Each Time We Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  "The marriage or less than all-out war?" Adam asked with a mocking light in his eyes.

  "The marriage!"

  There was suddenly an implacable cast to Adam's face. He didn't honestly know how he was going to make Savanna marry him; he only knew that his life would be desolate indeed without her and that he'd either wring an agreement to marry him out of her or wring her neck. Smiling wryly at his own thoughts, he muttered, "Blast her stubborn hide! Why must she make this as difficult as possible?"

  Bodene looked uneasy, wondering if writing to Adam had been such a wise course after all. Bluntly he asked, "If she wasn't pregnant, what would you do? Would you still marry her?"

  "That's a damn-fool question!" Adam replied testily. "Of course I would. I had already made arrangements to come to New Orleans with the intention of wooing Savanna before I received your letter. The baby only means that I'll have to move faster than I had planned." He looked steadily at Bodene. "I'll be honest with you—she drives me half mad—I'm either thinking of kissing her or wringing her neck, and while I'm certain that I shall spend the rest of my life torn between those two emotions, there is no other woman whom I want for my wife... whom I've ever wanted for my wife."

  Adam had not admitted that he loved Savanna, but his words reassured Bodene that he was not consigning Savanna to a loveless union. Of Savanna's feelings Bodene had little doubt, and after listening to Adam, he decided that his original reading of the situation was correct: the only people who didn't realize that they were in love with each other were Adam and Savanna.

  Satisfied, Bodene settled back in his chair. "How do you intend to get her to agree to marry you?"

  A wicked smile curved Adam's lips. "Why, charm her, of course! Despite her avowals to the contrary, I know that she is not indifferent to me. She came into my arms willingly once, so surely she will again. And I do have much to offer her—while not meaning to sound like a braggart, I am not some beggarly ruffian." A mocking twinkle in his blue eyes, he added teasingly, "How can she resist me?"

  Bodene agreed with him. If anybody could change Savanna's mind, it was Adam St. Clair. Thinking of the tempestuous wooing that was going to take place caused a small smile to lurk around his mouth. "You can count on my help. Elizabeth's too. I shall return to Campo de Verde in the morning and alert her to what you plan."

  Adam frowned. "Is Elizabeth committed to my marriage to Savanna? She knows nothing of me." His mouth twisted. "Except what her daughter may have told her, and I doubt that Savanna has anything complimentary to say about me. And certainly, considering the circumstances..."

  Bodene was quick to reassure him of Elizabeth's support and the two men continued to talk until the late hours. They had much to discuss—not the least of which was what they would do if Savanna did not succumb to Adam's charms. The comradeship that had sprung up during the journey back from Texas remained unabated, and in these more pleasant surroundings it flourished dramatically. As the hours passed and they conversed on a variety of subjects, each man was more and more warmly impressed by the other, and any awkwardness that could have attended their growing relationship was banished.

  It was only as dawn was breaking that they discovered to their astonishment that they had talked the night away. Rising from his seat and stubbing out the remains of a long black cheroot that he had been smoking, Adam remarked, "Seldom have I spent a more enjoyable evening. Once I am respectably married to your cousin, we must do this again."

  Bodene concurred, and escorting Adam through the darkened, now deserted rooms of The Golden Lady, he said, "I agree—and hopefully it will be soon."

  Adam laughed and was on the point of walking through the elegant mahogany doors of the establishment when he asked casually, "Have you heard or seen any sign of Micajah or Jeremy since you have returned?"

  Bodene shook his dark head. "No. I've ordered several people that I trust to keep their eyes and ears open, but so far there has been nothing. It is as if that pair of scoundrels simply vanished. What about you and Jason?"

  Adam shrugged. "It's not me that Micajah wanted in the first place—I doubt he even knows of my existence—so there is no reason for him to be looking for Adam St. Clair of Natchez. Now, Jason Savage is another matter, but since we know what they are up to, Jason is forewarned and armed and ready for any plan they may spring—if they are foolish enough to return to Terre du Coeur or any other place that Jason inhabits." Adam smiled grimly. "Jason can take care of himself, and Micajah and Jeremy no longer have the element of surprise to their advantage."

  The two men strolled in the general direction of Adam's hotel. Having been mistaken once for his half brother and not wishing to experience that dubious pleasure again since Jeremy and Micajah were still unaccounted for, Adam was not staying, as was his usual wont when in New Orleans, at the Savage town house. He had taken a set of rooms in one of the elegant hotels in the fashionable part of the city, and as they ambled in that direction, they continued to speak of Micajah and Jeremy. Both men were convinced that, having failed in their attempt to extract the information they wanted from the man they believed to be Jason Savage, and being unable to follow the twisted trail that Adam had left, they had no doubt continued on their quest for the gold and were probably either dead or hopelessly lost on the endless plains of Texas.

  Neither man would have been quite so casual about this subject if he had known that, far from being in Texas, Jeremy and Micajah were in fact nursing their frustration and disappointment in one of the notorious saloons along Silver Street in Natchez, and that Adam St. Clair was the very topic of conversation.

  Micajah had been convulsed with fury when he had returned to camp and discovered what had happened. For one very long moment, in his rage and disgust at finding that Savanna was gone along with the only person who could lead them to the gold, he had considered cutting Jeremy's throat. Only one thing had stopped him—Jeremy at least knew the area where Davalos had died. Little time had been wasted trying to pick up Adam's trail—they'd needed to be refitted before attempting any sort of elaborate search. Riding hard for Nacogdoches, they had traded in their worn and wind-broken mounts for new horses and, resupplied, had returned to search for Adam and Savanna, casting desperately about in ever-widening circles for some trace. In the end they had faced defeat and the unpleasant fact that they were lost. It had taken them several miserable weeks before they stumbled into an area that looked vaguely familiar, and it was with heartfelt relief that they'd eventually managed to find their way back to Nacogdoches. Their supplies, money and horses had been exhausted by then and they had had to remain skulking in that area for some time, robbing and killing anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. They had finally slain a rich Spanish merchant who carried a tidy sum of gold, and, mounted on the dead Spaniard's fine horses, his gold jingling in their saddlebags, they had lit out for Natchez, arriving in the nether regions of that lovely city two days after Adam had left for New Orleans.

  Having spent the past several months living in the utmost squalor—even for them—they had both gotten roaring drunk and, with the help of a pair of harlots, stayed in that condition for nearly a week. They had only sobered up and faced reality when their money was nearly gone.

  Micajah had not given up on going after the Aztec gold—he might have been a reluctant partner in the beginning, but some of Jeremy's blind lust for that hidden cache of gold had infected him. He had become convinced that he deserved the gold; that in view of the misfortunes that had plagued him since Savanna and that damned blue-eyed bastard had disappeared, he was owed that gold.

  The loss of Savanna had been a bitter blow for Micajah; he had lusted after her for so long, and to have had her in his power and not to have tasted her soft, silky flesh ate at him like a cancer. So obsessed was he that there were even times when Micajah actually spared a thought about her fate—he suspected that she was dead, that her captor had used her until satisfied and then had slit her throat and dumped her somewhere in the vast unt
racked wilderness, as he'd half planned to do. It bothered him, though, the idea of Savanna being dead, and he had cursed himself roundly for not having slaked himself on her body when he'd had the chance. His cold blue eyes hard, he vowed that if Savanna was alive and if luck ever shone on him again and brought her into his clutches, he'd not hesitate to finally have her writhing beneath him.

  But dreams of what he'd do to Savanna O'Rourke didn't help him right now, and as he and Jeremy were hunched over a battered table at The White Cock, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey, he muttered, "We need money. And there's only one way that I can think of laying our hands on it in a hurry."

  Bleary-eyed, Jeremy glanced at him. Micajah smiled cruelly. "I think," Micajah said slowly, "that it's time I seriously set about finding Adam St. Clair and earning the other half of the money that is owed me...."

  Chapter 15

  Jeremy continued to stare at Micajah, the whiskey fumes making his already slow thought process even slower. But eventually the meaning of Micajah's words came through, and there was a spark of interest in his drink-dulled eyes until something unpleasant occurred to him. Uncertainly he said, "But you were supposed to do that months ago—will the fellow still be willing to pay?"

  Micajah shrugged and took a big swallow of his whiskey. "If he wanted St. Clair killed bad enough to hire me to do it in the first place, I can't see that the passage of a few months will have changed his mind."

  But Micajah had made one little miscalculation—he had no idea how to find the man who had originally contracted with him to kill St. Clair. Rubbing his rusty-stubbled jaw, he considered his problem. When he had been given the first installment of gold at Spanish Lick, it had been agreed that, once the deed was done, the remainder of the money would be hidden at Spanish Lick. How could he have been so stupid? What if he had killed St. Clair and the rest of the money hadn't been forthcoming? He'd have no recourse, nor any way to take revenge on the man who had cheated him, and he wondered sourly where he had left his wits.

  Furious with himself for his lack of foresight, Micajah scowled. He'd look up Jem Elliot and see if Jem knew more about the fair-haired gentleman than he did. And he could find out if St. Clair was in residence at that fancy estate of his, Belle Vista. If worse came to worst, he could go ahead and kill St. Clair and hope that the gentleman would keep his end of the bargain. And if the gent didn't... Micajah shrugged. At least he'd gotten two thousand dollars for the job, and he'd killed for a damn sight less than that.

  Finding Jem Elliot proved easy, and Jem did have some interesting news to relate. Micajah and Jeremy found their cohort in a favorite haunt of his, another shoddy tavern farther down Silver Street. Jem was seated in a corner, hunched over a glass of whiskey, and when he looked up and caught sight of Micajah and Jeremy, a grin crossed his face. "Well, well, if it ain't my good friend Micajah Yates. Where in hell you been?"

  "Don't matter," Micajah growled, sliding into a chair beside him. "I want to know more about that gent you introduced me to—the one who wanted that Adam St. Clair killed."

  "Why?" Jem asked, a hard gleam in his hazel eyes. "You disappeared with the money and left me to face a very unhappy client."

  "You saw him again?" Micajah asked excitedly. "Did you get a name?"

  "No, I didn't get a name!" Jem replied."What I did get was an angry tirade about what base-born, lying, cheating rogues we are. The gent was furious that you had taken his money and not killed St. Clair. I think he considered laying the whole matter before a magistrate—that's how mad he was." Jem sent Micajah a dark look. "You didn't do my reputation any good and you can be sure that we'll not have any other jobs to do for that particular gent or any of his friends either."

  Micajah grunted. "Think it would turn him up sweet if I completed the task? Do you think he'd pay the rest of the money?"

  Jem sat up straighter, a gleam of avarice in his eyes. "Are you going to do it?"

  "Might... if I thought the money would still be forthcoming."

  Jem licked his lips."I'll see what I can find out. You staying at the widow's place?"

  Micajah nodded. The three men talked briefly about the latest happenings in Natchez—Micajah and Jeremy adding little to the conversation. They did not remain long. Parting from Jem, they walked to the widow Blackstone's boardinghouse.

  The lack of money was an issue, and early the next morning they left the area and disappeared into the vast wilderness along the Natchez Trace. The Trace was a dangerous area, notorious for the thieves and murderers who lurked in the heavy underbrush and canebrakes waiting for the unwary traveler. Micajah and Jeremy had ridden up the Trace with robbery and murder on their minds and they didn't have long to wait. Two days later, a father and son, well-to-do merchants from Nashville, traveling homeward from New Orleans, crossed their path. Since dead men told no tales, Murdering Micajah lived up to his name and dispatched both men, hiding their bodies deep in the underbrush. The saddlebags revealed nearly four thousand dollars in gold; with money in their pockets, Micajah and Jeremy returned to Natchez to consider their next step.

  Jeremy was all for resupplying themselves and even without a map heading into Texas, but while Micajah was eager for the gold, too, he was not so keen to subject himself again so soon to the rigors of the trail—and without the information in that blue-eyed devil's head. Micajah had brooded a lot about the escape of Jason Savage and, bitterly aware that they had lost the element of surprise, he doubted that they'd ever have another chance of getting their hands on the man. Without Jason Savage, Micajah was going to have to rely on Jeremy to lead them to where the Spaniard had died, and from there he could only hope that they would find some clue that would lead them to the treasure. Micajah wanted the gold, now as badly as Jeremy, and though he hadn't given up on it, he wasn't looking forward to the prospect of months on end of being led through the wilds of Texas by Jeremy. With ample gold jingling in their pockets, Micajah saw no reason why they couldn't travel to New Orleans and enjoy themselves for a while before setting out for Texas. And though he would have torn out his tongue before admitting it, Micajah wanted to talk to Bodene Sullivan about Savanna. It would be a damn tricky conversation, but he was confident that he could find out what he wanted to know without revealing his part in Savanna's disappearance. If anyone would know about Savanna, if she was alive or dead, it would be Bodene Sullivan.

  Jeremy was not best pleased with Micajah's ideas, but he wasn't immune to the lure of the flesh and drink that Micajah spoke of so winningly, and he finally caved in and grumpily agreed to the delay. Ensconcing themselves in carnal luxury at Micajah's favorite whorehouse, they drank and whored and made drink-sodden plans to take care of Mr. St. Clair—if Jem gave them the good news that their gentleman was still willing to pay. Once the St. Clair matter was settled, they would travel to New Orleans to visit with Savanna's cousin....

  * * *

  Arriving at midmorning on Tuesday at Campo de Verde, Bodene would have welcomed a visit from Micajah and Jeremy rather than facing Savanna's wrath when she found out he had betrayed her. Elizabeth's unabashed delight, however, when he told her of the meeting with Adam and what Adam planned to do, lightened his spirits considerably and he was soon almost looking forward to Adam's arrival. It had been decided that Adam would simply arrive at Campo de Verde, Savanna was to have no warning and Bodene and Elizabeth were to make themselves scarce before Adam showed up. It was planned for Adam to arrive that afternoon, and Bodene and Elizabeth went to lengths either to avoid Savanna or, when forced to be in her company, to act as naturally as possible.

  If Savanna noticed that there was a gleam of anticipation in her mother's eyes or that Bodene's lips twitched now and then with a secretive smile, she gave no sign of it. Savanna was so lost in her own misery that she was barely aware of what was going on around her. The enormity of the burden that she had taken upon herself had painfully dawned on her the morning after she had so proudly stated that she wanted nothing to do with Adam St. Clair. She was g
rappling with the grim reality of her position. It was not pleasant, and it occurred uncomfortably to her that the child deserved a better future than the one that she was busy creating for it. Not only would Adam be able to provide more materially for the child, but she remembered with painful clarity her own childhood and the scorn and the contempt with which others had looked at her because her parents hadn't been married. Was she right in condemning her own child to that fate? And what about her mother? Was it fair to make Elizabeth suffer the embarrassment of having her friends and neighbors know that her daughter had borne a bastard child? Wouldn't that revelation lead to the crumbling of the respectable facade that Elizabeth had created over the years for herself? Did Savanna dare risk even one tiny crack in that facade?

  Then there was Bodene. She might pride herself on her independence, but it would be more than just cowardice if she ignored the fact that it was Bodene's money that would be supporting her and the child for the next several months. Bodene was discreet about it, but Savanna was aware that for years he had been generously spending his own money to shore up their meager finances. If Elizabeth and the others had to live solely on the proceeds earned from Campo de Verde, life would not be quite as comfortable as it was now. One of the reasons she had left Campo de Verde in the first place had been so that she would not be a burden to either Elizabeth or Bodene. And now to return nearly penniless and pregnant? To what depths was she willing to sink to keep her pride? How could she lay any claim to pride if she merely exchanged one keeper for another? Bodene for Adam?

  Miserably aware that she had painted herself into a very lonely and empty corner, Savanna picked at lunch that afternoon, her thoughts on the wretched future that stretched out interminably before her. Would it, a sly voice in her brain asked, be so very terrible to be married to Adam St. Clair? Your child would have a name and be the legitimate heir to a respectable, possibly vast, fortune. It was true that there might be those who would turn up their noses at her antecedents, but Adam's acknowledged child was unlikely to face such prejudice. Was she fair in denying the child its rightful place?