Carole Howey - Sheik's Glory

by Carole Howey

  Missy pondered Joshua's words in silence. She'd wanted to believe that Flynn Muldaur represented no great threat to her, to the ranch, or to her peace of mind. She'd longed to hear something in his words that would give her hope that she could, indeed, manage Muldaur and this distressing turn of events that made him her legal partner, but Joshua's story produced the exact opposite effect.

  He'd been involved with a woman. With illegal activities. With scandal. Missy had no stomach for scandal, and no taste for intrigue. And she had no desire to risk the C-Bar-C, and all she'd worked for during the past ten years, to fall victim to Muldaur's scams, ill luck, or whatever it was that resulted in catastrophe for him. His partners had so far escaped sharing his bad fortune, but she was all too aware that that, too, could change. Nothing was certain about Flynn Muldaur, it seemed, but uncertainty.

  The clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece and a burning log collapsed, with a spray of sparks and ash, into the embers in the fireplace.

  "Shall I arrange for some tea to be sent up for this meeting, or don't you intend to refresh your guest?" Allyn broke the silence with her quiet question.

  Missy looked up, striving to keep her features composed. Both Allyn's and Joshua's expressions were probing and unreadable. Missy got up from her chair and turned toward the window. It was snowing outside, a heavy, wet snow that melted at once into still, slushy puddles in the street.

  "I'd prefer coffee, I think," she replied, keeping her voice even and light. "And I cannot concern myself as to Mr. Muldaur's fancy."

  Missy thought it best that Allyn and Joshua withdraw when she heard the knock upon the door of the suite moments later. Their presence at the meeting would, she knew, only serve as a distraction, given Joshua's and Flynn's open animosity toward one another. And she had need of every shred of her ability to concentrate if she and the C-Bar-C were to survive this crisis. Joshua and Allyn withdrew, offering assurances that they were as near as the next room should any unexpected trouble arise. Missy closed the door behind them and leaned on it for a moment, gathering her strength before she responded to the knock.

  Composing her features into a cordial but not overly welcoming expression, she swung the door wide.

  "Mr. Mul"

  But it was not he.

  "Gideon, what in blue blazes are you doing out here in the hallway?" she exclaimed, seizing the lad by his bony shoulders and pulling him inside. "You were told to wait with Miss Hammond and Albertine in the nursery. And look at your new clothes!" She groaned.

  Gideon was apparently as efficient at ruining his wardrobe as she was. He was covered with mud and filth, from the soles of his new shoes to the crown of his recently trimmed sable hair. His cap and bow tie were missing entirely.

  He looked contrite, to his credit, although not sufficiently abashed to persuade Missy that his remorse was genuine.

  "I ain't seen Glory in two days," he explained, as if that should excuse any and all transgressions. "She was missin' me. I could tell. Hey, I saw that Muldaur feller downstairs again. He's come to see you again, I bet. You gonna talk to him this time?"

  Missy stared hard at her new ward. She had the feeling that his knowledge was not as innocent as he tried to make it sound, that he'd waited outside the door listening to the conversation of the adults. The open expression on his young face gave her no clue.

  "None of your business, young man. I'll have to save my lecture on the evils of snooping, and the dangers of running off, for a later time," she scolded him, attempting to brush the smudges of dirt from his freckled cheeks and his wool tweed coat. "Not that any of them seem to have made an impression so far. Get off with you next door. Miss Hammond is probably frantic."

  "Oh, she never even knew I went," he boasted proudly. "I skipped out the window."

  They were five floors above the street.

  "You what?"

  Another knock interrupted her dismay, and she glanced at the door. Flynn this time, no doubt.

  "Scoot next door," she told him, her voice low and swift. "Now. I have business to attend to."

  "With Muldaur?" he asked, his dark eyes lighting up as if in anticipation of some great, dangerous adventure. "Let me stay! I can help."

  "I doubt it. Anyway, this is private. I"

  The knock sounded again, a trifle louder.

  "Miss Cannon?"

  Flynn Muldaur's honey baritone was all business, edged with a hint of impatience. She'd made him wait for this meeting all week; it seemed he didn't want to wait another moment. Missy put her right hand on her stomach, hoping to still its mad fluttering. She turned Gideon toward the other door with her left hand.

  "Go."

  Gideon pivoted and looked her dead in the eye.

  "No." He pronounced the word succinctly.

  "Gideon!" She was exasperated.

  "Miss Hammond will scold me again, and so will Mr. and Mrs. Manners," he told her, perching on the window seat like a curious young bird. "I'd as soon wait here and get my scolding from you. I won't make no noise. I promise."

  "Miss Cannon?" Another brisk knock.

  "Well, it's either that or having you listening at the keyhole again," Missy grumbled, trying to hide an unexpected relief that she would not face Muldaur alone

  after all. "But not a word, now." She shook a finger at him and tried to look stern. "Remember, you promised."

  Gideon nodded with such enthusiasm Missy thought his head was going to come off. He clambered onto the window seat and crossed one knickered leg up beneath him, allowing the other to dangle. Then he fixed his gaze on the door as if he could burn holes in it with his stare alone. Missy turned her head to hide her smile at the thought of such a gallant, if inconsequential, knight standing to her defense.

  When she opened the door, her smile retreated behind a wave of astonishment.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Cannon." Flynn Muldaur, handsome as ever, elegant in a dark gray pinstripe suit, held out a small but breathtaking bouquet of red hothouse roses, sprinkled with baby's breath. She must have looked as stunned as she felt, because he tendered a rueful grin along with a self-conscious glance at the flowers. "We started off badly on both previous occasions, and it's time to rectify that. May I come in?"

  Unable to speak for shock, Missy accepted his lovely floral offering. She would have been far more at ease had Mr. Muldaur come in full of anger at having been made to wait all week to see her. His conciliatory manner, combined with her own natural attraction to him, made her feel as if she had ventured onto thin ice in a thick fog.

  Some time passed before Missy realized he was still standing at the door.

  "Y-yes," she stammered, looking away quickly, lest he perceive her heated blush. "Please. Come in. I'm sorry to have made you wait."

  She took several quick steps into the room ahead of him, amazed that she did not trip over her skirt in her awkward haste. There was a noise in the corner. She looked up to see Gideon eyeing them both. He sat very still, but he fingered his throat as if he'd just cleared it. Somehow the sight heartened her. She deposited the bunch of roses on the settee with a careless gesture, and she collected her wits sufficiently to invite Flynn Muldaur to be seated.

  Muldaur moved with the grace and efficiency of a cat. His clothing was tailored to a perfection not found every day, for it complemented him like a second skin. Missy found herself wondering at the body shielded beneath the expensive suit, and that wonder was enough to renew her blush.

  He placed his crisp gray derby on the small table beside the wing chair lately occupied by Joshua; she had forgotten to take it from him. Another social gaffe. She swallowed and glanced once more at Gideon for fortification. He grinned at her. Muldaur looked over his shoulder, then commanded Missy's gaze once again.

  "So the boy is yours," he remarked with an oblique look that might have meant anything, and nothing complimentary. "Or at least a part of your, ah, entourage?"

  Missy shook her head, fighting a blush.

  "No, he’s his name
is Gideon, and he takes care of Glory. The horse. The one in the one where I" She gave up on that course as being both unwise and impossible. "I've recently, er, hired him." She did battle with a compelling urge to explain everything to Flynn Muldaur, and won.

  Muldaur allowed several meaningful seconds to pass before he nodded twice. Missy could almost see him cataloging her: takes in strays, he would note in his mental ledger.

  "I had thought we would converse in private," he remarked with politeness that sounded ever-so-slightly forced, a quizzical look in his steel blue eyes.

  Missy held her back erect and dared a bold smile "We are as private as we need be," she assured him, enjoying Gideon's ensuing wink beyond Muldaur's broad shoulder.

  It was Muldaur's turn to appear ill at ease. Missy felt a surge of confidence. She folded her hands in her lap, determined not to justify Gideon's presence any further. Muldaur drew a long breath in concession.

  "I take it by your agreement to meet with me that you are satisfied as to the validity of my claim." His tone was formal.

  "For the present." She nodded once.

  Flynn Muldaur had, aside from the most handsome face she'd ever seen, the most interesting one as well. He seemed capable of expressing a subtle nuance of mood. His mouth, although not full, was sensuous, especially when it twitched once at the corner and curved slightly downward, as it was doing now. It was a pale reflection of a smile. Missy felt she could pass an eternity exploring that look and believe her time to have been well spent.

  Flynn was intrigued by the softened set of Missy Cannon's pleasant features, for Missy, according to his admittedly limited experience, was not by nature a flirtatious woman. He wondered what it could mean, for surely it meant something. She was not a woman who wasted anything about herself, whether a word, a look, or a thought. He'd come here with a mission in mind, but something in her eyes, a pearly amethyst hue on this gray afternoon, made him rethink his straightforward agenda. He felt intriguingly out of his element with this unusual woman.

  He reined himself in: he could not afford the luxury of exploring her ever more interesting attributes. And even if he could, he had sworn never to relinquish his common sense to an imprudent dalliance again.

  "Miss Cannon, we both know that the more time

  passes, the less likely it is that my claim will be proven false." It helped to stick to business. "I happen to know you've wasted some time here in Louisville on that fool's errand, and you wish to be away to put your new mares to stud. As it happens, our desires at the moment are very much the same."

  "I doubt that, Mr. Muldaur." Her voice was low and pretty like a seasoned musical instrument. A French horn, perhaps. Or a cello. It sent a curious tingle along his spine, low into his back, as if she'd played him with a horsehair bow.

  "Oh, I believe you'll find that they are," he assured her, leaning forward in his chair. Now, why in heaven's name should a simple remark like that make her blush? he wondered, although he had to admit she did so more becomingly than he might have expected.

  Was that roses he smelled? Surely not the flowers he had brought; they were too far away. Missy's own fragrance, then. And something spicy, besides. A scent that he, who knew every perfume a lady might wear, should know. The fact that he could not put a name to it distracted him, and for a moment he forgot what he'd been about to say to her.

  "I believe you'll find that they are," he repeated, hoping to regain his train of thought. "And I believe you'll be very amenable to my proposal."

  "Oh . . . Oh?"

  Her response was so bizarre that he stared at her. Her round cheeks blazed a fiery crimson hue and she looked away, her bosom rising and falling rapidly with each brittle, panting breath.

  Proposal, he'd said.

  Why don't you marry her, Flynn? Antoinette had asked him half-facetiously three days earlier. Then you can get your hands on the whole fortune instead of only half.

  Chapter Eight

  Damn Madeleine, her grasping, covetous mother, and her avaricious offspring! He had even started to think like them!

  Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he got up and strode to the fireplace. He felt as if he were contaminating the place. He wedged his elbow against the mantelpiece and tried to order his thoughts.

  "I want to apologize to you, Miss Cannon," he said swiftly, fearing he would lose his nerve if he paused to think about what he was saying. "This whole damned business has come out back end first. You have a reputation for honesty; I can't be anything less than honest with you."

  He regretted his dangerous course of action as soon as he uttered the words, but it was too late to recall them.

  "Anything less than honesty is not what I wish to hear from you, or from anyone. " Flynn bit his lip. Josh Manners had no doubt told Missy Cannon exactly what the word honesty meant, when uttered by Flynn Muldaur. That would be, according to his former superior, precisely nothing.

  Which meant, he supposed, that he had nothing to lose.

  ''When this letter of debt came into my possession"

  "When you won it in a poker game, you mean," she interrupted him with cool politeness.

  "Poker isn't a crime, you know, and winning at it honestly is even less of one." Lord, was she one of those fire-and-brimstoners who believed a man should never have any fun?

  "Of course not," she murmured, her self-rebuke not ringing quite true. "Pray, continue. You were speaking of being honest, I think."

  A noise in the corner drew Flynn's attention. He looked up to see the boy again, shifting in his seat, eyeing him with a look that made him feel as if he'd been pronounced guilty and sentenced to hang. Gideon, Missy had called him. Flynn had almost forgotten that he was there.

  He ground his teeth. He wanted to lay his cards down before Missy Cannon but, damn it, having the boy there as a silent witness unnerved him.

  He purposely fixed his stare on Missy again.

  "I thought at first I'd sell my interest in the ranch to someone else," he said. "Turn over a quick profit, and move on."

  "That sounds like something you might do, from what I've heard."

  Muldaur ignored her courteous insult.

  "That wasn't as easy as it sounded, and in the process of trying to find a buyer, I learned that the C-Bar-C was a fairly thriving concern."

  "I've enjoyed good fortune recently," Missy con ceded with a wary look. "Although it wasn't always so, as anyone can tell you."

  He'd heard about the years of hardship. The story of the C-Bar-C's rise to prominence was pretty much a legend on the circuit. A fairy tale. Flynn had never believed in fairy tales. The older he got, in fact, the less he believed in anything.

  "When I found out the owner was a woman, I"

  No, that didn't sound right. Damn it, why hadn't he just stayed with his original plan? He'd have been in and out of here in five minutes with everything he'd wanted in his pocket. But no, he'd had to go and let himself be moved by her. He straightened and shrugged his coat into place. Honesty, he reminded himself. As much as he and Seamus could afford.

  "You thought you'd what, Mr. Muldaur?"

  Had the room gone chilly? Muldaur cursed under his breath at his blundering stupidity. That a simple, forthright woman should reduce him to a stammering fool just when he most required his celebrated smooth address was an alarming occurrence. He sucked in a much-needed breath.

  "I don't wish to complicate your life any further than I already have, Miss Cannon," he managed to say lightly, turning toward her again. "I'm willing to sell you my half-ownership in the C-Bar-C for a reasonable price. I assume you're interested in clearing the title."

  Missy smoothed the gathers of her gray silk morning dress. It was a plain affair, hardly as flattering as the regal purple velvet she'd worn to Filson's. Yet she imbued the simple gown with presence and dignity. And something else . . . He couldn't quite name it.

  Flynn found himself, to his chagrin, staring at the floor between them, waiting for her answer like a penitent child
awaiting punishment.

  "My interest is academic, Mr. Muldaur," she intone dryly. "Unless the 'reasonable price' to which you refer is the fair market value of the property when your letter of debt was issued. That would make the buyout somewhere in the vicinity of seventy-five dollars, given the probable condition of the place at the time. Somehow I expect you had a slightly higher figure in mind?"

  She was being facetious. Or was she? He chuckled, hoping for the best.