Leslie LaFoy (3 page)

He had dark hair and intelligent brown eyes, she noted as he stepped toward her. High cheekbones, too, and a solid, square jaw.
Definitely handsome
, Lindsay thought as he barely nodded.

“Ma'am,” he said, the word rolling off his tongue in a way that was somehow both lazy and hard-edged.

From somewhere deep inside her a voice whispered,
and dangerous.
Puzzling the notion, she watched Jackson Stennett step forward and extend his right hand across the desk toward Richard Patterson.

“You're a long way from Texas,” Richard observed pleasantly, shaking the offered hand. “What brings you to this part of the world, Mr. Stennett?”

Stennett took a step back from the desk and squared his massive shoulders. His chin came up and Lindsay thought she saw anger flash briefly in his eyes.

Otis Vanderhagen didn't give Stennett a chance to reply. Pulling a thrice-folded document from the inside pocket of his coat, the attorney thundered,
“William's dead,”
and thrust the paper toward Richard. “Mr. Stennett has presented a copy of a recently dated Last Will and Testament.”

As Richard opened the document and began to read, Lindsay turned the announcement over in her mind, searching for her feelings regarding the news. Her father was dead. Seventeen years ago she would have cared. His death now was no more final than his departure had been then.

She'd grieved his loss when she'd been eight years old, crying herself to sleep at night and offering God whatever He wanted in exchange for her father returning home. But her father hadn't come back, and her life had gone on without him. Now … She didn't have any tears left to shed for William MacPhaull.

Jackson watched the emotions play across her face: mild shock, a wistful sadness, and then cool, deliberate detachment. His gut, already tight, clenched another degree as what had been a niggling suspicion moved closer to certainty. If Billy had done what he thought he had …
Better to get it all out in the open and know for sure
, he told himself. Shifting his hold on his hat, Jackson met Lindsay MacPhaull's gaze and said quietly, “My sincere condolences on your father's passing, ma'am. He was a good man.”

She studied him, her blue eyes darkening, her heartbeat pounding along the slender column of her neck. After a long moment, she arched a slim brow and said, “Good men don't abandon their families, Mr. Stennett.”

Jackson shifted his gaze to the window and gritted his teeth. Damn Billy to hell and back. How many more ugly surprises were out there waiting for him to find? First had been the revelation in the Will that Billy had lived his last seventeen years under an assumed name. The second had been Vanderhagen's announcement just over an hour ago that Billy had three children. And now to learn that Billy had burnt the bridges when he'd headed off to Texas. Jesus. A
mess
didn't even begin to describe what Billy had left behind.

Anger crawled through Jackson's veins. Of all the godawful predicaments he'd ever been in, this one ranked right near the top of the list. Billy had given him the means of saving the ranch—provided he was willing to take a legacy that wasn't rightfully his.

Jackson glanced back at the crippled man carefully reading the Will. Patterson obviously hadn't gotten to the part where Billy handed the family livelihood over to a complete stranger. When he did … Jackson considered the woman. Her porcelain skin, delicate features, and slim build—all wrapped up in pale pink silk and ivory lace— might lead a man to think Lindsay MacPhaull was one of
those fragile flowers of womanhood. But she had Billy's eyes and Billy's way of studying a man. If she had Billy's temper, too, things were going to go to hell in a handbasket real quick.

Jackson looked back at Patterson. The man's face was reddening by the second, the speed of his reading rapidly accelerating. Jackson silently swore, and braced himself. At the edge of his awareness, he heard Billy's daughter draw a deep breath.

“This is preposterous!” Patterson cried, flinging the document down on the desk as though it had soiled his hands. The muscles in his neck corded, and Jackson had the distinct impression that, had he been physically able, Richard Patterson would have vaulted over the desk, swinging his fists to beat the band. A sound of fury strangled low in the man's throat and his face twisted with rage. He sputtered, pushed his upper body forward and up in the chair, and roared, “We'll chal—”

His eyes widened like a crazed steer before rolling back into his head. And then he collapsed, his right side slumping and giving way like a tallow candle with an off-center wick. Spittle ran from the corner of his mouth as he fell back and over the arm of his chair.

Lindsay watched Richard collapse, her heart slamming into her throat even as time slowed to a crawl. As though from a great distance, she heard herself shout, “Ben! Send for Dr. Bernard! Hurry!” Her feet seemed to move of their own accord, taking her behind the desk and to Richard's side. Wrapping her arms around his well-muscled shoulders, she tried to move him upright and failed.

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. He couldn't be dead, she told herself. He couldn't. She needed him so badly. She wasn't ready to face it all alone. “Richard,” she whispered, the plea broken and ragged.

“Step aside, ma'am.”

Relief flooded through her. Everything would be all right. Jackson Stennett was calm, in control. His hand on her shoulder was warm and steady, his presence at her side large and solid and so very reassuring. When he guided her away from Richard, she didn't resist. Through her tears, she
watched him effortlessly lift Richard in his arms and carry him toward the divan. Her presence of mind somewhat restored by Stennett's certainty and command, Lindsay dashed around and ahead of him to arrange a pillow to cradle Richard's head.

“Now obviously isn't a good time to discuss business matters,” she heard Otis Vanderhagen bellow from behind them. “Perhaps we should return later.”

Placing Richard gently on the divan, Stennett replied firmly, “Now obviously isn't a good time to leave Miss MacPhaull alone, either. Go on back to your office, Vanderhagen. If I need you for anything, I know where to find you.”

“Are you certain? You'll need my assistance to—”

“I can manage on my own,” Stennett assured the lawyer gruffly while quickly untying Richard's stock and removing his collar. “It's impossible to mangle this matter any worse than you already have. Go on.” He glanced up at Lindsay and quietly added, “We need to cover him. Can you find a blanket?”

There was gentleness and compassion in his eyes. Lindsay nodded and dashed to the cloak rack for her pelisse. She was just turning back when Otis heaved a deep sigh and announced, “Ah, here comes Dr. Bernard up the sidewalk,” then chugged out of the room as fast as his fat little legs would carry him.

“The bastard,” Stennett muttered as Lindsay reached his side. “Actually waddles and slithers at the same time.”

Lindsay nodded in silent agreement as, together, they arranged her pelisse over Richard. He was so pale, so suddenly old and fragile-looking. Tears welled along her lashes again and she reached out to brush a lock of white hair off Richard's forehead. A tear fell onto his cheek and Stennett used the sleeve of her pelisse to carefully dab it away.

Dr. Bernard entered the room, his black bag in his hand, and the tails of his unbuttoned coat flapping behind him. “What happened, Lindsay?” he asked even before he reached his patient.

“He groaned and his right side gave out,” she answered as Dr. Bernard dropped to his knees at Richard's side. She quickly brushed her tears away, adding, “He's had a dull
headache for two days and then he just slumped ov—” Her voice broke again and she couldn't swallow down the lump lodged high in her throat.

“He was agitated at the time,” Stennett supplied, taking Lindsay gently by the arm and easing her out of the physician's way. “Actually, he was furious. He collapsed while trying to push himself up out of his chair.”

Richard had been reading the copy of her father's Will, Lindsay remembered, numbly watching Dr. Bernard work on the too-still form of her mentor and friend. Something in the Will had … Her heartbeat quickened and she became acutely aware of Jackson Stennett's hand wrapped around her arm, of the warmth of his body next to hers. Stennett knew the contents of her father's Will. And in all likelihood, he knew very well what had sent Richard into a rage. Pulling her arm from Stennett's grasp, she took a step back and looked up into his coolly assessing gaze. Yes, he knew. She could feel the truth of it vibrating in the air between them. Jackson Stennett
was
dangerous; far more dangerous than he was handsome.

Dr. Bernard sighed and pushed himself to his feet, saying softly, “It appears to be a stroke, Lindsay. A severe one.”

The pronouncement struck her like a physical blow. She felt the air leave her lungs in a hard rush, felt her knees weaken and her legs tremble. Richard was going to die. Slowly, horribly. She saw the sad look in Dr. Bernard's eyes, saw Stennett start to reach for her. Anger and pride brought her chin up. Resolution drew her shoulders back. She locked her knees and willed herself to manage the situation with cool dignity. Richard would expect nothing less of her.

“Given Richard's paralysis,” Dr. Bernard said quietly, “it's not unexpected. If you'll ask for his carriage to be brought around, Lindsay, and a couple of your staff for their assistance, I'll get him home.”

“Don't bother the staff,” Stennett declared. Nonchalantly clapping his big hat onto his head, he added, “If you'll see to the carriage, Miss MacPhaull, I'll manage Mr. Patterson into it.”

She was tempted to decline his assistance, but remembering the gentleness of his earlier care for Richard, she bit
back the words. “We'll take him to my house, Dr. Bernard,” she declared, finding a measure of strength in the evenness of her own voice. Stennett wasn't the only one who could calmly command. “It's closer and I can take better care of him there.” She turned and headed toward the office door, calling, “Benjamin!”

The clerk appeared as if by magic. As always, his demeanor was calm and his appearance absolutely unruffled by the commotion of the moment. He held his small traveling desk in one hand and a glass ink pen in the other. “I've already ordered the carriages around, Miss MacPhaull. And I sent a runner to tell Mrs. Beechum to prepare the guest room. What else may I do to help?”

“You're a godsend, Ben,” she said, picking up her bonnet and gloves. She heard Stennett taking Richard back into his arms. “If you'd be so kind as to bring the chair out, I'd be most appreciative.”

“He won't need it, Lindsay,” Dr. Bernard said gently.

He's going to die.
The unspoken words echoed through her heart. She wouldn't crumble. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Jackson Stennett. She carefully put the bonnet on her head and tied the ribbons, saying, “Please put today's correspondence in Richard's valise, Ben. I'll need it all.”

Ben nodded and quickly set to the task. As Lindsay pulled on her gloves, Dr. Bernard picked up his bag and started toward the door. Jackson Stennett followed, carefully cradling the unconscious Richard Patterson in his arms. She watched them go, knowing with absolute certainty that her world had shifted on its axis and that the Texan was to blame.

Accepting the valise from Ben, she strode after the men, mentally ordering her priorities. The first was to care for Richard, to do whatever she could to make sure he recovered as fully as possible. The second was to be rid of Stennett quickly. She was certain he factored into Richard's collapse. She needed time to find out how, and form a strategy for dealing with whatever threat he posed.

Cheat God first. Then deal with the Devil.
Lindsay lifted her chin. She could do it. She didn't have any other choice.

T
HE CARRIAGE WAS SMALL
and once he'd carefully placed Richard Patterson on the one seat, he backed out to allow Dr. Bernard to occupy the other. After assuring the physician that he'd carry Patterson out at the end of their journey, Jackson closed the door and strode down the sidewalk toward the second black vehicle. Lindsay MacPhaull stood with one foot inside the carriage and watched him approach. From the defiant tilt of her chin, he could guess the course she intended to take. The trust she'd granted him in the moments following Patterson's collapse had evaporated soon after the doctor's arrival. And in the scant minutes between then and now, she'd drawn a line and committed herself to keeping him on the other side of it. He couldn't really blame her. But he couldn't let her do it, either.

As he drew near, she pasted a false smile on her face and said, “I greatly appreciate your assistance, Mr. Stennett.”

“It was the least I could do.” He put his hand under her elbow in a not-so-subtle suggestion that she climb into her
carriage. Behind him he heard the one bearing Richard Patterson start away.

She glanced after it, but remained rooted to the spot. “I have servants who can assist once we reach the house.”

Face it square on, Jack.
“I recognize a polite dismissal when I hear one,” he said, exerting a gentle force that propelled her forward, “but you and I need to talk, Miss MacPhaull. The sooner, the better.”

She dropped unceremoniously onto the seat, her eyes blazing. Tossing the valise on the opposite seat, she said crisply, “As much as I dislike agreeing with Otis Vanderhagen about anything, now is not a good time. Perhaps tomorrow morning?”

“I don't mean to be insensitive, Miss MacPhaull,” he countered, following her in and closing the carriage door sharply behind himself, “but the truth is that Richard Patterson could well be dead by tomorrow morning.” He shoved the valise aside and sat opposite her, his knees brushing against hers in the small space. “Even if things go reasonably well, he's going to be in no shape to handle the reins of the company for some time to come.”

“Forgive me for being so blunt,” she replied, the perfect picture of imperial control as she shifted to move her legs beyond the touch of his, “but I fail to see how the conduct of my business is any of your concern.”