He leaned closer to Jaime to warn her harshly. "You'd better take my offer, young lady, before I lose patience with you." He got up and quickly walked out of the room, afraid of what he might do if he stayed.
"Jaime," Blake began miserably, "I'm sorry—"
"You don't need to apologize for him. Sooner or later, he'll see I'm not giving in to him."
He squeezed her hand in comfort. "Let's spend the day riding. I'll have Enolita pack a picnic basket. You need to get your mind off things."
She accepted eagerly, anxious to escape, if only for a little while.
* * *
Stanton was walking into his office when Morena stepped from the shadows in the hall. "I was listening back there. She turned you down. Now there is only one thing left to do." Her voice was as cold as the echo in a tomb.
"Not yet, damn it. And why the hell did you ransack her room after I told you not to? It points suspicion to me, and I told you I had Enolita look through her bag the night she arrived, and she couldn't find anything."
"You know she has the map. She was just smart enough to hide it right away."
He blocked the doorway, not wanting her inside. "I told you to stay out of it. You're only making problems."
She gave her thick blue-black hair an arrogant toss. "No. You are paying someone to make problems."
"Now what are you talking about?" He glanced over his shoulder at the whiskey decanter on his desk.
So what if it was early in the day? The way things were going, he needed a drink.
She longed to be able to tell him about finding Cord in Jaime's bed. Instead, she shared something else she knew would alarm him. "You think you are paying the gringo, Austin, to be your bodyguard. Instead, you are paying him to ask the guards and vaqueros questions, the ones who were here two years ago, asking if they know anything about an American named Chandler."
The fury began deep in his toes and worked its way up, and by the time it swept completely over him, Stanton Lavelle could hear the enraged thudding of his own heart. "Find him." His words were barely audible, spoken between tightly clenched teeth. "I don't know what's going on here, but tell the guards to find him and bring him to me right away."
He closed the door, went to his desk, poured himself a drink, and gulped it down. It didn't slow his boiling blood, and he had another. And another.
The day wore on. By midafternoon, Stanton was very drunk. He sent Enolita, in a hail of curses, to find Morena and ask where in hell was Austin. She returned, pale with fright, to inform him apologetically that Morena could not be found.
He lay down on the sofa in his office and passed out. When he awoke, the room was dark. His head was pounding, and he tossed down another drink before summoning Enolita. She told him she'd tried to wake him for dinner but couldn't. He yelled at her that he wasn't hungry, and if she knew what was good for her she'd find Morena, by damn.
Carrying a bottle with him, he told her he was going to his greenhouse, then staggered out.
Blake and Jaime were sitting in the parlor, resting from their day's ride, when Enolita came looking for Morena. Curtly, Blake told her he didn't know where she was and didn't care.
Wringing her hands, Enolita said, "I know you don't care, but your father went to the greenhouse after screaming at me for hours to find her. I don't know what's wrong with him. He's been drinking all day, and he's like a madman."
Blake sighed and excused himself to Jaime. "I'd better go see about him. Sometimes he gets violent when he's had too much to drink."
Jaime tried not to sound too eager as she told him to go ahead. "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed." Actually, she had been waiting for an excuse to retire early, so she could go to her room and wait for Cord.
"Then I'll see you at breakfast." He kissed her hand and left.
The greenhouse was situated near the highest peak of the cliff but sheltered from the wind by a sloping ridge. Stepping inside the glass structure, Blake drank in the rich, loamy smell he loved. It was his favorite place, a tropical garden lush with the fragrance of the myriad of plants his father cultivated.
Blake liked the orchids best, with their purple and pink and lavender petals that looked as though they'd been sprinkled with sugar. He moved past their regal beauty, guided by the sounds of his father's ranting and raving.
Stanton took one look at his son and roared, "What the hell are you doing here? I've got other things on my mind besides your whining and sniveling."
Blake blanched. Never would he get used to his father's abrasive nature. "I was worried about you. Enolita said you were... upset." He didn't want to say drunk.
"Damn right I am." His words were slurred. He turned the bottle up to his lips, no longer bothering with a glass. Then he looked at his son with red-rimmed eyes and commanded harshly, "But you can get out. All the way out." He raged on, waving his arms wildly, the liquor spilling. "I'm sick of you. Just like your mother. Weak. Cowardly. Good-for-nothing. I shouldn't have married her. Shouldn't have had you. Morena is right. I ought to marry her and have strong sons."
Blake tried to hold back but could not. Tearing him to pieces was one thing, but he would not tolerate such disrespect and ridicule of his mother. "You have already dishonored my mother's memory by moving that half-breed whore into this house, but if you marry her and give more breeds your name, you can forget I'm your son, because I'll change mine, by God."
Stanton moved so fast Blake never saw it coming. All he knew was that he was slammed in the face and went sprawling to the dirt.
"Now get out." Stanton towered over him, swaying from side to side. He punctuated his words with a hard kick to Blake's ribs.
With a grunt of pain, Blake curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach.
Stanton kicked him again, this time in his buttocks. "I said to get out, damn you. You're worthless. Just like your mother. Damn her too. I hope she rots in hell."
Blake tasted blood from the cut on his lip. Though he was swept by anguish, he managed to raise his head to whisper, "I'll kill you for that—"
Stanton lifted him by the nape of his neck and the seat of his pants and flung him between the tables. "Get out of here, before I kill you, you good-for-nothing coward."
Blake could hardly focus his eyes through the descending sea of pain. He crawled on his hands and knees, past the orchids, oblivious to the rich smell of the earth, onward and out into the night.
Morena saw him as she made her way to the greenhouse. "So. You grovel like the worm you are."
He struggled to his feet, still clutching his side, and moved away from her as fast as his agonized body would allow.
Morena entered the greenhouse, undaunted.
The instant Stanton saw her, he shouted, "Damn you, where have you been all day? And where's Austin? I guess you've been rutting with him like the whore you are."
At that, Morena paled but was only momentarily taken aback as her own ire erupted. "You pompous son of a bitch, how dare you speak to me that way?"
He slapped her and sent her reeling against one of the tables. "Don't curse me, damn you. Now answer me. Where's Austin?"
"I don't know. I looked all over." She looked at him in loathing. "You will pay for this. You know what I can do to you."
"Threaten me, will you?" He started toward her, drunk and incensed beyond all reason. No longer did he fear the consequences of ridding himself of her for good, as he'd longed to do for the past two years after discovering just how evil she was. "I'll break your neck if you even think about it. Now get out of here and find Austin. And when I'm finished with him, I'll take care of the rest of the mess around here, which includes you. I'm going to kick you out of here and send you back to your worthless people."
"Don't be a fool, Stanton."
He struck her again, with the back of his hand, knocking her to her knees. Reaching down, he yanked her up by her hair, and she screamed and fought, but he silenced her with his fist.
As she lay at his feet, fightin
g to stay conscious, his words came to her through the great ringing in her ears.
"Stupid Yahi squaw. Did you really think I'd ever marry trash like you? Get out of here before I kill you."
Fearing for her life, Morena could only retreat.
* * *
Sometime later, Cord entered the greenhouse. He saw a lamp burning at the opposite end and headed that way. He found Lavelle slumped in a chair, taking small sips from the near-empty bottle he held. Lavelle blinked as he looked up, as though trying to focus his eyes amid the drunken fog that enshrouded him.
Cord was expressionless. "You want to see me?"
Stanton sat up straight, anger making his head clear a bit. "Damn right I do. Where have you been all day?"
Cord shrugged. "Riding around. Helping the vaqueros. You didn't say you needed me for anything else."
"You're lying. You've been nosing around, asking questions about things that don't concern you. Are you working for Jaime Chandler now? She doesn't have any money, so I can only guess how you're getting paid." He gave a nasty snicker.
Cord was not rankled. Words of fools never bothered him. He was, however, concerned with just how much Lavelle knew and asked calmly, "Mind telling me where you heard all this?"
"Don't worry about that. Just get your things and ride out of here. Tonight. After dawn tomorrow, my guards will have orders to shoot you on sight. You're a traitor." Stanton's hands tightened around the bottle, which he ached to bring crashing down on Austin's head. But he knew he didn't stand a chance in his condition. In fact, Stanton didn't like the way Austin was looking at him, anyway, his eyes smoldering like burning coals and his fingers twitching at his sides near his low-slung guns.
Cord smiled in a way that didn't change his expression at all, "I'll be back, Lavelle. I can't prove anything yet, but I've managed to find out enough to know I'm on the right trail."
"Wait a minute, come back here." Stanton started after him but could not walk as fast, because his head was spinning like crazy. "What are you talking about? What have you found out? I've nothing to hide. And if you come back, you're a dead man."
The greenhouse door closed behind him.
Stanton let out a string of curses in the stillness and stumbled back to the chair.
Tomorrow, he swore through the fuzziness wrapping about him, he was going to end the frustration once and for all. To hell with Blake and his infatuation with Jaime Chandler. She was here, and he intended to use her and would have done so two years ago if he had known of her existence. Then he would deal with Morena, make her do what should have already been done. Then he'd run her off, kill her if he had to. He didn't want her anymore. With Chandler's gold, Stanton knew he could find a real lady to become the next Mrs. Lavelle. One with class and background, one who would appreciate being the queen of his kingdom, by God.
His head lolled, falling backward as he finally passed out.
The position made his neck quite vulnerable for the shears that later pierced his throat.
Chapter 23
Cord dropped to the ledge. Jaime had left the window open. She ran to meet him, and without a word they fell into each other's arms.
For long, tense moments they clung together. Finally, she drew back to search his face and felt a stab of apprehension. His expression was grave. "What's wrong? Did you find out my father is dead?" Her voice cracked.
"No." He gripped her shoulders, pressed his lips against her forehead. "But thanks to a banker steering me in the right direction, I was able to find one of the men who was also an investor in that last mine. He told me he lost a great deal of money and also suspected salting but—like everybody else except your father, it seems—lacked proof. He didn't know your father, by the way, but heard about someone pledging a bogus map.
"He says he wishes now he'd been smart enough to pledge with bogus money," he added with an amused smile.
"So we're right back where we started from." Jaime turned from him with a sigh and went to sit on the divan, eyes downcast. "We can't prove anything, and even if we could, that's not going to tell us what happened to my father. But I have to keep believing he's still alive."
"Of course you do." He sat down beside her. He could see she was depressed and dreaded telling her of the scene in the greenhouse.
She related the conversation with Stanton at breakfast and said, "He was very angry and tore out of the room, and I haven't seen him since."
With a deep breath of resolve, Cord decided to get it over with. "I just did. In the greenhouse. It seems someone told him I've been asking questions. He accused me of working for you and ordered me off the estate, unless I want to be shot on sight."
She looked at him in horror. "Oh, Cord, no. Then you have to leave, but what about me?" Realizing how panicked she sounded, she added, "I mean, I can't do much snooping when Blake is always around."
"Don't worry. I intend to keep on till I've run out of ideas, but I can't risk coming here to see you anymore." He thought a moment. "There are steps below the greenhouse, leading down to the beach. Nobody ever uses them, and some of them have crumbled badly, but they're safe enough if you're careful. That part of the beach will be a good place for us to meet, because the guards avoid it. The Yahi Indians build altars there, supposedly to summon their gods."
"I know. Blake showed me one when we were riding. It was creepy."
"They do it to scare the guards into not going any farther. Some of them live in caves in the cliffs just north of there. Anyway, meet me there at midnight. You'll have to grope your way in the dark. You can't risk using a lantern, because the guards might see the light. But with luck, all this will be over soon."
"I don't see how." She shook her head dismally. "Just when we think we know something, we run into a stone wall and can't find out anything else. I'm beginning to think it's hopeless. If Stanton did do away with my father, he covered his tracks well. We aren't going to be able to prove anything. I think I should just get out of here and try to find a way to work my father's mine. If he is alive, surely, sooner or later, he'll come out of hiding."
"Don't do anything impulsive. Give me a few more days."
She looked at him sharply. "Are you on to something you aren't telling me about?"
"I'm not sure." He did not want to get her hopes up, only to let her down if his suspicion proved wrong.
"You're always keeping something from me," she accused, but gently.
His smile was wistful. "I suppose it's always best to keep a part of yourself private."
Jaime took a deep breath. It was time she let him know his past did not matter, for she had decided perhaps that was why he held so much of himself back. "Maybe you do so because you've known prejudice, but that wouldn't be the case with me. It doesn't matter to me you were raised by Apaches."
His face turned to stone. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Link Cotter told me, back in Sacramento, the morning you left." She plunged on, figuring she'd gone this far, she might as well say it all. "Frankly, I wouldn't care if you did have Indian blood, or even if you were all Indian. You saved my life once, and I'll always be grateful."
"Some people feel if a man lives with Indians, it's the same as being one, which makes him a savage, socially unacceptable and not to be trusted. That's why I keep it to myself, but unfortunately some of the soldiers at the fort in Texas where I once worked spread the word, and it keeps following me."
"I'd like to hear about it, if you care to tell me."
He nodded. "Maybe it'll take your mind off your own troubles."
And so he told her of those years with the Apaches, how they came to be and the circumstances that finally, mercifully, brought them to an end. "I learned a lot. I've no doubt it saved my life a few times during the war. But it was a miserable existence, one I'd never want to endure again. I'd like to forget it, but I knew the day that preacher swore he was going to beat the savage out of me that it would always be with me, like a brand."
She touched his hands,
which were clenched on his knees. "Maybe not. Maybe one day you'll settle down and live a normal life. Have a wife. A family." She tried to keep her voice light, so he would not detect the longing she fought to conceal.
In that crystallized moment, when their eyes could not deny becoming the mirror of their souls, Cord looked at her and knew, beyond all doubt, she loved him. Just as he loved her. But what could he do? His father's blood flowed in his veins, and he could not cast aside the image of his father clinging to his mother's cold, stiff body for days, heating off the swooping vultures as he refused to let her go.
It was one thing to love someone, Cord, reasoned miserably, but another to let that love gnaw away and destroy a man's spirit, his will to live. No, by God, he resolved fiercely, he'd not be so weak. He would live his life with commitment to no one except himself.
Jaime shivered, but not with cold. She detected something in Cord, something mysterious and disturbing, but knew it would do no good to probe. For a moment, she had almost felt as though she had touched that part of him he kept locked deep inside, but a shadow had crossed his face. He had withdrawn behind the invisible barrier once again.
Reminding herself that she had made a personal vow to savor the moment and not think of the future, she moved to twine her arms about his neck and kissed him deeply.
Cord's blood became a heated river of desire racing through his veins. His hands gently cradled her face, holding her captive as he reveled in the delicious touch of her tongue.
He drew his mouth from hers to trail hot wet kisses down her throat, feeling her tremble at his touch and melt against him. Her robe fell open, her naked breasts spilling to welcome his touch. He raised hungry eyes to feast upon her, sweeping her tiny waist, her rounded hips, and her slender legs.
With a husky groan, he lifted her in his arms and carried her swiftly to the bed and laid her down. He unfastened his holster, pausing to ask, "Is the door locked?" She nodded. He tossed the guns aside recklessly, then peeled quickly out of his clothes.
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