Cherished

by Jill Gregory

  Back in St. Louis young men had been charmed by her, captivated, but her background had disqualified her as a possible bride. Here in Denver, John Breen thought her a treasure above all others and no doubt wouldn’t give a hoot about her mother’s past or her brothers’ exploits. He wanted someone with society manners whom he could show off to his friends—and a beautiful ornament he could toy with in his bed.

  Juliana vowed that he would have neither. At least, not from her. Not as long as she had a single breath left in her body.

  She dug her heels into Columbine’s flanks and rode for the ranch.

  * * *

  Uncle Edward faced her alone in Breen’s library. His skin was ashen, but his face was set and calm as he stood before the massive shelves of leather-bound books. “It’s quite true, Juliana,” he informed her, his round eyes nearly expressionless. “The matter is settled. John Breen has offered to make you his wife.”

  Between clenched teeth, she managed to lash out a response. “I decline!”

  He sent her a reproving look and smoothed the lapel of his coat. He blocked her view of the diamond-blue afternoon sky as he turned and paced to the window, staring out at the rough landscape. “Too late, Juliana. I have already accepted on your behalf.”

  Pain throbbed in her temples. She clutched the back of a chair for support. “You had no right, Uncle Edward!”

  “On the contrary, as your legal guardian, I have every right.” He turned and smiled bleakly at her. “And I know that once you have had a chance to get accustomed to the idea, you will see that it is a splendid opportunity for you.”

  “An opportunity for you—isn’t that what you really mean, Uncle Edward?” she cried scornfully.

  He had the grace to flush. His gaze dropped. Through the pain in her chest, Juliana managed to speak in a flat, even tone.

  “I won’t marry him. You can’t force me.”

  He pushed his spectacles higher on his nose and squared his shoulders. “You’re wrong, Juliana. Until you are twenty-one, I am your legal guardian and my actions are quite proper and legal. I am taking sensible steps to insure your future. Of course, your aunt and Victoria and I will miss you a great deal, but we would never stand in the way of what is best. And John has assured me that he will bring you to St. Louis for a visit within the year.”

  “I will not marry John Breen!” she shouted.

  A sound at the door made her wheel about.

  John Breen stood there, fingering his mustache.

  “Your spirit does you proud, Juliana, but it’s beginning to grate on my nerves.” He came forward into the room, ignoring Uncle Edward, keeping his gaze riveted on the furious girl before him. Sunlight streamed in the window, glinting upon his fair hair and handsome features. “It’s time to stop fighting your uncle and me,” he said curtly. “Pretty soon you’ll come to realize we know what’s best for you.”

  She stared at him as the throbbing in her temples grew unbearable. “Why would you want a woman who doesn’t want you?” she whispered.

  He smiled at her as if she were an adorable though wayward child. “You do want me, honey. You just don’t know it yet.”

  She ran past him and pounded up the stairs to her room. She slammed the door and threw herself facedown on the pillow, shaking with helpless rage. She had never felt so trapped, so frightened.

  Even when she was a child and her parents had been killed, she had always known that there was someone to take care of her—Wade and Tommy, or Uncle Edward and Aunt Katharine. Now she had no one. No one cared. No one would do a thing to prevent her from being condemned to this marriage. No one would lift a finger to save her from being tied for the rest of her life to John Breen.

  No one except herself.

  Still trembling, Juliana sat up and dashed the tears from her eyes. She began desperately to plan.

  5

  Juliana was watched closely the next days. She was not permitted to ride—all the horses were needed by the hands, John Breen told her. She was kept from going to town—the buggy was in need of repair, according to her fiancé. And she was not allowed to spend time alone—Aunt Katharine or Victoria continually followed her about and remained glued to her side for hours, chattering about the wedding plans as if nothing were amiss, as if she were the happiest, most eager bride-to-be in the world.

  Juliana could scarcely bear to look at them. Aunt Katharine blithely ignored Juliana’s grim silence, and rattled on about how fortunate her niece was to be marrying a man as handsome and wealthy as John Breen. Victoria pouted that she hoped everyone would make this much of a fuss when she decided to marry—quite ignoring the fact that Juliana had decided nothing whatever for herself. And John Breen set in motion a series of plans for the wedding and honeymoon, complete with extravagant festivities, oblivious of his intended’s stony lack of interest in all that went on about her. To Juliana’s relief, he made no more effort to be alone with her, apparently deciding it best not to pressure her further before the wedding. Juliana guessed he expected that by the time the vows were said and the wedding ring placed upon her finger she would face up to the reality of the situation and accept her position as his wife.

  Well, we’ll just see about that, Juliana thought the evening before the wedding as she stood at her window gazing out at the gold and lavender sunset spreading delicately across the sky.

  The mountaintops glowed a soft, misty purple beneath the shimmering light. She stared at the distant peaks with a mingling of yearning and trepidation. Tomorrow this time she would be traveling by stagecoach somewhere in those mountains. Whatever dangers might await her, they would have to be faced and conquered, for they would be preferable, far preferable, to the certainty of the fate awaiting her here. Somehow she would get to Tombstone and try to track down where Wade and Tommy had gone. John Breen would set out after her, she knew, but if she could get away quickly, he would give up before long, and she would be free to search for her brothers, to start a new life with them.

  If only Gil were still here, Juliana reflected as she turned away from the window and began to pace the room, scowling when her eye fell upon the ivory brocade wedding gown draped across the bed, a dreamy vision whipped up by Denver’s best seamstress for tomorrow’s occasion. Gil might have been able to help her, she thought wistfully, but he had left Twin Oaks the day Breen had driven him off, and there had been no sign of him since. She hoped he was all right. At least he was free of Twin Oaks, she thought with a sigh. She only hoped she would be so lucky.

  Somehow she would have to pull off this plan of hers by herself.

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm the fears somersaulting inside her stomach. There was a quick knock on the door of her room, and before Juliana could speak, Victoria stepped inside.

  “Mama asked me to tell you that supper is being served and everyone is waiting for you downstairs,” Victoria blurted out, frowning at her cousin’s state of déshabille. Juliana’s slender figure was enticingly draped in a pink satin dressing gown; her small, pretty feet were bare. She appeared ready for bed, not for supper.

  “You’d best hurry,” Victoria snapped. “Mr. Breen is eager to see you, and he looks especially handsome tonight.’’

  “Well, I have a headache and won’t be coming down to supper.” Juliana went to her dressing table, and, sitting down, began with quick strokes to brush her hair. “You may give my regrets to Mr. Breen, Tory. He’ll simply have to wait until the wedding ceremony in the morning to drool over me.”

  Instead of flouncing out in a huff to carry the message as Juliana expected her to do, Victoria came into the room. She was studying her cousin’s set, pale face reflected in the oval dressing table mirror, and she gave her dark head a tiny shake.

  “I don’t understand you, Juliana.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  “One would think you were the first girl in the world whose family arranged a marriage for her. Why, Dorinda St. Clair’s parents did the same thing last summer and even t
hough she didn’t care two figs for Harold Lovelace, she welcomed the match. And their wedding was splendid. I never saw anything like it. But even Harold Lovelace can’t compare to Mr. Breen. Mr. Breen has more money than half of the best families in St. Louis combined! And,” she added, wagging a finger at her cousin, “he doesn’t mind a bit about your brothers’ exploits, Juliana. He did a complete investigation of your background even before we arrived here, Papa learned, and merely laughed when he was told of the scandal. ‘Everyone has skeletons in their closets,’ he told Papa. ‘So long as your niece conducts herself as a lady and presents only clean linen to the world, I don’t give a damn about those brothers of hers.’ So you see, you ought to be grateful for this match. No man in St. Louis would be as broad-minded as that!”

  “How admirable,” Juliana bit out between clenched teeth. She threw the brush down and jumped up to face her cousin. “Did it never occur to you, Victoria, that I might wish to choose my own husband—if I want a husband at all! Marriage need not be the sole goal of womankind. And marriage to a man one doesn’t like ... or trust ...” She broke off at her cousin’s sneering expression. “Never mind. I can see that you will never understand,” she cried.

  Victoria grabbed her wrist. “I understand that you are being most selfish. Papa tried to do what is best for you—and he feels quite sad that you aren’t happy about it. Can’t you—for his sake—even try to put on a smiling countenance? This should be a happy time for him. His business dealings with Mr. Breen will make him a very rich man, and at the same time, he is discharging his responsibility to you in a most beneficial way—why, you’ll want for nothing! You’ll be the envy of everyone back home! But you,” she said scathingly, her skin shining dully in the fading pool of light, “you fail to show him any gratitude for it! Or for the years that he and Mama have given to raising, clothing, and feeding you! I think you’re hideous, Juliana! You don’t deserve John Breen, you don’t deserve this beautiful dress, and you don’t deserve one whit of pity. I’m glad that we shall be rid of you after tomorrow and I know that Mama and Papa will be glad too.”

  Juliana’s eyes stung with tears. “You’re right about one thing, Tory. You will be rid of me after tomorrow.”

  “It can’t come soon enough for me,” her cousin shot back, ignoring the pain in the other girl’s face. Victoria turned on her heel and walked to the door. “I’ll give Mr. Breen your message,” she flung over her shoulder. “No doubt he will be most displeased.”

  Not as displeased as he’s going to be, Juliana cried silently as the door slammed behind Victoria. She covered her face as hot tears flowed down her cheeks. Victoria’s words had hurt more than she thought possible. So did the knowledge that her escape would enrage Uncle Edward and spoil his dreams of uncountable wealth. Was she so selfish that she would deny her uncle the vast success this alliance with John Breen would produce? What was wrong with her that she couldn’t accept her lot in life and do as she was bidden? Maybe, she thought, on a gulp of misery, she should stay and make the best of this stupid marriage.

  But at the thought of it a sick shaking overtook her. No. John Breen was an unsavory man, despite his smooth good looks, his impeccable fancy clothes, his wealth. And if the suspicions Gil had voiced about him were true, he was ruthless and crooked as well. She wasn’t prepared to sacrifice herself to a man like that just to please her relations. Uncle Edward and Aunt Katharine had always had quite enough money to live in an elegant fashion, and they would simply have to continue in that mode, making do without the boundless grandeur they envisioned.

  She strode to the bed and flung the exquisite ivory gown onto the floor. She was leaving. Tonight. And no one had better try to stop her.

  * * *

  She went at midnight. The ranch house was silent but for the creaking of the floorboards and the moaning whisper of wind against the windowpanes. Juliana tiptoed down the long flight of steps, carpetbag in hand, and slipped through the darkened hall to the kitchen. The kitchen door squeaked as she pulled it open, and Juliana’s breath caught in her throat. Bright moonlight illuminated her path to the barn, filling her with apprehension that she would be outlined clearly to anyone glancing outside, as she made her way around the vegetable gardens and past the stone well.

  Several horses whinnied when she slid loose the bolt on the barn door and ducked inside. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she dared not use a lantern. She counted the stalls until she came to Columbine’s, then calmed the horse with a lump of sugar and a few loving pats before hoisting the heavy saddle into place. It took only a few moments to strap the gray carpetbag to the saddle and lead the mare from the barn, but every second seemed a lifetime of suspense.

  She used a fence post to mount and swung into the saddle, scarcely able to breathe. At any moment she expected to hear a shout, to find herself confronted by Bart Mueller or John Breen himself. But when at last she sat atop the mare and stared out at the moon-frosted land before her, every nerve in her body started to tingle. She urged Columbine to a gallop, leaning low over her mane, and rode like fire across the plain, never looking back.

  It wasn’t Denver she headed for. That was the first place Breen and Uncle Edward would look. Juliana’s destination was Amber Falls, a little town seventeen miles west. She was gambling that it was on the stagecoach line, and that from there she could cross the Rockies to the Arizona border. In her reticule was the handful of gold she had sneaked from Uncle Edward’s money pouch under his mattress while everyone was downstairs at supper. She had left in its place the pearl earbobs Aunt Katharine and Uncle Edward had given her on her nineteenth birthday. No doubt they would still call her a thief when they found out—a thief like her brothers—but Juliana was beyond caring what anyone thought. She gripped the reins more tightly and leaned forward with a little cry of exultation, reveling in the slap of the wind against her cheeks. The mare’s legs tore at the earth, faster and faster, while the moon sailed overhead. And Juliana’s heart swelled with the elation of a trapped creature set free.

  But there was fear in her as well, a fear she had to fight to control. She would have only one chance for freedom. She couldn’t slow down, couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t make a single mistake. Every second counted.

  By dawn the search would begin.

  6

  Deathly silence surrounded Twin Oaks as John Breen confronted his foreman in the privacy of his library. Ice-cold calm gripped the tall man with the deep-set topaz eyes. Outside there was an unnatural peace: the hands had all ridden out on the range, glad to put distance between themselves and the uproar that had ensued only an hour earlier. No sounds came from the barns or the sheds or the cookhouse, not even a horse whinnied in the corral. Inside the walnut-paneled library, there was no such illusion of peace. Unspoken rage flickered through the room like the crack of a bullwhip. Breen’s eyes glittered with a menace that went far beyond what Gil Keedy had experienced by the banks of Durham’s Creek.

  “Find her.”

  Bart Mueller nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Be discreet—but find her. And fast.” Breen shot the words out like rapid-fire bullets, “There’s a five-hundred-dollar bonus for you when she’s delivered to my door.”

  Mueller nodded, eagerly turning his hat in his hand. The muscles of his thick neck tightened in excitement as he anticipated the spending of that reward. He watched his boss with expectant eyes all the while, knowing how dangerous, how cruelly clever Breen was when he was in this mood. The expression on his face was as ruthless, as icily furious as Mueller had ever seen it.

  “What do you want me to do, boss?”

  Breen stalked up and down the hardwood floor, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his vest. Despite the rage storming through him like a winter squall, his brain clicked along with relentless precision. He had already sent that idiot Tobias and his sniveling wife and daughter packing, the business contracts ripped to hell. Tobias was lucky he hadn’t been shot instead of just run
off. But deep down, even through his fury, Breen knew it wasn’t Tobias’s fault. It was the girl, that damned stuck-up little girl who had run off and made a fool out of him in front of the whole damned town.

  Well, she would pay. Breen’s mouth watered at the thought. When he dragged her back into this house, he’d make her pay. There’d be no marriage this time around. It would be all fun and games. His fun, his games. Then he’d turn her over to the sheriff on charges of horse theft.

  A tight little smile twisted the corners of his lips. Who was to say she hadn’t also stolen money from his safe, as well as the damned horse? Five thousand dollars ought to do it. The boys could plant it on her when they found her, and she could serve a nice long jail sentence—after he finished with her, of course.

  Breen felt no qualms about framing the girl he’d only yesterday planned on making his wife. That little bitch deserved whatever she got. If she wanted to act like a no-good back-stabbing whore, he’d treat her like one. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been forced to get rough with a woman. He remembered another time, another woman who’d gone loco on him and tried to blow a hole in his chest. But he’d taken care of her. Just like he’d taken care of the kid ...

  Breen’s gaze clouded over for a moment, then he jerked himself out of his reverie. That was all a long time ago. He’d come a long way since those grub-grabbing, desperate days.