The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) (35 page)

She nodded, her gaze averted, and quietly said, "We'll be waiting for you out front of the savings and loan." Then, Crowfoot in hand, Lacey stepped through the doors of the hotel and disappeared from view.

Although he tried not to think about her or the impossible situation she was in because of his carelessness, Hawke went about his business, distracted at best. All he could feel was numb inside; that and a terrible sense of loss. It was in that frame of mind that he finally approached his uncle's place of business. Though just one of several savings and loan companies Braddock had helped organize in Laramie, the impressive three-story building of brick and glass was the only to bear the man's name.

Striding across the lobby directly to the small desk placed squarely in front of Braddock's polished oak doors, Hawke announced himself to the secretary. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm John Winterhawke, Jr., and I'd like a minute with William Braddock. Is he here?"

The young woman looked up at him, then gave a little start. "Oh, I, er, I'm not sure. Just a moment, please."

She backed her chair away from the desk, then scurried over to Braddock's doors, knocked, and opened one of them a crack. Moving as silently as he could, Hawke was right on her heels.

"There's a Mr. Winterhawke, Jr., out here to see you, Mr. Braddock. Are you in for him?" Better than a head taller than the attractive young woman, Hawke peered into the room.

"It looks to me like he is," he said, frightening the secretary so, she jumped and flattened herself against the jamb. Hawke pushed the door open all the way, then stepped around the woman.

Braddock, who hadn't said a thing yet, burst into boisterous laughter. "Even with all the schooling Ft. Laramie had to offer, it still didn't go far in civilizing a savage like you, did it, breed?"

Hawke shrugged, in no mood to put up with his uncle's insults a moment longer than he had to. "I've come on business, and I don't have a lot of time. Get out your ledger for Winterhawke Ranch. I want to pay off the deed."

The secretary started to back out of the doorway. "If you won't be needing me..."

"No, wait a minute, Pauline." Braddock waved to the woman. "Get on in here and sit down. I might need you to, ah... jot down a note, or two."

Hawke smiled wryly, pleased to think that his uncle was too afraid of what his nephew-the-savage might do to allow himself to be trapped alone in a room with him. As Braddock dug through his files, Hawke couldn't help but notice that the secretary had taken a seat to the left of her employer—and that she was staring at him again, this time with a far more appreciative eye. Hawke winked at her just to see what she would do. Pauline winked right back, then gave him a crooked little smile. Braddock-trained all right, he thought with a twinge of pity. Then he turned back to his uncle.

Fiddling with his tawny mustache as he perused the papers before him, Braddock finally looked up from them and drew a beady-eyed gaze on his nephew. "Here are the new figures. How much of it do you think you can pay this year?"

Hawke stared at the number, hardly able to believe his eyes. "What the hell are you trying to do to me? This isn't even close to the amount we agreed on last spring."

"Take a seat, breed, and I'll explain." But Hawke remained standing, glaring at the uncle he hated as the man went on with his lies. "You've got to admit yourself that the house and barn are worth ten times what they were four years ago—maybe more."

"Of course they are, you idiot, but I built them myself with my own two hands. You can't raise the price on what I've done."

He narrowed one amber eye. "I can do just about anything I want to as president of this company, and don't you forget it. Besides, there's been a lot of talk around town about the quartz gold mines popping up all over around Centennial way. Hell, the mineral rights alone on that property are probably worth more than the final figure I just gave you."

Hawke slapped his hands to the desk, leaning across the polished mahogany top to better look the man in his lying, cheating eyes. "You will not do this to me again," he said, his voice rough. "I have enough money on me to buy Winterhawke at a fair price, free and clear. I know it, and you know it. Now get me the deed, damn it, or..."

"Or what?" Braddock had leaned so far back, his chair was pushed up against the wall. And his voice had lost its arrogant edge. "You gonna scalp me, or something?"

"Maybe," Hawke ground out. Then he made a mistake with the man that he couldn't have foreseen. "Just maybe I will lift your miserable scalp. You willing to take that chance, or are you going to do the right thing by your sister's son?"

Hostility replaced the fear in Braddock's expression the moment he heard the word sister. He spat into the spittoon at the foot of his desk, his amber eyes slits, and said, "Get out of my office, you no-good son of a bitch. You disgust me as much as your Indian-loving mother did."

Hawke had never heard the man speak so of Mildred Braddock. And he didn't much care for it. "My Indian-
loving
mother? Don't you have that backwards,
Uncle
?" He pronounced the appellation as if it were the Arapaho word for shit.

"No,
nephew
, I do not." Braddock's naturally ruddy complexion took on a deeper hue. "My whore of a sister ran away with your father
after
she found out he'd knocked her up, not before."

Cold fury swept through Hawke at those words and his hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. Could this possibly be true? For years on end, he'd been led to believe he was a product of rape, that his father had forcibly dragged his mother off during the night.

"You're lying," he said, almost certain for some reason that he was not.

"I wish that I was—almost as much as I wish that Mildred had died of consumption
before
she had a chance to give birth to the likes of you."

Sick inside as the vague image of his mother's sad eyes came to mind, Hawke had the fleeting thought that she'd probably died more of a broken heart than consumption. And he had a pretty good idea who was responsible for making her feel that way, too. As he thought of what he'd lost of his heritage, of how he himself had been taught to look on his paternal blood as somehow less than acceptable, he grew angry all over again.

Seething with rage, he growled, "How could you let me think what I did of my father all this time, you lousy bastard?"

"Your father, bah." Again Braddock spit into the brass container. Beside him, Pauline flinched. "If there's a bastard in all this besides you, it's the big dumb savage that sired you. But don't worry about looking him up, if that's what you've got in mind—I fixed his ass good after he and Mildred disappeared, or didn't you know that either?"

Braddock's face was beet red now, his fat jowls jiggling continually. Although he was quite sure he didn't want to hear the rest of what the man had to say, Hawke morbidly asked, "No, sir, I didn't. Just what did you do to his ass?"

For a moment, it looked as if Braddock realized that he'd gone too far. But then his sheer joy in taunting Hawke overruled his better judgement. "Mildred's and my father was the post commander at the time that Arapaho scout went and 'kidnapped' his daughter. He had every right to send a detachment of soldiers after them, and he did." A grin that was more sneer spreading his mustache wide, Braddock went on to say, "I rode with the detail that day, and when we caught up to Mildred and her 'savage,'
I
had the honor of putting the bullet through that red bastard's heart myself."

This final bit of information proved too much for Hawke. Incapable of restraining himself any longer, he leapt on top of his uncle's desk and grabbed him by the throat, the sound of Pauline's screams ringing in his ears.

* * *

In the doctor's office, Lacey beamed after the man finished his evaluation. "And what you're saying then is that the boy has a good chance of walking with no limp a'tall after this operation?"

"I'd almost guarantee it."

"Did you hear that?" she asked Crowfoot, who was beaming as well. "Soon as we talk to Hawke and make all the arrangements, you'll be as good as new."

"Yes, lady. Good as new." Crowfoot hopped up from his chair. "Let's go tell Hawke now."

"In a minute, Lad." Lacey softened her voice. "There's something else I wish to discuss with the doctor that has nothing to do with you. Will you wait out front for a minute or two?"

Happy just thinking about his future, Crowfoot shrugged and limped out the door.

When she and the doctor were alone again, Lacey turned to him, anxiety adding a little quiver to her voice and a rush to her pulse. "There'd be one other wee problem I'd like to have your opinion about," she said. "Do you have the time?"

* * *

If not for the double-barreled Derringer Braddock pulled from his vest pocket at the same moment Hawke's fingers found the hollow of his throat, he might very well have breathed his last breath. But as the man swung the small pistol toward his head, Hawke knocked the gun from his hand, and then released him.

Picking up the weapon himself, Hawke slid off the desk and pointed the ivory handled pistol at the spot just above the bridge of Braddock's nose. He let the man sweat a moment before he finally slammed the gun down on the desktop and muttered, "You aren't worth going to prison over."

Then he turned his back and started for the door.

"You'll never get the deed to that ranch now, you bastard!" Braddock screamed after him. "You can get down on your knees and beg me, and it won't do you a damn bit of good."

As his fingers touched down on the doorknob, Hawke looked over his shoulder at the quivering mass of flesh that made up his uncle. "I don't plan to set foot in this office again for any reason, much less beg you for a ranch I no longer want. Just know that if I can't have Winterhawke, no one can."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just believe it. Believe, too, that you'll pay for this, Braddock. Somehow, someday, I'll see you pay, and pay dearly." His gaze and voice deadly, he added, "There's more than one way to skin a polecat—and without getting your stink all over my hands." That said, he let himself out of the office and slammed the door.

* * *

As Lacey and Crowfoot headed down the boardwalk toward Braddock Savings and Loan, she was practically bouncing down the street. What a fool she'd been to be so worried—her troubles were practically over. She automatically clicked her heels before remembering that she'd left her silver spurs behind at the ranch. She'd been sure they'd run out of luck, but oh, how she wished she could clink them together now. Between her own relief and Crowfoot's optimistic outlook, she could hardly wait to see Hawke to tell him the good news. Why, tonight they'd have to celebrate at the finest restaurant in town.

Just before they reached the correct building, the glass doors flew open, shattering one of them with a deafening crash as it slammed against the brick exterior of the business. Hawke strode through the doorway along with that explosion of glass, then turned on his heel and marched in Lacey's direction, the rumble of his angry boots against the boardwalk sounding like thunder.

She'd hardly had enough time to digest what she'd seen before he was upon her. "Oh, Lord, and by the nine orders of angels," she whispered under her breath. "Don't let these tidings be a match to my husband's anger."

"Our plans have changed," said Hawke, his murderous expression stripping away all hope that her prayers had been heard.

Gripping her painfully by the elbow before she could utter another word, Hawke turned Lacey around and started walking her back in the direction she'd come from. Then, gesturing for Crowfoot to follow them, her husband went on in the same wooden monotone as before. "I'm taking you two to the hotel now. I've got to ride out to the ranch for a couple of days, and when I get back to Laramie, we'll be moving on."

Lacey planted her feet. "Moving on? What does that mean?"

"Like I said, our plans have changed." His sage green eyes were devoid of their usual silvery sparkle, dull like moss as he briefly explained. "I've just found out that Winterhawke will never be ours to keep no matter how many horses I sell to the cavalry. I've decided to take Phantom and my best mares into the Snowy Range Mountains where I'll release them."

"B-but—"

"No buts about it. I'm not going to let anyone take over that ranch or the horses I've worked so hard to breed." He paused, grinding his teeth. "Once the livestock is taken care of, I'm going to burn Winterhawke Ranch to the ground. Then I'll come back for you two."

"Lord above," she cried, tears falling freely. "Please, Hawke, I beg of you, do not do this thing."

"Sorry, but I have to." On the move again, Hawke renewed his grip on Lacey, then turned to Crowfoot to issue a couple of orders. "I've got a mighty important job for you here in town. Think you can do it?"

His onyx eyes shining with worry, the mute boy simply nodded.

"You and Lacey are going to be alone in Laramie for two or three days. I want you to take good care of her for me. Don't let her out of your sight. Understand?"

Again Crowfoot nodded.

In front of the hotel now, Hawke took Lacey aside. "Go to your room and stay there except for meals. I'll be back as fast as I can." He took her by the shoulders, gave her a brief hug, and softened his voice just a little as he whispered, "It'll be all right. Someday, it'll be all right again." Then he released her and stormed across the dusty street.