Molly helped him stand, but that was all he would allow. They walked to the door. “Sage and Buck warned you about being with Nicolette. They told you how Mr. Campion feels about such things. Is that why you were beaten?”
“Yes,” he answered, his voice strong.
She turned and looked at him, trying to understand. “Why did you do it, then?”
His insubordinate grin surprised Molly. “It was worth it.”
His tone sent a shiver of alarm through her, for although he’d just been beaten to within an inch of his life, his voice was laced with unabashed arrogance.
Not wanting to imagine what he and Nicolette had been up to, Molly shoved the door open and held it for him. “Come with me. Angelita will dress your back.”
It was an order, and he obeyed.
Hiram Poteet stood, feet spread wide, in front of the desk where Charles was seated, the whip coiled tightly in his fist. His thick neck was slick with sweat and his heavy pelt of black chest hair pushed out over the top of his collar, and through each buttonhole. He was a bull of a man, which was one of the reasons Charles had hired him. He had no scruples. That had been an asset.
“And she just came in and told you to stop?” Charles asked, almost amused.
“I coulda kilt her with one backhanded slap, but I figgered ya didn’t want her dead.”
Charles rested his elbows on the desk, tenting his fingers in front of him. “I’ve misjudged her. I didn’t think she’d venture from the house, much less give a damn if a breed was whipped.”
“Aw, she’s a woman. They don’t like nothin’ to get hurt—leastwise where they can see it.”
“You did the right thing, Poteet. But from now on, take care where you do your whipping. Obviously, in a place where my nosy little fiancée won’t discover you. Maybe that old line shack out in field number four. As for the kid, we’ll find another way to take care of him.” He studied his overseer. “About that other thing. You’re sure about what you heard?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I didn’t hear much, but I heard what I heard.”
“Tell me again.” Charles leaned back in his revolving desk chair.
Poteet shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I seen your woman comin’ from the barn. When I went by the door, I heard—”
“When was this?” Charles interrupted.
Poteet looked puzzled. “Coupla days ago.”
Nodding, Charles said, “Go on.”
“Like I said, I heard someone talkin’. He said the kid was gonna get hisself kilt.”
“And what made you think they were talking about the new hand?”
Poteet shrugged. “He’s the only kid workin’ on the place.”
“And again, you’re sure you saw Nicolette ride off after him the other day?”
“Yessir, I’m sure of that.”
His stomach burned with hatred. “Thank you, Mr. Poteet. You can go.”
Poteet hesitated at the door. “What we gonna do with the breed?”
“I’ll think of something, then I’ll let you know.”
Long after Poteet had gone, Charles continued to stare at the door, forcing the hate filled bile back down his throat. The thought of the son-of-a-bitch’s hands on Nicolette made him want to pull the breed’s filthy heart out through his throat. He had to be disposed of. Permanently.
Molly paused before she got to the office door and took a deep breath. She wondered if Charles had found out about Nicolette and Cody, and that’s why the boy had been whipped. Something inside her didn’t want to let her believe that. She wanted to believe that Mr. Poteet had done the deed alone, without knowledge or approval from Charles.
She had left Cody with Angelita, who hadn’t seemed surprised to see the welts, but whose eyes snapped with anger. It was so strange that in this big, beautifully furnished house there was so little warmth or gentleness. It was the first time she’d actually come to terms with her feelings that despite its opulence, it wasn’t a home. It was something she certainly wanted to change once she became Charles’s wife.
Fully composed, she moved toward the open study door. Charles was bent over his desk, studying some papers. She rapped lightly.
He looked up and gave her a brief smile. “Please. Come in, Margaret.”
Answering his smile with one of her own, she entered the room. “I’ve hardly seen anything of you, Charles. I’ve missed our time together.”
“Have you, now?”
She felt a bite of apprehension. “Of course I have. But I have to tell you something. I hope you don’t get too angry with me.”
He sat back in his chair and studied her. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”
“Charles, I … I must tell you that your foreman is a very vicious man.”
“Mr. Poteet? Of course he is. That’s one of the reasons I hired him.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you ordered that poor boy’s whipping.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Whipping?”
“Charles, I discovered Mr. Poteet whipping that new hand you hired. The one we picked up in Cedarville. Mr. Poteet would have killed him if I hadn’t stopped him.”
Charles picked up his pen and drummed it distractedly against the desktop. “Margaret,” he began. “I don’t want to scold you. I’m proud of you. All my cowhands respect you, basically because you seem to think Angelita works too hard in the kitchen and needs your help.” He continued to drum the pen on the desk. “I never pictured my future wife working as a kitchen maid. You know I don’t like it, but I’ll try to get used to it. However,” he added harshly, sitting forward and resting his elbows on the desk, “what Mr. Poteet does it none of your business. He keeps the men in line, and since most of them are Mexes and breeds, they have to be ridden hard or they’ll become lazy and slack off. You aren’t to interfere ever again with his activities. Is that clear?”
Molly felt no remorse, even though she’d been scolded as if she were a child. She didn’t even allow the germ of fear to intercede. “I don’t believe whipping someone into submission is a satisfactory method of punishment, Charles. Your Mr. Poteet is a bully, and I don’t like him one bit. I know you must keep your men in line, but isn’t whipping rather excessive and cruel?”
Charles sat back in his chair again and studied her for a long time. The small pendulum clock above the mantel ticked away the seconds. Suddenly, almost with nonchalance, he said, “Mr. Poteet tells me he saw you coming from the barn a few days ago.”
Her heart leaped against her ribs at his change in tactics. “Am I not allowed in the barn, Charles? Would you prefer I sit about the house and do nothing?”
He smiled indulgently and shook his head. “Don’t get defensive, my dear. I would just like to know what could possibly have taken you to the barn, that’s all.” He gave her a jaundiced look. “I’m becoming aware of your many talents, Margaret. I just didn’t know milking cows or feeding horses was one of them. Next, I’ll discover you’ve been in the chicken coop and the pigsty.”
She felt herself flush, partly with embarrassment and partly with anger at his condescension. “Did your Mr. Poteet accuse me of something?”
He smiled his beautiful smile. “Of course not. But was he wrong? You weren’t in the barn?”
“Well, of course I was,” she began. “I wanted to make sure the men who hired Cody had told him to stay in line. I … I rather like the boy, but he is a cocky sort, and I just … just didn’t want him getting into trouble.”
He continued to study her. “Obviously he already has.”
She forced herself to remain calm. “What has he done to deserve a whipping?”
“He’s been seeing Nicolette.”
Her heart thudded with dread, but she attempted to show surprise. “Are … are you sure? Have you talked to her?”
“I don’t have to verify if with her,” he answered testily. “She probably wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway. No, she was seen riding off with
him.”
Molly’s knees were weak. She sank into the gold damask easy chair beside the desk. “What are you going to do about it?”
He straightened some papers in front of him, then put them into the drawer. “I haven’t decided.”
Molly leaned toward him. “Charles, don’t be too hard on her. She’s just a girl, she’s young, impetuous—”
“Yes,” he interrupted. “She’s young. And I will not allow any filthy little breed to—” He stopped, pushed himself away from the desk and crossed to the window. His hands were clenched tightly behind his back.
Molly discovered she was holding her breath. The seed of fear that Buck had sown when she’d arrived had taken root. But still, she forced herself to give Charles the benefit of the doubt. Of course he was concerned for his sister. She was his responsibility. He adored her. He doted on her. He wanted only what was best for her. And Molly, perhaps more than anyone, knew that what was best for Nicolette was not a wild, handsome young breed who could charm the claws off a bear.
She stared at her fiance’s back. He was fit, trim and impeccably dressed. He had some very strong prejudices, and a temper that she sensed could explode into violence, if things didn’t go his way. Her fear of him grew a little more each day. But she still felt, or perhaps hoped, that if she had to, she could change him.
The kerosene lamp threw flickering shadows into the room. Campion stared across his desk at the surly, unkempt Mexican who heedlessly moved his fingers along the rim of his filthy hat.
“I don’t like threats, Che.”
“An’ we don’ like waiting for our money, senor.”
Charles drew in a deep breath. “I can’t afford to move the cattle now. They’re safely hidden, grazing on land where they won’t be found. They’ve been rebranded with the Double Bar C, and I’ll decide when they can be moved, not you. You still work for me.”
He was reluctant to do any major dealing with the cattle he’d stolen until Nicolette was back in school. And he wasn’t even sure he wanted Molly around. She was a damned curious woman, unable to take anything he said at face value. For all he knew, she could stumble onto the stolen herds by accident. He wouldn’t put anything past her, not anymore. Oh, he still wanted to marry her. He would just have to teach her to stay in line. She had no place in his business plans.
As for the ratty bunch of thieves who worked for him, they would not intimidate him. Although they claimed to be descendants of the clever, ruthless Comancheros, they were little more than filthy, ragged animals who could be disposed of in the wink of an eye.
“We don’ like what’s happening, Senor Campion. You might force us to do something we don’ want to do.”
“You aren’t paid to like it. You’ll wait until I tell you it’s safe. That’s final. And don’t threaten me.”
The angry Mexican stood and glared down at him, the lamplight giving him a fierce, ghastly look. Charles knew it was only superficially intimidating. He could outwit the fool in his sleep.
Six
As Molly dug out her tuning tools from her satchel, she realized it had been nearly a week since her meeting with Charles, and his announcement that he’d learned Nicolette was secretly seeing Cody. Molly knew he wouldn’t hurt Nicolette, and as much as she wanted to tell Charles it was normal for the girl to have crushes, she, herself, sensed there might be more to this than was healthy. In the meantime, Nicolette had been sent to visit her friend Chelsea, and Cody was recovering from his wounds, which were healing nicely under Angelita’s care. But the whole situation was like a song, written up until the last few bars, then stopped. The end hadn’t yet been determined.
After dressing in an old, worn gown, Molly dropped her tools into the pockets of her apron and left her room. She couldn’t stand to listen to the sour notes of the piano any longer. The tuner Charles had promised her never showed up, and something had to be done.
As she descended the stairs, she saw Charles enter his study. As usual, he was busy. She momentarily faltered, remembering that his foreman had told him she had been in the barn. She hadn’t dared go back, had purposely stayed away from Buck and all of the other hands. It wasn’t clear to her what, if anything, Charles had discovered about her. He had seemed satisfied with her reasoning and hadn’t really acted any differently toward her. She hoped and prayed Mr. Poteet hadn’t heard her conversation with Buck. But she could never be sure. Her inability to finally confront Charles with the truth about herself was making her a little bit crazy and suspicious of everyone.
Because of the uproar over Cody, Molly was quite certain Charles wasn’t focusing his energy on her. But her own duplicity had begun to haunt her, and she knew if she didn’t tell Charles everything soon, he would find out another way, and she couldn’t let that happen.
And Buck … Shaking her head, she moved down the hallway and entered the salon. After removing her tools, she immediately went to work on the piano. Ah, yes, Buck … She wondered when he would tire of her smart mouth and tell Charles everything he knew. He’d already threatened to do it, and there was no reason why he should keep her secret. Not after the other day, when she’d not only told him he deserved a disgusting disease, but had dared him to go ahead and tell Charles and get it over with.
In her quiet moments, she reflected on many of the things Buck had said to her. Almost two months before, he’d told her she was just marrying Charles to maintain a white life. It wasn’t exactly true, because she honestly felt she was doing it for her mother, and their future. And no, she didn’t love Charles. But she cared for him and admired him. She had no reason to believe she wouldn’t fall in love with him once they were married. She hoped she did, but if she didn’t, she would make her marriage work anyway.
Yes, Charles had a temper, and she knew he could be cruel to his help, but he had a lot at stake, and even more to protect. Even though she knew all of this, she also felt he would never hurt her. She felt that whatever else happened, he had fallen in love with her, therefore it wouldn’t matter to him once he discovered she had a little Indian blood. And she fully expected to love him back. She just knew she would fall in love with him … any day now.
For the past two years of her life she’d been determined to marry into money. The calculated plan had never bothered her before; it had seemed quite reasonable. Practical. And she certainly wasn’t hurting anyone, she was only trying to help care for her mother. Charles wouldn’t be hurt. She would always try to keep him first in her life, if—no—when they were wed. She would be a good and faithful wife. But she would have to tell him her secret. It was tempting to wait until he was so much in love with her, he wouldn’t care. But she knew she couldn’t put it off much longer. She was absolutely convinced that if she didn’t tell him soon, Buck would.
Buck … yes, if there was a problem, he was it. He was toying with her now. Dangling his threat in front of her like a carrot on a string. And, as always, she played the part of hungry rabbit to perfection. He was an odious man, that Buck Randall. Now, more than ever, she was determined to tell Charles her secret and prove Buck wrong.
She’d been working for nearly two hours when she heard Buck’s voice in the hallway. She stopped, frozen, barely daring to breathe as she tried to hear what he was saying.
Dropping her tuning fork on the carpet, she inched her way toward the door and peeked out into the hall. Empty. But she heard voices coming from the study. She needed to be close when Buck talked to Charles. As close as a tick on a hound’s ear. If Buck began to talk, she wanted to be there to tell the story herself.
She tiptoed down the hall to the study and pressed her ear against the door. If she concentrated, she could make out each man’s voice, but she still couldn’t tell what they were saying.
“You need something, senorita?”
Molly nearly jumped out of her skin. Stumbling backward, she pressed her hand over her heart as Angelita stepped around to face her. Even though she and the housekeeper oft
en worked side by side in the kitchen, Molly sensed the woman still didn’t like her. Angelita was always cool and abrupt with her.
“Well … no … I …” she bumbled foolishly. “I mean, I was just …” Oh, damn. Nothing she said was going to make any sense.
“I will announce you, Senorita Lindquist,” the housekeeper responded, a dangerous smile forming on her mouth.
“Oh, no … please, I—”
Before she knew it, Angelita had rapped soundly on the study door, opened it and announced her.
She was trapped.
“Margaret.” Smiling, his white teeth gleaming, Charles let his gaze wander slowly over her. “How … provincial you look this morning.”
As always, Charles looked fastidious. His blond hair was coaxed into perfect waves, his handsome face cleanly shaven, and his shirt pristine, the sleeves sporting long, crisply ironed creases. It was almost as if he repelled dirt. As if dirt wouldn’t dare touch his immaculate person. It was irritating. Briefly, she wondered how she was going to like living with and being married to a man who paid more attention to his wardrobe than she did to hers.
“I … I’ve been tuning the piano,” she answered, in defense of her own disheveled appearance.
Charles chuckled. “But, my dear, I pay someone to do that.”
“Well,” she answered, trying to shove stray curls back into the confines of her combs, “he hasn’t shown up, Charles. I certainly hope you haven’t paid him in advance.”
“What am I going to do with her, Randall? She works in the kitchen like a servant, now she’s become my handyman.”
Buck’s gaze slid over her like honey down a pole. “Seems to me you have a real find here, Mr. Campion.”
Molly stared at him. A black eyebrow was arched over one eye, and he appeared to control a smirk. She didn’t think the man ever smiled. He smirked. He always had.
And just look at him, she fumed silently. There was undoubtedly a two-day stubble of beard growing on his face, his shirt was dusty, and his jeans hung so low on his hips she could probably tug them right down his legs—if they weren’t so blasted snug.
Forbidden Moon--The Moon Trilogy--Book Three Page 10