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Authors: Silver Flame (Braddock Black)

Susan Johnson (11 page)

BOOK: Susan Johnson
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It must be a sign of returning health, he decided. All he could think of was welcoming Empress back into his bed.

W
hen Blue and Fox came in to visit later, Empress took the opportunity to go down and talk to Hazard. Now that Trey was on the mend, she would like to discuss the money with him.

In Empress’s absence, Trey asked his cousins about Jake Poltrain for the first time.

Blue told him Hazard was having the shooting checked out, had the sheriff investigating, was dealing with private inquiries on his own.

“How sure is everyone that it was Poltrain?” Trey inquired.

“Probably one of his men, more like,” Fox said. “Poltrain doesn’t do his dirty work himself.”

“What about Flo?”

“She was buried yesterday.”

“I want to do something for her. Does she have a family?”

“No one seems to know.”

“Have Lily look into it.” Trey closed his eyes briefly and saw the bloody sight again. “If my head had been where hers
was,” he said, shaking away the terrible image, “I wouldn’t be here today.”

“It’s fate,” Blue declared.

“The People are watching over me.”

“They always have,” Fox said. Everyone knew Hazard and Trey had powerful medicine.

“Thank God it was a shotgun instead of a rifle. I’ll be out riding soon.”

“Does the woman stay?” Blue asked. It was a great curiosity to everyone.

Trey gave a man’s answer to his cousin. “I paid for her, didn’t I?”

Empress sat facing Hazard across the large, polished surface of his desk. The library was small and cozy, a fire blazing in the stone fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling shelves glass-doored and glistening in the late-afternoon twilight, the room smelling familiarly of old leather, like her father’s library had. Who would have thought five years ago that she, Comte Jean-Louis Charles Maximilian Jordan’s daughter, would be discussing the business of her indenture in the remote mountains of Montana? She rarely allowed herself the luxury of self-pity. It wasn’t a commodity that served any good purpose, like putting food on the table or clothes on the children’s backs, so she brushed the small twinge of lamentation aside.

“You realize how indebted we are to you, Miss Jordan,” Hazard began. “Deeply indebted,” he added very softly, leaning back in the graceful Sheraton armchair and looking at her from under his heavy, dark brows. “As preface, I want you to know that, and also know I mean every word I said the night Trey was brought home.” He was being gracious, trying to make it easier for her, aware of the unusual circumstances surrounding her relationship with his son. He paused, giving her an opportunity to speak.

With her hands clasped tightly in her lap, Empress’s brain raced over various possibilities for wording. How precisely do you ask the father of the man who bought you in a brothel to give you $37,500 in gold?

“Is there something I could help you with?” Hazard
prompted. A sudden fearful thought struck him. “Is Trey worse?” he inquired swiftly, leaning forward anxiously, his brows drawn together in a frown.

“He’s fine,” Empress quickly assured him. “Remarkably fine considering how recently—well, everything happened,” she stammered, then, taking a deep breath, plunged on. “The reason I wished to speak with you, Mr. Black,” Empress said hurriedly, before she lost her nerve entirely, “is … well … it’s about …” She hesitated.

“Money?” Hazard interposed helpfully, taking pity on the nervous young woman.

“Oh, yes, I mean … this is terribly unconventional.…”

“I heard about the arrangement at Lily’s,” Hazard interjected, trying to make this all a bit easier for the painfully uncomfortable young woman sitting before him in clothes he wouldn’t ask his lowliest groom to wear. “And I’ve—er, been helping my son out of scrapes like this—” He was going to say “endlessly” but decided instead on the more benign “occasionally.”

“You mean, he’s bought a woman before?” Empress exclaimed.

Hazard smiled, and Empress saw where Trey had inherited his devastating smile. “No, actually,” he said kindly, “you’re the first.”

It was so damned embarrassing to be here, so damned awkward to have to ask for money. “I don’t want you to think I go around doing things like—”

“Miss Jordan,” Hazard interrupted gently, “let me assure you, no one is making any judgments. I don’t know how long you’ve been in Montana, but social etiquette out here only requires that you give your first name. Beyond that, you need offer no further enlightenment. There are no questions west of the Red River.”
3

He really was a wonderfully understanding man, with some of the same gentleness she’d seen in Trey. Her gaze was direct, her voice only marginally nervous when she spoke. “I wouldn’t even have to ask you about the money, but you see, I have certain responsibilities”—she paused—“back where I come from, and well … I don’t know exactly how fast Trey will mend, and just in case it takes longer than … ah … the
time I’ve allowed myself to be gone”—she finished in a rush—“I’d rather have the money now.”

Without hesitation, without inquisition, with only the blandest expression, Hazard said mildly, “How much do you want?”

“Only what Trey owes me, sir,” Empress replied quickly, reaching in her shirt pocket for the bank draft and handing it to him. “It’s more than enough. Actually, it’s terribly generous, and if my circumstances allowed, sir, I’d not expect you to honor anything near that high, but—” She ran out of breath and boldness and suddenly felt very much alone in this strange house, importuning this virtual stranger for a staggering amount of money. The tears started welling up in the back of her throat, and clenching her hands together until the pain distracted her thoughts, she managed to avoid embarrassing herself by weeping before this powerful, influential man who owned a great deal of Montana.

Glancing at the scrap of paper, Hazard sequentially thought it was a high price to pay for this pretty thing’s time and a low price to pay for his son’s life. “I offered you considerably more than this, Miss Jordan. Don’t be bashful.” And he waited for her answer. A man of his word, he was also curious about Miss Jordan’s motives.

There was relief apparent in her abruptly altered posture; her hands unclenched, the stiffness of her spine relaxed, and her nervous expression melted away. “That will be more than sufficient, Mr. Black,” she responded with a noticeable exhalation of breath. “And just as soon as Trey’s better,” she went on with a politeness that reminded him of a young child recalling the required courtesies, “I’ll be out of your way.”

“Nonsense”, Hazard replied with both politeness and sincerity. “My wife and I both extend the hospitality of our home for as long as you like.” For a brief moment his gaze dropped to his own hands, clasped in front of him on the highly polished desk, and when his dark glance lifted again, his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “We are forever in your debt.” His deep voice was low and level with self-control. “If there’s anything we can ever do for you, Miss Jordan,” he said very softly, “you need only ask. To us Trey’s life is beyond price.”

Empress understood all that was in his heart, for in only the
fleeting time she’d known Trey, she, too, had fallen under his spell.

Hazard cleared his throat and went on in a more normal tone. “I’ll have the gold packed for you immediately and brought to your room. Are saddlebags suitable?”

Empress nodded. “Yes, thank you.” And she thought of the new boots she’d bring home for everyone, and the food. There’d even be enough for Christmas presents for the children, for the Christmases past, celebrated so frugally that it had tugged at her heartstrings. They had all been so brave and understanding, it had made her cry. She smiled suddenly at her new wealth and at the large, dark-haired man who was as kind as his son. “Thank you
very much
,” she added.

It was discussed first between Hazard and Blaze—the numerous visitors who were turned away daily from seeing Trey. It was discussed next with Trey—whether he felt up to receiving company. But ultimately it was left to Empress, in charge of the patient and the sickroom. The final decision was hers.

She listened while Blaze listed all the people who had been to call. She watched Trey, whose reactions varied from brighteyed interest when some of his friends were mentioned, to unmistakable groans when a long tally of ladies from Helena were announced.

“Couldn’t we be selective about this?” he demanded cheerfully. “Even healthy, some of those people would blight one’s good humor and wish to live. Surely, as an invalid, I’m entitled to special prerogatives.”

“For instance?” Blaze inquired.

“For instance, all those insipid young women who sent me embroidered handkerchiefs. Have pity.”

“I don’t know, dear,” Blaze replied slowly, looking to Hazard for support. “I’m rather of the opinion that you either have to let everyone in, however briefly, or keep everyone out.”

Trey moaned. “Why do I have the feeling that I’m going to lose on this?”

“They don’t have to stay long, and it
is
a bit of a trip out here every day for nothing.”

“Can Trey’s condition withstand an hour or so of visitors a day?” Hazard asked Empress.

Empress had seen Trey walk to the chair that morning with a quiet determination she knew would be fully capable of dealing with a visitor or two. “If it wouldn’t be for too long, I’m sure his health won’t suffer. A limited time, though,” she cautioned.


Very
limited,” Trey repeated. “Spare me Arabella McGinnis and Fanny Dixon, and for pity’s sake,
not
their mothers!”

“Don’t be rude, Trey. Your father and I have to deal with these people,” Blaze reminded him, and although her voice was mild, it was a tone that brooked no further argument.

Hazard grinned. “I’ll run interference with Miriam Dixon. Maybe she’s too much to ask of anyone, darling,” he said to his wife. “Even well, it’s an affliction to have to listen to her pious quotations.”

“That’s because she’s partial to you, dear, and feels you are well worth saving. I always keep a watchful eye on you when she has you cornered, so she won’t steal you away.” Blaze’s grin was mischievous.

Hazard’s eyes widened in surprise. “Good God, you can’t mean it!” It wasn’t that he was unaware he attracted women’s attention, but
Miriam Dixon
? He’d never actually considered her as a woman. She seemed more like a wind up machine with an appropriate, trite maxim for any occasion.

“Now you know what it’s like, Papa,” Trey said, “and Fanny’s no better, although she does have an edge on her Mama’s looks,” he finished with a wide grin.

“Your father knows very well what it’s like, and has long before you were ever born, dear,” Blaze said calmly, “but to make it easier on everyone, we’ll see that the horrid ones don’t stay too long. How would that be?”

“Promise?” Trey asked warily.

“My word on it,” Blaze said pleasantly.

“In that case … send them up. No one can manipulate a social occasion better than Mama,” Trey explained to Empress. “She’s a master of crowd control.”

“It comes from having to control your unmanageable father all these years,” Blaze retorted with a gaminelike lift of her brows. “After that, the rest of the world is easy.”

“I feel it my duty,” Hazard replied mildly, his eyes amused, “to see that your life remains eventful.”

“How kind,” Blaze murmured, and she and Hazard exchanged affectionate glances.

“Just remember,” Trey warned, “Miriam Dixon isn’t allowed up here without a full complement of family to save me from her preaching.”

“Agreed,” Blaze said. “Now, is ten o’clock too early?” She looked to Empress for confirmation.

“Ten o’clock is fine.”

D
uncan Stewart, buttering his toast with crisp precision, was speaking to his daughter in a sharp tone. “If you insist on keeping company with”—he paused, spread the butter carefully into each corner, looked up at his beautiful daughter with deliberation, his cool, disdainful eyes the prototype of her and derisively went on—“ineligible men, I suggest you find someone with enough money to support you, should it come to that.”

“But, Daddy, you’ve plenty of money for us both,” Valerie Stewart replied uncontritely, dropping a teaspoonful of sugar into her teacup and negligently lifting her lacy black lashes to gaze unconcernedly back at her father.

BOOK: Susan Johnson
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