Jake had known Miranda’s father had a bank, but he hadn’t focused on what that meant. Probably because Miranda had never acted like someone used to being waited on, someone with a lot of pretty dresses, someone used to having her every wish granted. She was helpful and hardworking. She’d seemed satisfied with what little he could give her. And she’d come to him a desperate woman, a mail-order bride.
“Do you suppose she had some money coming to her on her marriage that she didn’t know about?” Jake asked. “And that’s why he’s here? To give it to her?”
Blackthorne laughed scornfully and shook his head. “I doubt that chap plans to give up a penny of whatever money he’s stolen from your bride. I figure he’s here to make sure he gets to keep whatever he took from her when she was too young to know better.”
Miranda rich? Jake couldn’t imagine it. Would she stay with him if she didn’t need to for financial reasons? Or would she go back to Chicago and set up housekeeping with her sisters and brothers? It was a sobering thought.
“You might be wrong,” Jake said. “He treated Miranda and her siblings badly. Maybe he wants to make amends.”
“I might be,” Blackthorne conceded. “But I don’t think I am.”
Jake didn’t say another word for the rest of the trip. Neither did Blackthorne. They rode their mounts hard, so that by the time they reached the impressive Southern mansion at the heart of Bitter Creek, their horses were lathered.
Jake followed Blackthorne in through the back door of the house, feeling nostalgia at the familiar smells in the kitchen, and anger at the changed, and much improved, furnishings. He stayed a step behind his stepfather all the way up the expensively carpeted stairs, to the bedroom where he understood his wife was being cared for by his mother.
“She’s in there,” Blackthorne said as he stood to the side of the door.
Jake was afraid to go inside, afraid of what he’d find. His mother was sitting in a wing chair beside a four-poster canopied bed with a gold-and-maroon-patterned top and bed curtains held back at each side with gold tassels. His wife was sitting upright under a fancy maroon coverlet.
“Jake!” she cried when she saw him.
She reached out her arms and Jake went straight to her and sat on the bed and pulled her into his embrace. He held her so tight she laughed and said, “I can’t breathe.”
He eased his hold a little, a very little, and leaned back to look at her. Blackthorne hadn’t lied. She had a purple bruise on her cheekbone. He raised a hand to touch it and then didn’t, when his insides twisted. “How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine, as I keep telling your mother. She’s the one who insisted I need to rest.”
“My mother is a very smart woman.”
“I’ll leave you two alone to talk,” his mother said as she rose from the wing chair, closed the book she’d been reading, and tucked it under her arm.
Jake left his wife long enough to cross to his mother and hug her. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
“You’re very welcome. When you’ve finished your talk with Miranda, your father and I will be in the parlor with Mr. Wentworth.”
Jake watched as his mother closed the bedroom door behind her, then turned back to his wife. He felt a murderous rage toward the man who’d hurt her. And a corresponding wrath at his wife for putting herself in danger.
Instead of crossing to sit beside her again, as he’d intended when he’d watched his mother out the door, he put his balled fists on his hips and demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me this morning you were planning to leave the house? What the hell were you doing on that road alone?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Jake’s knees suddenly buckled, and he collapsed onto the bed. If she’d said she was dying of cancer he couldn’t have felt more stricken to the heart. He didn’t ask if she was sure. He could see from her anxious face that she was sure. “How did this happen?”
He realized the ridiculousness of his question before it was even out of his mouth. “I mean, how do you know?”
She met his gaze, her eyes begging him for a blessing he knew he couldn’t give, and said, “The way any woman knows.”
“Did you tell my mother?”
“I asked for her advice.”
“Is that why you came here today?”
She shook her head yes. “That. And I wanted to send a letter to my sisters, and I hoped your mother could help me get it to San Antonio so it could be posted.”
He frowned. “Then you didn’t come here to meet your uncle?”
“No. Your mother only told me he was here after she’d taken away my clothes and put me into bed, otherwise I would have gone downstairs to find out what he’s doing here.”
“You weren’t expecting him to come?”
“Why would I? He abandoned us, Jake.” She reached out to lay a hand on his. “You haven’t said how you feel about the baby.”
“How do you think I feel?” Jake was surprised at the virulence in his voice. He pulled his hand free of hers and took a deep breath to calm himself, but his heart was still beating so hard he thought it might burst. “How should I feel, Miranda, when I’ve buried a wife and just done surgery on a woman who could easily have died in childbirth?”
“Happy,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “You should feel happy.”
“How can I feel happy when I know what you have ahead of you? Weren’t you watching when Gretta went through labor and the birth of her child?”
“Yes, I was watching. Were you?” she asked in a quiet voice. She blinked and a tear slid down her cheek.
“It isn’t worth it.” He couldn’t look at her and not feel her sorrow at his reaction. His heart ached. “I can’t go through that again. Not if there’s a chance I can lose you.”
She looked endearingly startled. “You care that much for me?”
“You little fool! I love you!”
“Oh.”
Her mouth looked so kissable that he leaned forward and kissed it. Her arms circled his neck, capturing him when he would have pulled away. He held her tight and said, “I’m so scared, Miranda. I want a baby with you, I do. But I know just how dangerous it is. I wish I hadn’t gotten you pregnant.”
She leaned away and brushed the hair from his brow, then kissed his closed eyes and his cheeks and finally pressed her lips to his. “Say you’re happy,” she whispered.
“I’m not.”
“Say you’re happy,” she urged with another breathless kiss.
“I’m not.”
“Please, Jake.” She kissed him once more.
He groaned. “I’m terrified.”
“But happy,” she said.
“I’m terrified. And happy,” he said at last.
He could feel her lips lift slightly in a smile against his. His heart squeezed with terror. He would have to start now to distance himself from her, just in case. He would have to guard his heart or this time, if the worst happened, it might truly shatter him.
He pulled himself from her embrace and said, “I need to go meet your uncle and see what he wants.” He intended to find out why that blackguard had come hunting his niece.
“I wish your mother hadn’t taken my clothes,” Miranda said. “Come back as soon as you can, and tell me what you find out.”
“I will.”
“I mean it, Jake. Uncle Stephen didn’t want anything to do with us for three years. I can’t imagine why he’s come looking for me now.”
“Stay in bed and rest. I’ll be back as soon as I find out what he wants.”
Jake had learned to take the measure of a man in seconds, because his life might depend on it. He felt his neck hairs hackle the moment he laid eyes on Stephen Wentworth.
He didn’t like the northerner’s blond, slicked-back hair, parted perfectly down the middle and combed away from his narrow face. He looked like a dandy in his fancy suit and tie. And how had his shoes stayed so shiny in the Texas dust?
Those were all trappings that could be c
hanged at will. It was the insincere smile of greeting, a curve of thin lips to express a feeling that never reached the northerner’s cold blue eyes, that told Jake he was looking at a charlatan and a fraud.
“You must be my dear Miranda’s husband,” Wentworth said as he extended his hand.
There was no way Jake could avoid taking it, unless he wanted to give away his true feelings for the bastard who’d abandoned his own brother’s children to the cruelty of a petty tyrant like Miss Birch. He shook Wentworth’s hand once and let it go, then angled his eyes to meet his stepfather’s gaze.
Blackthorne lifted a brow slightly, silently asking if Jake agreed with his assessment of the man. Jake nodded equally slightly. For once—for the very first time, in fact—he and his stepfather were in perfect agreement.
The problem before Jake was how to get Stephen Wentworth to reveal his perfidy and wrest the Wentworth children’s money from him, assuming there was any, no matter how little of it was left.
“Shall we all sit down?” Jake’s mother invited.
Jake looked around him and saw the changes in the parlor since his father’s departure. He was surprised to find his father’s horn-and-hide chair angled near a desk, and he crossed over to sit in it. He was pleased to see that the room was still furnished with leather and wood rather than silk and brocade. That was his mother’s doing, he would guess, as much as his stepfather’s.
His mother and stepfather sat in wing chairs positioned side by side near the fireplace, leaving the Victorian sofa across from them for their guest.
Jake waited for Wentworth to speak, to explain the purpose of his visit. He didn’t have to wait long.
“I have some papers I need my niece to sign.”
There it was. The thief wanted the trappings of legality to cover his theft.
“Do you have the papers with you?” Jake asked.
“Yes, of course,” Wentworth said.
“May I see them?”
“They’re pretty complicated,” Wentworth said. “I promise you I have my niece’s best interests at heart.”
“I believe you,” Jake lied. “I’d just like to see what you want her to sign.”
“It’s merely a power of attorney,” Wentworth said, without producing the papers.
It was unlucky for Wentworth that when Jake’s father had left to fight in the war, he’d granted Jake his power of attorney. Jake knew the document granted whoever possessed it the authority to act in legal matters as though he were that person in fact.
“What is a ‘power of attorney’?” Jake asked, to see how Wentworth would answer.
“It’s a legal paper that allows me to make decisions in Miranda’s best interests,” her uncle said earnestly.
That certainly put a pretty face on ugly intentions, Jake thought.
“Exactly what decisions are we talking about?” Jake asked.
“There’s a buyer for the land on which my brother’s business sat before the fire. I need permission from any children over eighteen to sell it. Of course the proceeds will go into a trust for the benefit of all the children.”
“Who controls the trust?” Jake asked.
A flash of annoyance crossed Wentworth’s face, but he quickly schooled his features. “Why, I do, of course.”
“What if Miranda wanted her share of the proceeds as soon as they become available?” Jake asked.
“I think it would be wiser to invest the proceeds.”
“What if she wanted them instead?” Jake persisted.
“I think I should be discussing this with Miranda,” Wentworth said, the friendliness gone from his voice.
“Then that’s what you should do,” a female voice said from the doorway.
Jake rose as he saw his wife step into the parlor. Blackthorne and his mother also stood, along with Stephen Wentworth.
His wife smiled an apology to his mother as she said, “I couldn’t wait to see my uncle. I borrowed some clothes I found stored in a chest in the bedroom. I hope that’s all right.”
His mother was staring with tortured eyes at the once-fashionable dress Miranda was wearing. And Jake suddenly knew why she was so upset.
The dress had belonged to his sister Jesse. It seemed his sister and his wife were nearly the same size. He couldn’t help noticing how pretty his blond-haired, blue-eyed wife looked in the robin’s-egg blue dress.
Miranda seemed oblivious to his mother’s pain as she crossed the room. She was still a foot away from her uncle when she stopped. She threaded her fingers together in front of her and said, “I’m surprised to see you, Uncle Stephen. How on earth did you find me here in Texas?”
Jake hadn’t thought to ask that question. He waited with interest to hear the answer.
“I went to the orphanage looking for you. I hadn’t realized you’d be required to leave the Institute when you turned eighteen. I discovered your direction from your sisters. I could hardly believe you’d gotten married in such a rash manner.”
Jake could tell Miranda was annoyed by her uncle’s censure.
He watched her jaw firm as she replied in an arch voice, “It was either marriage or washing dishes and sleeping on an iron cot at the Palmer Hotel. I chose to become a mail-order bride.”
Good for you! Jake thought.
“Shall we all sit down?” Wentworth said.
Jake figured Miranda’s uncle knew he’d trod amiss with her and was buying time to figure out a new strategy for getting what he wanted.
They all sat back down where they’d been. His wife joined her uncle on the sofa, but on the far edge of it, close to Jake.
“Now, Uncle Stephen,” Miranda said. “Tell me why you’re here.”
Wentworth went through the same explanation he’d made to Jake while Miranda listened attentively, a crease forming between her eyes.
“I thought Papa’s fortune burned up with his bank in the fire,” she said. “I didn’t know he owned the land under the bank. How much is it worth?”
That was clearly an unexpected question and Wentworth hedged. “I don’t exactly know.”
“You must have had an offer,” Miranda said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here to get my permission to sell.”
Jake appreciated his wife’s ability to smell a rat. She was more astute in business matters than he’d expected her to be. Although, when he thought about it, she’d managed to get herself and her brothers from Chicago to Texas on a single set of travel vouchers, no mean financial feat.
“To be honest, I have had an offer,” Wentworth admitted.
If the man had an honest bone in his body, Jake was a pink raccoon.
“How much?” Miranda asked, her hands gripped tightly in her lap. “Enough to provide a home for all of us?”
Jake noticed she didn’t specify where that home would be.
“I’m afraid not,” Wentworth said, shaking his head. “Not nearly that much. Maybe, if it’s invested and allowed to grow, it might be enough someday. That’s why I’d like your power of attorney. I can invest the proceeds for you in my bank and give you a very good return.”
Jake was watching Miranda intently, so when she lifted her eyes and met his gaze he saw how devastated she was that there was no fortune to be had, after all. “I didn’t know your father was such a famous banker,” he said to her.
“I never thought much about it. He owned the First State Bank in Chicago.”
“Owned it?” Jake said. “All of it?”
Miranda nodded. “The bank burned down. Everything was lost. Isn’t that right, Uncle Stephen?”
She turned to her uncle, who said, “Yes, Miranda dear, that’s right.”
Jake turned to his stepfather. “Aren’t most bank vaults fireproof?”
“Should be,” Blackthorne said.
Jake turned back to Wentworth. “What about your brother’s bank? Was his vault fireproof?”
Wentworth slid a finger into his collar, as though it had suddenly tightened around his throat. “It was.”
/>
“Then the money my father kept at his bank didn’t get burned up in the fire, like you said?” Miranda asked in a tremulous voice.
“Not all of it,” Wentworth said.
Miranda rose on what appeared to be shaky legs and asked, “How much was left?”
Wentworth glanced first at Jake, whose expression left no doubt about his feelings toward a man who would cheat his brother’s children out of their inheritance and abandon them for years to the viciousness of Miss Birch, and then toward Jake’s stepfather, whose gaze was equally threatening.
“A few million is all,” he said at last.
Jake paled.
Miranda gasped. “Dollars? A few million dollars?”
“Yes, dollars,” Wentworth said irritably. “As I said, the money should be invested—”
Miranda burst into tears.
Jake leaped from his chair and had her in his arms a moment later. She pounded his chest, fighting to be free, and when he let her go, she whirled on her uncle like an avenging fury.
“I will sign nothing, do you hear?” she said through bared teeth. “I want my portion of Papa’s money, and I want it as soon as the papers can be signed. How dare you put us in that awful orphanage! How dare you!”
Miranda’s outrage at her uncle’s dastardly behavior far outstripped any emotion Jake had seen from her since he’d met and married her. The fiery look in her eyes, the proud tilt of her chin, and the squared shoulders belonged to a girl who’d grown up to know her own worth.
That worth, as it turned out, was considerable.
“I never meant—,” Wentworth began.
“You meant to steal your brother’s inheritance from his children,” Jake said implacably from his wide-legged stance at Miranda’s shoulder. “We’ll be taking steps to see that you no longer control their funds.”
“I’ve managed their money wisely,” he argued.
“The point is, it wasn’t your money to manage,” Miranda interjected. “It belonged to me and my sisters and brothers.”
Jake’s mother rose from her chair and said, “We don’t want to keep you from beginning your journey back to Chicago.”
Blackthorne rose and stood next to her, much as Jake was standing behind his own wife, a strong arm backing a strong-willed woman.
Texas Bride: A Bitter Creek Novel Page 25
