by Robin Gideon
When the men were again alone in the room, Jonathon said with deadly calm, “Hire Jedediah Bragg. Pay whatever it takes. And tell him I’ll pay double if the Midnight Phantom dies a slow and painful death.”
“Yes, Father,” Michael and Richard said in unison, each rising from his chair to leave.
* * * *
Garrett was edgy. He had a problem with no easy solution.
How could he give Pamela Bragg a horse without her figuring out he was the Midnight Phantom?
She had hesitated using the stolen payroll money to buy a new mount for herself. She hated Jonathon Darwell so much she just wouldn’t do that. And Garrett doubted that she had enough money of her own to buy a decent horse. She might be able to afford a forty-dollar nag, but she deserved much better than that.
She also deserved much better than the miserable treatment she’d received from the Midnight Phantom.
Garrett tried to convince himself that their lovemaking had been mutually satisfying and mutually acceptable. But he knew he’d seduced her, a virgin with very little money and no experience with men.
He felt like a cretin. He’d known far too many rich young men who used exactly the same reasoning to excuse their seduction of household maids or young women from the outskirts of town. Certainly it was not rape. Still, these wealthy men used every social and economic advantage they had to get the drawers off disadvantaged, naive women.
“Hell,” Garrett muttered aloud after sipping his cold coffee. He added some hot liquid from the silver pot on the tray.
Now what to do? he kept asking himself.
He had Jonathon Darwell to imprison and Pamela Bragg to set free. He wasn’t at all certain he could accomplish either of his goals.
The butler knocked softly on the bedroom door and announced that the mail had arrived.
“Thank you, Juan. Leave it on the bed, and I’ll see to it in a moment.”
“Yes, sir.” Juan, confused, placed an assortment of letters and packages on the bed, his brow furrowed with consternation. Since mail was always a priority for Señor Randolph, why was he making it await his attention? Whatever was playing upon Señor Randolph’s mind was evidently very important.
Garrett stared out the bedroom window, sipping the rest of his coffee, seeking a believable excuse for giving Pamela a good riding horse. He told himself he just had to think long enough on it and he’d come up with the answer.
He left his chair by the window and walked over to the bed. Running a finger across the envelopes there, he decided some were important, others not. All needed his attention, yet he didn’t feel like giving any of them more than a minute of his time.
Except for one.
The handwriting was clearly that of his friend in Cold Ridge, the sheriff. Garrett ripped open the envelope and read the letter quickly, allowing the enclosed bank draft to wait until he was finished. As he read, a smile stretched across his face.
The letter concerned a simple legal matter, one having more to do with a town’s prejudice against bounty hunters than legality. Jedediah Bragg had brought the corpse of a wanted murderer in to Cold Ridge then had demanded the reward money. Several of the town’s more fanatically religious men decided that Jedediah simply wasn’t spiritual enough to warrant the bounty, so they refused to give him the money.
Jedediah pointed out that the corpse had three bullet holes in his chest of exactly the same caliber as the gun currently in his own holster. This argument was conveniently and self-righteously ignored by the town’s leaders.
Rather than getting into a gunfight when he was drastically outnumbered and outgunned, Jedediah returned to Whitetail Creek and hired an attorney, Garrett Randolph, to see what he could do to right the wrong.
Several snappy letters from Garrett to the town leaders in Cold Ridge convinced them that they would be ahead financially if they simply did the legal, proper thing and paid Jedediah Bragg the money owed him. The sheriff’s letter accompanying the bank draft for one thousand dollars strongly suggested that neither Jedediah Bragg nor Garrett Randolph be seen in Cold Ridge in the near future.
Garrett picked up the draft. He could either ride into town and deposit it into his own account, holding the money in escrow until he saw Jedediah next, or he could ride to the Bragg cabin and deliver it in person.
There was no question of what he would do. He needed an excuse to see Pamela, and delivering the bank draft would do nicely.
As Juan knocked again on his bedroom door, Garrett groaned with impatience. Delays were intolerable now that he knew his destination: Pamela.
“There’s a young woman here to see you, sir.” Juan stuck his head inside the room.
“Who?” Garrett asked excitedly, thinking his luck might be getting better and Pamela had come to him.
“Miss Darwell, sir. She said it was very important she speak to you privately. She’s waiting for you in the library.”
Garrett’s training as a lawyer helped him keep his disappointment from showing, but as soon as Juan had closed the door, he shook his head angrily. He didn’t want to deal with Angie Darwell now.
Angie, wearing an amazingly low-cut gown inappropriate for morning wear, was lounging on the sofa when he arrived in the library. Her pose, the position she intended to be “caught” in when Garrett arrived, was one of indolent boredom and smoldering sensuality. She had the look of a woman who had either spent the last few hours making love or who intended to spend the next few hours in that pursuit.
“You’ve kept me waiting,” she pouted. “I’ll have you know, there aren’t many men who dare do that without facing my wrath.”
Garrett smiled. As annoying as Angie was, she was a one-of-a-kind woman.
“Not many men?” Garrett asked with a faintly mocking arched brow. “I’m not in a category by myself?”
“Darling Garrett, you know I like to keep my options open. It’s good business, and if Father’s taught me anything, it’s that business always comes first,” Angie said with absolute honesty. Her blue gaze was slowly peeling off Garrett’s clothes. When he decided to sit in the wing-backed chair instead of beside her on the sofa, she pouted in annoyance.
“What did you come to see me for, Angie? You obviously want something.”
“Something? No, darling, I want someone. You, for instance.” She smiled and nibbled on her lower lip, favoring him with a practiced look combining sensuality and little-girl innocence. “But you’ve known that all along, haven’t you?”
“Angie, I’ve a very busy day ahead of me, and I really haven’t got time for this. Please, can we get to the point of your coming here?”
She drew a knee up and hugged it to her chest, allowing her other leg to remain stretched out. Her gown was pulled up, displaying a stocking-sheathed leg to well above the knee.
Garrett looked at her display, and once again, only his legal training prevented his thoughts from showing in his expression. Angie Darwell was definitely beautiful, and her skill in the sensual realm could not be denied. If Garrett hadn’t spent the early morning hours in Pamela’s arms, he would have been mightily tempted to taste her blatant offering. But as it was, the memory of Pamela fresh and clear in his consciousness, Angie appeared to be an attractive trollop, much too open about what it was she wanted to be truly seductive. The more he looked at her, the less tempted he was.
“Nobody can be that busy, darling,” Angie purred. “Haven’t you time to take a little nourishment?”
Garrett smiled at that. “Nourishment? What an interesting way to put it.”
“And I am the interesting woman to give you that nourishment.” Angie slid just a little lower on the sofa, just enough to make the hem of her gown rise higher still to reveal the top of her stocking, and an inch of creamy white flesh between that and the bottom of her drawers. “But then, you already know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Angie, I do,” Garrett said, not denying truths he couldn’t rationally dispute. “I also know that you want something mor
e than just…nourishment. Now, once again, I’m very busy, so unless you get to the point of your visit, I’ll have to leave you to your own devices.”
Angie laughed softly. “I’ve been left to my own devices before, my darling, and I’ve managed to have an absolutely wonderful time. Actually, it’s a guaranteed wonderful time. Not quite the same as having a good man with me, but wonderful nevertheless.”
Her openness shocked even Garrett, who’d believed Angie was no longer capable of shocking him.
“As long as you’re being such a prig about this,” she continued, “I suppose I must go along with it—for now. I’m here to discuss a union with you.”
“Marriage?”
“Call it what you want. You’re going to be an important man in the territory, and I want to be there at your side when you become territorial governor.”
“We’ve already talked about this, Angie, and you know what my answer is.”
“Garrett darling, you’ll find that I can be a wonderful companion, or I can be an enemy with the power to keep you from office.” Angie’s expression evolved from coy seduction to steely resolve. “Think about that. You can’t make governor without me, and I can’t live in the governor’s mansion without you. It’s a good deal for both of us.”
“You’re assuming I want the governorship that much, Angie. You’re also assuming that I can’t get the votes without your help. You could be wrong on both counts.”
Angie got up from the sofa. She would not get to sample Garrett’s sensual skills immediately, but she was not defeated. This was merely a minor setback, one that would be righted later on, after Garrett realized the truth of her offer.
She went to him and placed her hands on the arms of his chair. She bent low, bringing her face close to his, giving him an unimpeded view down the bodice of her gown.
“Just think about it, Garrett,” she said, and then kissed his cheek when he turned his mouth away from her.
She was out of the library moments later, leaving him smiling and shaking his head. Angie Darwell was the most audacious woman ever to walk the planet. He was certain of it. And though he couldn’t hate her with the vehemence he felt she deserved, neither could he allow himself to touch her again. Now that he’d touched Pamela, Angie looked pale, frail, and only remotely feminine by comparison.
He went to his bedroom, deciding to change clothes for his ride to the Bragg ranch. He wanted to present just the right appearance, for with any luck at all, Jedediah wouldn’t be home and he’d have Pamela all to himself. He hoped Pamela would not make the connection between Garrett Randolph and the Midnight Phantom.
* * * *
Though Angie was fanning herself constantly, she was still perspiring. Perspiring was such a low-class thing to do, even if it was hot and all of this had happened because she’d tried to talk reasonably to Garrett about a perfectly acceptable arrangement.
He’d refused her once again.
Angie gritted her teeth in anger as she thought about the open invitation for sex she’d given him and how he’d turned her down. Getting turned down was not something Angie was accustomed to, and it infuriated her. More annoying than anticipating sexual satisfaction with Garrett and not getting it was his attitude of indifference toward the office of territorial governor.
Angie thought with certainty, I can stonewall him politically, or I can buy him the office.
How could she make Garrett realize he needed her? She wanted all the privileges that went along with being the wife of the territorial governor. She lusted for them and for power with even greater ardor than she lusted for Garrett’s body. Garrett was great in bed. Positively heaven. But sex only went so far. It wasn’t as good as buying new gowns or having round-the-clock servants to tend to her every whim.
Somehow, some way, Angie had to convince Garrett that his life and his ambitions would be destroyed unless he took her as his wife.
Maybe she could get Richard to assist her. Her brother was essentially very stupid, Angie decided, and she had always been able to get him to do whatever she wanted.
She smiled and leaned back in the carriage, stifling an urge to yell at the coachman. She would be home soon enough, and then she could strip off all her clothes, take a cool bath, and sip mint juleps until she no longer minded the heat of the day.
She’d find an answer to getting Garrett Randolph under her control. Angie was certain of it.
Chapter Eleven
Garrett pulled his mount, a long-legged white gelding that ran like the wind, to a halt at the edge of the tree line. Actually, he was very near the spot where, in the persona of the Midnight Phantom, he had said good-bye to Pamela Bragg on the previous day before dawn.
He wanted to give both his horse and himself a breather so he’d look professional when he arrived at the Bragg cabin. After all, no attorney rode at a full gallop just to deliver a bank draft to a bounty hunter.
“Easy, boy,” Garrett said, patting the gelding’s neck as the powerful young animal pranced beneath him. The horse loved to run, and Garrett had given him free rein. So easily recognized by its size and its unusual white coat, the gelding could not be ridden by the Midnight Phantom.
The cabin was a hundred yards away, one of any number of dwellings in the area, all built pretty much the same. A single large room cordoned off into smaller rooms by walls that didn’t reach the ceiling, which allowed the heat to move from room to room in the winter, or more simply by blankets hanging from strategically placed ropes.
Suddenly, Garrett felt like a teenager again, and the sensation brought a boyish smile to his lips. How long had it been since he’d felt giddy about a woman? That was how Pamela made him feel. She didn’t know it, of course. In fact, as attorney Garrett Randolph, he had had very little association with Pamela, but as the Midnight Phantom, they had become closer than he’d ever dreamed possible.
Could he ever tell her that he was the Midnight Phantom? The question had plagued him since he’d last left her.
For this meeting, Garrett had dressed carefully, choosing one of his finer charcoal-gray suits, a simple white shirt, shiny black boots polished just that morning by Juan to a mirror finish, and a gray Stetson with a rattlesnake leather hatband. Gone were the cape and mask, the black clothing from head to toe, the low-slung Colt at his hips. Gone, too, would be the flinty tone of voice so difficult to maintain, especially with Pamela when his thoughts and emotions were anything but hard edged.
“Come on, boy,” Garrett said, tapping his heels against his horse’s ribs. “Let’s go find out what the Fates have in store for us.”
He rode slowly toward the house, taking his time so that he would be noticed long before he actually got there. A leisurely approach was proper out here, where thieves and desperadoes killed without reason, possessing not a drop of compassion. He wanted to give Pamela a good long look at him so she would not feel threatened.
Surprisingly, he was quite close to the cabin before she stepped out onto the dusty porch. Garrett’s heart did a crazy little flip at the sight of her. Her unbound hair cascaded over her shoulders in a profusion of silken blonde waves. She filled out a blue cotton shirt, washed countless times, and faded blue denim trousers that displayed the now-familiar curves of her hips. The sight of her awoke Garrett’s slumbering penis.
Garrett was already lost in her presence.
“Hello,” he said, remaining on his gelding, waiting, in the custom of the area, to be asked to dismount.
Pamela looked at him, suspicion shining strong and clear in her pale-green eyes. “Hello,” she said, as noncommittally as possible. “There a reason you’re here?” She didn’t much care for lawyers, especially rich ones, and it showed in her tone.
Garrett suppressed a grin. Clearly, she didn’t recognize him as the Midnight Phantom, for which he was thankful. But her contempt for the wealthy was evident, as was her distrust of him.
“I’ve come to see your brother.” Then, in an effort to get into Pamela’s good graces
, he said, “I’ve got some money for him.”
Pamela continued to look at Garrett as though trying to judge whether or not he was an immediate threat. Finally she turned away, and only then did he see that she’d been holding a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun just behind her leg, ready to use it at a moment’s notice.
“Come on in,” she said over her shoulder, apparently as friendly as she intended to be. “I was just making a cup of coffee for myself. You can have a cup if you want.”
Garrett dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post then stepped onto the porch and into the cabin. It was as stark and austere as Garrett remembered it. He had an urge to take Pamela out of here and put her in a house where there were the comforts he knew and took for granted.
“It’s not the Randolph ranch, but it suits Jedediah and me,” Pamela said, moving over to the stove.
Garrett wasn’t certain what to say to this sarcastic remark. He pulled out one of two chairs at the rectangular table and sat down, watching her back, wondering what she’d really think of him if she knew who his alter ego was.
She placed an enameled tin cup on the table then filled it. The rich aroma was pleasing to Garrett, and he suspected that Pamela was a good cook.
Stop thinking that way! he chided himself. Next you’ll be wondering if she’ll be a good mother to your children.
“What are you looking at?” Pamela asked, her green eyes narrowing.
“I’m sorry,” Garrett said sheepishly, unaware of how he’d been looking at her. “I was just thinking of something.”
“I’ll bet you were,” she shot back contemptuously.
Garrett leaned back in his chair, giving Pamela as much scrutiny as she’d given him.
“Why do you get so angry with me?” he asked. “I haven’t done anything or said anything to displease you. At least, nothing that I can think of. But every time I’ve seen you, you’ve made no effort at all to hide the fact that you dislike me intensely.”