Standing just outside the office door, Broc listened to the exchange in astonishment.
“Then find it. I don’t care where. Just get it.”
“I can’t go into the bank and expect them to hand over seven hundred dollars to pay for a dead bull.”
“If you’d paid for it, it wouldn’t be dead.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“Maybe not, but that won’t much matter if you’re dead.”
Broc would never have dreamed this overly decorous Southern lady could turn into a gun-wielding madwoman, but he should have known better than to underestimate the fury of a mother when she believed her family was threatened. He would have liked to see Mrs. Liscomb terrorize Corby a bit longer, but the look in her eyes made him decide to intervene.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing him dead, either, but we wouldn’t be able to get the money out of him then, would we?”
Mrs. Liscomb’s fury didn’t abate. “It would be worth it. My husband trusted this man. I encouraged my daughter to marry him.”
“I still want to marry her,” Corby said. “I told her I’d take care of the ranch, of everything.”
His words served only to stoke Mrs. Liscomb’s anger. Corby’s eyes grew wide with fear when she jammed the gun into his breastbone. “I’d work in this saloon myself before I’d let her marry a loathsome piece of spawn like you.”
For a nice lady, she had a deadly way of phrasing insults. “I have no objection to your shooting Corby. Personally, I’d like to start with his legs and work my way around his body, being careful to avoid hitting anything that could actually kill him, but Amanda and Eddie wouldn’t be very happy to have to visit you in jail.”
“We could force him to open his safe,” she said. “He must have seven hundred dollars in there.”
“That would be robbery,” Corby said.
“Which would be only fair since you’ve robbed us,” Grace pointed out.
“I never took a cent from any of you,” Corby protested. “I paid Amanda more than twice what I paid anyone else.”
Mrs. Liscomb prodded him with the gun barrel. “Then fired her when she brought in more money than you’ve ever made in your miserable life.”
“Carruthers threatened to ruin me, to burn down the saloon.”
“You’re a coward, Corby Wilson. A liar, a thief, and a yellow-bellied coward. You deserve shooting, but you’re not worth going to jail for.”
Broc grinned. Apparently Mrs. Liscomb had picked up a few Texas-style insults. She was still pressing the gun against Corby’s chest when Amanda rushed into the room.
“Mother, what are you doing?”
“Trying to force this poor excuse for a man to honor his obligations, but apparently Texans don’t believe in honor as much as people brought up in Mississippi.”
“I already said—”
“Silence!” Mrs. Liscomb poked Corby so sharply, he grimaced. “I’ve heard more than I want out of you.”
Broc was sorry for the mess Amanda’s family found itself in, but the crisis seemed to be working wonders on Mrs. Liscomb.
“You might as well let him go,” Amanda said.
“I’d much prefer to shoot him.”
“I think this would be a good time to renegotiate Amanda and Gary’s contract,” Broc suggested. “I believe you’ve got Corby’s full attention. They don’t actually have a contract, but I think it would be a good idea to put the agreement in writing this time. That would eliminate the possibility of Corby firing them any time he fell into a jealous fit.”
“I would never be jealous of a disfigured man like you,” Corby shouted.
Mrs. Liscomb poked him again. She appeared to like the way his eyes widened in fear each time she dug into his ribs. “That’s because you’re not smart enough to know Mr. Kin-caid’s a hundred times the man you’ll ever be.”
Broc was beginning to like Mrs. Liscomb more and more.
“I don’t want to work for Corby,” Amanda said.
“I think once you’ve had time to look into things”—Broc hoped she noticed his emphasis—“you’ll change your mind.”
Amanda gave him a hard, questioning look. “Only if he’ll agree to hire Broc as well.” Her expression didn’t change.
“I don’t want him,” Corby said.
Mrs. Liscomb poked him again. “You don’t get any say in this.”
“It’s my saloon.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Broc will find a way to prove you lied. Then I’ll take you to court. By the time I tell the judge all the pain and heartache you’ve put me and my family through—I believe my appearing in court in widow’s weeds with tearstained, powdered cheeks will make a powerful impression—you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t give me the saloon outright.”
Broc nearly laughed aloud at Corby’s expression. It might be worth a few weeks in jail to see that confrontation.
“Gary gets his job back, Broc plays the piano, Priscilla gets to sing if she wants, and we can do any skit Broc writes.” Amanda looked Corby in the eye. “Those are my conditions. None is negotiable.”
Corby glared at Broc. “He said he was leaving.”
“He’ll be back.”
The way Amanda gazed at him tore at Broc’s heart. How could he tell her that the best thing he could do for her might be not to come back?
“Carruthers won’t let Priscilla come near the saloon,” Corby said.
“Carruthers is too ill to leave his bed,” Broc told Corby.
“He could still burn me out when he gets well.”
“He won’t be allowed to leave the house for weeks to come,” Amanda told him.
When Corby was slow to respond, Mrs. Liscomb prodded him again. Broc was worried that one of these times she was going jab him too hard, and the gun would go off. If she did shoot him, he hoped a judge could be persuaded to believe it was an accident caused by extreme emotional stress.
“You think my daughter is a liar like you?” Mrs. Liscomb poked Corby so hard, Broc steeled himself to hear a gunshot. “We don’t make agreements we don’t intend to honor. Broc can write out the contracts for you.”
Broc was finding that being transformed in a matter of minutes from a distrusted and disliked interloper to a magician who was expected to pull any trick out of his hat was a bit disconcerting. He didn’t know what Mrs. Liscomb would decide he could do next, but apparently she saw no limit to his talents. A pity she wasn’t right.
“If you don’t hire us, we’ll work for your competition,” Amanda said. “We have to work for someone, because we need the money.”
“But what’s the point? You don’t have a bull,” Corby reminded her, “so the ranch will fail anyway.”
“They have his calves,” Broc pointed out. “In a couple of years, they’ll have dozens of young bulls with his blood.”
“But we need jobs until then,” Amanda said.
Mrs. Liscomb poked Corby. “Tell her you agree.”
“Okay.” Corby’s ribs must have been getting really sore because he gave in more readily than Broc expected. “But I’ve got to read the contracts before I sign them.”
Mrs. Liscomb poked him again. “And after you read them, you’ll sign them, right?”
“I’ll sign them,” Corby said, “but I’d much rather marry Amanda. I’d take care of everything, and she wouldn’t have to work.”
Broc wasn’t sure Corby had enough money to do all he said, but he was relieved neither Amanda nor her mother showed the slightest interest in his offer. It didn’t take long to put all the pertinent information down on paper. Mrs. Liscomb continued to hold Corby at gunpoint. She didn’t lower her weapon until Corby had read and signed the contract.
“I’ll tell Gary,” Amanda said. “I’m sure he’ll want to start tonight.”
“I think you and Broc should wait until tomorrow,” Mrs. Liscomb said. “You’ll need time to decide what you want to perform.” She picked up her purse and put the gun inside.
&nb
sp; “I’m relieved to see you put that gun away,” Broc said. “I was afraid you might poke Corby a bit too hard, and it would go off.”
“It’s not loaded,” Mrs. Liscomb said. “I couldn’t figure out how to put the bullets in it.”
Amanda was convinced there was something in Corby’s office that would confirm he had agreed to pay for the bull in exchange for her father’s share of the saloon. The only problem was figuring out where he’d hidden it. She hadn’t wanted to work in the saloon, but in addition to needing the money, it had provided her with several opportunities to search Corby’s office when he was busy talking with his customers. So far she hadn’t found anything of interest except money. Each time she entered his office, she had to tell herself she couldn’t take the money just because he owed it to Mrs. Sibley. Despite the injustice of what he was doing, that would be stealing, and she would not lower herself to Corby’s level.
In the meantime, she had to be especially careful. When Broc was in the saloon, Corby was so jealous of him he wouldn’t let Broc out of his sight, but Broc had finally gone back to Crystal Springs to start serving his jail time. That made it even more difficult for Amanda not to take the money. If Corby had agreed to pay the debt, Broc wouldn’t have had to go to jail, so it was Corby’s fault Amanda was separated from Broc. It was Corby’s fault that the ranch was in trouble, that the bull was dead, that her mother still faced the possibility of having to sell some of her precious furniture.
It would serve him right if Amanda stole his money and Carruthers burned him out.
But she wasn’t a thief, and Carruthers was heavily sedated.
Where should she search next? She had begun by going through Corby’s safe. It had taken a bit of persuasion, but she’d convinced Gary to leave it unlocked when he went to get cash for the bar. She’d found money, deeds to the saloon and diner, and some other important papers, but she found nothing about the debt to Mrs. Sibley. She wished she could have read all the documents thoroughly—she was sure she’d have found something to hold over Corby—but she didn’t have time.
Next she’d gone through the large cabinet that stood at the back of the room. Her father had kept his records there as well as odds and ends from the saloon or the diner, but she had found nothing in the cabinet that had any connection with the sale of the saloon or the bull. She’d even checked behind the two pictures to see if Corby had installed a secret safe.
The only piece of real furniture in the room was the desk. Her father had bought it from a family moving farther west who needed the money and didn’t need the extra weight. She’d rarely seen Corby do more than relax in the chair, so she’d saved it for last. Except for two drawers on either side, it didn’t seem to have any places to hide papers.
She sat down at the desk, pulled out the first drawer, and scanned its contents. No papers there, just odds and ends like ink, pens, blotters, extra paper. The second drawer was empty. A third held Corby’s bank records. Maybe they would give her the information she needed. If she could find something that showed he’d paid any money to Mrs. Sibley, it could be used as evidence that he owed her still more.
She quickly thumbed through the receipts, but she couldn’t find anything that had Mrs. Sibley’s name on it or that could be proved to have been payment for the bull. There must be something here. There had to be. She’d just missed it. She started through everything again, concentrating so hard, she didn’t hear the door open.
“What are you doing?” Corby demanded.
Chapter Twenty-two
Amanda cursed under her breath. How could she have been so stupid as to have let herself be caught? She needed to think of something that was incriminating but wouldn’t cause Corby to guess what she was really after.
“I was looking to see if you had as much money as you claimed. If I should decide to accept your offer of marriage, I need to know you can support me.”
That was a weak excuse and so far from the truth, it cost her dearly to utter the lie. Corby’s gaze remained angry and suspicious, but she could see an element of doubt—or maybe she should call it hope—make its way into his eyes. He wasn’t a stupid man, but he had an enormous ego that required constant massaging. Since he was convinced a man’s measure was determined by money and prestige, maybe he would believe she thought the same thing.
“Your mother said she wouldn’t let you marry me.”
“She was upset. She doesn’t want to live in poverty any more than I do.”
“You can’t be living in poverty with what I’m being forced to pay you and your brother.”
“It will take nearly everything we earn to pay for the bull.”
His expression turned angry, even pugnacious, a look that wasn’t attractive on his thin face. “Your mother tried to make me pay for that bull. She even held a gun to my head.”
Every time she thought of Broc’s uncontrollable laughter when her mother confessed she hadn’t known how to put bullets in the gun, she started laughing. If she even cracked a smile now, Corby wouldn’t believe a word she said. She thought of being married to Corby, of having to face him on their wedding night, and she lost any desire to smile. “As I told you, Mother was upset.”
Corby wasn’t through yet. “Do you think I’m a liar and a thief?”
Maybe it was silly to balk at lying at this point, but she’d prefer to find a way around it. “I was upset. You’d just fired Gary and me. Carruthers had just killed our bull. I’ve had time to reconsider my opinion since then.” She had reconsidered her opinion of him. It had gotten worse.
“You could have told me what you wanted to know. I’d have given you all the proof you could want.”
“I’m enough like my father to like to prove things for myself.”
“Are you satisfied now?”
She breathed a sigh of relief. It was amazing how a person could be so focused on something he wanted that he could blind himself to everything else. “I don’t know. I didn’t find any record of outstanding debts, but I didn’t find anything showing you have a bank balance, either. I know the saloon and diner are worth more than enough to pay our debt, but you wouldn’t have a way to support me if you sold them.”
She knew she’d escaped discovery when Corby’s frown turned to his trademark grin, the one that grew out of his belief he was one of the three or four most important and influential men in Cactus Bend. Corby crossed over to the safe, unlocked it, reached inside, and pulled out a roll of bills.
“Here’s all the money you need to pay off the rest of your debt.”
She knew that. Even now she itched to snatch the money from him.
“The saloon and diner generate more than enough income to support a wife and family.”
She knew that, too. Half the income from the two businesses had been sufficient to support her family.
Amanda put the papers back in the drawer, closed it, and got to her feet. She had to get out of this room before Corby could press her for a commitment. “That’s all I needed to know. Now I’d better get back to work. I don’t want you to think I’m not earning my keep.”
“You won’t have to work after you marry me,” Corby said.
“But I’m not married now, so I do need to work.” She rounded the desk and headed for the door. “You’d better come watch. I want you to realize just how much better the entertainment is when Broc is here.”
That comment would needle him so much he would forget about anything romantic. Having said that, Amanda wondered if Corby was capable of being romantic. He’d never said anything romantic. He’d never done anything romantic. He’d never even thought of their marriage in terms of love. He insisted that he loved her, but Amanda doubted he was capable of love or understanding how important love was to her. If he hadn’t lied and cheated, she would have hoped he’d someday find a woman who could teach him how to love. Now, however, she hoped no woman would be forced to live with a man like him. She never would, not even if her family had to sell every piece of furniture i
n the house, every calf, every cow. Some things were worse than poverty.
Amanda wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it. She spent her days working on the Lazy T and her evenings working in the saloon, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking of Broc, wondering what was happening to him, wondering when he would come back, if he would come back. She had asked him to write but wasn’t surprised when no letters arrived. What could he have to tell her? Not much of interest was likely to happen when you were locked up in a jail.
She had coerced Corby into giving her an advance on her salary so Broc could take Mrs. Sibley a small payment. She’d hoped that would encourage the judge to reconsider his decision to send Broc to jail, but apparently it hadn’t worked. She’d even talked Gary into giving their mother half his salary in exchange for not being required to work on the ranch. Her mother had been surprised, but Amanda knew Gary hated the ranch with a depth of feeling her mother couldn’t understand. What other reason could he have had for letting the bull out so many times when he knew how important it was to the survival of the ranch?
Today was one of those rare days in Texas when a steady rain had turned the prairie into ankle-deep mud, making it virtually impossible to work outside. Leo and Andy were holed up in the bunkhouse cleaning saddles and bridles, and repairing any equipment in need of fixing. Eddie was helping her mother in the kitchen. Amanda had swept every room in the house. Now she was dusting and polishing her mother’s precious furniture. Remembering her father’s admonition to “look to the secretaire” if they ever found themselves in a difficult position, she scowled at the intricate piece of furniture that stood tall against a background of flowered wallpaper like an aristocrat trapped among the hoi polloi, its inlaid woods, beveled glass, and tiny brass knobs making it the focal point of the room. Her mother had been too grief-stricken after her husband’s death to be of any help in settling his affairs, so Amanda had been the one to go through every drawer and cubbyhole. She’d thumbed through every book, read every piece of paper, without finding anything useful. Now she glared at it, daring it to live up to her father’s promise.
When Love Comes Page 27
