Surrendered (Intrique Under Western Skies Book 2)

by Elaine Manders

  The gregarious redhead managed to control her horse, bringing the buckboard to a standstill under a cottonwood tree.

  Having almost caused an accident, Carianne forgot her own pain for a moment. She felt herself thawing. Tears gushed as she jumped from the saddle. She should take care of Barney. She should apologize to Rachel. All she could manage was to run up her steps, while racking sobs forced her to grab the banister for support.

  Any other time, she would’ve welcomed Rachel, her closest friend in town. At the moment, she didn’t want to face anyone.

  She heard Rachel close behind. “Becky, go see if you can find the cat. I have to see about Miss Carianne.”

  Blinded by her tears, Carianne stumbled to the door and yanked it open. Rachel’s steps sounded at her heels, and Carianne made her way to the bedroom, darting a glance around the familiar furnishings. She needed a hole to sink into. That not being available, she went to the bed and collapsed, burying her face in the pillow.

  Rachel grabbed her by the shoulders. “Carianne, what’s wrong?” Couldn’t the woman see she wanted to be left alone? Rachel shook her. “Carianne, tell me.”

  She struggled with Rachel. How could she explain to Rachel when she didn’t understand it herself? One moment she’d floated on a wave of ecstasy and the next was dashed on the rocks of some desolate beach.

  Rachel was a farm woman and stronger than she was. The fight ended when Rachel pulled Carianne up and forced her around. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Kind blue eyes studied her.

  “He…he…,” she gulped as more sobs racked her.

  “Who? Rhyan?”

  A shudder ran all the way through her body. She made another attempt. “He…he….”

  Getting nowhere with gentleness, Rachel shook her until Carianne felt her neck would snap. “What did he do to you? Tell me.” Rachel’s shout meant business.

  Carianne blinked, trying to focus. Somehow she had to get a coherent thought out, or she feared Rachel would slap her. “He…he said…I should leave…leave town.”

  Confusion passed over Rachel’s features for a second, followed by a scowl. “Oh, I was afraid this would happen.” She wrapped Carianne in a hug and rocked her back and forth. “How dare he? He doesn’t own this town. From what I hear, he may not own the ranch for long. You will not leave.” She rubbed Carianne’s back as she might soothe a baby. “You have friends here.”

  Did she? Carianne recalled those snubs she’d received after the spring festival when rumors ran wild that Rhyan kept her for reasons other than cataloging his library. At one point, the church had tried to turn her out, but most of the people had rallied on her side in the end.

  “What friends are left?” she asked, really wanting to know.

  “Me and Myra, even Dorcas. Though she fusses under her breath, she’s your friend. Don’t forget Tom and Martha. They think of you like a daughter. They’d be heartbroken if you left town.”

  That was true. Tom and Martha Amerson were more than next door neighbors. She couldn’t hope for better friends. As soon as she pulled herself together, she’d call on them.

  Rachel smiled. “And you’ve promised us a library.”

  The library.

  Carianne’s spine stiffened, and a tiny speck of hope sparked. She’d forgotten what brought her here in the first place—to build a library in her grandmother’s honor. She sniffed and gently extracted herself from Rachel’s arms.

  The world hadn’t ended. There was still some purpose in her life. “I’ll open the library Saturday…next. You’ll spread the word?” Her time at Sollano wasn’t a total waste. Cataloging the books at the ranch gave her the experience she’d need to get started. She’d filled the shelves of the Madeline Barlow Memorial Library with Rhyan’s donated books.

  “You just leave it to Myra and me. We’ll gather every lady in Westerfield and pile in here as soon as the door’s open. You won’t have time to think of that pompous rancher.”

  There wasn’t enough work or library patrons in the world to do that. Just the thought shot despair through Carianne. She covered her face with her hands as her shoulders shook with renewed sobs.

  “Now I’ve got you started again.” Rachel shoved a handkerchief at her.

  Carianne tried to choke down the tears without much success. She dabbed her eyes. “You don’t understand.” It was too fresh. Hurt too much.

  Rachel squeezed her forearm. “Honey, I do understand. I know you think this is the end of the world, but the truth is, few people marry their first love.”

  She leveled a stare at her friend, in no mood for Rachel’s usual foolishness. “What are you talking about?”

  “Luke wasn’t my first love. When I was eighteen I was madly in love with Track Malcolm. We even talked about marriage.” Rachel drew in a deep breath. “Then Tina and her railroad pa came to town. He promised Track all kinds of foolish things, and the next thing I knew, he’d up and married Tina and moved to Laramie.” She twisted her lips to one side, auburn brows drawn together. “The lowdown polecat.”

  “That must have been terrible for you.” Carianne crumped the damp handkerchief. How was this related to her? Rhyan wasn’t interested in another woman—that she knew of.

  “Oh, I cried like you, but it was the best thing that could’ve happened. Before the year was out I was married to Luke, and my first young’un on the way.”

  “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, Rachel, but I can’t think of anything like that now.”

  “You can’t sit around and brood about it. Love is like anything else, when you fall, you just have to get back on that horse.”

  Rachel was talking crazy, and a headache was building over Carianne’s eyes. Before she could say anything, Becky poked her way in, red pigtails hanging on either side of the yellow tabby she held to her chest.

  “Ma, I found Henry. He feels lighter. I think he’s hungry.”

  “Then get him something to eat.”

  “There ain’t nothing in the kitchen.” Becky sauntered toward the bed. “Why is Miss Carianne crying?”

  “She just heard some bad news.” Rachel gave Carianne an apologetic smile. “Take Henry over to Mrs. Amerson, and ask her for something.”

  As soon as the little girl cleared the room, Rachel picked up her argument. “You don’t need to waste time in showing Rhyan Cason you don’t care a bit.”

  “Why would I do that?” Besides she did care. Always would.

  “Think of your pride.”

  “I don’t have any pride.” She bolted from the bed, hugging her middle.

  “You like Colt Holliman, don’t you?”

  Carianne swung around, nodding at the same time. What did Colt have to do with this? Something told her she’d better pay attention to what Rachel was saying. No telling what was brewing under that red hair.

  “I know he likes you. He’d have come courting you from the start, if Rhyan hadn’t got the jump on him.”

  Courting? The fog cleared. She shook her head despite the pain in her head. “No, Rachel. I beg of you not to tell Colt anything about this.” Rhyan was supposed to be courting her. If he thought she was that fickle to— “Colt is Rhyan’s best friend. I refuse to come between them in any way.” No, courting meant potential marriage. She was in no mood to consider marriage to anyone so soon, maybe never. That was the first rational thought she’d had since rushing away from Sollano.

  Rachel hooked her arm. Pulling Carianne down beside her, she patted her knee. “Don’t worry. I’m the soul of discretion. I understand how men are like—like mule deer. Have you ever seen mule deer fight over a mate? They give out signals to each other, and they either fight or back away. Colt couldn’t fight his best friend, so he…backed away, but with Rhyan out of it—”

  “Rachel, I’m not a mule deer, and I’m not of a frame of mind to court any man.”

  Rachel ignored her. “I think Colt is every bit as good looking as Rhyan, don’t you?”

  “I…Colt is very good lo
oking, but that has nothing to do with it.”

  “You like him, don’t you? I’ve always thought he’d be much better suited to you.”

  He’d said much the same thing just the other day.

  Rachel didn’t wait for a reply. “He’s a good Christian man. He owns a prosperous ranch, and— You like Emma, don’t you?”

  “Of course I like Emma. I like Colt, but—”

  “And Emma likes you. Lord knows, there’s never been anyone else who could please Emma. That’s why Colt’s still unmarried.” She took the wadded handkerchief from Carianne and tossed it over her head. “So, you’ll agree to see him?”

  Carianne pressed two fingers to her throbbing temple. “Rachel, I wish you’d stop. I need time.” How could she get rid of this sweet, but crazy woman, so she could cry herself to sleep?

  “All right. I’ll give you a week. That’s enough time for you to mope about the house. That’ll give you time to pray up. You’re a woman who walks in the Spirit, if anyone ever did. Did it ever occur to you this may be all for the good? God might want you to marry Colt. Rhyan was never meant for you.”

  It was something she’d thought about ever since falling in love with Rhyan. Of course God wouldn’t want her to be unequally yoked, but she’d held out hope Rhyan would believe. And he did. She knew he did. What had sent him spiraling back into unbelief? “I promise I’ll be praying.”

  Rachel laid a hand to Carianne’s cheek. “We all will be. I’ll get up a prayer chain.”

  Carianne groaned as the headache intensified. Not that she didn’t appreciate prayers, but by morning the entire town and all the near farm wives would know what happened. She forced herself to look in Rachel’s blue eyes. It wasn’t worth arguing about. They’d know anyway.

  “Thank you, Rachel. You’re a comfort.”

  Rachel got to her feet. “That’s what I’m here for, and believe me, you’re going to be all right. This is going to turn out to be a blessing for you.”

  Perhaps it would be a blessing, but as soon as Rachel left, Carianne fell back onto the bed, sobbing into her pillow.

  For the next several days she went about the routine of living in a mechanical way, trying to think of nothing more important than cleaning the stove, rearranging the books of the ladies library she’d established in her home. At some point she’d have to find a public place for the library, but such an effort was beyond her at the moment.

  Maggie, the girl she’d hired to catalog the library had done a good job on the several hundred volumes she’d unpacked, but the arrangement of the shelves was all wrong. She shoved them all into the middle of the floor and began sorting. Should she start on the left wall or the right? After all, when the ladies came in, the walls would be reversed. She worried about that for the better part of one day, before giving up and putting them back in the same order they’d been in.

  Then there was the kitchen to clean, but should she start by cleaning the cabinets or the stove or scrubbing the floor? She decided the kitchen could wait, and the second day was done.

  It did cross her mind that this was crazy behavior. Was she entering some state of insanity? Maybe it would be best to call the authorities and suggest that maybe they bring a straight-jacket with them.

  She did leave the house twice, to the mercantile and to the post office to mail letters to Maggie, Aunt Jewell, and Emma. Reporters had returned, and she carefully avoided them and everyone else. Eventually she’d be forced to make sure people didn’t think she’d fallen off the face of the earth.

  Each day Martha Amerson invited her to dinner, but she had no appetite, nor did she want to listen to the Amersons’ homey chatter. Yes, she wanted to call on them—but not now.

  Food was a problem, however. At Sollano all she’d had to do was order whatever she wanted, and it would appear, cooked to perfection and ready to eat. Her cooking skills had never been very good and were now so rusty, nothing was very palatable. Besides that, she had to go out and purchase the raw foodstuffs, something she was loath to do.

  She’d taken so much for granted at Sollano. She could take a bath every day in a big private bathtub with hot and cold running water. A soft rug was waiting to be stepped upon, thick fluffy towels in never ending supply at her fingertips, and the best luxury of all—a flushing toilet.

  The days grew hot, and before noon she’d feel moisture collecting under her bodice and on her brow. Those thick stone walls of Sollano had deflected the heat, and its tall windows with strategically placed louvers set up cross ventilation that kept the air pleasant. She missed Sollano almost as much as she missed Rhyan. No, that was a silly notion. If he’d suggested they live in a dug-out, she’d have jumped at the chance.

  ***

  Rhyan paced like a caged tiger in the small study across the hall from his bedroom. Walstein, the lawyer, and Kincaid, a detective, should have showed by now. When a knock finally sounded at the door, he yanked it open with all the force his impatience could muster. Walstein stood back for Kincaid, who came in chewing on a cigar.

  Walstein handed Rhyan a sheet of paper. “Carl Yardly, the financier, has made you an offer for Sollano.”

  Rhyan didn’t even look at the document. He tore it in half and let the two pieces fall to the floor.

  “It was a generous offer, considering. They’re waiting to give you a summons to court—suit brought by that rancher on the north side of the railroad. Westcott, the Wyoming rancher, is going to sue as well—for damages.”

  “Do they have a case?”

  Kincaid handed Rhyan a satchel. “There’s enough here to prove the crime was committed against you as well as them.”

  Rhyan took a few minutes to shuffle through the papers. He’d seen them before. “This is just the evidence linking Senator Timmons to a man named Halstead who in turn hired Colvic and half a dozen of my men.” The same men involved in the anthrax deal. “I was negligent not to turn them over to the law before now.”

  He’d been too anxious to get away so the rumors about him and Carianne would die down. He hadn’t given a thought that his employees were still working against him. “Are the press aware of this?” He shook a fistful of papers. “Are they in town?”

  Kincaid took his cigar out of his mouth and barked a sharp laugh. “Are you joking? Of course they’re in town, and they’ll run with it. The stories will be headlines in every newspaper in the country.”

  “Should we try to make a deal with the ranchers that have been hurt?”

  “A deal?” Kincaid shouted, almost swallowing his cigar before removing it from his mouth. “No—there’s enough evidence in here to fight. Enough to drum up the sympathy of the jurors. Don’t you think so?” He directed the question to Walstein.

  “Perhaps.” Walstein shrugged. “We’re not ready to settle out of court, regardless of how many newspaper stories get out. Publicity may be to your benefit. They’ll rehash how cleverly Timmons tried to kill you.”

  Rhyan sighed, no longer wanting to argue about it. They were probably all het up to take credit for bringing Timmons down. Now he was asking them to keep quiet about it, but they might be right. He still held the satchel in one hand, the other he thrust in his pocket. “All right, go on, build our case and tell me what to say on the stand.”

  He’d become too dejected to care. What was there to fight for anyway? “You’d better see my business manager on your way out to pick up your pay. There may not be anything left later.” He shoved the satchel back into Kincaid’s hand as he walked them to the door.

  Kincaid laughed as they went ahead of Rhyan. “We already have.”

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Rhyan caught site of Colt standing beside the entrance door. Glad to see a friendly face, he waved Colt in. “Come in. Good to see you.”

  The lawyer and the detective nodded to the tall wrangler as they left. Colt came forward with outstretched hand.

  The men shook hands and slapped each other on the shoulder. “Heard you were back.” Colt pus
hed his hat back as if to get a better look.

  “Yeah, glad to be back.” Rhyan led the way into the library. “Didn’t know I’d be returning to a mess.”

  “Sorry about that.” Colt lowered his frame in the chair opposite Rhyan. “I want you to know if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  “You happen to have a hundred thousand dollars in your pocket?”

  Colt’s chuckle was soft and low. “Sorry, I don’t. Did Carianne leave?”

  Rhyan examined his boots. “Yeah, she left yesterday.”

  “So she told you about Smitty?”

  Rhyan lifted his gaze to Colt. “She told me about Smitty and Tony and Clay. How’s Clay doing?”

  “Improving. Doc says he wants to keep him another week, just in case.”

  “I’ll have to get in to see him, although I’ll have a summons waiting for me, and reporters.”

  Colt rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to ask a favor of you—won’t cost any money or time.”

  “What?”

  “Since they’ve about finished the chapel, you’ll be needing a pastor. One of my hands is a former minister from Kentucky. He wants a church, but wants to keep his job at the ranch. He’s a good man, and won’t ask for any pay except an occasional offering.”

  Rhyan got up and walked to the window. He could just see the steeple of the chapel from here. How could he have forgotten that blasted chapel? A bill for around twenty thousand dollars probably lay on his desk with the others. When he’d ordered the chapel built to please Carianne, money hadn’t been an object. Now it was another millstone around his neck.

  He must have waited too long to give an answer because Colt came to his side. “If you want some time to think about it, there’s no hurry. I know you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  “Tell your man he can start whenever he wants. I have no objection.” He turned to Colt. “If I’m preoccupied, it’s because I’ve got a lot of paperwork to go through right now.”