddered through her.
What was wrong with her? She couldn’t afford to let anyone have that much power over her. Shaking off the crazy effect, she turned and padded back to the house.
Once inside Caroline’s bedroom, she slipped off her robe and tossed it over the upholstered chair near the window. She told herself to forget Tom, to be glad he’d walked away, that he’d tried to talk some sense into her.
He’d been right. Kissing him out in the open, where anyone could see, wasn’t proper. And in her nightgown and bare feet, of all things. Why, her da would be rolling over in his grave if he could see her unladylike behavior.
Still, against better judgment, she drew back the curtains and peered outside. Had Tom retired for the evening? Or had he remained outdoors, to commune with the moon and stars?
She spotted him near the fountain, where he continued to stand alone—a haunting figure who called to her heart.
Her heart?
No, that couldn’t be. She knew herself too well. If she ever weakened to the point of considering courtship or marriage, she would choose another man, an intellectual, a moral equal. Someone who’d value a bright and capable wife.
Marriage to a man like Tom McCain would be just plain awful. She could envision them living in a sod house on the prairie, where she’d have to sweep dirt floors, wash laundry in a dirty creek, slop pigs and milk a goat. Why, she’d have to work herself to an early grave, no doubt.
Even if they were to have a home like Hannah’s, she could still see him issuing orders and placing demands on her. Why, there’d never be a peaceful moment between the two. She’d have to fight for every ounce of respect she could get.
As she climbed into Caroline’s soft, goose-down bed, she pulled the linen sheet to her chin and sighed. In spite of her best intentions to forget the man and the effect he had on her, she couldn’t seem to put that knee-weakening, mind-spinning kiss out of her mind.
What kind of woman was she?
A brazen hussy, no doubt.
When he’d gazed into her eyes, she’d wanted him to kiss her more than anything. So she’d gone so far as to stroke his cheek, to bring his mouth to hers.
Could another man’s kiss move her that much?
She certainly hoped so. Because if it couldn’t, she’d be hard-pressed to ever forget Tom McCain.
And then where would she be?
* * *
Katie slept much better than she might have guessed she would in a strange bed, but she’d dreamed of Tom McCain all night long and woke with her arms wrapped around her pillow.
After freshening herself, she donned one of the dresses she’d packed, a light yellow-and-white floral print. Then she took a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she looked presentable, if not a bit wrinkled no matter how carefully she’d packed the frock in her valise.
As she made her way out of the bedroom, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee drew her to the kitchen. She expected to find Maria bustling about, preparing breakfast. What she hadn’t expected was to see Maria gone and Randolph Haney seated at the head of a long, rectangular table.
He stood and bowed his gray head in greeting. “Good day, Miss O’Malley.”
“Good morning. You’re here early. Or did you stay the night?”
Randolph laughed as though he found her witty. “No, but I do spend a lot of time here. Harrison is my friend, and I know he would be supportive of me in my last days.”
The image of a vulture wearing a suit and tie came to mind as Katie scanned the kitchen. “Where’s Maria?”
“She took breakfast to Harrison.” Randolph got to his feet, strode toward Katie and took her hand with his. “I’d like to apologize for my rudeness yesterday. It was uncalled-for.”
He was right, of course. And perhaps she’d been too hard on him, as well. She didn’t appreciate his distrust of Tom merely because his mother had been an Indian, but she really couldn’t fault the lawyer for trying to protect his old friend and client from being taken advantage of by strangers. Besides, it wouldn’t do to upset the man who might ultimately have some say over where Sarah Jane might live.
“I accept your apology. We were all on edge yesterday, Mr. Haney.”
He smiled broadly and pulled out a chair, the legs scraping across the tile floor. “Call me Randolph, and please sit down.”
“Thank you.” Katie withdrew her hand from his, then took a seat.
“I don’t know how long you intend to stay, but the Cattleman’s Bal
l is tonight. It’s a yearly event—and more like a community dance than a formal cotillion—but I’d like you to go with my son and me. I think you’d enjoy it.”
Katie wasn’t sure that she would, but it wouldn’t hurt to get to know the people in Stillwater. “I’ll give it some thought, although I really don’t have anything suitable to wear.”
“My dear, a pretty woman like you would look lovely in a grain sack.”
Katie tried not to roll her eyes. She wasn’t susceptible to flattery and didn’t appreciate his attempt. Still it was an olive branch, she supposed, so she accepted it and thanked him.
Moments later, Maria swept into the room, her colorful skirts skimming the floor. “Buenos días, Señorita O’Malley. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” Katie couldn’t help thinking of the man and the kiss she’d dreamed about and glanced out the large kitchen window.
“If you’re looking for Señor McCain,” Maria said, “he and Abel were up early this morning, but I don’t think they left the yard.”
“I wasn’t looking for him,” she lied.
Maria poured a cup of coffee, then handed it to Katie. “Can I fix you some breakfast?”
“Yes, please. That would be nice.”
“I’d like fried eggs and ham,” Randolph said. “And make sure the yolks are runny this time. You know I don’t like them overcooked.”
A shadow moved outside, and Katie craned her neck. As she suspected, Tom and Abel were in the yard.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?” Randolph asked.
“For a walk.”
His forehead furrowed, but she reached for the brass doorknob and continued outside, her skirts rustling with each step. She’d intended to speak to Tom about Mr. Graves last night, but the conversation...well, needless to say, it had taken an unexpected turn and had ended before she’d had a chance to steer it back on course.
As she made her way to the place she’d seen Tom, memories of the kiss dogged her, but she shook them off. She had a perfectly good reason to come out here bright and early this morning. And fawning after Tom McCain wasn’t it.
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