To Dream Anew

by Tracie Peterson

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Some things should be left unsaid.”

  There was a deep regret in his tone that put a sorrowful damper on Dianne’s otherwise jubilant heart. She wanted to say something to encourage him not to despair over something that never had been. But even as she thought of what she might say, she knew her previous advice was best—leave it unsaid. With no other word, she once again began to climb the stairs.

  Portia Langford slowly did up the buttons of her blouse, all the while watching Chester Lawrence finish pulling on his boots. He straightened and put on his jacket.

  “I like the way these range shacks afford us a little afternoon privacy,” she said coyly. “I just wish they were a little more hospitable.”

  Chester laughed. “They weren’t created for hospitality, but rather shelter. Although I don’t suppose they offer much of that either.”

  “I’m glad my father agreed to settle in Madison now that he’s finished with the army.” She came to where Chester stood and walked her fingers up his rock-hard chest. For an older man, he was remarkably well muscled.

  Chester looked at her for a moment. “You’re enough to exhaust a man, but I’m sure I’ll bear it well enough. Have you gotten me any new information?”

  Portia shrugged. “Not much to tell. The Diamond V added over a hundred new calves this spring. The army is buying at least that much in steers, but the real news seems to be the horses. Apparently they are breeding something called steeldust horses. At least that’s what my father called them. He and Trenton Chadwick get together nearly every week.” She looked at Chester for a moment, then added, “Have you heard of these steeldust horses?”

  “Incredible stock. Those beauties have the durability of the Spanish barb and the speed of the Thoroughbred.”

  Portia rolled her eyes at the excitement in Chester’s voice. It seemed pure insanity for a man to get that worked up over a horse. She turned and walked back to the rough-hewn bed and sat down. Pulling on her stocking, Portia decided the time had come to let Chester in on a little of the Selby-Chadwick family history.

  “I know you fancy the idea of pushing the Selbys out of this territory. I heard something interesting while staying with them. Something I think you might be able to work to your advantage.”

  “What is it?”

  Portia looked over her shoulder even as she afixed her stockings. “What benefit will it have for me?”

  “If the information is as valuable as you suggest, I’ll give you whatever price you name. I intend to take this valley over for my own. Selby’s in my way. If you have a means by which I can eliminate the man and his family, I’ll give you whatever you ask.”

  Portia grinned and finished securing her second stocking.

  “The ranch originally belonged to Bram Vandyke, Mrs. Selby’s uncle. The man was married to an Indian squaw, and he knew she could never inherit the land.” Portia got up and pulled on her skirt, talking all the time. “Apparently, Vandyke learned that the only way he could keep the ranch in the family was to bring Dianne in on the deed and make her a partner. Her brother Trenton was not in the area at the time and her other brothers had no interest in ranching.”

  “I fail to see how this is to my benefit,” Chester said, giving her a frown.

  Portia shook her head. “What if the papers making her a partner were not legal? What if they were never properly filed or properly designed? What if, in fact, there are no records of them existing at all?”

  “Do you have reason to believe this is true?”

  “I have reason to believe that you have enough money to make it true,” she said with a sly grin.

  Chester looked at her dumbfounded for a moment, then began to smile. “I think you just might be right. Maybe it’s time for me to do a little digging at the courthouse in Virginia City.”

  “Maybe so,” Portia said, already thinking of what she would demand of him when he made his dream a reality.

  CHAPTER 14

  TRENTON WAS IN NO MOOD TO DEAL WITH ANGELINA Turnquist, but the woman was persistent. She was pretty too. Pretty and smart and not afraid of anything. He couldn’t help but admire her, but his past didn’t allow for falling in love. For reasons he didn’t understand, Portia Langford had kept silent about the details of his life before coming to the Diamond V. He was constantly waiting for the moment when someone would show up to confront him about the deeds he’d done, but so far, nothing had happened. No doubt she was waiting until the most advantageous moment before she pounced to destroy him. Just as she had no doubt done with her now dead husbands.

  “Are you busy?” Angelina asked as she came into the study.

  “Yes.” Trenton looked up from the ledgers. “I’m recording information for Cole. What do you need?” He tried not to sound affected by the way she looked. He’d thought her the most handsome woman in the world when he’d first met her nearly three years earlier.

  “I thought we might talk. My father plans to leave here tomorrow. He’s anxious to get some of his findings back to his investors in the East. He insists I go with him, but I thought perhaps you would help me change his mind.”

  Trenton shook his head. “Change his mind about going east?”

  “No …” she said, moving closer to the desk, “change it about taking me.”

  Trenton leaned back in the chair and said nothing for a moment. He simply studied Angelina’s face—the delicate arch of her blond brows, the upturned nose and full lips. She was dressed in a serviceable blue gown with some black braided trim. She almost looked prim and proper, but he knew better. The woman was anything but that.

  “You should go see your family. How long has it been since you’ve seen your mother and sister?”

  Angelina frowned. “I don’t want to be with them. I want to be with you.”

  Her boldness left Trenton speechless. He knew he looked as shocked as he felt but did nothing to hide his reaction.

  “I know. You don’t think we have anything in common. You think I’m too young to know my own mind. You think me better suited to Morgan.”

  “I’m mighty glad you know what I’m thinking, because I’m feeling rather stumped right now, myself,” Trenton finally said.

  Angelina stomped her foot and put her hands on her hips. “You know exactly what I mean. I’ve had feelings for you since we first met. I know you feel the same way. I can tell.”

  “What if I do? What of it?” he questioned. “Your father wants to go back East, and you have family there. Your place is at his side.”

  “My place could be at your side.”

  Trenton got to his feet. Walking slowly around the desk, he stopped directly in front of Angelina and took hold of her by the upper arms. She closed her eyes and offered him her lips, as if fully expecting him to kiss her. For a moment, he was sorely tempted.

  He swallowed hard. “Open your eyes, Angelina.”

  She did so, a puzzled look spreading across her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “This is wrong. We’re wrong.”

  “No. We’re very right. Don’t you see?”

  Trenton sighed. “You know nothing about my past. You only know me as Morgan’s brother. I haven’t always led a respectable life. I’ve done things I’m very ashamed of, and I’ve been wrongly blamed for even worse. You don’t want to end up with someone like me.”

  “But that’s all in the past, right?”

  “What of it?”

  She smiled. “The Lord forgets your past and remembers it no more. The Bible says that. God can forgive you of your wrongdoings and wipe it all clean.”

  “God very well may, but I doubt the law will feel the same way.”

  Angelina shook her head. “Trenton, don’t send me away. I love you.”

  He stepped back as if she’d slapped him. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You hardly even know me.”

  “I know you well enough. We spent that entire winter together back in ’77 and ’78. Then every year since w
e’ve come here for at least a short visit. I’ve gotten to know you better each time, and I’ve grown to care for you deeply. If we were to marry, I could stay here permanently and not have to return to Chicago with my father.”

  “So now you’re proposing to me?” Trenton shook his head and walked back behind the desk. He felt the need to keep some sort of barrier between them.

  “You won’t do it, so I figured I might as well. Is it such a bad suggestion? Am I such a poor catch?”

  He looked at her as if she’d spoken Greek. “How could you even say such a thing? I think any man would be very fortunate to have you as his wife.”

  “Any man but you, is that it?”

  Trenton sat down hard on the leather chair. “Angelina, you need to go. This isn’t a conversation we should be having.”

  “I think it’s a good conversation for us to be having. I think you feel the same way I do.”

  Trenton couldn’t deny the truth in her statement. He did care for her, and if he were a different man, he might very well have taken her up on her proposal of marriage. Trenton picked up his pen and dipped it in the ink. “Leave, Angelina. Go with your father and forget about me. I can’t be the man you want me to be.”

  He focused on the ledger, hoping she would take this as his final word. He didn’t want to hurt her and prayed she wouldn’t start crying. That would surely be his undoing.

  “If that’s the way you want it,” Angelina said, moving to the door, “then so be it. For now.”

  Once she was gone, Trenton put down the pen, realizing that his hand was trembling. He rubbed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Blowing it out in the silence of the room, he forced himself not to go after her. This was the better way.

  A knock on the door, however, made him certain she’d returned. Getting up, he fought his feelings. How could he let her into his life with Portia knowing the details of his past? The woman would stop at nothing to hurt him—and in turn, Angelina—for whatever wrongs she perceived him to have done her.

  Trenton opened the door, hoping to have the strength to send Angelina on her way once and for all. Instead, he found Sam Brady standing on the other side.

  “Your sister told me I’d find you here,” the older man said, smiling.

  Trenton tried to hide his surprise. “Come in,” Trenton said, pushing back the door. “I thought you were someone else.”

  “Portia insisted we come for a visit. She also declared an interest in buying a new horse. I figured we’d take care of business and pleasure in one trip.”

  Trenton went back to the desk. “I was taking care of some entries for Cole, but I can certainly be interrupted from that. Would you like me to get us some coffee?”

  “No,” Sam said, glancing over his back. He turned and closed the door. “I thought we might discuss your progress in gathering information.”

  Trenton shook his head. “I haven’t found anything worthwhile. However, the last letter I had from Mr. Langford gave me numerous details regarding Ned’s death. Apparently the man shot himself while lying in bed. Mr. Langford believes Portia killed Ned while he slept. After all, what man dresses for bed, gets in and pulls up the covers, and then puts a gun to his head while his wife is sleeping soundly beside him?”

  Sam rubbed his chin. “Sounds suspect, all right.”

  Trenton pulled the latest letter from a side drawer where he kept it with the others. He opened it and read, “‘Portia was the only one in the room at the time, and she claims to have been sleeping. The gunshot awoke the household, and Portia began to scream down the house. We ran to their room and found Ned had expired. Blood was pooling in the bed around Ned, yet Portia was surprisingly untouched. There wasn’t so much as a droplet of blood on her white robe and gown.”’

  Trenton stopped and looked up. “How could she have been in bed beside him when he shot himself and not have at least some small amount of blood on her person?”

  Sam sat down in the chair opposite Trenton. “I’ve no doubt she shot him. The question is, how do we prove it?”

  “Langford says if you can just get her back to Baltimore, he has convinced the police to arrest her. He even hired a specialist in this kind of thing. The man has studied the entire matter—even the body, as I understand it.”

  “After all these years?” Sam asked in disbelief.

  “Apparently. Here, let me read what he says.” Trenton shuffled the pages and scanned for the part he wanted to share. “‘We believe the information put together by Mr. Grissom is sub … substantial,”’ Trenton stammered over the word. His reading still wasn’t all that great. “‘Evidence shows that from the angle of the bullet and the wound at the point of entry, Ned could not have been the one to fire the gun.”’

  Trenton put the letter down. “He feels certain they can see Portia pay for what she’s done.”

  “If that’s the case, then I’ll have to see to it that she returns to Baltimore.”

  “Langford suggests that he can have his lawyer send a letter to her. The details would intimate that Mr. Langford has agreed to allow her a sizeable portion of money from Ned’s estate. Apparently he’s been able to put some kind of a lien on it all these years. He said he would have the letter drawn up if we would do what we could to get her there.”

  “I think if Portia believes a small fortune awaits her, she’ll have no trouble agreeing to return to Baltimore,” Sam said, his shoulders suddenly slumping. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. My daughter is a murderer. A cold-blooded killer. How can this be?”

  Trenton shook his head. “I don’t know. I know desperation led me to do things I didn’t want to do. Bad things. But for someone to have a life of ease, with good things and people who truly care about them, and then to turn around and murder them … well, it doesn’t make sense to me either.”

  “Send him the letter,” Sam said sadly. “Tell him that I’ll see she gets there by the quickest means.”

  Trenton folded the letter and met Sam’s sorrowful gaze. “At least it will stop her from killing again.”

  “Let’s pray that’s true.”

  Outside the office, Portia burned in rage. She’d heard most every word uttered by the two men inside. She’d feigned a headache, and Dianne had graciously shown her to one of the guest bedrooms. Then as soon as she could, Portia made her way down the back stairs and to the room she’d seen her father enter.

  Sneaking back to the sanctuary of the guest room, Portia clenched her teeth so hard her jaw burned. She closed the door and leaned against it, her fists balled, her body rigid.

  “How dare they plot against me? I’ve been more than merciful in keeping Mr. Chadwick’s past a secret, but no more. Tomorrow I go to the sheriff and tell them everything. Then I’ll deal with my father.”

  Portia remained restless throughout the day, and by the time her father was prepared to return to Madison, she forced herself to pretend nothing was amiss. Focused on making plans, Portia said very little on the ride home.

  She had to admit there were many reasons for hiding out in Montana. Langford’s threat of proving that she murdered his son was right at the top of her list. I should never have shot him, she told herself. I should have poisoned him like the others, then worked out the details of his situation afterward .

  Portia knew from experience that poisoning was very difficult to prove. Especially when using some of the poisons she had tried. William had been such a simpleton with his dedication to temperance and other foolish notions. Worst of all, he was a boorish man. His manners were abhorrent and he often embarrassed her. Poisoning him, then dousing him with whiskey, had been easy enough. The trouble came in finding a man desperate enough to take her money, ask no questions, and run a freight wagon over the dead body of her husband.

  Angus had been an even bigger challenge. The man had a keen intellect and was very intuitive, making Portia believe him capable of reading her mind. Angus had decided it was time for Portia to give him a family. The man had bee
n positively inhuman in his desires. She shuddered now even thinking about it. The poison she’d given him caused respiratory distress. The lungs filled with fluid and were unable to process the matter. The doctor, as hoped, was positive it was pneumonia; the Scottish ninny had no idea there would be any other cause.

  Now, however, Ned Langford rose from the grave like a specter to haunt her. Well, I won’t let him destroy me .

  Seeing that the turnoff to the Lawrence ranch was approaching, Portia made a decision. “Father, I’d like to visit with Cynthia Lawrence. I promised her I’d come by as soon as time permitted. Why don’t you head on home, and I’ll join you a little later.”

  Sam eyed her suspiciously. She hated him for that. He had always looked at her as if trying to size up what mischief she was up to. Other fathers doted on their little girls, but not Sam Brady. No, Sergeant Brady thought the worst of his child and now intended to see it proven.

  “I don’t like your riding out unescorted,” her father finally said. “It hardly seems appropriate.”

  “There are a great many things in this life that seem inappropriate,” Portia said, trying hard to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I’ll see you at supper.”

  She reined the horse hard to the left and kicked her heels into the gelding’s side. With any luck at all, she thought as the horse sped down the road to the Walking Horseshoe Ranch, she and Chester would figure out a way to put an end to Trenton and her father before another day could pass.

  “Stop worrying,” Lawrence told Portia as she paced. “I can have the deed done by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll send them each a message from the other one. What kind of thing would bring them together without questioning whether the note was authentic?”

  Portia smiled. “I have the perfect message.”

  “Sam Brady wants me to meet him near the old buffalo jump,” Trenton said, looking over the slip of paper. The boy who’d brought it had already headed back to town, otherwise Trenton might have asked for more information. It seemed strange that Sam would already want to discuss this matter, when he knew full well Trenton needed to get a letter to Langford first. “I can’t imagine why he wants to venture out all that way.”