For a moment, the idea that these were some of Papa’s final thoughts fogged Emily’s vision, but she blinked and skimmed the handwriting she knew so well. Why was Matt sounding so smug, yet so mysterious? She read a few lines and then scowled, flipping back to check the preceding pages.
“This says Papa suspected some rustling way last winter—which is nothing unusual—until April, when he noted his suspicions that Clancy might be involved.” Emily stared up at McClanahan. “Why didn’t he tell me about this? He made a point of keeping me informed about the problems his businesses were having.”
Matt shrugged. “Perhaps it was for your own protection. Clancy might’ve hinted to him that he was interested in courting you, or—”
“Hinted? Donahue claims my father promised me to him,” Emily said with a sarcastic laugh. “Even if they’d had such a conversation, Papa wouldn’t have taken him seriously.”
“All the more reason for Clancy to resent him, and to start stealing from him. And a very good reason for Elliott not to involve you in it.” McClanahan tried to control his smile as he turned to the last few entries in the journal. “I couldn’t resist reading further, for more clues. This page might lay some suspicions to rest for you.”
Emily looked at the entry he was pointing to, where Papa’s words were tiny and tightly packed. “May fourth,” she read in a loud whisper. “‘Hired Matt McClanahan to investigate rustling, Donahue in particular’—you knew! You suspected Clancy from the start, and you didn’t tell me! You—”
“Whoa, there! You could kill a man, pointing at him that way,” he said as he playfully grabbed her hand. Emily was flushed and her amber eyes danced with anger, just as he’d known they would. “I was only on the job a few days before your papa was shot. I didn’t see the wanted poster on Donahue till Thompson showed it to me, and then we weren’t sure he was our murderer. Look—would you recognize him?”
Emily crossed her arms indignantly as McClanahan pulled a folded paper from his pocket and held it before her. The criminal’s face was clean-shaven and blotchy; his hair was closely cropped, and the name given was Donald Clancy…alias Clarence McDonald, alias…a different name for each state that wanted him. The only distinguishing mark listed was a gold tooth. “So?”
“Don’t you see?” Matt demanded. “Donahue grew his hair out before he hired on here—grew a beard to disguise his pock-marked complexion. You’ve said yourself how a little extra hair makes a man look different, and until I knocked his tooth out and proved the bullets in your father were Clancy’s, Thompson and I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just another rustler on the run.”
“But you knew exactly whose mine you were applying at that day at the Angel Claire…and you were really in Cripple to investigate Clancy. Weren’t you?” She rose slowly, feeling foolish and angry because she hadn’t seen through Matt’s scheme. “Who are you? And why didn’t you tell me you were already on Donahue’s trail the night I hired you, when you found out who I was? Or later? You’ve had plenty of chances.”
“I tried,” McClanahan said with a quiet laugh. “But every time we talked about my life—like that day we looked out over Mama’s burned-out house—you’d jump to a wild conclusion and shut me off. I got the feeling you wouldn’t believe the truth about me unless God himself sent you proof. Finding this journal entry a few days ago was a real piece of luck.”
Emily reread Papa’s words with a lump in her throat. Her father had hired Matt McClanahan, yet he’d never once mentioned this handsome new employee who was also their neighbor. She chided herself for being so upset about Papa’s death that she’d put away his journal without reading it. The answers she’d sought these past weeks were right here in black and white, and they could have saved her months of doubt and weeks of chasing the wrong suspects…not to mention the embarrassments she’d suffered because Nigel Grath, Clancy, and McClanahan had pulled the wool over her eyes.
She sighed and looked at the man whose smile was calm and self-assured. “So how’d Papa come to hire you? He required references of all his employees.”
“And the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency provided them. I did some work for Wells Fargo, and some investigations for mine owners who suspected their profits were being siphoned off by employees.” Matt looked steadily into her wide, golden eyes. “I did some extensive work for Taylor West, too, concerning fraudulent stocks. That’s why I know so many of your father’s friends in the Springs, Emily”
Dumbfounded, she shook her head. “So you’re a detective? That seems like a strange line to go into, with your background in smithing.”
“It was work I enjoyed—a way to stay busy without being constantly reminded of the life I could’ve lived had I come home when Mama first asked me to.” He reached across the desk to take her hand. “Believe me, Emily, I’ve often wondered why Elliott didn’t at least mention the daughter who was his pride and joy. After I met you, I thought it was because he’d considered me a bad risk, what with turning away from my mother the way I did.”
“I doubt that. Papa understood how hard it was to live without the love of a woman.” Feeling the warm strength in the hand that held hers, Emily sighed. “I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought about what good friends you and Papa would’ve been. He admired a man who committed himself to a job until it was finished, yet who wasn’t so serious-minded that he couldn’t have a little fun.”
“The few times I talked with him, I liked your father, too,” McClanahan replied gently. “I admired the control he had over his empire…respected the way he raised his daughter to fill his shoes. I wish I could’ve gotten to know him.”
Emily nodded, fingering a large chunk of quartz on the bookcase beside her. “But when you found out who I really was, that night at Silas’s—and after you got to know me better…to love me, you said—why didn’t you tell me Papa hired you? It was cruel to lead me on that way, Matt.”
“I know. I’ve kicked myself a hundred times, because I should’ve been honest with you, of all people.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, relieved to see that her anger was mellowing into forgiveness. “I do love you, Emily—more than I can say. But things happened so fast between us, and I wanted to know you, inside and out, before I exposed my soul and my secrets.”
His face was taut with emotion; Emily saw a tug-of-war between the pain in his past and the new beginning he so desperately wanted with her. “I guess you couldn’t let the wrong people know you were a detective, either, so you were disguising your identity, just as I was. You must think I’m pretty obnoxious, always doubting your motives.”
“A woman in your position would be foolish not to question a man’s intentions—any man’s.” McClanahan gave in to the urge to touch the porcelain hollows above her collarbone, and as he let his finger follow the delicate gold chain to her locket, he smiled in spite of himself. “Maybe, down deep, I didn’t tell you your father hired me because I wanted you to love me for who I was —to marry me because you thought I was the right man, and not because Elliott Burnham trusted me.”
Emily’s mouth twisted into a sheepish grin. “Do I put that much stock in Papa’s ways and opinions?”
“Why shouldn’t you?” he asked gently. “His guidance and philosophies turned you into a strong, independent woman…a woman who’ll make me a fine wife, and an even better friend, for the rest of my life.”
His serious blue eyes drove his words straight into her heart: Matt McClanahan had just paid her the highest of compliments. She met his lips fervently with hers, pressing against him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Here was the man who would cherish her as no one else—not even Papa—could; who would understand her weaknesses and encourage her strengths. With Matt by her side, she felt able to conquer Clancy Donahue or any other obstacle which presented itself, forever. It gave her a heady sense of destiny, knowing she’d met her true match, and for several minutes nothing else existed or mattered, except the two strong arms that held her and the mouth that wa
s branding her with its fiery passion.
Then there was a commotion outside. They heard boots thump loudly across the front porch, and B.J. was yelling something they couldn’t understand. Emily and Matt hurried out of the study and through the parlor.
McClanahan threw the front door open, scowling as he looked out. “What’s wrong? What’s all the—”
“Fire!” B.J. hollered back at him. “The stable’s on fire!”
Emily’s first thought was of Sundance and Arapaho, and the horses all the hands depended on. “We have to go—”
“Don’t come out till you’ve changed into pants,” Matt ordered. “That dress’ll be nothing but a hazard out there. I’ll go get Crabtree—”
McClanahan was already down the porch steps, the rest of his sentence lost in the wind. Emily shivered, staring across the lot at a roof that was suddenly engulfed in flames. The men would be eating their supper about now, in the mess hall at the far end of the corrals, she realized, and her blood ran cold. “Matt, come back!” she screamed. “It’s Clancy! He set the fire so—”
But she was too late. There was a thundering of hooves and a single gunshot, and Matt McClanahan flew face down into the dirt.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emily rushed into the study and yanked open the top drawer of the desk. As Donahue clumped through the parlor, she gripped Papa’s pistol and pointed it at him.
He sneered at her, leaning casually against the doorway. “Put that thing down before you shoot somebody, little girl. I’ve got one, too, and I’m a helluva lot faster with it than you are.”
Standing firm, Emily tried not to think of McClanahan lying lifeless outside. She willed her arms not to shake. The beast before her blocked her view of the parlor, so she was trapped here, by a ruthless, shaggy man who smelled of smoke and kerosene.
Clancy’s eyes glittered as he raised his own pistol. “The first thing I’ll have to teach you when we’re married is to listen to your man. I said to put it down.”
Emily wished she had listened to McClanahan as the redheaded outlaw took in her revealing scalloped neckline. Donahue looked deadly calm, and since her anger would only give him one more advantage, she laid her gun on the desk. “Why kill my horses and endanger my hands?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you just come in after me?”
“Gives me better odds. A smart little gal like you oughtta know that.” Clancy holstered his gun, grinning demonically. “Or maybe you’re not thinkin’ so straight, now that McClanahan’s eatin’ dirt for the last time. So
now it’s just me and you, talkin’ things over.”
“Why should I deal with you? You’re nothing but a no-account — “
“Because the killin’ won’t stop till I get what I want,” he growled. “It’s real easy to light a rag in a bottle of kerosene and toss it through a window. Next time it’ll be the bunkhouse and Crabtree’s new place. Is that what you want?”
Emily saw the hard shine in his eyes and the slack in his smile—both reminded her of Nigel Grath—and she knew the bloodshed would continue for as long as this ogre drew breath. She recalled Matt’s words about lying to survive and knew she’d have to spin tales to top all she’d ever told. “I want this senseless violence to end,” she stated. “I came back to the Flaming B to put my grief behind me and—”
“You came here to meet McClanahan. You knew that story about him bein’ killed in the canyon was just a cover—same as all your pinin’ and grievin’ was,” he countered gruffly. Then he leered, his pale green gaze lingering on her chest. “When I saw how he threw you away from the cabin and then fell on you, I knew the explosion wasn’t fatal. Figured with him and Thompson bein’ thick as thieves, they’d pull such a stunt.”
Was it lunatic luck again, or had Donahue been spying on Matt these past weeks in Cripple Creek, just as he’d watched her? It was scary to think he’d seen through Matt’s scheme when she hadn’t. Emily fought the pounding of her heart as Clancy came over to stand in front of her.
“Nice of you to lose that baby, too,” he said with a sarcastic chuckle. “Now you and me can start fresh—”
“You knew about the cabin!” she blurted. “You probably wired that dynamite to the door yourself, to—”
Donahue’s laughter filled the room. “Grath did that, little girl. Figured you and McClanahan might pay the place another visit someday.” After a few more high-pitched chuckles, he looked down at her. “Yeah, ole Nigel and I had lots of time for talk in the jailhouse. He told me about you and McClanahan goin’ at it till we were both half out of our minds. Crazy bastard didn’t know when to shut up. He was desperate for a hit on the pipe by then that I promised I’d have some poppy smuggled in, if he’d confess to killin’ your daddy. He went loco afterwards, when I told him I couldn’t get it, and helpin’ him weave that noose was the biggest favor I could’ve done him.”
Emily tried not to blanch. Jumping to a conclusion about Clancy blowing up the cabin had given him another chance to prove how insane he was—and how cold-blooded. He’d orchestrated Grath’s suicide so the whiny little blaster wouldn’t change his confession. Clancy had a faraway look of pride in his eyes, and she decided her best strategy was to keep him talking. “You should have warned me about the dynamite,” she began. “I could have been killed by the blast. And how would you have latched on to Papa’s estate, without marrying me?”
“I told you to come back, right before you grabbed that door handle. Remember?” He laughed low in his throat, fingering the ruffle on her sleeve with a large, smelly hand. “But with you out of the way, it wouldn’t be that hard to steal what I wanted while your daddy’s lawyers were figurin’ out how to divide the properties among themselves. They would, you know. They might be better dressed than me, but if they had the chance, they’d make most of his money disappear from the ledgers.”
He was baiting her, but Emily was determined to control the conversation. “Papa’s attorneys earn large retainers,” she replied calmly. “And arrangements were made long ago for our managers to assume ownership of his businesses, in the event he and I both died.”
Clancy shrugged and made his grimy fingernail sing along the chain of her locket. “I guess none of that really matters, since you survived, and I got you back. What’s this little trinket?”
She tried not to wince as he lifted the golden heart from between her breasts to study it. “McClanahan’s wedding present,” she said proudly. “I did come back here to meet him—to marry him—because I knew you’d be here tonight, sneaking through the dark like a—”
“None of that matters, either. Does it?” he said as he snapped the delicate chain against her neck. He tossed the locket behind him, his expression changing from a mocking grin to a sneer. “He can’t come rushin’ in to save you anymore, Miss Smarty. And now that you’re mine, it’s time you stopped makin’ the same mistakes your daddy did by standin’ between me and what I want.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” she mumbled. His paw was curled suggestively around her neck, and Emily was now acutely aware that Clancy Donahue was a deranged man.
His green eyes narrowed as he gazed down at her with a catlike grin. “The first time I saw you I wanted you, Emily,” he said in stealthy voice. “Tried to talk to your daddy, but he refused to let me court you. That’s when I started cuttin’ the fence, lettin’ some of my enterprisin’ friends help themselves to his Herefords.”
It was all Emily could do to hold her tongue. He was stringing her along, trying to catch her up in his rising insanity.
“Then I told your daddy he needed a new foreman—that his old nigger was lettin’ his prime stock get rustled,” Clancy continued. “He told me to move on if I didn’t like the way things were run, so I fed the nigger’s horse some locoweed, right before he went out ridin’ fence.”
She was sickened to think that poor old Idaho had limped and resigned himself to house labor because of Clancy’s cruel vengeance. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked stiffly.
“You certainly aren’t convincing me I should marry you for your—”
“You don’t need convincin’!” His grip tightened around her neck, and quick as a striking snake he wrenched her right arm behind her with his other hand. “I’m just warnin’ you what might happen if you try to cross me again. Now kiss me, dammit. Let me into this dress.”
As his mouth crushed hers, Emily’s stomach churned. How long would it take Richard and the men to realize she was at Clancy’s mercy? The beast was tugging at her scalloped bodice, covering her face and neck with slobbery kisses. There was no doubt in her mind that he intended to rape her right here in the study, and that her only defense was to distract him until help came.
If she’d dressed in pants, as Matt had suggested…but it was too late for wishful thinking. Her provocative gown had fueled Clancy’s passions, so she’d have to use it as a lure until she could reach the pistol on the desk top. She took a deep breath, and prayed for the strength and presence of mind to become the most charming Southern belle who ever lived. “Mah goodness, but you’re passionate,” she whispered in an exaggerated drawl.
“Damn right I am. And I don’t see any reason to wait for what’s rightfully mine, either.”
She widened her eyes flirtatiously, but when Clancy pivoted and placed himself between her and Papa’s gun, Emily forced herself to think quickly…Silas’s pistol was still upstairs on the bathroom floor. “What if the hands come in?” she asked breathlessly. “They’re not likely to knock, what with the excitement of the fire, and—”
“Maybe they’d like a turn at you,” he answered with a laugh. “And maybe I’d like to watch.”
Emily felt her supper rising into her throat and fought it back down. “B-but it wouldn’t do to let the hands think they can take liberties with your wife, now that you’ll be the master of the Flamin’ B.”
Colorado Captive Page 36
