Love a Dark Rider

by Shirlee Busbee

  Sara had often wondered if Yancy had received Sam's letters, but she wasn't in any mood to make excuses for him. Stubbornly she said, "That might be true, but why didn't he come and see his father before the war? And whether or not Margaret deserved to be killed isn't the point—it wasn't up to Yancy to make that decision!"

  Arms akimbo, a militant light in her hazel eyes. Tansy regarded Sara from across the room. "Are you so certain he killed her? He wasn't the only one who hated her. / was never very fond of her myself! Nor were a half-dozen other people I could name!"

  Sara couldn't argue with her. Everything that Tansy said was true, and while Sara had been almost positive that Yancy was the culprit, she had always had a tiny niggle of doubt. But whether that had been because she didn't want Yancy to have committed such a dastardly act or because there was some real cause for doubt, she had never been certain. She wasn't, however, going to discuss it with Tansy; it was very obvious where Tansy's loyalties lay, and the knot in Sara's stomach tightened even more.

  Deliberately changing the subject, she asked quietly, "Would you send Peggy up with a tray for me? I think I'll have breakfast in my room this morning."

  Tansy's expression was troubled. "Did you and Master Yancy have a fight last night? He said he'd seen you. What happened between you two to make you hide out here in your room like a scared rabbit?"

  A spot of color burning each cheek, Sara said sharply, ''Nothing happened! And I'm not hiding!"

  Tansy grinned. "Then if you're not hiding, I suggest you come down to the kitchen like you usually do and join us for breakfast."

  Sara sighed with exasperation. She was never certain how it happened, but Tansy and Bartholomew had a sneaky way of twisting things around, so that she generally ended up doing what they wanted. She glared at Tansy, but Tansy only winked at her and strolled toward the door.

  Over her shoulder. Tansy murmured, "Now, you just get yourself dressed and come on down like you always do. Don't be getting on your high horse for no reason."

  A reluctant laugh came from Sara. "Oh, go away. I'll be down shortly."

  Sara wasn't laughing some twenty minutes later as she made her way down the stairs and began to walk toward the kitchen, which was a small, detached building at the rear of the main house. The knowledge that she would be seeing Yancy again in a matter of minutes had her palms perspiring and her heart beating in funny little erratic movements, and she wished that those passionate moments in his arms last night had never happened.

  Crossing the short distance that separated the kitchen from the house, she nervously pushed back a strand of unruly hair that had refused to remain braided when she had fixed her hair in its usual tidy comet on top of her head. Just outside the door to the kitchen, she paused

  and took a deep breath. She was not going to let him rattle her! This was her home and she was mistress of Magnolia Grove! A determined smile on her mouth, she pushed open the door and walked in.

  To her intense disappointment, the kitchen was empty except for Peggy and Tansy. Feeling deflated after she had geared herself up to confront Yancy, she walked over to the scrubbed pine table and took her usual place at one side near the end.

  Almost from the day that Sam had left to fight for the Confederate cause, Sara had abandoned eating in the spacious dining room, having felt rather lonely and silly eating in solitary grandeur. For a while she had taken her meals in the smaller, more inviting morning room, but as the war had raged on, she had gradually drifted to the kitchen.

  Bartholomew had been openly outraged the first time he had caught her there, sipping coffee and talking comfortably with Tansy, but in time he had grown accustomed to it. At Magnolia Grove there was little of the rigid protocol that had once been the rule, and for quite a few years now, they had all lived together in a rather small, closed democratic society.

  Sara grimaced. Except, of course, things had changed once Sam had come home, and even more so when the Shelldrakes had come to live with them. Ann Shelldrake had been thoroughly affronted at the very idea that she would have to take her meals in the kitchen like common folks. She had badgered Sam unmercifully, until he had spent some of their precious resources on a decent table and chairs, which had been installed in the once grand dining room at Magnolia Grove. The Shelldrakes ate their meals there, while, except for supper, Sara continued to eat in the kitchen. She was comfortable there and it also gave her an excuse to be relieved from the tedium of Ann's complaints.

  Reflectively Sara sipped the strong, hot coffee Peggy had set in front of her, wondering just what the future held. Obviously things were going to change again and she wasn't so certain that she was going to be happy with those changes.

  "Did you want me to fry you some eggs and some ham?" Peggy asked softly, standing in front of the big black iron stove.

  Peggy was Tansy's sixteen-year-old half sister and they shared the same tall, lithe shape and finely honed features, although Peggy's skin was the rich, dark shade of chocolate and her eyes were as black as the night. Their mother had died three years ago and Tansy had taken to mothering Peggy almost unmercifully, but Peggy was a cheerful, amiable girl and for the most part she bore it with goodwill. Sara liked her immensely and she was grateful, too, that Peggy had chosen to throw her lot in with Bartholomew and Tansy and had remained at Magnolia Grove. With the granting of their freedom, except for one old rheumy-eyed black man and his woman who helped tend the garden and the stables, all the other slaves had gone to seek their fortunes elsewhere.

  Sara smiled at Peggy and said, "No, you don't have to cook me anything. This coffee will do just fine."

  Pouring herself a cup of coffee, Peggy joined Sara at the table and said slyly, "Mmm-um, isn't that Mr. Yancy a handsome gent! Why, he's just about the handsomest man I ever saw!"

  Tansy snorted and looked up from the bread she was kneading on the wooden counter nearby. "You just put those kinds of thoughts out of your head! I surely don't want you to get any ideas about him!"

  A sullen look came over Peggy's features and she muttered, "And I surely don't want you telling me what to do!"

  Sara had just opened her mouth to head off the argument that was brewing when the door to the kitchen flew open and Yancy and Bartholomew walked inside. Something exciting and dynamic entered the room with Yancy, and Sara thought it unfair that he should appear so virile and robust after she had spent a sleepless night. Obviously he hadn't! In a loose-fitting white shirt and buckskin breeches and boots, his hair falling in glossy black waves nearly to his broad shoulders and his Spanish-dark skin radiating vitality, he was the picture of health and vigor. He was also, she decided waspish-ly, far too attractive for his own good, and it took only one glance at Yancy's handsome face for her mind to go curiously blank and her heart to begin to behave in a most unseemly fashion.

  Rustered, she quickly swallowed some coffee as she frantically tried to get her thoughts in order, but she'd forgotten how hot the coffee was and promptly scalded her tongue—which, from the smile on Yancy's face, she suspected he knew. Her mouth burning, her emotions in an uproar, she set her cup down with a bang.

  "Good morning," she said with studied politeness. "Did you sleep well?"

  Yancy poured himself some coffee, sat down across from her, then asked bluntly over the rim of his cup, "Do you really care?"

  Sara could feel a flush start up her face, and hanging on to her temper with an effort, she said tightly, "I'm trying to be polite!"

  Yancy smiled, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I think," he said softly, "that you and I are long past the stage where we have to be so formal with each other, don't you?"

  Uncomfortably aware of the interested onlookers, Sara made one more attempt. "That may be, but there is no reason for us to be rude to each other."

  Yancy flicked up one heavy brow. "Oh, is that what you were last night? Rude?"

  "What the devil did you expect?" she burst out, exasperated. "You disappear for years; your father begged you to come to h
im as he lay dying, but you couldn't be bothered! You finally show up here without warning in the dead of night and you think I should have fallen on you in gratitude?"

  Yancy's mouth twitched and Sara had the unnerving impression that he found her amusing. Her teeth gritted together, she snarled, "Don't you dare humor me!"

  Yancy took another sip of his coffee before saying meekly, "My, how you do run on, dear stepmama! And such a temper!" He glanced across at Bartholomew. "You didn't tell me," he said lightly, "that she had a witch's tongue! Whatever happened to that sweet, innocent waif my father brought home?"

  Suppressing a strong urge to throw her hot coffee in his face, Sara rose grandly to her feet. Looking disdainfully down her delightful little nose, she snapped, "When you are through with your coffee, if we are to rub shoulders comfortably for the time we will both be here at Magnolia Grove, I think we should continue this discussion privately in Sam's office."

  A slow, sensuous smile spread across Yancy's face, a mocking light dancing in his eyes. "Believe me, chica, there is nothing I'd like better than to continue in Sam's office."

  Sara flushed hotly, well aware that he was referring to what had happened between them last night and not to the matter at hand! Damn him! Her chin high, she said, "Fine! I shall expect you there in a few moments."

  She meant to sweep regally from the room, but as she turned, the kitchen door opened once more and Hyrum Bumell entered. There was an odd moment of silence as the former overseer took in the scene before him.

  Hyrum had followed Sam to war, fighting valiantly at his side, but unlike Sam, had come home unscathed. There was no longer anything for him to oversee at Magnolia Grove, but there was work aplenty for him to do and Sam had promised him continued employment, even in spite of their changed circumstances. When Sam died, Sara had continued to follow Sam's wishes—frankly glad to have Hyrum's help. He was loyal and had always been very polite and most pleasant to her, and though she kept him at a distance, she had begun to suspect that he had amorous thoughts about her.

  Despite her concern about his feelings for her, Sara had made plans for him to follow her to Casa Paloma— she was going to need all the help she could get in her new endeavors, and why not Hyrum? He had proved to be hard-working and dependable, and as long as he didn't step over the invisible line she kept between them, Sara was confident that he would be invaluable at Casa Paloma.

  It was apparent from the curt nod Hyrum finally sent in Yancy's direction that he was already aware of Yancy's return, and from the set of his jaw it was also apparent that he wasn't precisely cheered about it either. Looking at Sara, Hyrum tugged politely at the brim of his hat and murmured, "Morning, missus. Thought you'd like to know that old Noah and me plan to plant that field of com today. After we get that done, did you want us to start plowing up the north forty?"

  As Hyrum had started speaking, Yancy had gotten up and lazily walked over to stand just behind Sara. To her surprise, he rested one hand familiarly on her shoulder and she had the uneasy sensation that he was somehow staking a claim on her, sending some sort of primitive male message to Hyrum. Forestalling her reply, Yancy said smoothly to Hyrum, "My memory must be playing tricks on me, Hyrum, but I could swear that when I spoke

  to you earlier this morning, I distinctly said I wanted you to start going through the storage sheds and getting rid of everything that isn't usable anymore. Was I wrong?"

  A pugnacious cast to his mouth, Hyrum replied, "I take my orders from Mistress Sara—not from the likes of you!"

  Yancy's hand tightened on Sara's shoulder, keeping her where she was when she would have moved away from him. Everyone seemed to be waiting to see how she would handle this confrontation, and cursing Yancy for putting her in this position, she said quietly to Hyrum, "Since Yancy has already given you your orders for the day, I suggest that you do as he says." Then, coolly throwing off Yancy's hand, she whirled around to face him. "And I would appreciate it if you would please discuss it with me first before you issue orders to my employees!"

  Yancy observed her angry expression for a long moment; then, taking hold of her upper arm, he said silkily, "I think it's time that you and I had that private discussion, don't you?"

  Not giving her a chance to agree, he half marched, half dragged her from the kitchen. In an angry, simmering silence they made their v/ay the short distance to the main house. Flinging off Yancy's hold on her arm once they were inside, Sara headed for Sam's office, a dozen scathing remarks she intended to hurl at him buzzing around in her brain.

  Positioning herself behind the desk, she glowered at Yancy as he closed the door behind them and strolled indolently over to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Just as he had done last night, he settled back comfortably in the chair, propped his booted feet on the comer of the desk and crossed his ankles. Idly, as if he had all the time in the world, he found a thin black cheroot, and only after he had it lit to his satisfaction and a narrow

  stream of blue smoke wafted near his dark head did he speak.

  "I suppose," he said slowly, "that I should be thankful you didn't countermand my orders out of sheer pigheadedness."

  "Sheer pigheadedness!" Sara gasped in fury. "How dare you! In case you forget, for nearly the last six years I have run Magnolia Grove by myself Hyrum Bumell is my employee! We may be forced to share Sam's estate, but I will not have you coming in here disrupting my household and ordering about the people working for me—is that understood?"

  He regarded her impassively across the width of the desk, the expression in his amber-gold eyes hard to define. "Since you brought it up, perhaps before we go any further with this little conversation, you would be good enough to explain to me the exact terms of Sam's will. All I know is what I learned from the all-too-brief letter that Henderson sent to me: Sam had died, you were his widow and I was one of the main heirs to his estate." His mouth tightened. "You might also want to explain why the Shelldrakes are living here. The last I heard, Tom Shelldrake was a wealthy man—far wealthier than Sam, if memory serves me."

  Sara's mouth suddenly went dry as the awful knowledge occurred to her— Yancy didn't know the full terms of Sam's Willi Fright mixing with anger now, she stared uneasily over at him, but, determined not to be browbeaten, she asked nastily, "Didn't Bartholomew tell you? Since you two seemed to have discussed me, I wonder that he didn't also tell you about Tom and Ann."

  "The Shelldrakes didn't interest me at the time," he replied sharply. "You did!"

  Sara's heart dropped clear to her feet at his words and she tried to ignore the sudden fuzziness in her head. "I don't see why," she muttered.

  "Don't you, sweetheart?" Yancy drawled derisively. "Didn't you think I'd be interested in the young woman my father married? A woman almost young enough to be his granddaughter? A seemingly innocent little waif, without family or fortune, who took blatant advantage of a tragic set of circumstances? Didn't you think I'd be just a bit interested in her?" His voice had grown harsher with every word he spoke and his eyes were narrowed as he stared at her through the blue haze of his cheroot's smoke. Her stricken silence seemed to enrage him further. He stood up, tossing the cheroot in the brass spittoon near his chair; placing his hands on either side of the desk, he leaned forward until his dark face was only inches from hers. "Didn't you think I'd be interested in this clever woman who insinuated herself into my father's home and who managed to make certain that she figured largely in the dispersal of my father's estate? A woman, my own father's widow, who just last night let me kiss and fondle her? Didn't you think it would be reasonable that I'd want to learn everything I could about such an opportunistic, conniving little creature?"

  Mutely Sara stared back at him, her eyes very big and green in her white face, the inky blackness of her gown making her look extremely young and vulnerable. His words and the fury behind them nearly devastated her. She had known all along that Yancy would take the worst possible view of her marriage to Sam, but somehow she hadn't expected it to h
urt so badly. Many people assumed that she had married Sam for his fortune, and though that had hurt deeply, she had borne their scandalized looks and sly malice with fortitude. But this, this was far more painful than anything she had imagined!

  To her utter horror, she felt her eyes start to swim with tears, but she was determined not to let him see how his words had wounded her. Her jaw tightened and she said doggedly, "You could have asked me—I would

  have explained everything to you. You didn't have to go sneaking around and questioning my servants!"

  "I didn't," he said through gritted teeth, "go sneaking around! You seem to forget that while you have lived here for the past six or seven years, / grew up here— and as for questioning your servants .. ." He stopped and swore softly under his breath. Looking at her with open dislike, he said, "Bartholomew is my uncle, for God's sake! Even if his mother was black and he was bom on the wrong side of the blanket!" His mouth twisted. "You might say that Bartholomew and I share not only the same blood but the same heritage—we are both considered half-breeds, and believe me, sweetheart, that makes a bond which few people can understand!"

  Feeling as if somehow he had turned the tables on her and she were the one at fault, she said defensively, "That may be true, but you had no right to start issuing orders to Hyrum—or to make unfounded assumptions about me!"

  "Is that so?" he replied softly and, to Sara's relief, slowly sank back into his seat.

  Her head held at an imperious angle, she nodded curtly. "Yes, that's so!"

  "Then suppose you explain to me where I went wrong. . . . Aren't you very young to have been Sam's wife? And did I misunderstand the situation, but weren't you penniless and without family when he rescued you and brought you here to Magnolia Grove? Was I wrong about that?" Yancy spit the words out like bullets and, daggers in his eyes, he accused softly, "And didn't you marry him? And didn't you inherit a large share of his estate? Tell me, Sara, where did I go wrong?"