My Heart's Desire (5 page)

Hollis Banks drew away from his friends. He took a step toward Jarret and stopped and waited.

Jarret Sullivan had formed a picture of Rennie's intended. Hollis Banks looked nothing like that picture. Hollis was as tall as Jarret, husky, but not heavy. He had powerful shoulders, a broad face, and a wide chest. His dark brown hair was clipped in the latest style, parted in the middle, and slicked back with Elgin's Hair Tonic. His mustache was neatly waxed, and his side-whiskers followed his strong jawline. He was wearing a black morning coat, dove gray trousers, and shoes almost as shiny as his hair. His mouth was set tightly. His dark eyes were hard. He did not seem the sort of man one would describe as a milksop.

What had Jay Mac been thinking? Jarret wondered. But he knew. John MacKenzie Worth wanted this wedding stopped, and he was not above lying to get his way. The corner of Jarret's mouth curved in a self-mocking smile. Ten thousand dollars had seemed like a lot of money in Jay Mac's office. He should have held out for more. He bet Jay Mac would have paid it.

"Hollis Banks?" Jarret said, stopping less than two feet in front of the man.

Banks nodded curtly. His shoulders were set squarely, his feet planted firmly. His narrowed eyes held both curiosity and disdain. They darted over Jarret, taking in the wrinkled and dusty clothes, the tear in the jeans at the knee, the worn boots and sweat-banded hat. The outline of the gun was unmistakable under the duster.

Jarret was unmoved by the censure he saw on Banks' broad features. He nudged his hat upward with a forefinger. "Sorry about the interruption. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

Banks' eyes widened slightly, his surprise evident. "You
do
understand you're interrupting a wedding?"

Jarret looked around as if he'd taken no account of his surroundings before. The congregation was sitting on the edge of the pews, their ears cocked toward the altar rail, as they hoped to hear some portion of the conversation. There were vases of orange blossoms and baby's breath decorating the windowsills. The ushers behind Hollis were dressed similarly to the groom, their crisp breast pocket handkerchiefs folded in a triangle. The priest was facing the guests; the altar boy had just finished lighting the candles. He turned back to Hollis. "By God, you're right. Except for the absent bride, it has all the earmarks of a wedding," he said.

A ruddy flush started at Hollis's neck and passed over his face. "I do not suffer fools gladly," he said tightly. "State your business and leave."

"Here?"

Hollis hesitated. "Oh, very well." He glanced at the ushers behind him. "Give us three minutes." He turned and headed for a door off to the right of the chapel.

Jarret grinned at the ushers. "I gather I'm expected to follow." He fell in step behind Hollis.

When they were alone in the small room where the altar boys put on their robes and the priest made last minute notations on his sermon, Banks turned sharply on Jarret. "Your name and your business?"

Jarret was slow to respond, glancing around the room as if time were of no account. Eventually his gaze settled on Banks, and he offered with quiet purpose, "Jarret Sullivan. I've just come from a meeting with Jay Mac. I'm prepared to offer you one thousand dollars to leave Rennie at the altar."

For a moment Hollis Banks was struck dumb. His mouth parted slightly, his eyes widened, and no hint of comprehension touched his features. Then he laughed. He had a big, booming, hearty laugh. His eyes crinkled, and tears appeared at the corners. His shoulders shook. It was loud, infectious laughter, and outside the room Jarret could hear the titterings of the guests as they caught the sound of Hollis's genuine enjoyment.

"Pardon me," Hollis said. He took the sharply folded handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his eyes. "All of a thousand dollars, eh? That doesn't sound like Jay Mac. Are you certain you met him?"

Jarret drew his Remington and pointed it at Hollis's chest. There was no longer any evidence of a smile or any indication that Jarret had found anything amusing-ever. "There's this as well," he said calmly.

Hollis arched one dark eyebrow. "Jay Mac told you to kill me?"

"Let's say he didn't tell me not to."

"I see." Hollis eyed the gun consideringly. "I wonder who he has in mind to take my place."

"Can't say. Rennie's pretty enough, I guess. She'll find another stallion to corral."

"I wasn't referring to being Mary Renee's husband. I meant with Northeast Lines. I'm Jay Mac's vice president of operations."

Nothing showed on Jarret's face, but he was damning John MacKenzie Worth. He shrugged.

"Does Mary Renee know what you're doing?"

"I've already spoken to her, yes. She's in the side chapel with her sisters and mother."

Hollis Banks looked at the Remington again. He'd never had a gun pointed at him, but his estimation of Jarret Sullivan was that the man was prepared to use it. "Nate Houston," he said slowly.

This time Jarret's surprise showed. He blinked. "What?"

"Nate Houston," Banks repeated. "That's who you are."

There was something not quite right with Banks' assertion beyond the fact that the vice president of operations was dead wrong. Rennie's fiancé had the proper look of a suddenly frightened man. A bead of perspiration had appeared on Hollis's forehead, and his eyes darted nervously between Jarret's face and the gun, something they hadn't done before. Yet something didn't ring true, and since Jarret couldn't put his finger on it he played along. "How do you figure that?"

"It wasn't all that difficult. You could only be Marshal Stone or Nathaniel Houston. Jay Mac's been warned that Houston escaped and might come here. That would bring Stone on his trail."

"That so?"

Banks nodded, his eyes dropping uneasily to the Remington again. "I imagine the marshal would only be interested in Michael, especially since she's carrying his child. And Mr. Worth would never offer a thousand dollars to stop Rennie's wedding."

"Actually, that's my offer." Jarret's smile came slowly, and it hinted at something intimate, something Hollis Banks would understand. "I've taken a fancy to Mary Renee."

"Which makes it reasonable to assume you're Nate Houston. How else would a man like you have come by the thousand dollars?"

Jarret raised his gun slightly at Banks' condescending assertion. "It's hard to say, Mr. Banks. After all, this is a world where a man like you could become Jay Mac's son-in-law."

Hollis didn't answer immediately. The mask of fear slipped, and the look he gave Jarret was long and thoughtful. "Careful planning," he said at last.

The answer was just about what Jarret had expected. It appeared more and more as if the impending marriage was no love match. "Reconsidering taking the money? Or is a bullet more to your liking?" Holding the gun steady, Jarret reached into his back pocket and pulled out a clip of twelve hundred-dollar bills. It was all the money he had in the world, most of it won during the long poker game on the rail ride east. He hoped Jay Mac meant what he said about the ten thousand.

Pinching the money between his thumb and forefinger, Jarret held it out for Hollis to take. At the same time he slowly drew back the hammer on his Remington. "There's not much time," he said. "Your friends will be coming in after you. Will they find you on the floor or a richer man?"

Banks raised his hand carefully, palm out. It wavered between the gun and the money and then went for the money. "Rennie will never believe this happened, Mr. Houston. She trusts me."

"But I don't." Jarret dropped the money just as Hollis's fingers would have closed around it. Hollis reacted predictably, bending as he tried to grasp the bills. He didn't see the descent of the Remington as Jarret brought it down on the base of his skull. Grunting softly, Hollis collapsed, the money on the floor beside him just outside his grasp. Jarret prodded him gingerly with the toe of his dusty boot. There was no movement.

With some reluctance Jarret left his money where it was, tucked his Remington away, and took the side door exit so that he wouldn't have to face the congregation. Estimating he had less than a minute before Hollis's friends found the unconscious groom, Jarret hurried along the outside of the church and entered again from the front.

He ran headlong into Rennie as he stepped into the side chapel. Jarret's arm swung around her waist, steadying and securing her in the same motion. Glancing around, he saw that Ethan and Mary Michael were gone. "He's taken her to the hotel then?" he asked.

Moira, Mary Francis, Mary Margaret, and Mary Schyler all nodded. Mary Renee balled up her fist and hit him in the stomach. "Of course he's taken her," she snapped, struggling to be free of Jarret's iron grip. "You don't see Michael, do you?"

"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."

His calm and his faint smile were infuriating. He hadn't even winced at her punch, but then, she thought, his belly was as hard as his head. She would probably have bruised knuckles, and he hadn't felt the least pain. "Will you kindly let me go?" she asked stiffly.

Jarret ignored her and looked at the others. "Actually, it's time we all left. There's not going to be a wedding... at least not today."

Mary Francis's smile was serene as she touched her rosary. "Thank God for that."

Rennie sucked in her breath, and Jarret's arm naturally settled more tightly around her. "Mary! How can you say that?" She raised her eyes to Jarret and demanded sharply, "Will you please remove your arm? I'm going to—"

Moira rushed forward as Rennie slumped in Jarret's embrace.

"She's fine, ma'am," Jarret assured her. "Just fainted. Does she do that often?"

From across the room Maggie whispered dryly to Skye, "Only when she's held in a vise."

Skye smothered a giggle behind her hand.

Jarret slipped his free arm under Rennie's knees and lifted her. "She's not pregnant, is she?"

Mary Francis stepped forward to support her mother. "I think you forget yourself, Mr. Sullivan. We're grateful for your help as well as for your interference, but that doesn't give you leave to ask such personal questions."

He felt himself flushing under the soft rebuke. "Beggin' your pardon, Sister."

This time Maggie joined Skye's quiet laughter. Having been on the receiving end of Mary Francis's admonishments more than a few times themselves, they felt a faint tug of empathy for Jarret Sullivan.

"We have to be going," Jarret said. "There's a carriage waiting out front that will accommodate all of us. I don't expect things will remain quiet for long." He was referring to Hollis Banks unconscious in the chapel, but he could have spoken the same words of Rennie. He felt her stirring in his arms. "Quickly. We should leave now."

Moira shook her head. "I can't leave. What will our guests think? I must stay behind and make our apologies."

"I'll do that," Mary quickly promised her mother, giving her a gentle nudge toward the door. "You go with Mr. Sullivan. Skye. Maggie. You, too. I'll speak to everyone." She stepped back and pointed in the direction of the door. "Hurry. Before Rennie starts fussing."

Before Moira could voice another protest, Maggie and Skye ushered their mother into the hallway and out the large oak doors. Jarret turned to follow but stopped when he felt a light hand on his shoulder.

"She's not pregnant," Mary Francis said. "But you should treat her gently nonetheless. My sister is all snap and spit when she needs to be but here—" Mary touched her own heart—"she's tender."

Jarret frowned, not certain he understood. "I've signed on to protect her, Sister, not provoke her."

"I'm not sure you can help it," she said softly, smiling her beautiful, enigmatic smile.

Rennie was shifted in Jarret's arms as he shrugged. "Hollis was out cold in that little room at the front of the church. Except for an aching head he'll be all right."

"He fought you for Rennie?" she asked, puzzled by the possibility.

"No, I dropped him when he accepted the thousand dollars I offered to call off the wedding."

"Oh, dear." It was quite an effort not to laugh. "Rennie won't think much of Hollis for that."

"Hollis says she won't believe it."

Mary's smooth brows came together as she realized Hollis Banks was probably right. She didn't confirm it for Jarret. "You'd better go, Mr. Sullivan. They'll be waiting for you in the carriage." She escorted him to the main doors of the chapel and opened them. "God bless you," she whispered as he passed in front of her.

He grinned. "I'd be a fool not to think I need it." He hurried down the stone steps, Mary's light laughter in the air around him.

* * *

The house at the intersection of Broadway and 50th Street was only slightly smaller than the palatial French country home on which it was modeled. If Moira Dennehy had had her way, she would still be living in the cramped and cozy apartments on Houston Street where she had raised her daughters; but Jay Mac had his own ideas how his mistress should live, and when New York's elite started moving uptown, Jay Mac moved the Dennehys right along. A relatively quiet scandal resulted as neighbors whispered Jay Mac had no right, and the newspapers hinted that he had overstepped the bounds of good taste. His own home, after all, was only a few blocks away, just west of Central Park, and much was made of this fact. It didn't matter to John MacKenzie Worth, and, if the truth had been fully known, it mattered not a whit more to his wife.