Diane R. Jewkes

by The Heart You Own

  “Brits or Scots?” The gambler kept up the easy conversation while shuffling the deck of cards. “And by the looks of it, I’d bet you’re not remittance men either.” A glint of avarice lit his eyes.

  “No, we are not,” Alec replied testily.

  “But maybe,” Hawke interrupted, smiling easily. “You might be able to give us some information about the remittance men that live here?”

  Hawke didn’t like the man across the table. The hairs on the back of neck stood up as he recognized the look in the other man’s eyes. The gambler thought them easy marks.

  Despite Gray’s oily demeanor, Hawke still thought he might be of use. Gamblers seemed to know all the dirty laundry in the towns they called home. With a little incentive they were usually ready to share.

  “It just so happens I deal cards.” Gray’s voice lowered and he leaned forward. “And information. What’s your pleasure?” He leaned back in his chair, the sound of cards tumbling against each other in the cage of his hands, as he continued to shuffle. “Poker, stud … .”

  “Poker.”

  Hawke pulled out a handful of twenty-dollar gold pieces and piled them on the table. Gray’s eyes widened. Alec added his own pile of gold pieces to the table. Hawke saw greed glowing in the gambler’s eyes. It shouldn’t take too much to get the information they were looking for.

  “Poker it is.” Gray smiled confidently and began dealing. His hands were a blur, tossing the cards unerringly to land in front of each man, including himself.

  Hawke picked up his cards, spreading and arranging them to his satisfaction.

  “What can you tell me about the remittance men around here?”

  “Well, there have been several through here in the past few years.” He nodded his head towards a man sitting by the stage looking morosely at the musicians, his clothes rumpled and dirty. “That’s Peavey, or ‘Lord’ Peavey, as he likes to style himself.” Gray added with a snort. “He showed up about three years ago, nothing but condescension and arrogance towards everyone here. He tried a few jobs, but like a lot of his brothers, decided to live in the bottom of a cheap bottle of rotgut whiskey.”

  The men threw their discards on the table.

  “About a year ago another man, Tompkins, I believe his name, came to town,” he paused. “He has proven to be different from the others.”

  “In what way,” Alec asked, as he anted another coin into the growing pile on the table.

  “Well … he works,” Gray answered. “Call.”

  Hands were shown. Gray cursed quietly as Hawke pulled the pot to his part of the table.

  “What else?” The man was good. As he shuffled the deck again, Hawke leaned back to give the impression he wasn’t intently watching the agile fingers of the gambler manipulate the deck. “What else do you know about him?”

  The cards were dealt out. Hawke knew Gray would eventually try to cheat; it wasn’t a question of if, but a matter of when.

  “He hasn’t shown the arrogance of most the young men that find themselves in America unwillingly. He has worked hard at being personable and trying to fit in to our little community.”

  “What about his habits?” Alec queried, throwing his cards down in disgust. “Fold.”

  Smiling across the table, Gray looked at Hawke, “That will cost you.”

  “I’ll pay if I’m satisfied the information is worth something.” He laid down his hand. Full house.

  “At this rate, the only money I’m going to make will be from information.” The gambler said, with a mirthless bark of laughter.

  Dealing out the cards, the money was again anted up.

  “I don’t know too much of his habits, beyond the time he spends here.”

  “Does he spend much time here?” Hawke watched the shifting of the gambler’s eyes.

  “He’s a regular … not very good.”

  The men threw in their discards.

  “Are his losses great?”

  “No, he’s conservative in his spending and his speech. Doesn’t really talk too much.”

  Standing quickly, Hawke reached across the table grabbing the gambler’s wrist. Chairs scraped across the floor as nervous men anticipating a fight moved away. The gambler dangled by his shirtfront, a large arm holding him aloft.

  “I don’t abide cheaters, sir.” Hawke said, his voice deadly calm. Glaring at the gambler, he kept his other hand wrapped around the man’s wrist, the deck still firmly in his grip.

  “Now,” Hawke lowered the man. “You might want to rethink the way you were dealing those cards.” He slowly let go of the gambler’s shirt, sure his point had been made. He could hear the noise of the gambling house returning to normal, the other patrons, sensing an easing in the tension, settled back down to their business.

  Shrugging and raising both hands, Gray smiled at Hawke across the table. “Not a fighter. I will be most happy to deal that last hand again. My apologies, gents.”

  Insincerity dripped from his lips; his jaw was clenched with anger. He sat smoothing his wrinkled clothes, snapping his arms out to reset his sleeves and garters.

  Several gold pieces slid across the table and stopped in front of him.

  “For the information you will be giving us and to repair any damage to your clothing.”

  Reaching slowly across the table, Gray dragged the gold pieces back towards his side of the table.

  Settling down into his chair, he began shuffling the cards once again.

  “Tompkins should be in shortly. He always comes in after he’s finished at the mine. He’ll walk to the bar, order a drink, play a couple of hands at Marina’s table.” He nodded towards a table to his left. A pretty little dealer in a low-cut black satin dress smiled as she dealt cards to a table full of eager men.

  “He only plays at her table. Three hands, then he leaves.”

  “Every night?”

  “Unless he’s working a night shift, yes.” Once again, Gray lost the game. “Gentlemen,” he smiled sadly at the two, “I’m afraid I must close this game. My losses have been too high.” Standing, he picked up the gold pieces on the table, bowed slightly to the men, donned his jacket and ambled over to the bar.

  “I suggest we find a less obvious spot to wait.” Hawke stood, gathering his winnings. Looking towards the bar, he saw Gray watching them in the mirror, his expression unguarded.

  “We best watch that one.” Alec nodded towards the bar. “He’s not a gracious loser.”

  Hawke agreed. He had not missed the anger in the man’s eyes at being caught. He could be a problem if pushed too far. Gray tossed back his drink and left the casino. They moved to a small table in a dark corner at the back of the room.

  Nursing a scotch, waiting, Hawke let his mind wander to Kara. Just the thought of her made him tighten with need. Remembering the feel of her lips and the soft curvature of her breast brought a low groan from his chest.

  “Thinking about Miss Jonston?” Alec’s eyes twinkled. “You can’t possibly think of getting involved with her? You’ve estates and businesses in Britain to manage, so I know you aren’t thinking of staying in this Godforsaken place.” He waved his hand to emphasize his point. “I know you won’t dally with this woman and then leave. You are too honorable. Besides, her father would kill you.”

  Hawke squirmed under Alec’s sharp gaze.

  “Don’t tell me you have developed a tendre for her?” Leaning forward, he shoved his finger into Hawke’s shoulder. “You have! Dear God, anyone but her. She’s a termagant. You can’t possibly be thinking of marrying and taking her back with you?”

  “Leave it, Alec.” Hawke growled low. He wasn’t about to discuss his feelings with anyone. He didn’t even know what they were. He hadn’t really thought about what he was going to do.

  Marry! When had that possibi
lity wormed its way into his mind? Her father’s words echoed. He put his head in his hands, but the specter of sapphire eyes and lips sweet as honey appeared. He wished the whole situation to perdition.

  He tossed back his drink and signaled one of the waitresses to bring another. Alec told her to bring the whole bottle.

  A short time and several glasses of scotch later, he felt Alec tap him on the arm, drawing his attention to the entrance.

  Tompkins.

  He had finally arrived.

  Looking at the man walking across the room to the bar, Hawke knew him, but time had changed him. He wasn’t the soft spoiled youth he remembered. The man he was looking at, was that … a man. His slender frame had filled out and hardened with labor in the mines. He walked with a confidence and assurance that hadn’t been there before. Well, Hawke thought, it will be interesting to see if the changes are only on the outside.

  • • •

  Geoffrey was leaning on the bar, talking companionably with the bartender, when the two men walked up on either side of him. Looking up, he felt the blood drain from his head. Pryce. He looked to the other side. MacCairn.

  A large hand rested on his shoulder, a quiet whisper at his ear. “We’re going to walk back to that table over there.” Alec indicated with a nod. “And have a nice little chat, Geoffrey. You’ll be nothing but civil,” he said evenly. “Or Pryce might not be able to stop from killing you here and now.” Tompkins looked over. There was death in those steel gray eyes. A barely leashed fury emanated from the large frame.

  The three men sat down. Hawke poured himself another drink. The initial shock had worn off, and Tompkins, while worried, no longer felt frightened. He returned Hawke’s look with a level stare of his own.

  “My brother wired me. Said you were trying to find me,” he said, his voice even as he looked at the two men across from him. All his life, he had been in awe of them. They were the fortunate sons. The first-born, the heirs, always secure in their future; resentment flared. How arrogant they looked, how self-righteous in their anger.

  “You have no right to hunt me down. You know nothing of what happened. Yet here you are.” He sneered, all traces of fear replaced by anger. “Ready to be judge and jury and damn me out of hand. Well, this isn’t Britain, and I’m not the callow youth I was then.”

  Standing up, he placed his hands flat on the table and leaned towards them. “I have nothing to say to either one of you.” Back stiff, he turned to leave.

  He was spun around and a large fist connected with his face, sprawling him on the floor.

  Once again the sound of chairs scraping the floor filled the air as men moved out of the way. Anticipating a fight, a loose circle of men formed around Hawke and Tompkins.

  Tompkins pushed up on one elbow, and touched his finger to the trickle of blood flowing from his lip. He looked at the blood, and then looked at Hawke with a wicked smile.

  “Things have changed ‘Yer Lordship,’” he said, mockingly. He stood up, swiping the blood away with his sleeve. “I’m not the weak spoiled boy I once was. This life has taught me a lot.”

  Lowering his head, he charged at Hawke, catching him in the gut with his shoulder, and drove him to the ground.

  Hawke slammed hard onto the sawdust-covered floor, but rolled and pulled Tompkins beneath him. Pressing one hand into Tompkins’s chest, he pinned him to the ground, leaned forward and drove another punch into his face.

  Tompkins bucked under him and twisted free.

  “So you’ve finally learned to fend for yerself, have ye’ whelp.” Standing, Hawke gestured for Tompkins to move. “Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

  Tompkins looked for an opening. “I never did anything to your sister she didn’t ask for.”

  Hawke roared with fury and charged towards him. Tompkins felt a sharp pain as a fist connected with his chin. Toe to toe they stood, their breathing labored. Like seasoned fighters, they looked for weakness and tried to press their advantage. Fists flew and the crowd roared. Money was being waved all around as bets were made on the outcome.

  • • •

  Tompkins charged again. Hawke held him, and they fell on top of a poker table. The legs gave out under the weight, and men and table crashed to the floor. Rolling, they each tried to best the other.

  Breath ragged and lungs burning, Hawke plowed his large fist into Tompkins’s face once more, this time knocking him out.

  Spent, Hawke leaned over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Alec handed him a handkerchief, “Well, that was quite a show. I thought for a moment I might lose my wager.”

  “You bet on the fight?” Hawke cocked an eyebrow. “I guess I should be glad you didn’t bet against me.” Dabbing the blood from the corner of his mouth, he gestured down at the prone figure on the floor. “Gave a fair accounting of himself. Wake him up. I need to talk to him.”

  Alec walked over to the bar, grabbed a pitcher of beer and poured it on Tompkins.

  Sputtering and spitting, Geoffrey sat up. Alec threw him a bar towel, grasped him by his arms and hauled him up. “You know, Tompkins,” he said, slapping him on the shoulder, “the betting was going your way for a while. It seems you are well liked here.”

  Tompkins shrugged off Alec’s hands. “I’ve worked hard to be accepted. Now you and Pryce are going to destroy it all.”

  “Justifiable, given what you did to his sister.”

  “Sit down, Tompkins.” Hawke snapped. “I want the truth about what happened between you and Bethany.”

  He could hear Kara’s voice in his head, asking him to be logical.

  All right, I hit first.

  Now he could ask questions. Not his most controlled moment, but he felt calmer and better able to deal with the man sitting across from him.

  “I really don’t have to answer,” Geoffrey replied stiffly. Hawke began to rise from his chair, but Tompkins put up his hand stopping him. “But I will. I’m tired of running and paying for something I didn’t do.”

  Hawke reined in his anger. He could hear his mother’s sobs as she pleaded with Bethany to come out of her room. He could see his sister, a pale imitation of her former self, sitting in front of her window.

  “My sister pays every day for what you have done.” His voice was tight. “Since your attack, she refuses to see anyone, barely eats, and will not leave her room. Tell me, Tompkins. How has your price been any worse than hers?”

  Geoffrey looked surprised by the news. “I didn’t hurt her, I swear it. Yes, I did ask her to sneak out and meet me that day.” His voice was strained, his face hard. “But I had no intention of forcing myself on her in any way. We met by the lake. It wasn’t the first time we had met in secret. I was in love with her, and she with me. I was going to ask her to come away with me, to be my wife.”

  Hawke felt like he’d been hit in the gut again. The air rushed from his lungs. “Why would you ask her to run away with you? Why all the secrecy?”

  “I had no prospects,” he replied, sadness in his voice. “I had already planned on coming to America by the time we met on that last day.” He looked at Hawke, pain twisted his face; a haunted look entered his eyes. “I told her my plans, asked her to come with me. I knew you and your father disapproved of my suit. You wouldn’t let your sister marry a poor man. Not only a poor man.” Anger tightened his voice. “But a man planning on taking his wife to a new country, far away from her family and everything familiar.” Tompkins took a swig of whiskey and looked Hawke square in the eye.

  “You … you have everything and always have. You know nothing of wanting something so much it is all you can think about and not being able to have it. Of being rejected as if you aren’t good enough just because of your birth order. I loved her.” He pounded his fist on the table. “But she refused. She said she couldn’t leave, she was afraid of having nothing, of be
ing away from her home. She didn’t trust me, or my love for her, enough to take the chance on us. She cried, and then she lashed out at me, telling me I shouldn’t leave her, that I should go to her father or to you when you returned. She wanted me to beg your family to set me up, beg your family for money!”

  He looked at Hawke, pride warring with pain. “I couldn’t. My own family couldn’t afford to help me. There was no way I was going to throw myself on the mercy of the mighty Pryce family and ask for financial assistance, while asking for Bethany’s hand in marriage. You understand, don’t you?”

  Hawke understood. Any man would. But it still didn’t answer his question. “But what happened to Bethany? She was found in hysterics, with her dress torn, bruises on her waist and arms. She refused to tell anyone what happened beyond meeting you.”

  “She attacked me.” Geoffrey replied softly, “At first she cried, saying she could never love another, and I was breaking her heart. I was cruel for making her choose between me and her family. Pryce, I swear to you, I loved your sister, I still love her; I wanted her to be with me. She wouldn’t listen to me. I told her I was still going, but I would send for her when I found a suitable place to live and a way to support us. She kept screaming at me. Said I would never send for her. That I would forget about her and I didn’t love her enough.”

  He gripped the table, his hands shaking.

  “Nothing I said reassured her. She became more and more agitated, more unreasonable. She flew at me, like she was possessed. She tried to strike me with her riding crop. I grabbed her by her arms. I was probably too rough, but she was acting like a mad woman, screaming and flailing. I threw her to the ground, pinned her to stop her hysterics.” Looking down, he reached for the bottle, poured another drink and swallowed it in one gulp. “I’m not proud of what I did next.” He looked at Hawke, anguish turning his eyes dark. “I panicked. She wouldn’t quit screaming. She was foaming at the mouth. It was terrifying … I didn’t know what to do. She was a different person, not the sweet, gentle girl I was in love with. She had scared off her horse, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone showed up. I knew what it looked like.”