by Thea Devine
"No!" Kalida protested. "No."
"But yes, the perfection of it is dazzling. Your father played perfectly on my feelings for you; he's known it forever, believe me, Kalida. He has a sense of those things very fine and innate. He made the arrangements, and then he burned down his house to get me to rescue everyone. And didn't I just fall into the plot, galloping up to Sweetland with the lot of you and offering to buy and help. Damn. You see how it works out, Kalida. He took the money and ran. And he saw a chance to get the herd back —double his money—if you'd just provide him with a little information and volunteer to occupy my attention as best you can, and the end result is several thousand dollars out of my pocket and one brazen bitch out of my life."
"Oh God," Kalida groaned. "Deuce, I know nothing of any of this."
"Forget it, Kalida. No other explanation makes any sense. There's the tally—" He pointed at the papers on the porch. "He didn't do it alone; he got my men and he got the cattle and he thought you'd got me so he'd have seme control here, but he miscalculated on that one. He's got nothing here. You've got nothing, Kalida, except my cordial invitation to leave."
She couldn't believe it; she couldn't even assimilate all of what he had said. Disparate details intruded: the
346
347
raging anger boiling under his words at her betrayal; the whiteness of his knuckles as he leaned against the porch railing confronting her; Ardelle's vicious little half smile; EHie's contemptuous expression . . . She couldn't take it all in. Her father's perfidy, her indictment . . . Where on earth would she go?
She got up and stumbled blindly into the house, and into Prestina's arms. She could hear Ardelle spitting, "Your punishment was too good for her," and his slamming voice, "Shut up, Ardelle."
"Come, I help you," Prestina murmured.
"I'll be all right," Kalida sobbed. "I never cry."
"You cry for lost love," Prestina said, moving her up the stairs and carefully. "You cry for your father. And you cry for what cannot be . . . yet."
"I'm not crying," Kalida said through gritted teeth. She straightened her back and pushed away Prestina's comforting hands. "I wouldn't waste my tears on the likes of him."
Ellie rocked back and forth contentedly, staring out at the broad fields of Sweetland. Ah, Sweetland . . . She loved it too much already. She would love to remain here forever. Kalida had conveniently botched her chance with Deuce. How good of her to leave the way clear. How deeply she had misconstrued Kalida's motives. Kalida was in love with Deuce, even if she didn't know it, and she would never get him back now. Imagine how stupid she herself had felt when she finally realized that Kalida's original little ruse, when Ellie had come toe nurse her, was not a ploy designed to drive a wedge between her and Hal Ryland.
She marveled at her own misreading of the situation. She was sure Kalida had known that she and Hal had had an ongoing affair for years after the young girl precipi-
tated EHie's removal from the Ryland ranch. She had been sure Kalida had arranged her little accident in order to keep Hal home with her more, never expecting he would ask Ellie Dean to come to the ranch.
And then, when she saw how ardently Deuee was pursuing Kalida, her only thought was to speed up his courtship somehow so that she and Hal could make their own plans. Which he never would have done if Kalida were still living home. It had been so easy to leave the stove burning dangerously all night. It never occurred to her until later that'Kalida might have died.
Or perhaps, deep in her soul, she had wanted that, but she couldn't examine that too closely. What happened was what she had hoped to accomplish: Deuce had invited them all to Sweetland, and she was sure proximity and propinquity would change Kalida's mind about him.
What it did, instead, was change EHie's mind about him. How fortunate she had been that Kalida was intent on confirming Ardelle's bad opinion of her.
How fortunate that Hal had found some perfectly devious way to stealing back his cattle. She loved the symmetry of it. She hadn't half hoped to even have a chance to make Deuce really take notice of her. But tonight . . . Tonight she would take that chance, because Deuce never wanted to see Kalida again. Deuce felt betrayed. She could sympathize with that. Deuce needed a more mature woman to handle his hot male passions. He emphatically did not need a child like Kalida.
As for Hal, she had never been sure when or where he would turn up, even in the best of times between them. And now, of course, he was more or less an outlaw, and she might never see him again altogether.
She had to grab her chances when and where she could, she thought, and she'd infinitely rather have Deuce in her bed than Hal. It was just a matter of degree. Right now, Deuce had more to offer.
348
349
Ardelle was arguing with Madame. Madame had not nearly finished the garments Ardelle had ordered. Ardelle was sure Madame would accept the money in lieu of services and pack in preparation for returning to town later this morning, along with Miss Kalida and Miss Ellie.
Kalida's eyebrows shot up. Ellie too? The thought was the only diversion she had had for an hour at least. Her brain felt like a sea of mud, clotting up every coherent thought, sinking her deeper and deeper into its depths. Nothing made sense. Nothing. Her father's perfidy least of all. Her father was not like that. . . .
". . . that kind of decisiveness is more Deuce's style . . ." Ellie had said that.
Her head whirled. Her father had always been at the cutting edge of trouble one way or another every year since they had come west. But that didn't mean . . .
What did it mean? Had he been desperate enough to trade her to Deuce and expect she might have helped him in some little fraud he intended to perpetrate? He could not have done that, not to her, not to Deuce. But he had pushed for her marrying Deuce. Pushed hard. Would he laugh now if-he were told it wasn't remotely within the realm of possibility? Would he rescue her if he knew that Deuce had abandoned her?
The questions whirled around. What had he planned? Supposing all his little plots hadn't worked? What if Deuce hadn't wanted her? What if the house hadn't caught fire? Did he have a contingency plan?
Oh God, I'm starting to believe Deuce, she thought wretchedly. The bastard against her own father. He believed her father had schemed and defrauded him. He believed the worst. Her capitulation to him had taught him nothing about her; her feelings for him were rendered meaningless, part of a hoax, a ruse.
350
How could she live without him? How could she forgive him for his suspicion and mistrust?
There was a hard rapping at her door. Kalida opened it warily to find Ellie standing outside in a seething rage. "Can I come in?"
"If you must," Kalida said ungraciously, surreptitiously wiping away her own tears. "What do you want?"
Ellie strode around the room' for a moment as if she needed to release some of that voluminous anger inside her. Her black eyes utterly burned with an animosity that was not, for once, directed against Kalida.
"I have something to tell you," she said finally when she had calmed down.
"What could you possibly have to tell me?" Kalida asked coldly, wondering if Ellie knew that she would be leaving this morning as well.
"Something about Deuce. And your father."
Kalida's blue gaze flashed at Ellie and then turned away. She must not show too much interest; Ellie was just in a mood to play with her. "What about Deuce and my father?" she asked finally in as neutral a tone as she could manage.
"Didn't you wonder why Deuce was adamant about clearing away the rubble from the fire?"
Kalida shook her head. She hadn't given it a thought. "Why?"
"Your father mortgaged the property," Ellie announced vindictively, sending Kalida a hard look that commanded her to make the obvious connection. She did.
"To Deuce," Kalida said slowly, her heart beginning to pound unbearably hard. "He owns the property now."
"He can foreclose," Ellie contradicted, "but yes, he co
uld well take title to it."
"Oh." A wealth of comprehension in that one small
351
word, Kalida thought, examining it like a piece of fruit she had taken out to eat. Her father had sold away her inheritance to get what he wanted. Yes, that explained a lot of things. A whole lot of things. The only thing it didn't explain was why she had been made to feel like she was the collateral for her father's whole life. She just didn't understand that. But everything else was clear. The money didn't even enter into it. Deuce had wanted the ranch, pure and simple, and by this convoluted way, including shunting blame for his losses onto her father, he had gotten it. Her father had done what he expected, and he didn't need her any more. All explanations simple and neat, the undercurrents torturous and mind-boggling.
She slanted a hard blue look at Ellie. "Why are you telling me this?"
Ellie swallowed and started to speak. And then changed her mind. "You should have known about it; I should have told you when I saw your father hadn't."
"Too good of you," Kalida murmured. Ellie had something else on her mind —she had to. She just was not one to offer confidences or help. If you had the money, she was willing to do anything, even put up with the antics of a fifteen-year-old motherless child. But she was not a friend.
"I understand we have to leave, all of us," Ellie said suddenly. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," Kalida said frankly.
Ellie considered her for a moment through her glittery black eyes. "I think you should come home with me. If your father tries to contact you, I would be the first person he would write to or come to see. I promise you that's true."
Kalida shook her head. "I can't do that." At the moment, however, she didn't know what she could do, and it was plain Ellie knew it. But why was Ellie offering her succor? She was the last person Ellie would ever want
to help.
"But you have to," Ellie said practically. "Where else would you go? You'd only get into trouble anyway."
"Really?" Kalida snapped, at the end of her tether with Ellie's kindness. "And tell me what you get out of it, please."
Ellie's obsidian eyes narrowed appreciatively. Kalida knew there was no love lost between them. She couldn't confess the half of what she would be getting out of Kalida's agreement to her proposal. Ellie shrugged. "You know your father arid I have been lovers for many years." And she saw by Kalida's jolted expression that she didn't. It was rather pleasing to her to be the one to finally tell Kalida that all her little ruses and games had had the impact of a fly on her father and Ellie's affair.
She went on. "He made a lot of promises." The tone of her voice darkened. "A lot of promises. Anyway, he's gone, as we know. I'm not sure he'd get in touch with me other than to learn your whereabouts. You might say I'm doing him a favor, and myself a favor."
Kalida sent her a scornful navy glance. "I don't believe that for a moment," she snapped. "What if my father never comes back for me?"
"Trust me, he'll hear about what happened at Sweetland soon enough. There is no way he can move out five hundred head of cattle in a day, let alone a week. He'll come looking for you."
Yes, Kalida thought, that made some sense. She couldn't bear the thought of being beholden to Ellie now. "You just want to use me," she said suddenly, as the thought occurred to her that everyone had wanted to use her from her father right on over to Deuce. It made her feel as though she had had no control in any of the events of the past week, let alone now, in the whole of her life since they had come west. Her father had chosen Ellie over her; her father had always known Deuce had wanted
352
353
her; her father had planned sometime to use it —to use Ellie even—to cheat his backers, to sell off the ranch and abscond with the money. Her father was a scoundrel.
"We'll use each other," Ellie said sardonically. "Neither of us can do anything without your father. So let's join forces and smoke him out, and that way you won't be reduced to begging from Deuce Cavender. You don't," she added bitterly, "want to take alms from Deuce."
No, Kalida thought violently, I don't. If I never see him again, it will be sooner than he deserves. The bastard, the full complete and absolute bastard, to even think she would abet her father in his stupid schemes. Damn him.
She didn't think to ask Ellie why she sounded so vehement, so wounded. And Ellie was extremely grateful for that; Kalida had had enough shocks for one day. Ellie certainly did not want to confess that she had been on her knees to Deuce herself, not an hour ago, after he had announced that she too would be leaving with Kalida; that her determined effort to make an ally of Ardelle had come to nothing; and that Deuce would not even consider her sensual offer to ease his troubles and his mind the best way she knew how. The offer had been pure desperation, a last shot at something she saw dwindling away by dint of Kalida's own stupidity and naivete. But Deuce wanted no part of it.
"It won't work, Ellie. Just cut your losses and go back to town with Kalida," Deuce had said harshly. Ellie Dean, of all people, he thought angrily, slamming his hand down on a nearby surface.
"Deuce," Ellie's voice had lowered, the timbre becoming huskier, suggestive, "haven't you felt anything from me in these past days? That day in your office — ? Wasn't it obvious how I felt?"
"Yeah, you were running the dollar count through your brain, Ellie, and liking the sum total very well. I had a lot of fun watching your face as the numbers grew. . . . Did
you say something?"
He obviously enjoyed tormenting her, Ellie thought, her anger at his sloughing her off so lightly consuming her. He would pay for that, she was going to make him pay rarely for this rejection of her. He could have at least invited her to stay the night. He could have sampled what she was offering, and then he could have refused her. But he hadn't even been that kind. He was bent on humiliating her in the worst possible way, and now her sole intent was to wreak revenge on him as well.
And the whole crux of her scheme was Kalida.
Prestina handed her the envelope. "Mr. Deuce say you will need some money."
Kalida did not look up from the case she was packing. The abominable nerve of the bastard, giving her money, she thought wrathfully. And as quickly, her anger died and she thought, why not?
She snatched the envelope out of Prestina's hand, hoisted her meager little bag onto her shoulder, and stamped out the room and downstairs. She tossed the bag out the front door onto the porch, where Joe Slim was waiting with the carriage for the luggage, and she proceeded down the center hallway to the ell of the old house.
Deuce was in his office, as she expected; hiding, she sneered to herself, as she burst in and waved the envelope in his stone-hard face. "You bastard, sending Prestina up with this to give to me. You couldn't face me, could you? You thought I'd throw it in your face, didn't you? But yon know what, you son of a bitch? I earned it, and I'm keeping it; there is no goddamned reason I shouldn't get something out of this deal, since you and my father walked off with every other goddamned thing. You got what you wanted, you bastard, what you were aiming at
354
355
all along, and your injured party act almost fooled me. You had this deal wrapped up so tightly you couldn't lose if you were robbed blind. God, I hate you for that. I hate you. And I'll take your money anytime, Deuce Cavender. It's worth as much to me as it is to my father."
She wheeled and flounced out of the room, her body shaking. Slowly, she walked down the connecting corridor, back into the main house, and out the front door, where Ellie and Madame Dupuis were waiting.
Madame looked indignant, even as' she was tucking what looked like a wad of bills in her huge bag, and Ellie looked —it was hard to characterize how Ellie looked. She was staring up at the house, her black eyes glittering, her expression ominous.
"It's time to go," Kalida said abruptly, climbing into the carriage.
"Yes," Ellie said, "it is very definitely time to go."
> Chapter Seventeen
What was it about Ellie's place? Kalida found herself wondering several days later, after she had been comfortably installed in an upstairs bedroom, had made her honorable offer to help Ellie in her housekeeping for her roomers, and was even now in the process of changing beds and sweeping bedrooms. She didn't know; something wasn't right. And yet nothing seemed out of place, including Ellie's restrained hospitality.
Ellie had made her feel welcome, had given her a nice bedroom, had explained that a friend had taken over running her house for the time she had been away. It was a simple situation: When her husband had died, she had had no choice if she were to stay solvent and independent. She had taken in boarders, mainly transient men who were mining the back hills of the Crazy Mountain or Big Snowy. They would come and file their claim, exchanging their dust for dollars, and they had spare change to spend for a decent room for the night, with a homey atmosphere and good home-cooked food.
The men had a need, Ellie said, and she had filled it.
356
357
And she was rather pleased with herself for defining it. The money was good: Those men were willing to spend for the right ambiance. And the fact they didn't stay meant she had more rooms to rent. She made out, Ellie said, very well, especially over the winter when those men needed a place to stay when the weather stopped their eager prospecting.
She had help too. There was Bonita the cook, an older woman with long glossy black hair that she wore coiled around her head like a crown. And there was Charlotte, a down-on-her-luck actress who had been abandoned in Bozeman on her way to Miles City, and who was hoping to open her own theater in town and make a success of it by choosing her clientele the way Ellie had in her successful boarding house. She had flaming red hair and an irrepressible good humor that was helped by the fact she was not very smart. Kalida doubted she would ever make a move to achieve her dream, and Charlotte didn't seem to care much; it was just something to hold onto.
