Kitabı oku: «Bride of the Wolf», sayfa 2

There was nothing the least romantic in it. Why should there be, when there had been nothing the least romantic in her advertisement? Indeed, he met her needs perfectly. He owned property, so she would never be without food or shelter; he would not be a doddering old man at fifty-two, and he wanted exactly what she could provide.

And he had said nothing about wanting children of his own.

The wind, so warm during the day, had grown cooler. So much hope rested on this meeting. Hope she had not dared allow herself for so long.

“Fräulein?”

The owner of the store, a small, wiry German with a sharp, friendly smile, bustled up beside her and introduced himself. “I could not help but notice that you are still waiting, Fräulein Lyndon,” he said with what appeared to be genuine concern. “Wouldn’t you like to come in? I have coffee, and it is much more comfortable inside.”

Rachel summoned a smile, warmed by the offer in spite of her wariness. Perhaps people really were different here.

“That is kind of you, Mr. Sonntag,” she said, “but I prefer to remain here.”

Mr. Sonntag gave her a long, quizzical look. “You are a relative of Herr McCarrick’s, Fräulein?”

Her throat tightened. “Yes. I am.”

He waited for further revelations. When none were forthcoming, he nodded briskly and vanished into the store.

So no one knew. Surely if anyone in Javelina had guessed her purpose in coming, the owner of one of the town’s few businesses would be aware of it.

But she had not really deceived him; she would be Jed McCarrick’s relative in a matter of days, if not sooner.

Mrs. Jedediah McCarrick.

The thought kept her from panic as another hour passed, and then another. She grew colder. Something must have kept Mr. McCarrick. Perhaps his wagon had broken down or there had been some emergency at the ranch.

The noise from the saloon increased. Rachel picked up her bag. Perhaps it would be best if she went inside rather than make a spectacle of herself, or become an object of derision. She turned to open the door.

The rattle of wheels stopped her. A wagon—a buckboard, they called it—had drawn up in front of the store. The lean, dusty man on the bare plank seat touched the brim of his hat as he settled the horses.

“You Miss Lyndon?” he asked.

Relief nearly choked her reply. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”

The man’s face clouded. “Well, ma’am, it’s like this. Jed ain’t coming.”

She barely registered the words. “I beg your pardon?”

There was no mistaking the man’s discomfort. He squirmed on the seat and cleared his throat.

“Jed sent me,” he said, “to tell you that he’s changed his mind.” He felt inside his coat and produced a leather pouch. “Jed said to give you this, for fare back to Ohio and a little extra for your trouble.”

Rachel had never swooned in her life, but the weakness in her legs was such that she feared she might not keep her feet. “There must be some mistake,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The man held out the pouch. Rachel raised her hands as if she could ward off disaster before it could truly become real.

Changed his mind. It was not possible.

“I do not believe it,” she said, finding her courage again.

The messenger let his hand fall. “I only know what he told me. If you’d only—”

“I wish to be taken to Dog Creek.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.”

Perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps she would only face further humiliation and the extinction of her last hopes. But she could not go running back to Ohio with her tail between her legs. Not without being absolutely certain.

“If you will not take me,” she said, “I shall find another way.”

The man’s expression of embarrassment underwent a rapid transformation. He scowled and pushed the pouch back under his coat.

“You’re making a mistake, ma’am,” he said. With a curse and a flick of the reins, he sent his horses off at a fast clip. Rachel began to tremble. She had convinced the messenger of her sincerity, but the effort had taken its toll. She felt breathless and weak.

But the decision had been made. She could not afford to return to Ohio now, even had she wished to. This had become a matter of survival.

Taking a firm grip on her bag, she went into the store. Mr. Sonntag offered to find someone to drive her to Dog Creek in the morning.

“You can stay here, Fräulein Lyndon,” he said. “I have several rooms in the back. It is the nearest thing we have to a hotel. No one will trouble you.”

Rachel was prepared to refuse. She had no money to repay such unexpected kindness. But in the end she agreed because she could not imagine spending the night on the street like a woman of ill repute.

Are you any better? she asked herself as she settled in the small, plain room Herr Sonntag had assigned to her.

She was. She must be. And Jedediah McCarrick would make it possible.

RACHEL WOKE EARLY the next morning. Mr. Sonntag insisted that she share his breakfast of bread and jam, and she was too hungry to refuse. A few hours later a man from the livery stable arrived with a wagon, and Rachel took out a few of her remaining coins, hoping they would be enough.

“It’s not necessary,” the grizzled driver said. “Sonntag arranged it.”

Rachel hurried back into the store to thank the German, but he’d gone out on some business. She resolved that she would pay him back as soon as she was in a position to do so.

The driver, Mr. Sweet, was not inclined to conversation, and Rachel had no desire to reveal herself to a stranger. She concentrated on absorbing the landscape. Beyond the tiny patch of green that marked the spring near which Javelina was situated, this was a stark, unforgiving world, in every way unlike the East. Rachel knew if she allowed herself, she would be very much afraid.

This will be my home. I will learn to love it.

The ride was long and dusty and hot. The road, if such it could be called, was rutted and hard. There was little shade, but the driver seemed to find it whenever there was a need to rest the horses. They passed over dry streambeds and rocky hills, and expanses of brown, hardy grasses.

The landscape changed abruptly as they drew alongside a strip of low green trees and shrubs that marked a rare watercourse. Sweet drove the wagon through the scrub and under a handsome live oak to the bank, where he let the horses drink from the clear, bubbling stream.

“Where are we now?” Rachel asked, breathing in the crisp, welcome scent of water and growing things.

“On the border of Blackwater, the Blackwell ranch,” Sweet said. He waved his hand at the opposite bank. “They own all the land to the north of Dog Creek. We’re only about five miles from Dog Creek Ranch.”

“Then we’re nearly there.”

“Hardly, ma’am. We got another fifteen miles past the border before we get to the house. There’s a good place along the creek about seven miles east of here where we can stay the night.”

The prospect of spending the night alone in the wilderness with a stranger did nothing to salve Rachel’s worries, but she forgot her concern when she saw a rider approaching from the opposite bank. Even from a distance she could see that he was not like the driver, or the man who had come to tell her that McCarrick had “changed his mind.” He rode erect, and his clothing was of a better cut and far cleaner. A gentleman, she thought.

The rider guided his horse down the bank and crossed the stream, the water splashing at his horse’s knees. “Mr. McCarrick,” Sweet said as the stranger stopped before them.

Rachel’s heart bounced beneath her ribs. She stared up at the rider’s blue eyes, long blond hair and tanned, handsome face. He was much too young and too tall. But his name …

“Good day, ma’am,” the rider said, touching the brim of his hat and smiling down at Rachel with bright curiosity. His voice was smooth, a pleasant tenor that bore an accent more evocative of the East than the Texas drawl Rachel had been hearing since her arrival. For just a moment it reminded her of Louis, and she stiffened.

“This here’s Miss Rachel Lyndon,” Sweet said before Rachel could respond. “She came in on the stage yesterday.”

Something flickered across the rider’s face, an emotion too quickly gone to grasp. “I’m Sean McCarrick, Miss Lyndon. Jed’s nephew. I was just on my way to meet you.”

A great wave of relief threatened to wash the starch out of Rachel’s spine. She offered her hand. “Good day, Mr. McCarrick. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He took her hand in his and bent over the saddle to kiss the air above it. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Lyndon. We’d heard that the stage was delayed and wasn’t expected until this evening.”

Of course. That explained everything. Everything but the man who had tried to send her away.

“I understand completely, Mr. McCarrick,” she said.

“Sean, please.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated, afraid to push too much. “Is Mr. McCarrick indisposed?”

Sean McCarrick shifted his weight in the saddle. “No, ma’am. He’s away from the ranch at the moment and asked me to watch out for you.”

Away from the ranch? “I see,” she said, suppressing a new spark of panic. “Can you tell me when he’ll be returning?”

“He’s up north on business that couldn’t wait. I expect him anytime now.” Sean McCarrick gazed at her with concern. “I’m sorry for the disappointment, but I know Jed will be happy to have Sonntag put you up in town until he comes back.”

Rachel’s unease blossomed into terror. The man who’d try to buy her off had been correct. Jed didn’t want her. He’d sent his gentlemanly nephew to approach her in a subtler fashion, but the result would be the same. She would wait and wait in town until it became clear that Jed was never coming back. Not for her.

Once upon a time, fear and humiliation would have sent her scurrying in retreat. But she’d come too far. Anger bubbled up from some long-quiet source inside her heart.

“I wonder if you might tell me who came to meet me yesterday evening,” she said abruptly.

Because she’d learned to watch people’s faces, Rachel caught the almost imperceptible flash of dismay in Sean’s expression before it transformed into puzzlement. “Someone came to meet you?” he asked.

“Yes. A man who said that Mr. McCarrick had changed his mind and wished me to return to Ohio. He offered me money to leave Javelina.”

Sean frowned. “What did this man look like?”

She began to think more clearly. “Lean of frame, of average height, brown hair. He did not give his name.”

Sean’s frown deepened. “That description fits any one of a dozen men around this part of the Pecos.” He drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. “What exactly did he say?”

In brief, concise sentences, Rachel told him. “Who could want to do such a thing?” she asked, watching for any telltale slip in his demeanor.

There was none. He looked out across the desert plain, the muscles beneath his jaw flexing and relaxing. “I can think of only one man who would want you gone,” he said. “The foreman at Dog Creek. Holden Renshaw.”

“The foreman?”

“He’s had a favored place at the ranch he no doubt wouldn’t wish to surrender. My uncle has given him far too much trust and control, and as a result …” He hesitated. “To be frank, ma’am, he hates women. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he set a man to watch for your arrival and buy you off.”

Rachel could scarcely comprehend what he was saying. It seemed too fantastic to be believed. “Jedediah never mentioned this … this Renshaw.”

He shook his head. “Of course I can’t be certain he was behind it,” he murmured. “But I do advise you not to mention the incident to him.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry this has happened. You can see why it would be better for you to go back to town to wait. Once my uncle is home, he—”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. McCarrick, but that will not be necessary. I assure you that this Mr. Renshaw will not—cannot—deter me in any way.”

“But, ma’am—”

“I have every right to be there. You see, Jedediah and I were married in Ohio. I am Mrs. McCarrick.”

Chapter Two

HEATH DISMOUNTED, TAKING great care not to jar the baby. The kid had been so quiet those last ten miles that at times he had only known it was still alive by its breathing and slow heartbeat.

He lifted the edges of the blanket away from the baby’s face. Sick as it was, it was looking at him the way it always did, as if it could see right into his head.

You’ll be all right, he told his son for the hundredth time. I’ll find someone to look after you proper.

The baby made a soft noise and lifted its hand toward his face. As if it trusted him. As if it knew he wouldn’t let it die.

Heath looked around for the ranch hands. Sean wasn’t around, as usual. Most of the others were no doubt out on the range, but Maurice and Joey almost always stuck by the house, especially when Heath was away. Joey was a fast rider and could get to the Blackwell place in a few hours.

I should have gone straight there myself. But he hadn’t realized how sick the baby was going to get, and the idea of crawling to Artemus Blackwell for help made Heath’s hackles rise. Now he didn’t have any choice. Blackwell had a wife and daughter, and females knew about babies.

He was about to take the baby into the house when he heard the rattle of a wagon a mile or so up the track that ran west along the creek that gave the ranch its name. He tilted his head to listen. He knew the sound of every vehicle belonging to the ranch, and this wasn’t one of them.

The baby gave a thin, whimpering wail. Heath rocked it a little, the way he’d seen Polly doing. The kid went quiet again, and Heath tested the air for scent. The first thing he smelled was Sean on his palomino, Ulysses. The wagon behind him was a buckboard, and there were two people crowded onto the seat, one Heath recognized as Henry Sweet from Javelina. The other …

A woman.

Heath tensed. Strange females didn’t just show up at Dog Creek.

Unless Jed had asked them to come.

Cold certainty chilled the air in his lungs. It was her. Rachel Lyndon, Jed’s mail-order bride. The one Jed had never seen fit to tell him about.

Heath wanted to laugh, but the sound got stuck halfway up his throat. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known she was coming, but he’d never thought he would lay eyes on her.

The rattle of the wagon grew louder. Sean and the buckboard came into view, and Heath caught his first glimpse of the woman.

She sat upright on the hard seat, clutching a carpetbag to her chest. Her hair was dark, her body slender, even thin, and her gaze was fixed on the house. There was unease in her scent and tension in the set of her shoulders.

Sean rode straight up to Heath. “Renshaw,” he said coolly. “I hope you’re prepared for guests.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Heath growled.

He didn’t really expect an answer, and there wasn’t one.

Sean glanced at the blanket, then looked away again without seeing what was inside it and reined Ulysses around to watch the wagon approach.

“She just got in on the stage, nice and ready to take over while Jed’s gone,” he said. “You’d better clean yourself up. The lady may not decide to keep you on if you don’t please her.”

Something in Sean’s tone told Heath that the son of a bitch was sitting on information that he couldn’t wait to let out. He wanted Heath to ask who she was, why some female he’d never seen had any idea of “taking over.” He thought Heath didn’t know the truth, and he wanted to savor the moment.

But Sean could never keep his mouth shut for long. He smiled, not quite meeting Heath’s gaze. “Do you know who she is, Renshaw? Did my uncle tell you before he left for Kansas?”

“I know who she is,” Heath said between his teeth. “Rachel Lyndon. Jed’s intended.”

Sean’s smile froze. “You’re half-right, Renshaw,” he said, recovering his balance. “Her name is Rachel, but it’s not Lyndon, and she’s not anyone’s intended.” He grinned and looked full into Heath’s face. “It’s McCarrick. Rachel McCarrick. She and Jed were married in Ohio.

“She’s Jed’s wife.”

JED’S WIFE.

At first Heath didn’t think he’d heard right. He’d read Jed’s unsigned will, and the letter from the woman. It had been clear that Jed hadn’t married her yet, that he planned to do it soon after she arrived.

Someone was lying. But who?

Heath didn’t have the chance to call Sean out. The female was taking Sweet’s arm and climbing down from the buckboard, almost stumbling as she stared at the house.

Sean dismounted, tossed Ulysses’s reins over the hitching post and went to meet her. Heath gave her a closer look. Her eyes were brown, a few shades lighter than her dark hair. She wasn’t pretty, but she wasn’t ugly, either. She was somewhere around thirty years, not old, but there was a tightness around her mouth, a kind of tension that told him she wasn’t easy in her mind.

So this was the woman who’d written the letter that Jed had carried like something precious. The woman he’d cared enough about to woo and win and bring all the way to Texas.

She looked in his direction. Her shoulders lifted, and she started toward him, her plain brown skirts swishing with each firm step. He could feel her hostility through his skin and in his bones. She didn’t even glance at the bundle in his arms.

“Mrs. Rachel McCarrick,” Sean said, gliding up beside her. “Holden Renshaw, foreman of Dog Creek.”

At first Heath thought the woman was going to back away, but then he realized her hostility covered something else: fear. He could smell it sure as he could smell a skunk at ten paces.

“Ma’am,” he said coldly, briefly touching the brim of his hat. “Welcome to Dog Creek.”

She studied his face. “Am I welcome, Mr. Renshaw?” she asked.

He didn’t understand the question, and he didn’t much care. She wasn’t denying that she was Jed’s wife, and that meant she was lying. He hated that she was here, hated that she’d invaded this place and claimed it for herself, that a stranger held Jed’s loyalty just because she was human.

But she obviously didn’t know Jed was dead, and neither did Sean.

“So you’re Jed’s wife?” he said, making her feel a little of what he was.

She flinched, so slightly that he knew no human would have caught it. “I understand that Mr. Mc—my husband is away,” she said.

“He’s been in Kansas, selling cattle,” he said. “Surprised you didn’t know that, Mrs. McCarrick.”

Her upper teeth, white and straight, grazed her lower lip. “Of course I knew he had been elsewhere on business, but he was to have returned by the time I arrived.”

Maybe she was telling the truth about that part, maybe not. Heath smiled, not trying too hard to make it friendly. “I don’t know what you’re used to back East, ma’am, but out here, things don’t run by clockwork.”

“You expected me, did you not?”

He knew a challenge when he heard it. Jed had surely planned to meet her when she arrived. Maybe she wondered why his foreman hadn’t known to fetch her in Javelina.

“Jed didn’t say when you was comin’,” he said.

“He told me,” Sean said.

More lies. “You know when he’ll be back, too?” Heath asked with a curl of his lip.

Sean hesitated, and little worry lines appeared between the woman’s straight dark brows. Heath came within an inch of feeling sorry for her.

An inch could be a long way if you wanted it to be.

Sean cleared his throat. “Mrs. McCarrick is weary from her long journey,” he said. “I’ll escort her into the house.”

One long stare shut Sean up again. Heath looked down at the baby, so covered up that it looked like a pile of rags. It chose that moment to stir and whimper. Sean jumped. So did the woman. They both stared in disbelief at the lump curled against Heath’s chest.

“You know anything about kids, Mrs. McCarrick?” Heath asked roughly.

She blinked at him. “I … I beg your—”

He showed her the baby’s pale face. “It’s ailin’. Can you make it well?”

Her gaze moved from the baby’s face to his, astonishment wiping every other emotion from her features. “Where … whose baby is this?”

“Someone left it, and I found it. Can you fix it?”

Surprised as she was, she landed on her feet just like a cat. “How long has it been since it has eaten?”

“It won’t eat at all.”

Accusing eyes met his, and she took the baby from his arms, taking care not to touch Heath more than she had to. “What have you been giving it?” she demanded.

His hackles rose again. “Some cow’s milk and stuff in a bottle. That’s all I had.”

“It must have milk. Fresh milk.”

Relief burned through his body like strong whiskey. She knew what to do. She could keep the baby alive.

Maybe she could do more than that. She was holding the baby close and humming softly, just like a real mother.

Heath cut the thought before it could get any further. He would be gone with the baby as soon as it could travel. “Go on in,” he said. “I’ll see to that milk.”

She met his gaze with a flash of defiance and walked toward the house, still cooing. Heath turned on his boot heel and walked toward the barn. Sean stepped into his path.

“What in hell do you think you’re doing, Renshaw?” he demanded. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but if you think you can order Jed’s wife around like a common servant—”

Heath took a single step toward him.

Sean backed away fast, his hands half raised, but his fear wasn’t enough to shut him up. “Where did you get that baby?” he demanded.

“It ain’t your concern, McCarrick,” Heath said slowly and clearly.

“It is my concern if it affects Dog Creek.”

“You never gave a damn about Dog Creek.” Heath leaned into Sean, who took another step backward. “Where did you meet her?”

Sean rolled his eyes like a horse about to spook, then took himself in hand. “In Javelina. Jed told me to watch for her.”

“Jed never told you a damn thing.”

“He never told you, either.” Sean attempted a grin. “If only I’d had a mirror to show you the look on your face when you found out who she was.”

Heath bared his teeth. “Take a look at it now.”

Hunching his shoulders, Sean laughed nervously. “Wondering what else Jed was hiding from you?”

“I knew he was fixin’ to marry.”

“But not that he was married.”

So Sean believed it. Heath saw no reason to set him straight and a couple of good ones not to. Sean would be boiling in his own juices by now, much as he tried to hide it by trying to defend the woman. He’d always expected Dog Creek to be handed to him on a silver platter once Jed was gone. He didn’t have to know about the wills, or Jed’s death, to realize that his plans for Dog Creek were in trouble, but he was just smart enough not to let on. For now.

“You know what I think?” Heath said, wanting to twist the knife a little deeper. “You didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout the woman until she showed up. Jed knew you’d be riled about it. He didn’t trust you.”

Sean stood straight and put on an offended look that probably would have fooled most of the folks he liked to impress. “Why should I be anything but pleased that my uncle has found happiness with a woman?”

“You was never interested in anyone’s happiness but your own.”

“Amusing that you of all people should say that, Renshaw. You’ve been manipulating my uncle since you first arrived.”

Hitching his thumbs in his gun belt, Heath half closed his eyes. “That’ll always stick in your craw, won’t it? That he chose me over you to run Dog Creek?”

Sean sneered. “He made a serious mistake. There’s always been something wrong about you, Renshaw. Eventually I’ll find out what it is.”

If Sean had been anything more than a weak, puling shadow of a man, full of empty bluster, Heath might have taken his threat seriously. He hadn’t forgotten the risk of his being here, but Sean didn’t know just how much things had changed, and he sure as hell wouldn’t do anything that would push Jed into taking Heath’s side over his.

Heath didn’t know that Jed had chosen against both of them.

Heath glanced back at the house, where Apache was still waiting patiently. “Look on your own time, McCarrick. Now you’re nothin’ but a hired hand, and you got work to do. See to my horse.”

“I’m not taking any more orders from you, Renshaw,” Sean spat. “Mrs. McCarrick’s in charge now. Once she realizes what a low-bred barbarian you are, she’ll have the sense to turn you out and hire someone more suitable.”

“Like you? That why you’re bowin’ and scrapin’ to her?”

“I am a gentleman, Renshaw. I have an excellent reputation in this county. The same can’t be said of you. In fact, I would think that the good people of Pecos County would be inclined to believe that you might be a danger to Mrs. McCarrick. A woman alone—”

Heath struck faster than any human eye could follow, clenching his fingers in the fabric of Sean’s coat and lifting him off his feet.

“You got a filthy mouth, McCarrick. Too filthy for the likes of Jed’s wife.” He let Sean drop, and the other man fell to his knees. “You got fifteen minutes to pack up your kit and clear out.”

Scrambling to his feet, Sean bunched his fists and crouched as if he was thinking about launching an attack of his own. He had just enough sense to think better of it.

“You can’t throw me off the ranch,” he said. “I am my uncle’s closest kin. You have no right—”

“This is my right,” Heath said, laying his hand on his gun. “Until Jed comes back, you won’t set foot on Dog Creek again.”

Sean’s hand hovered near his own shiny new gun with its fancy silver scrolling and ivory grip. “You aren’t the only one with—”

“Even if you knew how to use that fancy piece, you wouldn’t draw it. Not when you’d be the one left bleedin’.”

Sean opened and closed his mouth like a gasping fish. “You won’t get away with this, Renshaw. I swear you’ll live to regret it.”

Heath stepped around Sean as if he were no more than a pile of steaming cow dung and took Apache to the corral himself. Almost since he’d come to Dog Creek, he’d wanted to do what he’d just done. Jed had made that impossible. But there’d been nothing to stop him now, and even if Sean worked up the grit to try acting on his threats, Heath wouldn’t be around to deal with them.

Once he’d unsaddled the gelding, brushed him and given him a bag of oats, his thoughts quickly turned back to Mrs. McCarrick.

Rachel. He didn’t know what to make of her. He’d known a few females in his life, but she wasn’t much like any of them. Not like Polly or Frankie, hardened by a life of catering to the lusts of men. She talked like she had plenty of book learnin’, all fancy and proper with her words, looking down her nose at him. But she wasn’t soft, like the ladies in San Antonio with their fine airs and frilly dresses.

And she’d taken the baby right away. She’d held it like she cared about its welfare.

Because she didn’t know what it really was. And she never would. It didn’t really matter if she was lying about being Jed’s wife, or what would happen when she found out she never would be. For now, he had a use for Rachel Lyndon. The baby needed her. And as long as that was true, Heath had to try to forget how much he hated her.

SEAN DROVE HIS spurs into Ulysses’s heaving sides. His rage had gone beyond shock into a low-burning anger that only strengthened his determination.

“I am Mrs. McCarrick.” When the woman had spoken the words, Sean had believed at first that he’d heard her wrong. “Miss Rachel Lyndon,” Sweet had said when he’d introduced her. According to the drifter, who had fled as soon as he’d reported his failure to Sean, she had answered to that name in town.

It was a flat-out lie. “As soon as we’re married,” Jed had said. He wouldn’t have phrased it that way if they had already been wed. He’d wanted to make Sean suffer, so he wouldn’t have hesitated to announce that the deed was done and his worldly goods would be going to his wife upon his passing.

So Rachel Lyndon was a fraud. Sean could think of several reasons why she might prevaricate, among them her desire to go to Dog Creek in spite of Jed’s unexpected absence. She might see it as a way to protect her reputation in a strange place and assert her authority until Jed returned. Clearly she did not believe that he would resent her pretense.

Ulysses stumbled, and Sean sawed on the reins to bring the horse up again. Renshaw might have known that Jed intended to be married, but Sean was certain he hadn’t realized that Jed’s fiancée was on her way, or he wouldn’t have been gone when the stage was due. Renshaw had assumed that Sean hadn’t known, either, undoubtedly believing that Sean’s meeting with “Mrs. McCarrick” had been the merest chance.

It had been a blessing that Renshaw hadn’t believed Sean when he’d made the mistake of saying he’d expected Rachel’s arrival. If anyone ever found out what he’d told the drifter to do, or what Jed had said just before he died …

Sean laid his quirt to Ulysses’s flank, letting the wind burn his eyes. At least Renshaw didn’t know that Jed had intended to disinherit his nephew, or he would surely have rubbed it in Sean’s face long since.

But he had known Sean would be angry. As barbaric and uncouth as he was, he was not without a certain low animal cunning, and few in the county were inclined to cross him. Sean could still feel Renshaw’s hands clutching the lapels of his coat, feel that almost inhuman strength that could put even the most superior of men at a disadvantage.

The bastard would pay for that, of course. And that payment had been a long time coming. Too long. Renshaw had claimed Sean’s rightful place as Jed’s right hand and confidant. If Jed had done his duty and atoned for his brother’s sin of abandonment, it would have been different. But the money and education and petty privileges he had given his brother’s cast-off son had never been enough. They hadn’t filled the hole Sean had worked so hard to ignore.