Romancing the West (17 page)

“There’s more.” The well-dressed, dark-haired, dark-eyed Garrett regarded his brothers with a steady gaze. “I want free of the family estate.”

Boston shifted in his chair. “You want to sell our home.”

“Yours if you want it. I’m moving on. Like Athens.”

“Athens hasn’t exactly moved on,” Rome said.

“He’s yet to get over Jocelyn. As for shucking his political aspirations, can’t say I’m displeased, given my current opinion of government officials.”

“Your troubles are of your own making, Rome. Always have been. You stuck your pecker where it didn’t belong. Way I see it, you’re lucky Smith didn’t shoot it off.”

No matter how old they all grew, London would always be the eldest of the Garrett clan. Having to provide for four younger siblings at the age of twenty-three had fashioned him into a force to be reckoned with.

Half booze-blind, Rome wasn’t up for the challenge. He dragged both hands down his face, tamped down his annoyance. “Let’s stick to the subject at hand.”

Boston took up the reins of sensibility. “The only ones who lived there fulltime were Athens and Paris, Zach and Zoe. Now that they’re gone, can’t say I enjoy being there too often for too long. House ain’t a home without family.”

“You sure about this, London?” Rome asked. “The family business
and
home?”

“Break with the past. Start clean.” He glanced around the salon, rolled back his shoulders. “I’m sure.”

“I’m throwing in with London,” said Boston. “I vote to bail.”

The two men focused on Rome. “Don’t look at me. You know how I feel about the Gilded. As for home, I couldn’t wait to get out of Heaven.”

London grinned at that. “It’s settled then.” He stood, strode toward the bar, and nabbed a bottle of his best whiskey. “I cleared my belongings out of the house years ago and I’ve got my hands full with negotiations for the theater.”

Boston glanced at Rome then London. “Guess that means we’re traveling to Heaven.”

“Guess it does.” London settled back in the chair, poured drinks. “I want you to check in on Emily while you’re there. Athens mentioned she canceled her trip to visit Paris. That doesn’t sit right with me. Make sure she’s not hurting for anything. See if you can offer her some of our better furnishings without it seeming like charity. She’s proud.”

She was also a pain in Rome’s ass. A harmless pain, but an annoyance no less. She’d been mooning after him for years. His little sister’s shy friend. The preacher’s daughter. A bookish and backward innocent. Far and away from the type of woman Rome was attracted to. Still, Emily was part of the family and it pained him she’d suffered consecutive losses. Her ma and pa dying, and then Paris moving away.

He thought about his own ill luck as of late. He could do with some cheering up. Some social discourse. Maybe he’d do a kind turn and escort Emily to the Blossom Dance. The annual event was only a few days off, but he couldn’t imagine she’d already been asked. If anyone was destined for spinsterhood, it was Emily McBride.

Napa Valley, California

He dreamt about her and that was a damned shame, because she was naked in his dreams. The vision would haunt him.

He’d had his way with her, too. He’d unwound those long braids and set her pale curls free. He’d suckled her lips, her breasts. He’d smoothed his hands over her slight figure, pleasured her with his fingers, his tongue. He’d scandalized her, thrilled her.

Touch me, Poet. I’m eager to learn.

She had no idea what effect those innocent words had wrought. Her innocence and fighting spirit unhinged his heart and fired up John Thomas. A powerful, unsettling combination.

In his dreams, Seth had mounted Emily’s quivering, pliant body and claimed her as his own.

Only she wasn’t his. She belonged to Athens Garrett. At least she would as soon as he delivered the damned proposal.

Two full days since his arrival. He should have at least brought up the man’s name by now. The opportunity to casually do so had not arisen. Or maybe it had and he’d missed it. “Or ignored it,” he grumbled to the warped and cracked ceiling.

Mood dark, he swung out of bed, the unsteady frame creaking with his weight, and pulled on a pair of trousers. His left arm ached with the effort. He thought about the person who’d taken a shot at him, wondered at his motive. It was a hell of a lot more productive than pining after a woman claimed by another man. A woman deserving of a faithful husband.

Unlike tracking criminals, fidelity did not run in Seth’s blood. His pa had been an upstanding lawman, but he’d fallen down on his role as husband. Even though he claimed to love Seth’s ma, Lacey, and even though they had an agreeable marriage, Hershel Wright craved variety and frequently bedded the local doves. Lacey turned a blind eye, finding solace in denial. But Seth knew his pa’s infidelity injured her feelings. At least his pa had been discreet.

Still, Seth had sworn long ago never to put a woman through that. The day he recognized his thirst for variety is the day he vowed to live out his days as a bachelor.

He hadn’t counted on Emily.

Barefoot, he moved to the sole window of the small guestroom, peered outside. The morning sun hovered on the horizon. Barely dawn. Muted hues of red and orange spilled over the surrounding hills and valleys. Again, he was struck by all the green. So different from what he was used to. He was used to stark. Sparse, brown, and stark. The vivid landscape reminded him of Emily. She brought color to his world. Color and unrest.

He focused on the ominous rain clouds hovering over a distant hill, willed them to blow in and burst. He’d benefit from a dose of gloom, something to make this land less appealing. Something to make him ache for home.

He turned away, poured water from a large-mouthed pitcher into a matching chipped basin, and splashed his face to clear the mental cobwebs. His brain was full of Emily. Her shaky relationship with her mother. Her passionate views on hypocrites and intolerance. Her obsession with adventurous literature.

Her infatuation with Rome Garrett.

He’d worked every angle and still he couldn’t work out her secret.

AS LONG AS YOU REAP BENEFITS, YOU WILL PAY THE PRICE.

What benefits? Not financial. Her property was falling apart and the furnishings in this house, though dust-free from Mrs. Dunlap’s incessant cleaning, were cheaply made and old to boot. Preacher McBride’s earnings had been meager. Or maybe he’d been a miser. Emily had said the blackmailer had depleted her savings. To his knowledge, librarians earned paltry salaries. The blackmailer wasn’t getting rich off of this scheme. He had an ulterior motive. His signature line had religious connotations. Was her
Savior
a member of her father’s congregation? Someone who’d discovered something tawdry in Emily’s background? Or perhaps her parents’ background? Protecting someone else fit the woman’s profile. Had her ma or pa been drinkers? How had she accumulated the wine bottles she used as targets? Her neighbor did run a winery and, according to Emily, Bellamont had been a close friend of her father’s. Maybe the winemaker had simply offered used or flawed bottles as ready targets.

Dammit.
There were too many missing pieces to this puzzle and the pieces he had didn’t fit together in a way that made a lick of sense.

It would make his investigation easier if the shooter and the blackmailer were one in the same. Only the letters had originated in San Francisco. Emily claimed she’d never been out of Napa Valley, yet the blackmailer knew she worked at the library. He knew an intimate secret. Either he was acquainted with Emily or with someone close to her. Like the Garretts.

Seth reached for a bar of soap and continued his morning ablutions as his mind traversed new and unsettling territory. Could the Garrett brothers somehow be connected with Emily’s troubles, whether by accident or design? London owned an opera house in San Francisco. Rome and Boston worked for Wells Fargo. Home office: San Francisco. Seth had only met them once. They’d struck him as arrogant, but not ruthless. Certainly not the sort to terrorize a woman. Although he
had
witnessed Rome shooting a defenseless man. Granted, the cur had manhandled his sister. He’d also committed arson and murder. Still, there’d been no need to shatter the man’s kneecap after Josh had nearly choked the life out of him.

Seth had recognized a dangerous edge to Rome Garrett that day. Now he wondered what he’d done to earn Wells Fargo’s censure. Apparently, the offense was noted in an I. M. Wilde tale. But which one?

His gut told him the Garretts weren’t directly responsible for Emily’s troubles, but he suspected they figured in somehow and the niggling thought had him itching to read the newspaper article. That meant a visit to Thompson’s Mercantile. A trip into town. Then he remembered it was Sunday. Maybe he could talk Thompson into opening the store after church--he assumed Emily and Mrs. Dunlap would want to attend service. At the least, he’d engage the shopkeeper in conversation, encouraging him to relay the details behind the Garretts’ suspension. Any clue to shed light on the mystery revolving around Emily would be welcome. He needed to deal with her current dilemma before addressing her future.

His chest tightened as he plucked Athens’s sealed letter from his valise. He wondered at the manner in which the proposal of marriage was penned. Had his boss asked Emily reasonably or had he waxed poetic? In Seth’s vast experience, women preferred flowery declarations of adoration as opposed to direct, logical statements.

My children need a mother and you need a protector, marry me
didn’t pack the same punch as
I’m bewitched by your sad blue eyes and sensitive heart, put me out of my misery and say you’ll be mine.

Athens struck Seth as direct and logical. That wouldn’t cut it with Emily. Emily who equated an arranged marriage with sacrificing one’s dreams. He didn’t figure a marriage of convenience would rate much better in her eyes. A hopeful romantic likened practicality and convention with shackles. A hopeful romantic married for love, not duty or protection.

He considered his arguments.

There are all kinds of love.

Trust and respect are a strong seed. In time love will blossom.

He could quote Ralph Waldo Emerson, a fellow--
ahem
--poet.
Love and you shall be loved.
If nothing else it would verify his knowledge of his
--cough--
contemporaries.

So how did he convince her that Athens, and not Rome, was her knight in shining armor?

Rumor has it you can talk any woman into anything.

When his heart was in it, hell, yeah. Manipulating Emily and her feelings brought him no joy.

Frustrated, he slipped the letter back into his traveling bag. He donned his best suit, blocking graphic thoughts of Emily washing and dressing two doors down.

“Don’t think about your boss’s lady naked,” he mumbled as he slipped into a clean white shirt. “You’re a government agent, Wright. This is a mission.” The sooner he delivered Emily from her troubles and into Athens’s safe haven, the sooner he could kick miscreant ass.

Oddly, the prospect didn’t hold the same thrill as it did before.

He contemplated the matter while stepping into his socks and boots.

Emily’s talk of a grand adventure coupled with a tale of a man attempting to circumvent the world in eighty days had infected Seth with an irksome bug. Last night he’d entertained the ladies by reading aloud from Verne’s
Around the World in Eighty Days.
He’d recited Phileas Fogg’s escapades with dramatic inflection, glancing up now and again to revel in the sparkle in Emily’s sky-blue eyes. His own life had been far from boring, but after experiencing her infectious anticipation and imagining Fogg’s excitement as he raced across exotic foreign lands, suddenly Seth felt as if he hadn’t lived at all.

He’d never second guessed his career. Wrangling criminals came as naturally as romancing the ladies. Like his pa, he excelled at both. He’d never yearned for more because he felt like he had it all. Sensing otherwise was annoying.

Emily had winged him like that renegade bullet with her sad blue eyes and sorrowful talk of her mother. Clearly, she’d bewitched him. Why else had he fallen in love? How else to account for this burst of discontent? He had to shake this, her. He had to suppress the affectionate and desirous feelings mangling his heart and good sense.