Love a Dark Rider

by Shirlee Busbee

  Ann's expression changed immediately. "Has he found Yancy?" she demanded. "Do you think that at last we will be able to settle Sam's estate and make some improvements in this wretched place?"

  Bartholomew snorted, but Sara stopped the rude comment he was about to make by sending him a severe glance and saying sweetly, "Bartholomew, would you please prepare a tray of refreshments for Mrs. Shelldrake and her husband, and one for me and Mi". Henderson?"

  Bartholomew grimaced, recognizing from Sara's tone that she wasn't going to let him bait Ann Shelldrake any further. Aware that Ann was watching him, he gave Sara a deep, respectful bow. "As you wish, madam. I shall see to it immediately^

  Watching him stride away, Ann gritted her teeth together. "I wish to God that Margaret had been able to send him to the fields before she died! Maybe feeling the lash of the overseer's v/hip would have taught him some respect for his betters!"

  "I doubt it!" Sara replied tartly. "Whether a butler or a field hand, Bartholomew is a very proud, intelligent man, and if your sister had been able to convince Sam to send him to work in the cotton fields, which was high-

  ly unlikely, Fm sure that within six months it would have been Bartholomew who was the overseer wielding the whip and not Hyrum Bumell! Now, if you will excuse me, I must go see Mr. Henderson."

  A stout, florid gentleman of some fifty years of age, Mr. Henderson was pacing impatiently up and down the scrap of worn carpet that lay on the floor in front of the battered old oak desk that had replaced the elegantly carved walnut one that had been sold in support of the Confederate cause. Mr. Henderson was frowning, but at the sight of Sara crossing the room toward him, his frown vanished and a benevolent smile crossed his face.

  There was much about Sara to make most men smile. At twenty-four years of age, she had finally lived up to the promise of startling beauty that had been hers at seventeen. Like Ann, she was wearing a once fine gown of black silk, and like Ann's, hers had also been purchased because of Margaret's death and was worn now in mourning for Sam Cantrell; but there the similarity ended. While Ann's gown gave her an air of matron-liness, Sara's black gown seemed to intensify her very youth and the lovely fragility of her features. The somber color of the garment only emphasized the creamy matte texture of her fine skin and called attention to the delicate curve of her chin and her high cheekbones. Her honey-gold hair, still worn neatly in a comet of braids, seemed brighter and more golden against the black material, and her slender arched brows and long lashes which framed her bright emerald eyes were equally as dark as the ebony gown. An innocently beguiling smile, a smile that had been known to make more than one man think he had been struck by lightning, curved her generously shaped mouth and her voice was warm as she said, "Mr. Henderson! I hope that you have not been waiting long."

  Standing far too close, he ardently clasped her slim hand in one of his and patted it enthusiastically. "When a man waits for a woman as lovely as you, time has no meaning," he said gallantly.

  "Why, Mr. Henderson! What a lovely thing to say!" Sara murmured and lowered her lids demurely. "It is no wonder that Mrs. Henderson is such a happy wife—and after all these years." Dulcetly she asked, "How m.any years is it, now, that you have been married to that excellent wife of yours?"

  Loosening his grip on her hand, he muttered sheepishly, "Eh! Near on thirty years." His smile faded.

  Deftly putting some distance between them, Sara asked, "Was there something in particular that you wanted to see me about?"

  Mr. Henderson's smile returned. "My dear!" he exclaimed happily. "I have excellent news for you— I have just received word that my messenger has located Yancy at Fort Cobb on the Washita River in Indian Territory. When informed of his father's death, Yancy immediately resigned his commission from the Union Army and is, even as we speak, on his way here. He could arrive within the next few days."

  Only by the greatest effort was Sara able to keep her own smile from slipping. This was what she wanted, what they all had been waiting for—but now that Yancy's return was imminent, she was suddenly full of doubts and, quite frankly, terrified!

  In those days immediately following the discovery of Margaret's body, there had been much vociferous speculation in the neighborhood about the probable murderer. Yancy Cantrell was at the top of nearly everyone's lists of suspects, but beyond his well-known hatred of his stepmother and his threats to kill her, there was no proof. The authorities would have very much liked to charge him in Margaret's death, but fortunately for

  Yancy, he had an excellent, if highly suspicious, alibi—he had spent the night discussing business in the library with his father—they had not parted until dawn was streaking across the skies, and Sam was willing to testify to that fact. No one really believed that Sam was telling the truth; almost unanimously, the community decided that Sam was just doing the natural thing by protecting his only child. But since Margaret had had a knack for making enemies and had been universally disliked, whereas Sam was a highly respected, longstanding member of the neighborhood and most people remembered Yancy as a bewildered, motherless little boy, no one was willing to press the issue. The plain and simple truth of the matter was that there were a lot of people who had a motive for killing Margaret Cantrell! Yancy might have been favored as the killer, but his father's alibi, as well as the fact that there had been nothing more substantial than gossip and innuendo to tie him to the crime, forced the authorities to cast about for other suspects. For a while, the Cantrell butler, Bartholomew Anderson, had come under close scrutiny, as had Hyrum Bumell, the overseer; there had even been, for a short time, the wild and titillatingly scandalous theory that Ann Shelldrake or her husband, Thomas, could have done the ghastly deed, and it had also been whispered that Sam Cantrell might have stabbed Margaret himself! Even Sara had not escaped without having had her name bandied about as a possible suspect, and she could still remember going to bed at night wondering if she would be charged with murder the next morning!

  Margaret Cantrell's death had caused an orgy of gossip and malicious speculation in the San Felipe area, and the notoriety the family had endured hadn't abated when the local authorities had finally been compelled to give up their investigation without having found a murderer. It was months before the worst of the gossip had died

  down and the sheriff or one of his deputies had ceased skulking around the grounds of Magnolia Grove looking for evidence.

  Yancy had not stayed at Magnolia Grove after his stepmother had been buried, and Sara had been uncomfortably aware in the days before Margaret's funeral that there had been an increasingly strained air between father and son. Once, to her dismay, she had inadvertently interrupted a terrible argument between them. Sam had wanted Yancy to stay, but Yancy had been adamant about leaving. His departure for Rancho del Sol within a day of the funeral had intensified the gossip and suspicion.

  The anxious days and months following Margaret's death were not remembered by Sara with any fondness, and over the years she had laid the sole blame for the tragedy that had beset Sam squarely on Yancy's broad shoulders. Most days she was firmly convinced that Yancy had murdered Margaret; almost as bad, he had coerced his father into lying for him and had cravenly made her an accomplice to his crime by using her affection for Sam to keep her mouth shut about the Spanish dagger! And, having accomplished all of this, he had then coolly ridden away, never to step foot on Magnolia Grove again.

  And now, Sara thought with a fresh rush of indignation, she was to share Sam's estate with the same man who had attempted to seduce her—how else could she satisfactorily explain that shocking incident on the stairs her first night at Magnolia Grove and her less than maidenly response to his kiss? Without a doubt, Yancy was a cruel-hearted blackguard who, after Margaret's death, had simply abandoned his father. Ignored him completely. A man who had refused to answer or even acknowledge any of the beseeching letters Sam had sent him as he lay dying.

  Sara didn't begrudge Yancy one penny of his father's estate, but she found i
t highly galling that all of Sam's earthly belongings were to be divided between her and an unprincipled villain who had in all likelihood murdered his stepmother, turned his back on his father and proved himself a traitor to Texas by joining the Union Army!

  But it wasn't those sins that made Sara dread Yancy's return. What filled her with stark terror was Yancy's no-doubt murderous reaction when he discovered that she was now his stepmother, the widow of his father, and that Sam had left her Casa Paloma.

  5

  Despite the turmoil within her breast, Sara got through the rest of the day. She tried very hard not to think about Yancy's arrival. As a matter of fact, she tried very hard not to think about Yancy at all, which was difficult because Ann couldn't seem to stop talking about him and speculating about what would happen when he arrived at Magnolia Grove.

  By the time she retired to bed that evening, Sara had an excruciatingly painful headache. Restlessly she tossed and turned in her bed, the throbbing in her temples nearly making her cry aloud with the pain.

  Lying there awake, attempting to think of something more tranquil than her probable demise once Yancy did return, Sara stared blindly at the ceiling, wondering at the vagaries of fate.

  An ironic smile touched her lips. How very different everything had worked out than what she had imagined when she had first met Sam Cantrell! Who could have known that his wife would be murdered? Who could have known that, almost a year to the day later. Fort Sumter in South Carolina would be fired upon and that the country would be convulsed by a long and deadly civil war? Or that Sam, deeply concerned about what would happen to her while he was gone fighting for the South, would convince her, much against her will, to

  marry him? How could she have known that he would return home from the war a ruined and dying man?

  Even now, six years after the event, it seemed incredible to her that she had allowed Sam to talk her into marrying him. She had not loved him in that way, and he had made it clear at the outset that he did not intend for the marriage to be anything but one of convenience and that he had no intention of ever consummating the union. The marriage would be solely to ensure that she would be taken care of if something should happen to him, and Sam had assured her that they would have it annulled when the war was over.

  At eighteen, Sara had been full of girlish dreams, and she squirmed uneasily when she remembered that quite a few of those dreams had involved Yancy Cantrell! Certainly at that age she'd entertained no thoughts of marrying the father of the man who haunted her most private thoughts, a distant relative to whom she was inordinately grateful for all the kindness he had shown her. n fact, it was that gratefulness to Sam that in the end made her go along with his wishes for a marriage of convenience.

  The next afternoon, with a disapproving Ann and Thomas Shelldrake looking on, Sara had married Sam. Two days later, he had left for Virginia, and his bride had not seen him again for almost four years, when he had come home a shattered man to die.

  Giving up all pretense of sleep, Sara got out of bed and, since the rain had stopped hours earlier, wandered out onto the balcony. A mirthless smile curved her lips. Seven years ago, she had stood on this very balcony and overheard that distasteful conversation between Ann and Margaret; even now she sometimes wondered if she was wrong to suspect Yancy of killing Margaret. Ann and Thomas Shelldrake had had as good a motive as anyone!

  Disgustedly she jerked her thoughts away from useless speculation, returning her concentration to more recent events—in particular, Sam's condition when he had finally returned home from the war two years ago. He had come home to die; that was obvious from the moment he had been unloaded from the rickety wagon which had delivered him.

  Sara thought it ironic that Sam should have managed to escape unscathed all the years of the war, only to be horribly wounded at Sayler's Creek, one of the last bat-des of the Civil War. His horse had been shot out from underneath him and he had sustained many wounds; because of the severity of his injuries, both his legs had been amputated above the knees, and with pieces of shrapnel still buried in other parts of his body, he had returned to Magnolia Grove, a pitiful shadow of the man he had been. Despite the grievous wounds to his body, his spirit would not die. He managed to live for eighteen more months before finally succumbing. He had never mentioned annulling their marriage and Sara had never pressed the issue, as she had not wemted to upset him during the precious little time he had.

  Sara's eyes filled with tears. He had been so gallant, so full of life despite his infirmities, and though he had been dead for six months, she still found it hard to believe that he was gone.

  Her lips tightened. Sam had been such an innately good man and he had certainly deserved better than a wife like Margaret and a son like Yancy! Her opinion of Yancy Cantrell had never been high, but his actions while his father lay dying were reprehensible!

  He could have at least answered one of Sam's letters, Sara thought bitterly. But he hadn't. At first Sam had excused him by speculating that the letters hadn't reached him, and grudgingly Sara conceded that perhaps that might be true. In the beginning, they had sent the

  letters to del Sol, and had not known for months that Yancy had joined the Union Arniy at the outbreak of the war and was no longer at the rancho. Sam had written then to the Department of the Army, seeking word of his son, but still there had been no response. In fact, it wasn't until Mr. Henderson's visit today that there had been any definite word of his whereabouts—and if Mr. Henderson hadn't sent someone to personally find Yancy and inform him of his father's death, it was likely that Yancy still wouldn't know that Sam had died ... or that I am his stepmama, Sara thought nervously.

  The throbbing in her temples suddenly spiked painfully and she left the balcony and went back to her room. After shrugging into a worn green velvet robe, she decided to go downstairs. Familiarly making her way in the dark to Sam's office, she entered and, after quietly shutting the door, quickly lit a lamp. Opening the bottom drawer of Sam's desk, she found the bottle of brandy he kept there—strictly for "medicinal" purposes, he had told her often with a twinkle in his eyes. A wry smile crossed her features. It had been at Sam's gentle prodding that she had learned of the remarkably relaxing propensities of brandy, and it seemed only fitting that she should drink it in his office, where they had spent so many happy, tranquil hours together before his death. Pouring herself a healthy dose of the amber liquor in one of the thick glasses which she retrieved from the same drawer as the brandy, she settled back in Sam's black leather chair and slowly sipped her drink.

  As the minutes passed and the burning warmth of the brandy flowed smoothly through her tense body, she could feel a gradual lessening of the apprehension that had beset her from the moment she had learned that Yancy was indeed on his way to Magnolia Grove. He wasn't, she acknowledged uneasily, going to be very happy with the situation.

  No doubt there were many sins of which Yancy Cantrell was guilty, but she didn't honestly believe that he had been overly mercenary. He probably didn't care that Sam had left her a half interest in Magnolia Grove, or that Sam had willed her the tidy sum which had been safely squirreled away in a bank account in New York that Sam had opened before the war. Casa Paloma, however, was an entirely different story. Casa Paloma had been Alvarez land for generations and Yancy had made it brutally clear that he would stop at nothing to ensure that it stayed Alvarez land! He was going to be blazingly furious when he learned the peculiar circumstances of her ownership. For reasons which were clear only to himself, Sam hadn't exactly left Casa Paloma to her outright. Casa Paloma was hers to do with as she wished, for her lifetime, but title to the land was actually held in trust for the heirs of her body —her children!

  Sara took a big gulp of the brandy. Her children! What could Sam have been thinking of! An uncertain giggle broke from her. She'd been married, been a bride and was now a widow, but she had never been a real wife, and had never, ever been in a position to conceive a child! And Sam had left Casa Paloma to h
er children! It was insane!

  Well, one thing Sam had ensured by his puzzling will—she needn't really worry that Yancy would murder her for Casa Paloma—if she died without issue, Bartholomew and Tansy were to inherit the rancho. There was no way that Yancy could ever get his hands on it unless he was willing to commit wholesale murder. Of course, there was one other way. . . .

  Yancy could never regain Casa Paloma unless . . . She swallowed painfully. Casa Paloma was lost to anyone of Alvarez blood unless she were to bear Yancy's child!

  Merciful heavens! Was that why Sam had set up his will in such an incomprehensible manner? Had he been

  hoping that she and Yancy would marry and have children? That Yancy would be so driven to keep Casa Paloma in the family that he would make certain that any children she had were his? But it would never work, she thought feverishly. Yancy could already be married—or what if she fell in love and married someone else?

  Another, even more unsettling thought crossed her mind. She'd been thinking of marriage in connection with children, but in order to have children, one didn't need to be married. She took another gulp of her brandy, the most shocking and horrifying ideas galloping through her brain. Suppose Yancy kidnapped her and kept her in isolation until he had accomplished his nefarious deed?

  A curious shiver went through her as she imagined what it would be like to be his prisoner, her body his to use as he desired. ... A heated flush encompassed her and the memory of Yancy's mouth on hers, the texture and warmth of it, came flooding back. Almost as if it had happened only seconds ago, she could recall the taste of him on her tongue, the sensation of her breasts crushed against his chest, and all the wild emotions she had felt then came rushing to life again. To her shamed horror, she realized that the idea of having Yancy Cantrell work his will on her, even if for all the wrong reasons, wasn't as repugnant and distasteful as it should have been.