Inside Adams’s retreat, Rhys sat in a chair of scarlet velvet that had a soft and comfortable biscuit-tufted back. Adams felt relaxed inside his private quarters. He stood at a cabinet and poured whiskey into short crystal glasses, served his guest, then stood back as Rhys drank his portion.
“Superb,” Rhys said, deciding one swallow of the excellent, mellow whiskey was reward enough for listening to Adams. “Is your ranch near Wishbone?” he asked strictly out of politeness, sure Adams had invited him in so that he might have someone new to impress with talk of his grand plans and holdings.
“It’s north of here and growing,” Adams said. He’d drawn up to his desk and, glass in hand, leaned a hip against the corner of it. “Two thousand acres and I’ve another five hundred closer in. One day it will all be one big spread.” Adams said, pausing to allow the size and scope of what he owned and planned to own sink in. Then he reached an arm back and flipped open the humidor on his desk and offered Rhys one of the cigars inside. “The finest,” he said.
“I thank you.” Having felt a recent lack of luxuries, Rhys gladly accepted, gave the cigar an appreciative sniff and searched his pocket for a match.
“Try this.” Adams had a silver object in his hand, a palm-sized case which he stroked across the top with his thumb. A small flame leaped out and Adams leaned down to light Rhys’s cigar. “Better than a match,” he said of the pocket lighter. “Just had it sent from back East.”
Adams snapped the lighter shut and handed it to Rhys. He experimented with it a few moments. After satisfying his curiosity about the gadget, he handed it back. Already Rhys had observed that the office decor, with its fine cherry paneling and furnishings and softly hued Oriental rug, was a cut above the Diamond’s main room and a testament that Adams did indeed like fine things.
“I might wonder,” Rhys said between draws on the cigar, “why a man of your tastes isn’t back East.”
“Opportunity,” Adams said with no hesitancy. “It’s as abundant as the desert out here. A smart man in this territory could—” He’d been about to say “build an empire the like of which has never been seen” but he heeled in his enthusiasm. “Well there’s no limit to what a man can do,” he said instead. Eyes gleaming, he took a drink, waited a moment and added, “I’m a man who likes living where there are no limits.”
“A gambler’s philosophy as well,” Rhys said. “No limits at the table, no limits at life.” He ended the comparison there. He wasn’t in the mood to get into a philosophical discussion, he had too much emotional sorting-out to do privately.
Rhys finished the whiskey shortly, probably too quickly but Adams’s braggadocio bothered him and he was anxious to find a game. He thanked Adams for the drink and stood, noticing then, for the first time, a small glass case near a wall of bookcases. The figurine inside, the sole object on display in the case, was exquisite, quite exceeding anything he expected to see in Wishbone. He walked over to the case confirming that the work was similar to others he’d seen in Paris museums. “Remarkable,” he said. “Chinese, isn’t it?”
Adams nodded affirmatively. “Jade,” he said with enough aplomb to express his pride in the piece. “Extraordinarily fine.” Smiling proudly, he, too, walked over to the case. “I bought it in San Francisco,” he said. “The owner was reluctant to sell but eventually I convinced him to part with it.” At that he gave an indifferent shrug, remembering the payment had been a bullet in the ancient Chinaman’s back. “But you would not know how the Chinese like to hold on to these old pieces and anyway—” Turning, he walked off, picked up Rhys’s glass, took it to the liquor cabinet and refilled it. “Sit down,” Adams said firmly. “Finish your cigar. Have another drink and allow me to tell you about something else I am anxious to acquire.”
Not about to turn down what was possibly the only good whiskey in Wishbone, Rhys did precisely what Adams was urging, even though it meant listening to another round of the man’s boasting of his possessions. “You are kind,” Rhys said smoothly, “to a stranger. I must think of a way to reciprocate.”
“Hear me out then,” Adams said. “Maybe we can be of service to each other.”
“Perhaps,” Rhys said. Recalling that Adams had complimented his card playing the last time he had been at the Diamond, Rhys assumed the man was about to offer him a deal running a game in the saloon. Or maybe he wanted to bankroll him in a high-stakes game. He was willing to consider either. He had learned early on that a man without money was also a man without power. He did not like the feeling. So, resolved to put aside what was troubling him a few minutes longer, Rhys settled in the soft velvet chair and listened intently as Adams explained what was on his mind.
“In addition to ranching and my other business enterprises I have a stage line in the north country,” he said. “A feeder line. Adams Overland. I am anxious to expand the limited routes so that my line serves the territory from border to border.” His lean fingers traced the curve of one side of his dark waxed mustache. “The hindrance to that is the existence of another line in this region.”
“The Gamble Line,” Rhys supplied. He looked up at Adams with rising curiosity but true to his vocation did not give away his emotion as he took a slow draw on the cigar, emitted a cloud of smoke and said levelly, “Surely this region could support more than one line.”
Adams shook his head vigorously. “No line runs for long without a mail contract,” he said. “And the Gamble Line has a deal with Wells Fargo that amounts to a five-year agreement for this region. My line, though it’s better by far, can’t compete as long as that is the case. And as you must understand, five years is a long time to wait, and the Gamble Line could succeed in renewing when the present contract is done.” Rhys was anxious to appear unemotional. Adams drank down the whiskey in his glass and set it aside. “What I have in mind” he said, “is combining the two companies, a deal I think any sensible person would agree is good for both lines, as both will be bigger and stronger than before.”
Rhys was beginning to see that he had not been invited for a drink because of his cosmopolitan ways or his gambling skills. He could also see that Adams was suggesting that Teddy Gamble was not a sensible person. With that he had to concur. Possibly Adams had put the question of a merger to her and been flatly, vehemently, refused. And, somehow, in all likelihood Adams had learned he was Teddy’s unwilling partner.
Feeling the kind of rush he felt when a game got interesting, when he knew the cards were about to fall his way, Rhys drew down again on the cigar.
“That sounds sensible,” he said, realizing that Adams thought he would immediately reveal his hand and suggest that his shares, in Adams’s possession, could achieve exactly what the other man wanted. But he did not make the suggestion or even confirm that he had the shares which Adams evidently wanted. Never one to flinch, no matter what cards he held, he nonchalantly sipped his drink and proceeded carefully and skillfully to calculate just what Parrish Adams had that he, Rhys Delmar, might want.
“Money,” Adams said. “You would think it would be as simple as that, but no, not for the Gamble family. They have some notion that a family business is not to be tampered with, not even in the face of greater efficiency and higher profits. I made an offer to buy out Theodor Gamble but he refused. When he died I made the same offer to his daughter thinking she would be grateful for a chance to cash in a business a woman’s got no place running. But—well, you’ve met her. Talking to Teddy Gamble is like talking to a post.”
Giving Rhys time to think on what he’d said, Adams moved around his desk and sat in his leather chair where, framed by the rich trappings of his office, he waited for Rhys to comment.
“She has a stubborn nature,” Rhys agreed, “but as for running the stage line she seems quite capable.”
“Capable?” Adams laughed. “She’s holding on by a thread and staying in business by sheer luck. Her line’s had a series of holdups,” he said bluntly. “The one on your run was not the first and will not be the last.
A line run by a woman looks like and is easy prey to every highwayman in the territory,” he added. “What does a woman know about protecting lives? Believe me, I’d be doing her a favor by buying into her business or buying her out. She knows it too. She’s just too mule-headed to admit she’s close to losing all.”
Now he had aroused concern. Rhys, uncharacteristically, almost broke his stony, poker face and revealed that Adams’s words alarmed him. And well they did. If the Gamble Line was in danger of going under, then his shares, on which so much of his life hinged, might be valueless. Fortunately he remembered that in gaming a man often overstated his hand. “If the Gamble Line is in distress, why not wait out its demise and buy cheap?” Rhys queried.
“Because,” Adams said grittily, “I for one do not find patience a virtue. I am ready to expand the routes of Adams Overland. Now.” He had his palms flat on the surface of his desk. His face was tight. “Just as I am ready to end this parleying. Both of us know what this talk is about.” He leaned toward Rhys. His face was bland, although his pupils had widened. “You have Zack Gamble’s shares of the Gamble Line. I am prepared to offer you ten thousand dollars for them. Immediately. Before you leave this office. It’s better than Teddy can pay you now or later. So—” He pushed himself up and stood staring down at Rhys. “—take my advice and sell.”
Rhys gulped the last of his drink then coolly smiled up at Adams, getting a measure of satisfaction that the saloonkeeper had shown his hand first. “Your offer tempts me,” he said, knowing that Adams’s yielding so quickly indicated a level of desperation that could be worth far more than ten thousand dollars. “But as it is unexpected and bears thought, you must allow me time.” Unperturbed by Adams’s sudden sour look, he continued. “I came here today to play cards and, I fear, I’ve not the presence of mind to negotiate on a matter of such importance.”
Adams looked briefly dumbfounded—an expression Rhys did not miss and which he found mildly gratifying. Adams would offer considerably more later. In the meantime he could use the present offer to persuade Teddy to be more malleable. Yes. He smiled broadly. This was turning into a grand day.
He had but one ill thought. It was that his faculties were not up to snuff. In all the time he’d been in Wishbone, it had not occurred to him that someone outside the Gamble Line might be interested in buying his shares. But he bet it had occurred to Teddy. She was the smooth one, bluffing him all the way. Tonight he was going to call her bluff. He didn’t think he would have sold out to Adams had the offer been twice the ten thousand offered, not until he’d gotten some enjoyment from tormenting Teddy as much as she had him.
Rhys excused himself, leaving Adams baffled and angry that he had been turned down, though he carefully concealed his disappointment with a smile and flippant parting words.
“Take your time,” he said. “The Gamble Line is worth less every day. I could get it for nothing.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rhys said, feeling as pleased with himself as he’d been since arriving in the frontier town. Adams had made a poor bluff and Rhys didn’t believe a word of it.
As he engaged in a game of poker a few minutes later, Rhys felt that his wits were sharp as a razor. He thanked Adams for that. Rhys was so enthusiastic about his new state of affairs that he was oblivious to Harley leaving the bar and once again going to the boss’s office.
“You wanted me?” the big man wiped his hands on the apron stretched across his middle.
Adams had a cold look in his eye that made the burly bartender flinch. He hoped he was not responsible for putting it there. “Harley.” The voice was ice. The obvious menace in his tone put Harley even more on guard. “Let Delmar play out the game he’s in, then pass the word to the regulars that he’s poison.”
“You want to shut him out?”
“Completely,” Adams snarled, causing the short hairs on the back of Harley’s neck to rise.
“Shouldn’t be no trouble,” Harley returned. “The boys ain’t gonna mind backin’ off somebody that cleans ’em out every time he sits down. I’ll make sure I tell ’em what’s what soon as Delmar leaves,” he said, pleasantly satisfied that it was the Frenchman who had drawn Adams’s ire. Harley knew the depth of his boss’s temper. He had no wish ever to feel it directed at him. Which was not to say he did not enjoy seeing someone else suffer under that dark wrath. He wondered how Delmar had gotten on the wrong side of Adams so fast. “What’s that foreigner done?” he erred in asking. “Tried to cheat you?”
Adams’s sneering smile unnerved Harley and the bartender immediately regretted his inquiry.
“Not that’s it’s any of your business, Harley, but the son of a bitch has something I want and he just turned down my offer for it.” His voice was low. His face was the color of a white-hot coal. Adams swore. “But mark my words and mark them good. Before I’m done with Delmar he’ll want to give it to me.”
Reprieved, Harley was suddenly anxious to please Adams. “You want me to see he doesn’t come back in the Diamond after today?” he asked. Of all Adams’s men Harley had been with him the longest. The bartender was loyal to a fault and felt no compunction about giving a customer the boot should Adams say the word.
“No,” Adams stated. “Let him come in at will. I want to watch him so I’ll know when to make my next offer.”
Understanding, Harley laughed.
Chapter 20
Rhys had won every hand. Nevertheless, he left his gaming partners smiling with a victor’s round of drinks in their bellies. He did not recall when he had played better—a testament that a man’s mood was the key to success. Admittedly, the low stakes had not added up to make him rich, but he was no longer a pauper and, in the greater game, the one he played with Teddy, he felt assured of winning.
Not ready for a return to Mae’s he stopped off at a cafe and ordered the highest-priced meal plus a bottle of wine for his own private celebration of his change of fortune.
When he had finished his repast he stepped out into the deepening dusk in time to see the magnificence of a desert sunset. The sky was fused with amber and coral and the craggy mountains in the distance transformed to gold as the fading light fell over them. He strolled along the street, watching the shadows grow into total darkness that was again transformed by the lighting of lanterns inside windows. He was as happy as he’d been in months. And he had nowhere to go and nobody to share his happiness with.
He thought of Honor but there was really nothing he could tell her and she wasn’t the one who could satisfy the other yearning he had. That would be Teddy, but she was probably already at the ranch. Even if she was around, he had about as much chance of cozying up to her as safely hugging a cactus. On top of that he wanted to let her stew a few days, let her worry and wonder if he was making a deal with Adams.
The little she-cat had put him through it and he wanted to return the favor. He smiled as he thought of her rousing him out of Honor’s room at the Diamond. Teddy must have been tied in knots wondering if Adams had included the girl as part payment in a deal for the shares. She was something, Teddy Gamble, hard as granite but she had to have a soft side. He wondered...
His rambling had brought him to the Gamble stable. Half expecting a challenge, he opened a door and walked in, but found only the horses inside. Someone had left a lantern lit. Casting a wide spray of golden light, it softly illuminated the big barn. Careless, or else someone was coming back. Bullet, he reasoned. If that mare he had seen earlier was ready to drop her foal she was sure to need someone with her.
The animal nickered as he approached her stall. She was still standing, but her head was down and there were signs that she was in labor. Making sure he didn’t spook her he carefully and quietly entered the stall and gave the mare a few comforting pats. She snorted but didn’t even try to get her head up. A few moments later she dropped down on the straw and began thrashing her legs, obviously in more distress than a healthy animal giving birth ought to be.
“Sacré bleu!”
Rhys swore softly. The way she was blowing and kicking meant something was seriously wrong and he feared that without help she was never going to deliver the foal.
Reluctantly, after calling out to be sure there was no one else around, Rhys slipped out of his coat and hung it over the stall gate. While talking soothingly to the mare he rolled his sleeves, pushed them over his elbows and untied the blue cravat at his throat. With the cravat tucked away in a coat pocket he loosened his collar. Resigned to the job of delivering the foal, he knelt beside the mare.
An hour passed with the animal alternately calmed and struggling to rise. Knowing she would do herself harm if he left her, Rhys stayed on his knees at her side, humming a French lullaby and stroking her sweat-dampened neck each time she got restless.
He did not hear the soft sound of footsteps behind him or even suspect that someone stood back and listened to his calming song until a shadow fell over his shoulder and a slightly sarcastic voice muttered, “Mighty purty.”
In trying to jump up without stepping on the mare, Rhys banged the back of his head on the side of the stall. Rubbing his head he stood. “Where is Bullet?” he demanded, his voice falling a note when he saw that in the soft light, with her scowl half hidden, she was prettier than ever. His mind took that thought and created a flashing image of her in satin and lace. Irresistibly beautiful.
Teddy, decked out in dusty buckskins and a pair of old boots, carried a bucket filled with foul-smelling bottles and clean rags. She set it down and leaned on the gate. “Out at the first station tending a couple of horses that got in a kicking match in the corral.” Her worried look swept over the downed mare then turned to indifference when she raised her cool green eyes to him. “This one isn’t supposed to foal until next week.”
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