The Wildest Heart (9 page)

“Your pa hoped for an acquittal, and Todd Shannon wanted a hanging. The judge compromised. He sentenced Luke Cord to imprisonment for life, and I guess that to a young man used to the freedom of the mountains, that must have been worse than hanging. Men have been known to go berserk, hearin' a sentence like that passed on them. I remember that everyone in that courtroom was watchin' his face, hoping he'd crack. But he went as still as stone, not a muscle moving to show what he was really feeling inside.”

“So he did go to jail? But I thought…”

“You've heard he's loose now?” Mr. Bragg nodded sagely. “Yes, that's right, he is. They sent him to Alcatraz federal prison, in California, an island hellhole. But then, a year or so after, the War Between the States broke out. And that's how Luke Cord got out of jail. He was a free man, pardoned on condition he'd act as scout for the Union armies in the Southwest. The irony of it all was that Todd Shannon had joined Terry's Rangers, and was fightin' for the South, while your father managed the SD.”

I had felt myself caught up in all the violence and action of the past, a past that I had to understand if I was to cope with the present. Todd Shannon had intrigued me, and now I found myself wondering about Lucas Cord. A wild young man, a murderer, and perhaps a rapist as well. But my father had believed in him, and I found myself wondering why. Because he was Elena's son, or because my father had actually felt that Lucas was the victim of injustice?

It was easy to ask myself questions, but I would find no answers until I took possession of my new home. What would I find when I arrived there? Not too much of a welcome, I was sure, for Todd Shannon, who was now forced into partnership with me, resented my intrusion even before he had met me. Mark Shannon, his nephew, the son of the same Mrs. Shannon who had been so kind to me during my sojourn in Boston, was an unknown quantity. But what of Flo Jeffords, formerly Flo Shannon, who had left her rich old husband to return to New Mexico? What kind of woman had she turned out to be, and how would she react to my presence?

I was intrigued. Challenged, if you will. All these people that I had heard so much about, their lives inextricably bound together. Would my coming act as a catalyst? Was that what my father had hoped for?

As occupied by my thoughts and plans as I was, the journey to New Mexico still seemed to take an almost interminable time. I was fortunate enough to travel by rail as far as Colorado, but from there the journey became rough, for I had to travel by stagecoach. At that point, I was glad that I had chosen to travel in what Corinne had despairingly called my “disguise,” for the shabby clothes I had chosen to wear were far better suited for this kind of travel than my expensive garments would have been. The trunks containing my finery were to follow me later. For the moment I had only one trunk and a portmanteau, a fact for which I was thankful when I realized how many stops we would have to make, and how many times I would have to change coaches.

We arrived in Santa Rita just before noon, and by this time my black traveling dress felt uncomfortably damp. High-necked and long-sleeved, it seemed hardly suited to this hot climate, although I reminded myself that I had dressed just so in India, where it had been even hotter and more humid.

The fact remained that I had been traveling since early morning, and I suppose I looked just as wilted as I felt. The tinted spectacles I wore protected my eyes from the blinding glare, but made me look almost as I had done on that day I had arrived in England. The only change was within myself.

A fat drummer, who had been sitting opposite me all the way from Santa Fe, and had eyed me curiously from time to time, thought to help me out of the coach. As I waited with the others for my trunk to be unloaded, I had the opportunity to look around.

Santa Rita was a small, rowdy mining town, much like others I had passed through. The streets were dusty and unpaved, the buildings either wooden, false-fronted structures or made from adobe, Spanish-style. I saw nothing to recommend either it or the usual crowd of hangers-on who waited for the arrival of the stage.

I noticed as many Mexicans as there were white men, a few soldiers in their blue uniforms, and even some Indians, with blankets around their shoulders.

It was only when I heard one of my fellow passengers mutter to another, “Hey, will you lookit that welcoming committee? Darned if that ain't Todd Shannon hisself,” that I realized that Mrs. Shannon must have done as she had threatened and telegraphed her son.

I had the advantage, though, of being able to study them before they discovered who I was.

I thought I recognized Mark Shannon, a blond, handsome young man who had his mother's nose and coloring. Beside him, in the buckboard, sat an extremely pretty blonde woman, holding a parasol over her head. Flo Jeffords? She had a voluptuously curved figure which her gown showed off to advantage, but her mouth had a petulant droop to it. Obviously, she was not happy at being forced to sit here, waiting in the blazing sunlight. I saw her turn to a man who sat on horseback beside the buggy and say something, her face looking sulkier than ever.

But once my eyes had found him, it was this man who held my attention. He was the kind of man who would have held anyone's attention. What had Corinne called him? “A big, blond giant of a man.”

Yes, but I had imagined he would be different, after all the years that had passed. He had been my father's partner, yet he looked so untouched by time that he still appeared a comparatively young man! His reddish blond hair was only slightly touched by gray at the temples. He had harsh, craggy features and a wide, thin-lipped mouth under an arrogant beak of a nose. I could understand, unwillingly, why Corinne had once told me her uncle was the kind of man women would turn around in the street to look at a second time. He had a certain assurance of manner, an arrogance that I resented, even while I could not help admiring it. So this was the man who was my partner!

Todd Shannon's gun belt hung low on his hip, and he wore plain range clothes. I saw his narrow lips curve under his drooping blond moustache as he turned his head to speak to his nephew. Predictably, he had a voice that carried, too.

“Thought you said she'd be here for sure, Mark! What in hell are we waiting for? Gettin' mighty tired of meeting these damn stagecoaches, too!”

Mark Shannon, poor young man, looked embarrassed. “Now, Uncle Todd! All Mama said was that Lady Rowena had left Boston and expected to arrive here around today. We don't know if she decided to stop off somewhere else.”

“She could have let us know, couldn't she?”

“Pa, couldn't we get out of the sun now? We've watched everyone get out…”

I decided that Flo Jeffords was a female who was used to getting her way.

It was at that moment that the driver, a grizzled, obliging man who swore quite ferociously as the coach slewed around curves, handed me down my trunk.

“Here you are, miss. But you're gonna need some help with that. Want me to find someone who'll carry it to the hotel for you?”

I had already observed that most of these rough-looking Western men were almost excruciatingly polite to women, which was more than I could say for Mr. Todd Shannon!

The driver's kind offer drew Shannon's attention to me, but I saw his eyes rest on me for only an instant, before sliding away with a kind of contemptuous disregard.

“Thank you,” I said clearly to the man, “but I believe that I am supposed to be met, even though I did not have the forethought to send a telegram first.”

My English accent must have given me away, for I saw three pairs of eyes fasten on me at that moment, registering various shades of shock.

Todd Shannon's mouth curled derisively under his moustache, Flo Jeffords put a hand up before her mouth as if to stifle a giggle or a gasp, and only Mark Shannon retained enough composure to leap from the buggy and come towards me, tipping his derby as he came.

“Excuse me, but we are here to meet Lady Rowena Dangerfield. By any chance…”

I put my hand out coolly. “How nice of you! You must be Mark Shannon? Your mother has spoken of you often.”

I felt an almost vindictive satisfaction in seeing Todd Shannon's face change, his strange, greeny-blue eyes going frosty.

He didn't move his horse forward, but sat on it looking at me. “You're Guy's daughter?”

I gave a deliberately affected laugh. “Well! I should certainly hope so. I would hardly be here if I was not, would I?”

“Let me take your trunk and your portmanteau. I'm certainly sorry we didn't recognize you earlier…”

Mark Shannon tried hard to be tactful, but Todd Shannon whose lips had tightened, spoke abruptly.

“You don't look like Guy,” he said frowningly, “and you don't dress like I'd have expected.” His frosty eyes swept over me. “Thought Guy had arranged for you to have some money.”

“Uncle Todd!”

As I heard Mark Shannon's dismayed exclamation, I realized that telltale, furious color had flared to my cheeks. “Mr. Shannon, if you have any doubts about my identity I shall be glad to resolve them when we get off this street! But in the meantime, I should like to make it plain that you are far more uncouth and—and rude than I had been given to expect!”

I heard Flo Jeffords gasp, her blue eyes widening, but Todd Shannon merely grunted. “Got a temper, huh? Well, you're right on one point, this ain't no place to discuss private matters. Mark, if you'll escort the lady to the hotel, I'll go ahead and make arrangements. Ma'am…”

He touched his hat brim with deliberate casualness and wheeled his horse around, while I fought to control the rage that shook me, rendering me incapable of speech for some seconds.

I was only half-aware of Mark Shannon's embarrassed attempts at an apology as he handed me into the buggy. I acknowledged his introduction to Flo Jeffords with a stiff inclination of my head, while she made no efforts to hide the fact that she was studying me curiously.

“You mustn't mind Pa! It's just his way. He always says what he's thinkin' and it makes people mad.” She giggled nervously. “But goodness' sakes! We'd been imagining you to be so different! You know—”

Mark Shannon broke in smoothly. “What Flo is trying to say is that she's read too many romances! I've warned her that all Englishwomen do not go around wearing tiaras in their hair and carrying lorgnettes. But I do apologize for my uncle's unwarranted rudeness. I think there are times when he deliberately tries to shock people, just to see how they react.”

I think that Todd Shannon and I had already declared war. My long hours of travel in the intense heat had set my nerves on edge, and I was in no mood to back down when he continued to provoke me during the confrontation that followed.

I found, when we reached the hotel, that Mr. Shannon had hired a small private room, obviously a bedroom at one time, but now converted into a place where businessmen could confer in private.

He hadn't even troubled to stay in the lobby until we arrived. I ascended the stairs with Mark Shannon and his cousin with an air, I hoped, of cool composure, but when I entered the room to find my new partner seated at a table with a bottle of whiskey and a half-filled glass before him, and he did not even rise but merely nodded, I felt my composure crack.

I ignored him and turned to Mark, who was looking extremely uncomfortable. “Is he always so mannerless? Or does he think to drive me away by this deliberate show of boorishness?”

“I—I really don't—” Mark stammered awkwardly, only to be interrupted by a deliberate snort.

“Huh! Why don't you ask her if she makes a habit of travelin' looking like an old-fashioned schoolmarm, in clothes that couldn't have cost more'n a few dollars apiece when they were new? What's the matter, miss?” This time he eased his big body around in his chair so that he faced me, his eyes narrow. “We Western folk not good enough to be treated to a sight of your fine English gowns?”

I looked back at him steadily. This was definitely a man I should be careful of. Obviously Todd Shannon was far from being a fool!

“I don't see that it is any of your business what kind of garments I choose to travel in, Mr. Shannon! But let us, by all means, get a few things straight at the very beginning.” I accepted the chair that Mark hastily dragged out for me, noticing that Flo Jeffords had made herself inconspicuous in a corner of the room, where she sat biting her lower lip, and gazing in an almost nervous fashion at her stepfather.

Todd Shannon continued to study me through narrow eyes, and there was something almost contemptuously insolent in his look that made me draw in a deep breath to keep my voice from shaking with rage.

“Well?” he drawled.

“Well—” I said, and deliberately leaned back in my chair, looking back at him in much the same fashion as he looked at me. He didn't like it, and I pressed home this slight advantage.

“I'm afraid, Mr. Shannon, that you might as well get used to the fact that I have a mind of my own, and that I intend to dress as I please, and act as I think fit. My grandfather, who brought me up, believed in educating a woman's mind and thus forming her character, Mr. Shannon. He taught me not to rely only on pretty clothes and primping before a mirror to gain my way. And as for spending all the money my father left me on pretty clothes and jewelry, why, I think that is a ridiculous idea! Why should I waste it? I'm sure I'll find better ways to spend my fortune—ways that will help other, less fortunate people. But in the meantime, I must warn you not to underestimate me, for I happen to be able to think for myself.”

During my speech he had begun to stare at me in a stunned, almost disbelieving way. Now he swore, banging a fist down on the table and making the bottle jump. “By God! A do-gooder! Damned if Guy's daughter don't turn out to be a missionary!” He gave a short, ugly laugh and looked at Mark. “Hear that? She'll be wantin' to convert those poor dogs of Injuns next. And this—” he banged his fist again for emphasis, “this is the partner I get myself saddled with! Well I'll tell you straight, miss, we'd damn well better come to an understanding on a few things! I run the SD, and I built it up into what it is today, and there ain't no female gonna interfere with the way I run things! Now, if you want to spend your own money on helpin' the folks I suggest you build a church or somethin'—the preacher in town might need some help—but don't you go gettin' no notions…”

“Don't shout at me, Todd Shannon!” I said icily. “And I'm well aware of my legal rights. All of them. They don't include letting myself be badgered and bullied by you. Why,” I added sweetly and reasonably, “don't you go back to court and try contesting my father's will again? Not that I think you'll be more successful than you were the last time, but the people of this territory who knew my father might not take too kindly to the spectacle of seeing his heir deliberately harassed by his own partner. There are some advantages to being a female, as I've discovered.”

“Got a tongue like vinegar too, ain't you?”

“You might find that I'm more than a match for you when it comes to an argument, even if my voice isn't quite as loud, Mr. Shannon,” I retorted.

Mark, who had been listening silently all this time, leaned over the table, his voice urgent. “Now look, Uncle Todd! Lady Rowena's right, you know! And since you are partners, like it or not, why not try to come to some compromise? You two start feuding, and it'll mean the end of the SD. You'll find half the wolves in the territory trying to get a piece of the action, as well as certain other interested parties.” he added with heavy significance.

“Well, but damn it,” Todd Shannon grumbled. I had seen, however, that Mark's warning had made him thoughtful.

“Mr. Shannon, I don't like you any more than you like me. I'm willing to be practical, but if you insist on quarreling with me merely because my father left something which was entirely his to give to his only child, then I'm afraid I shall despise you as well for being a petty, greedy man. You shall have war, if you want it, and I think you'll discover that I'm not to be frightened off.”