Frustrated, Stephanie punched the pillow, then slugged it again for good measure before she adjusted her head.
Money. She detested that she needed it and resented her father for putting her through such hardship due to his lack of preparation. Although, in truth, the only surprise was that he had passed on so soon. Papa had plopped her in a boarding academy and left Aunt Betty as her only family, then headed west, with only a Here’s your spending money. She’d foolishly looked forward to the bit of correspondence that came with the monthly stipend. Now, even that was gone.
Nevertheless, Papa’s death had not been part of her plan. Her hopes that her father would come for her had faded over the years, but even though he’d lived on the opposite side of the continent, there had been comfort in knowing he was there, providing for her in his own way.
Surely Papa had left more than the paltry sum Mr. Langley had mentioned in his letter. There was a huge discrepancy between what Langley offered and what her father had told her he owned. There had to be some mistake.
She closed her eyes again. Remnants of the afternoon stirred in her memory, and Stephanie’s mind seamlessly blended Mr. Langley and Hercules into one. She lightly touched her cheek. The warmth of him still lingered on her skin, and his scent clung to her clothes. The unforgettable image of his muscular chest and broad shoulders made her shiver.
How could she go about accomplishing her task, or even be in the same room with Langley, without remembering the fine planes and muscles of his strapping physique?
Stephanie fidgeted, trying to focus on something else. Anything else. The wall clock ticked monotonously, and exhaustion clouded her brain. Where was the maid with her bath? How much time had passed?
Connor’s husky voice echoed in her thoughts. I own the Bayfront Hotel.
Her eyes flew open, anger twisting in her gut. What else didn’t she know?
With a heavy heart, she sighed. A great deal, she was sure. She tried to imagine the relationship between Papa and the man she’d met today. Sadly, she regretted waiting until now to come west. She’d been a good daughter and done as she was told, living in New England. Look what that had gotten her…her father was a stranger to her.
After all, Mr. Langley and the money weren’t the whole reason she was here. More than anything she wanted to know the kind of man her father was. Her memories were that of a child. And deep down, she longed to understand why her father had deserted them. She wanted it so bad, she’d even accept an answer from a con artist.
She blinked and wound her limbs into a tighter ball. The thought was ridiculous. Could she even trust anything Mr. Langley told her? It wasn’t like her to be ruled by her feelings instead of her head. No, she wouldn’t give in to her doubts and fears. Papa’s letters were there in black and white―they were all she had. She swallowed hard, unable to prevent her fretting.
Stephanie rose slowly. You know nothing of Connor Langley, she reminded herself. A huge part of the problem. A definite disadvantage when knowledge was power.
One way or another, she had to learn about the man, to gain some leverage. The very idea terrified her, especially since she was already out of her element. Books, studies, and educating young girls were what she knew. Not fearless men living practically beyond the boundaries of civilization.
CHAPTER THREE
The sun barely warmed the horizon in the east as the butter melted over his bread with a swipe of the knife. With his usual devil-may-care stance, one shoulder holding up the doorframe, Connor ate the bread Monty had removed from the oven a few minutes ago, savoring the warm texture and yeasty aroma. He’d had to fight his cook for the crusty heel—the best part—before a jab of Connor’s fork won out. Grabbing his cup off the table, he downed the strong, pitch-black coffee, expecting the drink to kick him awake as soon as it hit his stomach.
Starbucks had nothing on Monty’s brew.
“Monty, you’re going to spoil me. But, keep it up,” he muttered. Even though Connor had protested, the cook insisted that waiting on one’s employer was a requirement. As imperative as it was for him to press on to the mines, he didn’t think it would hurt to enjoy a meal before he set out.
“It does appear, Sir, that I’ll be staying for a while,” the old man said in an English accent that made Connor grin. San Francisco was a melting pot of people, humans and vampires alike, but not many individuals had the starched spine that could put a person in his place with a word the way Montgomery Smith could. His look-down-your-nose tone was most likely the reason why no one except Connor would hire the vampire in the first place.
But Connor could distinguish between silver and tin. And Monty was beginning to shine. “I’ll wager someone will try to steal you as soon as they discover the treasure I’ve found. Or when I grow fat and lazy,” he added with a grin.
Monty stepped to the sideboard. “Not to worry, Mr. Langley. There’s not a finer spot than this within a thousand miles.”
Apparently Monty had missed a hacienda or two in his search for employment. There were prominent, wealthy families of ancient Spanish heritage who owned lavish estates along the length of El Camino Real, from San Diego to San Francisco. But then again, many Californios clung to their Catholic religion, old ways, and perceived elitism, which, Connor had learned the hard way, forbade all others entry.
He folded the last crumb between his fingers and plopped it into his mouth as he casually watched the cook fill two plates with eggs, ham, and a couple more slices of bread. After Monty spooned a second scoop of jam onto each, he picked up the plates and proceeded to push past Connor, forcing him to step out of the doorway to let the man pass.
Monty gave a sharp upward jerk of his pointy chin as he went, “In the dining room, if you please, Sir,” he directed.
Connor followed. The food smelled so incredibly delicious his stomach churned with anticipation.
It had taken Connor some time to convince Monty that they didn’t stand on ceremony in the Langley household. Everyone, servant and friend, ate meals together.
Upon placing the plates on the table, Monty turned to pull out the head chair but paused midstride. Connor tsk-tsked, “old habits,” he warned as he lifted a dark brow.
The cook backed away. “Infernal American customs,” he grumbled. He waited for Connor to sit before slipping into his own seat.
“Not all Americans. You should have settled in Boston or New York where your style would be more appreciated,” Connor stated, as he sliced into his ham. “However, it’s my good fortune that you didn’t.”
Monty leaned carefully forward to stiffly pitch a forkful of egg into his mouth. A lock of straight salt-and-pepper hair fell across one eye. He pushed it back with impeccably groomed fingers and finished chewing. “I value this position, Mr. Langley, but I can’t help seeing it as part of my job to change your wild ways.”
“You can try.” Connor chuckled. The ancient vampire was an original Elder from Cest. “Keep turning the skillet like you have and I’ll even forgive your starchy meddling.”
Monty sniffed but seemed to mull over the idea that Connor wouldn’t kick him out. A comfortable silence fell between them while they finished breakfast.
His mind drifted to Stephanie and Eric. But mainly to Stephanie. She processed a fine softness that he couldn’t forget, yet was clearly going to be a nuisance. What sorts of problems would greet him when they met later?
He had already offered her more than the properties were worth. The question was, did John Davenport tell his children everything—or anything? Curse the man if he’d left the job undone and Connor had to handle the disagreeable task of telling them the truth.
Still, intuition told him Stephanie and Eric didn’t have a clue about her father’s real life. Especially not that Connor’s younger half-sister had been John’s wife for eight years before his death. Hell, even he hadn’t stumbled upon the identity of John’s child back east until after his sister had fallen in love and married the man. A mistake. He should never h
ave introduced them to begin with.
When Monty finished eating, he stood and picked up Connor’s empty plate.
“It was delicious. Thank you,” Connor said.
After a few steps Monty paused, turning back. “Mr. Langley, I’d like to know one thing. Why? Why did you take me fresh off the ship when everyone else turned me away?”
“I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character. You are in good standing, are you not?”
“As good as you are reckless.”
They both chuckled, and then Monty marched off to the kitchen without a word. After a moment, a shuffle and murmur sounded. Connor stood. He turned to head to his suite and was shocked to find Danny skidding to a halt coming out of the very door Monty had just used. Monty dashed into the room, giving chase. The Englishman fussed about dirt being tracked inside.
Connor crossed over to meet the lad.
“I couldn’t reach her,” Danny paused, shaking his head in frustration.
“Breathe deeply, boy. Relax a bit. It’ll come,” Connor coaxed, clasping his shoulder. God, what had the lad been up to? Danny held one arm cradled across his chest, his shirtsleeve torn and bloody. Hastily, Danny did as Connor instructed and gulped in the air. His whole body shook as he exhaled. Monty was upon them, huffing and blowing like a great steam engine with his face flushed crimson and wringing a towel.
“Mr. Langley, I tried to tell Danny you were leaving straight away. Though he wouldn’t listen,” Monty spouted in righteous indignation, giving his jacket a firm tug with both hands. “He’s all riled up about something, and wouldn’t even let me have a peek at his arm.”
“I understand. When the boy latches on to something it’s impossible to deter him. Why don’t you heat some water to tend Danny’s wounds. We’ll be right along.”
“As you say, Sir,” Monty said crisply, then left.
Danny clutched Connor’s shirt, pleading. “You have to save him.”
“Save who?”
“A cougar cub. His mother is dead.”
Ah. Danny the Rescuer. A defenseless cub would never survive alone. Of course, the boy would want to add it to the collection of animals they’d saved.
“We have t―”
Connor paused, knowing that if he did what Danny wanted him to do, then he’d be late to meet with Miss Davenport and her cousin. As much as he needed to get straight to business, he couldn’t shrug off Danny. “You can show me after you’re cleaned up a bit. The cub will be fine until then. Come.” Connor set out walking to the kitchen and Danny fell in beside him. He knew Danny wouldn’t rest until the animal was safe. And if the cat’s den was located where Connor thought, then it would mean scaling down the side of a cliff to reach it. No wonder Danny had been unable to reach the animal.
A little bit later, after patiently deciphering Danny’s story Connor had a good idea of the situation. Apparently, the mother cougar was dead, shot, though she managed to make it almost to the cliff’s edge where her cub was tucked safely below.
“Rest assured Danny, I’ll get the cub,” Connor promised. “Why don’t you rest here and fill up on some of Monty’s sweets while I handle it? Okay?”
Reluctantly, the boy nodded.
~ ~ ~
By nine o’clock Stephanie was foot-stomping mad. Even while she perched flagpole-straight on one of the gaudy, red chairs in the lobby, staring relentlessly at the entry, she had the urge to kick something. Her notorious propensity for calm reflection and judicious reasoning were failing her again today. She’d slept fitfully last night, tossing and turning, with images of strong manly arms encircling her.
Obviously, the encounter hadn’t affected Mr. Langley in the same way―not that she expected it to―or else he would be sitting across from her at this moment, shooting her sultry glances with his gorgeous piercing blue eyes. Stephanie smiled to herself, at her own imagination . . . Now that would be amazing.
A small thrill ran through her entire body, reminding her of the delicate goose bumps created by the swipe of a feather over bare skin. She could make this comparison because she’d experimented on herself once after Emily Jameson had secretly shared that an admirer had stroked her arm in such a manner. At the time it had seemed foolish, with the sensation warranting little interest, but the picture of Mr. Langley brandishing a soft, fluffy feather made her shiver down to the tips of her toes.
So improper, she chastised herself as she tried to shake off the ludicrous thoughts. She glanced to the opening door, half-afraid that Langley would appear now. He didn’t. Only a short bald man entered. He rounded the nearby desk and stood on the other side. “Is there something I can do for you, Miss?” the man asked, an employee she surmised.
“We are to meet with Mr. Langley.”
“I haven’t seen him. Perhaps you would like to take a seat and wait?” He motioned to a gathering of chairs with an outstretched hand.
“Thank you,” she said, displeased.
Mr. Langley had, indeed, flagrantly stood them up.
Stephanie bounced her heel double-time in irritation. She may as well return to her room. At least then she could catch up on some much-needed rest instead of wasting her time waiting for the inconsiderate scoundrel.
A hand settled on hers and gave a pat, startling her. She’d entirely forgotten Eric was beside her. Heat flooded her cheeks and she cleared her throat.
“I can’t believe it, not even a word to let us know he wouldn’t be coming,” she declared in a huff, sliding to the edge of her chair.
“Now, Steph, the clerk told us he lived beyond the outskirts of town. Maybe something happened and he got tied up,” Eric reasoned.
She sighed. A great deal rested on her shoulders. She had to trust that her life thus far was proof she could handle the challenge. Surely the diplomacy she’d cultivated while tutoring the spoiled daughters of Hartford’s elite, not to mention doing so without provoking their high-minded parents, lent for some measure of negotiating finesse. Didn’t it? One rough-edged San Francisco businessman shouldn’t be too much to deal with.
“I’ve a mind to ride out and let him know we’ll not be put off. The sooner we settle this, the sooner we can go home. And good riddance to this city!”
“Hmm,” Eric said slowly. The lift of his brow hinted at what he thought was a bright idea, but she was too tired to care and too angry to ask. He patted her hand again and rose, saying, “I’ll be right back.”
Her cousin strolled to the desk and began chatting with the clerk. She hoped he was telling the little man that Mr. Langley could find them in their rooms.
“Let’s go,” Eric ordered from behind minutes later.
She jumped again and then immediately grabbed the arm of the chair to steady herself. drawing up to glare at her cousin. She punctuated her displeasure by poking the cup of his shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that.”
Eric shook his head and chuckled. “You’re as skittish as a kitten leaping from its own shadow.”
“I am not,” she said, defensively. “I simply didn’t hear you approaching.” But Eric wasn’t listening. He’d already turned his back to her. He forged ahead, moving toward the hotel exit.
“Wait,” she called after him, “aren’t we going to our rooms?” Stephanie skipped along to catch up. “Where are you going?”
“To Mr. Langley’s, as you suggested,” he blurted out, obviously pleased with himself.
“I wasn’t serious, and you know it,” she snapped.
“It’s an excellent strategy, Steph. What better way to see what Mr. Langley’s about than to examine his lair?” He paused, opening the door for her. “The livery will be sending a buggy ’round shortly and I’ve obtained the directions. The Langley estate is located just forty-five minutes west of town.”
Stunned by Eric’s assertiveness, she slipped past him. She struggled to find fault with his rationale, but her irritation toward Mr. Langley interfered. Perhaps the man deserved a surprise visit.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sunlight tried to slice through the clouds as Connor made his way to the bluff. The cougar had made it within six feet of the cliff when she’d dropped. A valiant effort considering her wounds. Connor took the cloth he’d brought along and rubbed it along the animal’s coat, avoiding places where blood might touch it, and then put the rag into a sack.
As he neared the cliff, the sea breeze picked up. Upon reaching the precipice, he stood at land’s end to take in the magnificent view. The wind, stronger still, blew up off the ocean. For a moment, he just observed the power below him. The mist lifted from where the water crashed against the rocks, and beyond the breakers, the low, rolling fog began to give way to the authority and warmth of the morning sun.
On a deep inhale, he set about finding the cub. He glanced past a clump of shrubs and spied a hidden path several yards down the cliff of jagged angular rocks. He reached out with his enhanced vampire senses, to hear and smell the cats. It was more a ledge than a path, really, big enough for a large, cunning feline to traverse. Or an extremely cautious man. Thank God Danny hadn’t discovered the footpath.
Choosing a spot on the ledge, he traced. Loose pebbles slid beneath his boots as his feet landed, and he could hear the earth tumbling downward. Then his foot slipped completely. His knee crashed against the rock as he caught his weight, and he hissed through clenched teeth at the fiery burn as his hand slid across the rocky ground, ripping his skin open. Connor cursed the pain.
And damn the fool who had shot the mother cat in the first place! With one forceful drive of his good leg, he hefted himself up and then waited, searching for the scent once again. He traced toward the spoor and a larger ledge.
Almost. Ducking his head beneath a mass of overhanging vegetation, the smell of damp, packed earth filled his nostrils. He glanced sideways. Not one but two round-eyed cubs considered him expectantly and then resumed licking each other. Connor’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile. When he finally reached the animals, he rested briefly on a slice of rock that was large enough for him to stand upon, yet would be “a killer,” as they would say in his time, with just one careless misstep. Still facing the cliff, he surveyed a shallow cave cut into the rock in front of him. Just as he’d thought: the cliffs were dotted with such holes.
Forever At Dawn: The Blood Keeper Series (The Blood Keeper Series, Novella Book 1) Page 3