by Patti Berg
“What about Thomas? He was Luke’s son, too.”
Matt took another drink of his wine. “He invested wisely. I believe that’s about the only thing Thomas and my great-grandfather saw eye-to-eye on. But that isn’t something people will want to know, and it’s not something I’m all that interested in discussing.”
“You knew why I came tonight. I wanted to talk about history, to look at your photo albums.”
“I knew,” he said, moving closer, much too close. “Of course, some plans are easily changed.” Slowly, he tilted his head and kissed her.
Elizabeth backed away until she hit a wall and couldn’t move any further. He’d cornered her like a frightened animal. And he was smiling. “You’re very beautiful, Liz.”
“So I’ve been told.” She took a sip of wine, anything to avoid another kiss. She took a second drink to toughen her backbone. “Perhaps I could look at those albums now?”
“Actually, I decided dinner would go well with the drinks, and had my chef prepare something light.” He set down the bottle of wine and took her arm. “We'll be eating in the study,” he said, leading her easily across the room and down another darkened hall. She wanted to pull away, she wanted to run, but she had to see those pictures.
They passed through double doors and into a massive room paneled in knotty pine, darkened with age to a rich whiskey color. It was like stepping into a high-ceilinged hunting lodge. The heads of bear, buffalo, bighorn sheep, deer, antelope, and elk lined the walls, dozens of brown eyes staring emotionlessly across the room. Bearskin rugs had been tossed here and there on the parquet floor, and many pieces of furniture appeared to have been made out of twisted antlers. Elizabeth realized her home might have a ghost creeping around, but she felt the souls of many more beings haunted this room.
“Most of these trophies belonged to my great grandfather,” Matt said. “He rather liked having them hang around so he could enjoy his conquests. What do you think?”
“It’s not exactly my taste in decorating, but it’s your home, Matt, not mine.”
“I take it you share my cousin’s feelings about hunting.”
“Senseless killing has never set well with me. But I’m not here to judge you.”
“That’s right. You’re not.” He pulled out a chair for Elizabeth at a small, intimate table in front of the fireplace. “We’ve never had much opportunity to talk. I hope we’ll become better acquainted tonight.”
“We had a chance not too long ago when you had dinner at my place,” Elizabeth said, as she took her seat. “As I recall, you ran out.”
Matt laughed as he sat across from her. “I prefer not to dredge up the past. The present is much more interesting.” He poured more wine and held his glass in toast. “To tonight. To us.”
Elizabeth smiled indulgently and took another sip of her wine. He’d offered a similar toast the last time they were together, and she liked it even less tonight. “Tell me more about Luke,” she said, picking at the salad that had been waiting for them when they entered the room.
Eyes narrowing, Matt took a bite of shrimp then lightly wiped his mouth with a black linen napkin. “Your interest in my family history staggers me, Liz.”
“It’s all part of an advertising scheme. Surely you must understand the need to have something provocative to draw people in.”
“I understand advertising perfectly. Unfortunately, I can’t honestly think of anything significant that happened in that hotel. And definitely nothing provocative.”
“It’s amazing what you can do with even the smallest hint of history,” she said, digging far more than she probably should. “It’s like photographing a black sheath dress. There’s nothing attractive about the dress all by itself, but put it on the perfect model, add just the right accessories, find the perfect background, and you’ll have women dying to buy the thing. It’s all very simple.”
Matt leaned back and sipped at his wine, the food on his plate all but ignored. “Surely Jon is able to give you a history lesson on Sapphire. He lived most of his life with a man who thought and talked about nothing but the past.”
“We’ve talked briefly about it, but there’s more than one side to a story. Please, tell me about Luke.”
Matt took yet another sip of his wine, hesitating a moment, then said, “He didn’t need window dressing to spruce up his character. He loved life and made a habit of taking what he wanted.”
“Legally?” Elizabeth asked.
Matt grinned. “Of course.” But Elizabeth could easily see the lie in his eyes. Matt knew far more about his ancestor than he would ever admit.
“Luke came to Sapphire quite a few years after Jedediah Dalton built the town. He’d been a gambler most of his life and in those days, settling down in a town inhabited mostly by men meant there were plenty of opportunities for card games and dice. He found himself a table at the saloon and within a few weeks the owner was dead and Luke bought the place.”
“Is there any possibility he had a hand in the owner’s death?”
“He died in bed with one of the ladies of ill repute who worked for him.” Eyes narrowed, Matt leaned forward and poured more wine into Elizabeth’s glass. “Why all the questions, Liz? Do you think tainting my great-grandfather’s memory will bring even more guests to your hotel?”
Elizabeth sipped at her wine. “Colorful characters are much more interesting. Besides, Luke is past history. Knowing what he did or didn’t do a hundred years ago won’t affect anything that’s going on in your life or mine today.”
Matt studied her as he tilted his glass and drank the wine. “Luke Winchester was an industrious man who wanted to be rich, and fate played him a few lucky hands. He owned the saloon and was in the right place at the right time when Jed Dalton’s daughter got jilted at the altar. Marrying her put everything that had belonged to the Daltons into Luke’s hands. Fortunately, he became a very, very rich man.”
“Did he love Amanda?”
That haughty grin returned to Matt’s face. “What do you think, Elizabeth?”
“I have nothing to base a judgment on.”
“Maybe something you read today triggered these questions. Those old papers were full of gossip. Come on. Tell me? What did you read that intrigued you so much?”
“It was a cartoon, actually, of Luke’s second wedding. He was smiling at the actress he was marrying, and Phoebe Carruthers was standing in the background, scowling. I thought there might have been something going on between Luke and Phoebe.”
“Phoebe Carruthers was a homely, loved-starved old widow who wouldn’t have known what to do with a man if she’d had one.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You sound so sure about that. How can you possibly know?”
“Jon’s grandfather wasn’t the only one who told stories. Mine did, too. Luke Winchester never gave Phoebe Carruthers the time of day. Apparently she wrote some scathing diaries detailing every sordid day and night she and Luke supposedly spent together. But no one ever saw those diaries, and they’ve never been found. Personally, I think the lady was mad, and so lonely she dreamed up romantic fairy tales.”
Diaries. Elizabeth tucked that thought away, along with the bar owner’s death. She’d have to ask Jon if he knew anything about them; she’d have to ask Alex. Surely if Phoebe had left behind a record of her life, somebody would know its whereabouts. If she could find the diary, perhaps she’d learn more about what had happened in the days before the robbery and Alexander’s murder.
“What about the pictures you have?” Elizabeth asked. “Are there any of Phoebe?”
Shaking his head, Matt pushed away from the table. “They’re family photos. I don’t think anyone ever considered including Phoebe, but we can take a look.”
He pulled out Elizabeth’s chair and handed her a refilled glass of wine. Heaven forbid, she was going to end up drunk if he continually plied her with alcohol. She could always stop, but having the wineglass in hand or at her mouth kept Matt’s lips from hers. The s
trategy had repercussions, but it seemed to be working.
Sitting on the bearskin rug in front of the fire seemed terribly uncomfortable and just one step closer to ending up in Matt’s arms. But that’s where he led her, and he sank down beside her with several large photo albums in hand.
“This one,” Matt said, “dates back to the late eighteen hundreds.” He opened the cover and Elizabeth was instantly transported back in time. “That’s Luke and Amanda’s wedding day,” Matt said, putting his finger under the photo of a man who could have been Matt’s double: tall, dark, and extremely handsome. He stood with the fingers of one hand tucked between the buttons of his coat, like a Western Napoleon. His other hand rested on the shoulder of a petite young woman sitting in a stiff-backed wooden chair. Her face was somber, her eyes staring straight into the camera with no expression at all, her lips pressed together, her hands folded in the lap of a dark, high-necked dress. She didn’t look at all like a bride, and she didn’t look happy.
She looked nothing like the photo of the beautiful, contented woman Alexander carried in his watch.
Luke flipped through page after page of photos, mostly of the dashing Luke—in the bar, on the stairs of Dalton House, sitting in a spiffy black buggy. Elizabeth studied Luke’s face, looking for something she liked, but all she could see was the face of the man who had stood above Alex, shoveling dirt over his mouth and eyes and nose.
“These were taken in Europe,” Matt stated, turning through the pages to reveal photos of Luke standing along the banks of the Seine, in front of the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. Occasionally Elizabeth saw a picture of Amanda. Standing alone, Amanda smiled; at Luke’s side, her expressionless face returned. Poor Amanda ... she must have been terribly unhappy.
“One of the articles I read said Amanda and Luke had a child while they were in Europe.”
“Yes, that’s true. They didn’t waste much time after their wedding day. They spent a little over nine months wandering around England, France, and Italy. Luke bought a lot of furniture while they were overseas and had it shipped home. From what I’ve been told, Amanda was ill most of the trip and spent the biggest part of her time resting. Thomas, their son—that’s Jon’s grandfather—was born in Paris. He was two months old when they sailed home.”
Elizabeth wondered what Luke did those few months while Amanda rested in Paris. Had he met the actress who would eventually become his wife? And what of Amanda? Had she been lonely and ill through their entire European tour?
Amanda had been so pretty. Alex definitely hadn’t exaggerated that fact, but she knew the love Alex had felt for Amanda extended far beyond her exterior. He dearly loved her spirit, her goodness, and grace. Elizabeth wished she could slip one or two of the photos out of the album and take them to Alex, but it seemed impossible the way Matt huddled over her. But ...
Downing the remainder of her wine, Elizabeth looked at her glass. “This wine is delicious, Matt. Would you mind getting me some more?”
It worked. Matt climbed up from the bearskin rug and while he went back to the table, Elizabeth slid two of the prettiest pictures out of the album and flipped the pages. Unfortunately, she had nowhere to hide the photos. Her dress already revealed too much, there were no pockets, and Matt was walking back.
Quickly she unfolded her long body from the floor, cupping the pictures close to her side with her left hand.
“Surely you’re not leaving.”
Elizabeth took the glass of wine Matt held out to her. “Of course not. It’s just that I haven’t found sitting on the floor all that comfortable since I was about eighteen.” She gracefully sat in one of the atrocious elkhorn chairs placed at the edge of the rug.
“Are you afraid of me, Elizabeth?” Matt asked
Elizabeth shook her head, looking at him askance. “What makes you ask that?”
“You’ve been jittery ever since you arrived.”
“Maybe I’ve just had too little to eat today and too much wine to drink. Really, I’m not the least bit frightened of you. Please, show me the rest of the photos.”
While Matt pulled a matching chair close to Elizabeth’s and retrieved the albums from the floor, Elizabeth gently slipped the photos down her leg and under the protective cover of her boot.
The pictures Matt showed her skipped through several years, then took on a whole new character when a woman decked out in feathers and frills showed up in every one. She could be no one else but Claudette, Luke’s French actress wife.
A few pages later they stood before the house Elizabeth was now in, a baby pram in front of them, with Luke holding a bundle in his arms. Through year after year of photos, Elizabeth watched the child grow, a child with coal black hair, just like his father’s.
Matt turned the last page of the second photo album and closed the cover. “Seen enough for one evening?” he asked.
Elizabeth felt the alcohol swishing around in her head, and her senses seemed to dim, but one thing that was clear was her recollection of what she hadn’t seen in any of the pictures they’d looked at: Amanda and Luke’s first son, Thomas. And she remembered the story Jon had told, of Luke shunning his first child. The pictures made it obvious.
“Do you know why Luke neglected Thomas?” Elizabeth asked.
Matt shrugged. “I’ve never given it any thought, and I never asked. But Thomas was a recluse; my grandfather, on the other hand, was dapper and debonair, and he had a flair for the ladies, just like his dad. You can understand how a man would be partial to a son who was more like himself.”
“No, I can’t.”
“But it happens, Liz. All the time.” Matt rose from his chair and stood behind her, his fingers working their way under her hair to her neck. She felt his hands tightening over her shoulders, his thumbs massaging the muscles on either side of her spine. She wanted to fight the natural instinct to lower her head and let his fingers work miracles on the tension in her body, but she couldn’t. The wine had confused her thoughts.
“Does that feel good?” he asked. His voice was low and whispery near her ear.
She nodded, finding herself unable to utter any words.
“Just relax, Liz.”
She felt hypnotized—by his voice, by the wine, by the heat in the room.
His fingers swirled around her neck, over her chest. Lower. Lower.
He touched her breast. She felt a slight tingle, but nothing magic, nothing wonderful.
Suddenly the realization of what was happening hit her smack in the face. She jerked out of his grasp, her eyes flaring as she sprang from the chair. She wobbled. Her head spun. But she still had control of her mind. “I didn’t come here for that.”
Matt’s eyebrows raised. “No? You’re not going to tell me you came just to drink my wine and look at my pictures, are you?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I came just for the photos, and I’ve seen all I needed to.”
Matt stepped closer and put a hand on her arm, but Elizabeth twisted away. “I need to go.”
Matt laughed, shaking his head. “Go where? Back to that run-down old hotel? Back to being lonely?”
“I’m not lonely.”
“But you are,” he said, moving closer, so close she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. “I can end your loneliness.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t think so. Besides, it’s getting late.” She dodged around him, but he grabbed her arm and whipped her into his embrace.
“It’s not that late, Liz. I’d like you to stay.” His fingers tightly gripped her arms, and he pulled her hard against his chest, his head slanting down, his mouth moving toward her.
Elizabeth turned her head, felt his warm, wet lips on her cheek, and somehow found the power to pull away. “Touch me again and there’s no telling what I’ll do. I might even scream.”
“These walls are very thick.”
Without giving it a thought, she smacked her wineglass against the hearth and held the broken glass toward Matt’s face. “Is your ski
n thick, too?”
Chapter 13
“Not thick enough!”
The walls reverberated from the sound of Jon’s voice, and the floors shivered as he stormed across the room and grabbed Matt by the collar. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Matt wrenched Jon’s fingers from his shirt and backed away. “Having drinks with the little lady.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me.”
“If it looked like anything else, you were letting your jealous imagination run wild,” Matt said, a smirk on his face.
Jon took several deep breaths as he looked toward Elizabeth. Tears flowed from her eyes. The hand holding the broken glass shook at her side. In one long step he was next to her, the glass crashed to the floor, and he pulled her into his arms.
He held her for what seemed an eternity, her cheek against his chest. He felt her heart beating fast and hard in time with his. When it finally slowed, he drew back and cupped her cheeks, looking gently into her eyes. “Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “Take me out of here. Please.”
Gathering her close to his side, he gave Matt one last look. “Touch her again, do anything to her again, and I’ll put my fist right through that pretty face of yours.”
Matt swallowed more wine and laughed. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be,” Jon said calmly, leading Elizabeth across the room. When they reached the door, he looked back at Matt again. “I broke your nose when I was ten. I’m three times as big and three times as powerful now.”
Matt raised his glass. “We’ll see who’s the most powerful.”
“Is that a challenge? Would you like to go outside right now?”
“All in good time, cousin. All in good time.”
Jon felt Elizabeth tugging on his coat. “Please, Jon. Let’s just go.”
He was angry—at himself for letting Elizabeth go to Matt’s in the first place and for not punching Matt out when he’d first walked into the room. He wanted to grab Matt and hang him on the wall like all the other trophies, but he heard the plea in Elizabeth’s voice and saw it in her eyes.