Wicked Temptations

by Patricia Watters

  Priscilla looked at Lady Whittington with a start. "Trudy said that?"

  Lady Whittington nodded. "Trudy is a very astute young lady, who is aware that you are in love with her father as well. She is hoping that the two of you will come to the realization yourselves before it's too late. And those were Trudy's own words."

  "Too late for what?" Priscilla asked.

  "Before you walk out on Adam, like his wife did."

  Priscilla stared at Lady Whittington. The question of why Adam's wife had left him had been niggling her from the time she'd first learned of it, but she'd never felt that she was in a position to ask him about it, and he'd never once talked about his wife, so she imagined it was a sore subject. But Lady Whittington had given her the perfect opening. "Why did Adam's wife leave him?" she asked. "He's never said anything about it."

  Lady Whittington pursed her lips and let out a disgruntled, "Harumph," then lifted her chin, and said, "The woman was never meant to be a wife and mother. Adam was only drawn to her because of her exceptional beauty."

  "I see," Priscilla said, which reaffirmed that Adam could not possibly be attracted to her after being married to an exceptional beauty. At once, she felt like covering her face with her hands and hiding in a dark corner.

  Lady Whittington reached out and patted her hand. "No, my dear, you do not see at all. Adam is a much wiser man now. He has no interest in beautiful women. But at the time, he was a young foolish man, and she was the lead actress in a theater company. When she met Adam, she claimed she was ready to give up the theater to marry him and have a family, and he believed her. But after Weldon was born, she turned him over to his nanny, barely having anything to do with him or the girls, and when the theater group came through on its annual tour, she simply left Adam and the children and rejoined them. Adam has not heard from her since, and he's very embittered about marriage."

  "I can understand why," Priscilla said, "But what I don't understand is why he was ready to marry a mail-order bride."

  Lady Whittington shrugged. "He was only doing it because he needed a step-mother for the children."

  "Which is another reason why Adam would not be interested in me," Priscilla said. "I am not a motherly-type woman. I have never been around children, I'm past my child-bearing years, and I want to run my newspaper. I have absolutely nothing to offer Adam as a wife, and I have no desire to be his mistress."

  "That may all be true," Lady Whittington said, "nevertheless, you're the woman Adam wants in his life, and the children respect and admire you, and now that they're mostly grown, they don't need to be watched, and you're the first woman that's held Adam's interest. I believe that even he is baffled by it. I find it all rather amusing, even if he is difficult to live with."

  Priscilla said nothing, trying to digest everything Lady Whittington was telling her, yet not believing Adam could possibly be in love with her. There was simply no reason. Why would Adam chose a homely, middle-aged spinster, with nothing more to offer him than an abundance of bosom, and an unhealthy desire to share his bed and have him do all the things he'd described? And certainly she was not the only woman to want to do that with a man as compelling as Adam. Just thinking about him made her body awaken and her face flush as if it on fire. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat...

  Lady Whittington looked at her, and said, "It's impossible for a woman to hide her feelings from herself, and from others. And yes, you are as red as a beet."

  Priscilla patted her cheeks. "I don't deny that Adam affects me in ... strange ways," she admitted. "But I have always been prone to blushing. It's my fair skin."

  "Fiddlesticks!" Lady Whittington exclaimed. "Fair skin has nothing to do with it."

  "Well, if Adam has feelings for me and wants me to be a part of his life," Priscilla said, "then he'll have to sever his ties with the kind of men who would hang people without giving them the right to defend themselves in a court of law."

  "I agree. And soon we shall see what his position is, won't we," Lady Whittington said. There was a definite challenge in her tone, and Priscilla had the feeling that the woman had aligned herself with nesters whom she had, until recently, viewed with condescension. If that were the case, Priscilla hoped Adam would see things the same way as his mother. But he was a stubborn man, and he would not readily admit to his mistake in judgment.

  After the coachman guided the horses in a long broad turn in the road, the ranch complex came into view, and the coach pulled between two upright wooden supports holding a wide crossbar, with the words WHITTINGTON RANCH, burned in bold brown block letters across it. It was another few minutes before they arrived at the a compound with numerous barns, a large stable, several bunk houses, corrals and pens and chutes for livestock, and fences with cattle as far as the eye could see. Just ahead was the ranch house—a large, rustic log structure, with a long hitching rail out front that was lined with saddled horses, some still lathered from what had obviously been a hard ride. Several buggies were parked in a separate area, and from inside the house came the sound of loud, agitated voices. A man stood at the front door, arms folded, a pair of pistols on his hips, as if guarding the place.

  The footman climbed down from the coach and came around to help Lady Whittington and Priscilla from the vehicle. Priscilla did not imagine that Adam's mother would attempt to walk into the house during what appeared to be a gathering of what were probably the most powerful men in the territory, but she clearly intended to do just that, saying to Priscilla, "Shall we see what the scoundrels inside are up to now?"

  Priscilla looked at her in surprise. "Then you really plan to go in there and confront the men?" she said, as she accompanied Lady Whittington up the wide bank of steps to a porch that spanned the front of the house.

  "Of course I do," Lady Whittington said. "And Adam will have to state his position on this if he expects to get my vote." As Lady Whittington approached the man standing in front of the door, he made no attempt to step aside. Facing him squarely, Lady Whittington looked up at him and said, "If you will step aside, sir, my companion and I would like to see Lord Whittington."

  The man didn't budge. "Sorry, Madam, but I have orders not to let anyone enter."

  "I am Lord Whittington's mother!" Lady Whittington said in a huff. "You will please step aside for us to pass."

  "I am sorry, Madam, but Lord Whittington instructed me to keep the door barred."

  Lady Whittington turned abruptly, marched to the far end of the porch and beat her small, knotted fist against the window frame, rattling the window pane, then returned to stand directly in front of the man guarding the door. A moment later, the door swept open and Adam stood glaring at her. "What's the meaning of this mother?" he asked in a tone that held no affection, only outrage. He glanced at Priscilla, held her gaze for an instant, then returned to his mother.

  "We mean to talk to you," Lady Whittington said.

  "Then you'll have to come back later," Adam said. "As you can see we're in the midst of a meeting, and no one's allowed in except members of the Stock Grower's Association."

  Priscilla stepped up to stand beside Adam's mother, and said, "What do you intend to do about what happened? Look the other way, or take action against the men who hanged Ella Watson and Jim Averell?"

  "We haven't decided yet," Adam said. "In the meantime, I advise you to return to your place of business, go upstairs to your rooms, and do nothing until things have settled down."

  "You mean until the whole horrible incident's forgotten!" Priscilla snapped. "Well, I refuse to stand by and do nothing, even if you plan to turn your back on justice. I have a written statement from Frank Buchanan, who witnessed the whole thing, and I will be printing it in its entirety in the next issue of the Town Tattler, along with what Gene Crowder and Ralph Cole told us the day we visited. And I'll also encourage Frank Buchanan to file his written testimony in court, which he signed before witnesses. As for printing the next issue of The Town Tattler, I managed to round up enough
Readyprint to put out fifty copies, which will be posted around town. Libby and Abigail are at this moment setting it in type, and my pressman is preparing to print it as soon as the women are finished. This time you won't stop me from printing the truth."

  "Look," Adam said, in a more conciliatory tone, "go sit in the coach until the meeting's over, which will be shortly, and I'll talk to both of you then and give you an idea of what's happening. The meeting's almost over now."

  Lady Whittington pursed her lips and glared at Adam. "I suppose we have no choice," she said. "Come along, Priscilla." She marched down the stairs, Priscilla following close behind.

  A few minutes later, as they sat in the coach speculating about what could be transpiring inside the house, Priscilla glanced out the window, surprised to see Adam walking out of the stables, followed by two men, who untied a couple of horses standing at the hitching rail in front of the stables. They launched themselves into the saddles and galloped off, leaving a trail of dust billowing behind. Priscilla looked at Lady Whittington in alarm. "Adam sent those men off somewhere," she said. "It was almost like he was sending a warning to someone."

  "I believe you're right," Lady Whittington conceded. "I don't have a good feeling about this, and Adam will certainly have some explaining to do. But I guess we will hear about it soon. Men are starting to leave."

  The men who started filing out of the house were dressed as if they'd just come from the Cheyenne Club—some in dress suits, some in polo attire, others in dinner coats. A meeting had been hastily called to take immediate action, and Priscilla had a terrible feeling about what that action could be. After the last of the horses and buggies had left, Adam came out of the house, walked up to the coach, and opened the door. "If you ladies want to come inside now, I'll explain some of what's happening."

  Once inside, Adam settled into a leather chair opposite Priscilla and Lady Whittington, who were perched together on the sofa, and said, "Of course we don't condone what the men did, and we're making provisions to see that nothing like this happens again, but for the time being, I ask both of you to not do anything that will jeopardize you in any way."

  "Like putting out the next issue of The Town Tattler!" Priscilla snapped.

  "Everyone's edgy right now," Adam said. "Tempers are boiling. Men are taking sides and squaring off, ready for battle. I don't want either of you caught in the middle."

  "I don't plan to be caught in the middle," Priscilla said. "I plan to go back to my place and collect the copies of The Town Tattler that Jim has printed and start posting then around town so that maybe the men who killed Ella Watson and Jim Averell in cold blood will be prosecuted. And this time there's no way you can stop me, Adam, because by the time I get back there, Jim will have already begun pulling the first copies off the press, and Abigail and Libby and I will start posting them. I wouldn't be surprised if the women haven't started doing so already."

  Adam surprised her by saying nothing, and she got the eerie feeling as he sat looking at her, that he knew something she did not, and that it was not good for her. After a long stretch of silence, she said, "Why did your two cowboys leave here so quickly? I assume they worked for you since they came out of your barn and left on horses tied there."

  Adam's eyes shifted uneasily between Priscilla and his mother, almost like a small boy who'd been caught in the middle of doing something wrong, before he replied, "I sent them on an errand in town... nothing special, just something I'd forgotten to have them do."

  "Like try to intercept my next shipment of Readyprint before it's delivered to me?" Priscilla said, with irony.

  Adam propped his elbows on the armrests of his chair, folded his hands together and steepled his fingers—a gesture Priscilla noted him doing in the past when he was uncertain about something—and said, while holding her gaze, "I know you think that whatever I do at this time is in the interest of the Stock Growers Association, but you're wrong. I care about you, and I'm worried that you'll do something that will jeopardize your own safety. You need to trust me when I ask you not to do anything at this time, and let me take care of things."

  "Trust you, Adam? Why on earth would I do that?" Priscilla said, holding his unyielding gaze. "We're on opposite sides of every issue I can think of."

  "Not every issue," Adam reminded her, cryptically.

  Priscilla did not have to look at Lady Whittington to know that the woman knew precisely what Adam was referring to—not that the two of them had bedded down together, but that there was a very strong physical attraction between them, as Priscilla had already admitted to Lady Whittington. "And what issue is that?" she challenged, deciding it was time for Adam to admit to his mother that their relationship was nothing more than a physical attraction that would fade before anything more could come of it.

  Adam studied her soberly, as if at a loss what to say. Then his eyes shifted to his mother and back to Priscilla, and he said, "We will discuss it at another time."

  "No," Priscilla said, standing, "I don't believe we will, because it seems we have nothing more to discuss." Turning from him, she marched out of the house and got in the coach to wait for Lady Whittington. It wasn't any time before Lady Whittington joined her.

  After the driver gave the command, Lady Whittington said to Priscilla, "Adam was very troubled before I left, not over what's going on with the cattlemen, but because of something concerning you, but he didn't say what it was, only that it had to be done. When I tried to question him, he was back to being the bear of a man he's become when the subject of you is at hand."

  "Then I have to imagine it had something to do with those two cowboys rushing off."

  Lady Whittington nodded. "Yes, I'm sure of it. But that still doesn't change the fact that Adam's in love with you, so whatever he did, I have to believe he did it to protect you in some way, not for any other reason."

  There was little more to say for the duration of the ride back to Cheyenne, and when they pulled up to the front of the house on 17th Street, Priscilla turned down Lady Whittington's invitation to come in and have tea, and instead got on her Rover and headed back to The Town Tattler building. When she stepped inside, to her shock, she found her printing press smashed beyond repair, as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to it.

  She rushed to the backroom, intending to go through it and out the back door to Jim's place to verify that it was Adam's cowboys who had done it, and found Jim sitting in the corner of the room, hands and feet tied, a gag over his mouth, but otherwise unharmed. She quickly removed the gag, then went about working on the knots holding the cords on his hands, while saying to him, "Was it two cowboys who did this?"

  Jim nodded. "They came walkin' right in, one with a sledge hammer in his hand. They first sent the women off, then they told me they weren't goin' to hurt me, just had to stop the paper from goin' out. They took me in here and tied me up. I heard 'em smashin' the press, but couldn't do nothin' about it."

  Priscilla was almost too angry to speak, knowing that Adam was behind it. But now she had no feelings for him at all, in spite of what Lady Whittington insisted about Adam loving her. He'd managed to crush whatever feelings she might have had left for him when he'd had his men smash her press. "Well, there won't be any paper going out," she said, morosely.

  After releasing the last knot holding Jim's hands and feet, she went back into the printing room to look for Frank Buchanan's written statement. When she couldn't find it, she said to Jim, "Do you have any idea what happened to the copy that Libby and Abigail were typesetting?"

  Jim shrugged. "No. Ah was tied up in the back room."

  When Priscilla couldn't find it, she said, "Well, this isn't over yet. I'll write out my editorial by hand and include everything Frank Buchanan told me and post it on the front of the Town Hall for everyone to read." That being said, Priscilla took out a page of paper, reached for the inkwell and a pen, and began writing...

  The Daily Leader and The Daily Sun made claims that Ella Watson and Jim Averell were
people of the lowest character, in order to distract readers from the real reason the pair were hanged. But when homesteaders fence in pastures, and dig irrigation ditches to water their stock, it upsets the cattlemen who lay claim to all of the government land around. Could it be that land disputes, not cattle rustling, are what the lunching was about?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  'I do not want a husband who honors me as a

  queen, if he does not love me as a woman...'

  — Elizabeth I to the French Ambassador

  While sitting at the large conference table in one of the meeting rooms at the Cheyenne Club, Adam read Priscilla's hand-written editorial that she'd posted on the front of the Town Hall building the day before. It hadn't been posted more than a few minutes before one of the members of the club ripped it down and brought it in.

  The problem was, Adam believed everything Priscilla had reported.

  He'd heard, firsthand, Gene Crowder and Ralph Cole's accounts, and didn't doubt their validity. And Priscilla's recap of Frank Buchanan's eye-witness account sounded every bit as credible. But what Buchanan witnessed meant nothing unless he came forward, because his handwritten statement had been taken by one of Adam's boys when he found it laying on the composing table, and in his rush to return to the ranch with it, the paper came up missing. After retracing the men's tracks and not finding any sign of it, Adam assumed it had been taken away by the wind, so whatever Priscilla quoted Buchanan as saying in the editorial would mean nothing to a grand jury, without Buchanan's actual, hand-written and witnessed testimony to support it. So unless witnesses came forward, six men would get away with premeditated murder. Adam could see it no other way.

  He hadn't gone to see Priscilla since she'd stormed out of the ranch house two days before, because he knew that after she'd returned to her place to find her printing press destroyed, knowing he'd been the one behind it, she wouldn't welcome him back in her life, and with good reason. But she had to be stopped from writing the editorial that day, for her own safety. Six men had just murdered a man and woman in order to send a chilling message to anyone who would get in the way of their cattle operations, and they'd make sure that whatever it took, Priscilla wouldn't complicate things by casting doubt on their proclaimed right to have a lynching party for their fabricated crime of cattle rustling. But that didn't mean he wouldn't cast the doubt.