The Inheritance

by Joan Johnston

  He had no horse, no saddle, no gun, no rope, no hat, no spurs, no chaps, no bedroll, no slicker—no experience. He had nothing to recommend him at all to Mr. Hardin at the Bar Five. But Hardin must have seen something in him that he liked, because he offered Nicholas a job. Twenty dollars a month and found. Hardin would provide the horse and credit at Stone’s Mercantile in town, where Nicholas could buy anything else he needed to do his job.

  Nicholas had ridden back to the house where Evie worked and tied his new Bar Five horse to the post out front. He could still remember the way his eyes had crinkled from the width of his self-satisfied smile. He was so damned happy! He was going to make his dream come true. All he needed was for Evie to wait for him until he could make enough money to buy that ranch.

  He hadn’t known anything was wrong until he saw Mrs. Greely’s face. She was the madam who took care of all the girls. At first he thought it was just because he had used the front door, instead of the back.

  “I have a job,” he blurted. As though that would make it all right.

  “You’ve been sleeping with Evie,” she said. It was an accusation, really.

  “I …” What could he say? “I have,” he admitted. “But not during regular hours,” he was quick to add.

  “You got her pregnant,” Mrs. Greely said. “I’d’ve never known who the father was, except it could only have happened during that two weeks we had freezing cold and snow and everybody stayed tucked inside so we had no business. You have to be the father. It couldn’t be anyone else.

  He had been stunned. And then so damned proud. He and Evie had made a child of their own! “I’ll take care of her and the child,” he said. “Don’t you worry.”

  “I’ve already made arrangements,” Mrs. Greely said.

  “What arrangements?”

  “To get rid of the child. Evie will be docked what it costs from her pay.”

  “You can’t do that!” he said. “You can’t! That’s murder!”

  He had raced up the stairs to Evie’s room, but when he tried the knob, it was locked. He had pounded on it with his fist and yelled, “Evie! Let me in! I’m not going away until you talk to me.”

  He knew she would let him in because Mrs. Greely hated a rowdy customer more than just about anything. Sure enough, Evie had opened the door. He had gone inside and closed it and locked it behind him, locked out Mrs. Greely and her dastardly plans for his child.

  “Have you agreed to this?” he demanded.

  She didn’t ask him what he was talking about. He could see from the petulant look on her face, from the sullen cast of her blue eyes, that she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  “I have,” she said. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  He had her by the shoulders before he knew what he was doing. He shook her hard, telling her she couldn’t go through with it, that it was murder, and he’d see her dead if she tried killing his child. When he let her go, she sank down onto the iron bed where she spread her legs nightly for any man who had the price.

  The sound of the springs squeaking reminded him of all the times she had laughingly urged him to be still, not to make so much noise or they would wake up Cass in the next room.

  He felt panicked at the thought of losing his child. His eyes were hot and dry, his whole body tensed. He shoved his hand through his hair, trying to make some sense out of everything.

  “I thought we were going to get married,” he said.

  She sat cross-legged on the white chenille spread—which he realized only now that he saw it in daylight bore numerous yellow stains—and shook her head. “Where did you ever get an idea like that?”

  “We talked—”

  “I want a rich husband, someone who’ll take care of me.”

  “I g-got a job today,” he stuttered desperately. And realized how differently he was saying those words than how he had planned to say them. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “How?” she demanded.

  “I’ll be getting twenty a month and found.”

  “Where would I live?”

  He swallowed hard, knowing she couldn’t stay in the bunkhouse with him, and that the only other home he had was the abandoned line shack where his mother had died. “We’ll find a place.”

  “I won’t live in a hovel, Nick,” she said defiantly. “And I don’t want a kid.”

  “Not even mine?”

  She shook her head. “A kid would just be a millstone around my neck. What man is going to marry me if I bring along a whining brat?”

  “I would marry you,” he said. “I love you.” Then he said the words that even today made him cringe. “Don’t you love me?”

  If there was ever a question that left a man open to being destroyed, that was it. In his youth, in his innocence, he had asked. And she had answered.

  With a laugh.

  “Good Lord, no, Nick. We just had a good time together. You’re good in bed. That’s all. I never loved you. If I had it to do over again, I’d think twice about inviting you upstairs. I didn’t count on ending up with one in the basket, if you know what I mean.”

  Somehow he had managed to stand his ground, to keep fighting for the child inside the woman who had laughed at him for being stupid enough to think that what they had shared together had anything to do with love.

  “I don’t want you to get rid of it.”

  Evie picked at one of the nubby tufts on the spread. “Mrs. Greely’s got it all arranged.”

  “I’ll pay you to have the baby.”

  Her head jerked up, and her eyes found his. “What?”

  “I want the baby, even if you don’t. I’ll pay you my salary every month you’re carrying my child, and I’ll take the baby when it’s born.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Not crazy,” he insisted in a voice that already held a hard edge he had found somewhere to deflect her ridicule. “I meant what I said before. If you kill my child, I’ll kill you.”

  He saw her shiver and felt a deep satisfaction at the fear that shone in her eyes.

  “Mrs. Greely won’t let me do it.”

  “I’ll take care of Mrs. Greely. Do we have a deal?”

  She pouted, and he tried to remember what he had found so enticing about her lips. She laid her hands on her belly, which he saw was already rounded with his child. “All right,” she said. “But I want the whole twenty dollars, every month.”

  “You’ll get it.”

  He had left the room then, before his anger forced him to violence against her. After all, she was the mother of his child.

  He had paid off Mrs. Greely with the promise of another ten dollars a month. He earned that working odd jobs all over town on weekends and at night when he should have been sleeping. His face grew haggard, and permanent shadows left his eyes looking sunken. Hardin watched him like a hawk, but he did his work and never let on what it was that drove him so hard.

  Once or twice Hardin looked him up and asked him how he liked the work, but that was as close as he came to inquiring about Nicholas’s situation. No man asked another his business in the West. Nicholas had never shared his problem with Hardin. At first he was too ashamed, and then too determined to manage on his own.

  Evie complained the whole time, but she carried the baby to term. He checked up on her, making sure she knew what would happen if she did anything that endangered the child. Mrs. Greely had sent word to him when the baby was born, and he had come to get it.

  Fantastic as it seemed, he didn’t, until the moment he held his son in his arms, have a thought about how he was going to feed the baby, or even how he was going to take care of it. Evie didn’t offer to nurse the child, and Mrs. Greely made it clear she wanted the wailing brat out of her house.

  He had gotten on his horse and ridden away with a squalling newborn in his arms. He had felt …

  Nicholas felt a burning sensation in his nose, the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes as he relived that awful time in his l
ife. Lord, he had felt so desolate. He had ridden the whole day, until late in the afternoon, when he stopped his horse and got off and sat cross-legged on the ground. He had opened the blanket at last to look at his sleeping son, who had finally exhausted himself crying.

  And marveled at how perfectly made he was. At his black hair. At his tiny fingernails and toenails—ten of each. At his long eyelashes. He had promised his child that somehow he would make a life for him that was better than his own. But he had known, deep down in some painful place inside him, that he didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby, let alone raising a child.

  That was when Simp had found him.

  Nicholas wondered how his life would have been different if Evie had been like Nora, willing to stand by him even in the face of calamity. What if she had loved him enough to endure the hardship of building a life with him, even though they were starting it with a third mouth to feed?

  Nicholas hadn’t ever allowed himself to become maudlin. Right now he was in danger of being downright sentimental over the past.

  He had learned a hard lesson at a young age. He had never offered love to another woman. And never given another woman the chance to hurt him the way Evie had. He had learned a great deal from her. Actually, he owed her a debt of gratitude. He knew how to please a woman in bed. Those lessons had stood him in good stead over the years.

  And he had Colin. He could never be sorry for that.

  It was amazing that nearly twenty years later he was finally going to be married. It was good to remember the lessons of the past. He would have to keep Evie in mind when he bedded Daisy. And remember why he would be the world’s worst fool if he ever let himself fall in love again.

  11

  Colin had done his best to converse with Lord Frederick Willowbrook, but the young man was pompous and condescending, and Colin had about had his fill of sentences that began with “In London we always …” Colin sighed in disgust. He had hoped to spend some time with Lady Roanna, but she had been totally diverted by Lord Frederick’s two simpering sisters.

  He made his escape when luncheon was announced, excusing himself and heading for the stable. He would rather ride back home in the rain than spend the rest of the day in the company of a London fop. There was a groom available, but Colin preferred to saddle his own horse. He wasn’t used to having servants do for him, and he didn’t intend to get used to it. He had just finished when he realized the groom was gone, but he wasn’t alone.

  “Mr. Calloway? Are you leaving already?”

  Colin turned and found he hadn’t the breath to answer. It was Lady Roanna, looking very, very lovely.

  She removed the damp woolen shawl she had used to protect her head and shoulders from the rain and laid it across a stall door. He noticed for the first time that her lavender dress was cut into a V in front. There wasn’t much skin exposed, but it was the promise of feminine flesh a bare inch out of sight that left him gulping.

  Colin knew it was a dumb move to let himself fall any more deeply in love with her than he already was, but he had no idea how to stop this sort of thing once it had gotten started. He reminded himself he was going back to America in the spring. He reminded himself of his father’s warning that no woman was worth the heartache she generally caused.

  It did no good. He was already too far gone.

  It took a moment for Colin to realize that Lady Roanna had come alone. “Does anyone know you’re out here?”

  She blushed. “I know it isn’t proper. But I couldn’t let you leave without telling you how much I appreciate your help entertaining Lord Frederick. Do you really have to go?”

  He wasn’t about to take the chance of insulting her by admitting his true feelings about Lord Frederick. “My father has some work for me at home,” he lied.

  “Oh? May I ask what?”

  Her question proved what his father had always said. Liars get caught. “The truth is, there isn’t any work at home. I just … I …”

  “You don’t like Lord Frederick.”

  He left the stall and stepped into the aisle of the stable, not more than two feet from her. “How did you know?”

  She grinned at him, an impish look that suggested she shared his feelings. “He is a bit affected, isn’t he?”

  “A bit?”

  “All right. He’s excessively pretentious.”

  “Plumb full of foofaraw.”

  Her grin widened and a dimple appeared in her left cheek. “You have Freddy pegged, I’m afraid. I’m sorry. I should have known better than to force you into his company.”

  “Freddy? What happened to Lord Frederick?”

  Roanna’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “I’ve known Freddy since he was in knee britches. He hasn’t improved much with age. His parents and mine keep throwing us together.”

  “Surely they don’t intend for you to marry that clothhead,” Colin said, aghast.

  “Not right away, of course. But it’s been suggested.” Roanna lowered her eyes to studiously observe the toes of her patent leather half boots.

  Colin acted without thinking. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to him, then put his finger beneath her chin to tip it up so he could see her eyes. “That would be a terrible waste.”

  Her eyes were the color of Texas bluebonnets, more a soft lavender than an actual blue, wide and innocent and not the least bit wary. Colin knew he was playing with fire. Just a taste, he thought. Just one taste.

  He lowered his mouth, waiting for any sign of repugnance from her. Her tongue slicked her lips and disappeared again. She stopped breathing entirely when he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Her lips were soft and damp and surrendered to his without resistance. He had barely touched his mouth to hers when her body instinctively arched toward him. His head spun as he tasted her and felt the contours of her body against his own. Her hands slid around his waist and up his back. He lifted his head to look down at her. He wasn’t sure what it was he was seeking, something in her eyes, anything in her expression that would tell him what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

  Colin hadn’t believed himself to be infected with his father’s cynicism toward women. And yet it seemed his feelings weren’t so virginal, so untouched by skepticism, after all. He couldn’t kiss Roanna—in his mind he had dropped the title long ago—without wondering why she was acting in a manner so foreign to what he knew was proper for a young English lady.

  Did she care for him at all? Did she love him? Or, because of who he was—a bastard and a foreigner—had she come to the stable merely to seek a diversion, a bit of illicit adventure?

  Roanna’s eyes were half lidded, and she was pliant in his arms. Obviously she welcomed his embrace, his kisses. But did she want any more than that? Would she be willing to go with him to America when he left? Was she committed to him, as he felt himself becoming committed to her?

  “Colin?” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  At least she was perceptive enough to recognize there was a problem. “Why are you here, Roanna?” He had dropped the title on purpose, to see what she would do and say.

  She merely flushed guiltily. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do.”

  Her eyes flashed up at him. “I don’t normally do this sort of thing.”

  “Don’t you?” His brow was arched in disbelief, his mouth as cynical as his father’s had ever been. “You haven’t been kissed before?”

  Her flush deepened. “Not like that,” she said in a barely audible voice.

  “I hope the experiment turned out well for you,” he said as he released her and took a step back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Colin …”

  He felt his blood thrum at the sound of his name on her lips. This was what his father had been warning him about all those years. A woman had weapons a man couldn’t imagine. He looked at Roanna and saw them all. Eyes that were so liquid you could drown in
them. A mouth so inviting you could lose yourself there. Flesh that was so soft and sweet it made you hunger till you thought you’d die if you didn’t taste it.

  He looked down to where her hand clutched at his sleeve. “What do you want from me, Roanna?” he asked in a harsh voice. He wasn’t happy about having to let her go, even though he knew it was the right thing to do.

  “I … I’m sorry, Colin,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “You don’t have to say any more.” He jerked his arm free. “I get the message. I’m not good enough to marry, but a little fling in the hay won’t cause any harm. Although I’d like to hear how you’re going to explain the slight lack of virginity to Freddy on your wedding night.”

  He wasn’t expecting the slap, and he didn’t move quickly enough to stop her hand before she caught his cheek. It stung. He felt the blood rush to his face, heating the spot where she had struck him.

  “You’re a brute, like your father. I hate you! I’m sorry I ever met you!”

  She raced from the stable, but he noticed she didn’t head for the house. Likely she wouldn’t go back there until she had recovered her composure. Which was a good thing for both of them, he supposed. He had some idea what Roanna’s father would do to him if he had an inkling of what had transpired in the stable.

  Colin led his horse outside into the rain, mounted, and began the ride back to Severn. He tilted his face so the cool water could get under the brim of his hat and soothe the spot where she had slapped him. For a girl her size, she sure packed a wallop. He had insulted her, so he supposed he deserved her retribution. But he wasn’t sure whether she was angry because he was right, or because he was wrong.

  Colin wanted to ask his father for advice but realized Nicholas Calloway was the last person he could turn to. He wished Simp were closer. He needed a dose of the old man’s wisdom. At least he had learned his lesson. He wouldn’t wear his heart on his sleeve again. He would be more careful about where he gave his love.

  He wished it were spring already, and they were leaving this place. He liked it better in America, where he knew the rules. Where people were judged by who they were, not who their parents were.