The job had taken two years, but when it was accomplished and the reward money safely deposited in a London bank, Mason had set out to see the sights before returning home. At a gaming table in a fashionable gambling house he overheard a dapper young Englishman offering to wager the Shady Valley Double M Ranch in the Wyoming Territory of America. The name of the ranch, Double M—his own initials—caught Mason’s attention. The participants in the game refused to take the wager seriously and the Englishman was forced to leave the game.
Curious about the ranch and how it came to be owned by the Englishman, Mason asked Robert McKenna to dine with him. Two days later, after several visits to the office of McKenna’s solicitor, Mason had the deed to the ranch in his pocket and a very small sum left in his bank account.
He had to admit to himself that buying a ranch sight unseen was unusual. All he knew about it was that it had a sturdy log house, furnished with many pieces McKenna’s mother had brought from England, a bunkhouse, corrals, outbuildings, and a stream of good water running through it. There were at least five thousand head of branded cattle, possibly more by this time. Robert McKenna had explained away his ridiculously low price for the property by telling Mason that he hated America, he would never live on the ranch he had inherited from his father, and it was difficult to find a manager who would look after his interests. Only at the last minute had he told Mason about a half sister who lived on the ranch.
“You’ll not have any trouble from her. I’ll write and tell her to bloody well move off.” The look of hatred on Robert McKenna’s face had given Mason pause.
But the problem of Victoria McKenna had been shoved to the back of his mind when he returned to his home in southern Colorado. His ma and pa, a sister and a brother were dead; his sisters and Doonie were boarded out to work for their keep; the twins were trying to hold the homestead together after floodwaters and windstorms had scattered the topsoil over the rest of the state.
Mason gritted his teeth. A thousand unanswered questions floated around in his head. The girl was not the crude person her brother had led him to expect. And the fact that she could ride through this lawless land unmolested was something else to ponder. Mason refused to let any thought that the girl had a legal claim to the ranch enter his mind. The solicitor in London had assured him Robert McKenna had legal title to the property. But what was he going to do about her?
The mustang’s ears began to twitch and Mason pulled up on the reins. A deer darted from the brush ahead and raced toward the cover of the thick trees. Smiling to himself he let up on the reins and the horse continued to move along the trail. Suddenly they came out of the trees and the valley lay before Mason. He urged the mustang out onto a bench to get a clear view and saw the ranch backed up to the rugged mountain at the far end of a meadow. From where he sat he could see over a far stretch of country. He took his field glasses from his saddlebag.
Mason felt a surge of elation at what he saw. The ranch lay in a grove of giant sycamores. The ranch house, set on a small knoll, was a large log structure with a low sloping roof that extended to cover a porch at both the front and the back. Cobblestoned chimneys rose above the roof on each end. A small space in front of the house was enclosed with a split-rail fence, and flowers and blooming shrubs grew in neat plots. The bunkhouse was built at an angle to the house and beyond that was a barn and various outbuildings enclosed in a network of pole corrals. In this brief glance Mason could see that the ranch had been laid out well. He focused the glasses on the corral. Several men moved among a dozen or more horses. There were more men near the bunkhouse, and a rider approached the ranch from the opposite direction.
Mason lowered the glasses. The ranch was well manned, all no doubt loyal to Victoria McKenna. He was due for some uncomfortable moments. He should have left the girls and Doonie in town while he and the twins came out to check the lay of the land. Too late for that now. He’d have to hope that Victoria McKenna would agree to resolve the ownership dispute by legal means. Mason returned the glasses to his saddlebag. Uneasiness tugged at his mind. This was not the uncared-for, practically abandoned ranch he had been led to believe it was.
Mason sat his horse and watched the wagon approach. His eyes sought Nellie’s pale face. She was tired, this little sister of his who had hung on to the gate and cried when he went away to war, and cried again when he returned to find her working all the daylight hours tatting lace for Widder Leggett so she would have a little food and a cold pallet to sleep upon. Dora was leaning against Nellie, chattering away. Victoria McKenna sat on the seat, a dejected slump to her shoulders—until she saw him. Then she threw them back and tilted her chin at a defiant angle.
Doonie and the twins rode out onto the bench and looked down the valley toward the ranch.
“Gawd! Is that it, Mason? Is that our ranch?” Doonie’s squeaky adolescent voice carried back to the wagon.
“That’s the Double M.” Mason’s eyes remained on Victoria’s face and saw the flush that covered it.
“Yippee! Lookie thar, Clay! Ain’t that somethin’?”
The serious twin was also watching the pained expression on Victoria’s face. “Calm down, Doonie,” he said quietly.
Mason fell in beside the wagon; the others took up positions behind.
“How many cowhands do you have, Miss McKenna?”
“Are you worried you’ve bitten off more than you can chew?”
Everything about this girl spoke of quality and spirit, and Mason felt a spurt of resentment toward her half brother for telling him otherwise. The feeling in his stomach was not pleasant. He knew his limitations. He had to go with his hunch about her, or back off and head back to town.
“No. You’ll not turn your outlaw friends loose on me and my family. You’ll want to settle our dispute legally.”
“Don’t be too sure, Mr. Mahaffey. I’ll see that no harm comes to your sisters and young brother. The rest of you are on your own.” Victoria heard the gasp of protest from Nellie but refused to turn her eyes from the blue ones watching her from under the hat brim.
“I’ll ask no more than that…for now.”
His eyes were warm on her face, an almost tangible caress. They lingered over her with no regard for politeness or convention. Victoria flushed beneath his look, her hands began to sweat, and her face felt warm and tingly.
Mason continued to look at her even after she turned her eyes away from him. God, she was beautiful! She reminded him of a gold minted coin. But there was nothing hard and rigid about the fine-boned elegance of her. Only pain and disappointment were stamped on every part of her set face. He had never seen a woman who was so beautiful—feminine and soft, sensual and exciting. She was all warm tones, from her gold hair and amber eyes to the honey-tanned skin of her face and hands. He couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of her was the same color. He tore his eyes away from her to rid his mind of the thoughts. He’d seen beautiful women in the world. But this one—he turned to look at her again and found the amber eyes focused once more on his face—was woman in her natural state, unsullied, virginal.
Grinding her teeth, Victoria kept her hand firmly on the reins as the wagon descended the steep grade. She had approached the ranch many times from this trail, but never before had it seemed such a safe haven. Her heart tightened and her breath almost left her. What could she do? How could she possibly fight this man alone? Not alone, she told herself. Stonewall and Ruby knew she was in danger of losing her ranch. They had not dreamed the man who believed himself the new owner would be anything but an eastern tenderfoot. A formidable enemy like Mason T. Mahaffey was totally unexpected.
Victoria looked down at Dora and then over at Nellie’s thin face. They were looking at the house that they expected would be their new home. She felt a rush of sympathy for them but it was quickly smothered in self-pity. Oh, damn!
The trail went down off the mesa and into the coolness of a pine forest before cutting through some cedars and down into the valley. A stream, edged
with cottonwoods, willows, and sycamore trees, cut through the thick, green meadow. By the time the wagon turned up the lane toward the house the sun had lost itself behind the mountains.
The house, built strong and true, blended perfectly with the trees and mountains from which it had sprung. The logs were thick and heavy, and fitted snugly together. There was no chinking in this house, for the logs had been smoothed with a broadax and adze, and laid face to face. The stonework of the massive chimneys was smoked-stained and the timbers weathered. The house seemed something that not only belonged there, but something that expected to remain there forever. Victoria tried to swallow despite the dryness in her throat. This place was all she had ever known or wanted.
Realizing they were home, the team pulling the wagon stepped briskly up the lane and stopped beside the house. Victoria wound the reins around the break stock and jumped down from the seat.
“Guess you might as well come in. You can’t stay out here all night.” She tossed the words up to Nellie and Dora.
Mason dismounted and tied his horse to the end of the wagon. The twins and Doonie sat their horses, uncertain as to what they were to do.
“Victoria.” He spoke her name softly and she jerked her head around to rebuke him for using it, but the words died on her lips when she saw the warning look on his face. “My sisters are not part of our disagreement. Don’t take your troubles out on them.”
Victoria cast him a fulminating glance and stalked to the gate. The rage churning in her stomach was mixed with the fear that this man knew exactly what he was doing at all times. He was hard and clever—the most self-assured person she had ever met. She could think of nothing to say to him so she spoke to Nellie.
“Come on in. I’ll fix supper.” She went though the gate to the porch and paused to look back.
Dora had been lifted down and had gone to the back of the wagon. Mason reached up and scooped Nellie from the wagon seat. To Victoria’s surprise, he carried her to the porch and stood there holding her.
“Lead on, Miss McKenna,” he said crisply, his eyes daring her to question him.
“Let me walk, Mason,” Nellie said.
“No. You’re too tired. You can try after you rest awhile.”
Victoria turned to the door. It was heavy oak, but swung easily on wrought-iron hinges. Entering, she led the way through a hallway that ran down the center of the house. At the end she turned into a room and motioned toward a straight-backed padded chair covered with delicate needlework.
“This is the parlor,” she announced.
“It’s lovely,” Nellie’s eyes took in the walnut settee, the round table with its silk covering in the center of the floor, the chairs with ornately carved legs, and the paintings that adorned the walls.
The look Mason gave Victoria was somehow significant, but she was unwilling to decipher it, so concerned was she with fighting her own overwhelming desire to get away from this man’s dominating presence. She turned and collided with Dora who was hovering beside the door.
“Oh,” she said, and reached out to support the child. “Excuse me.” Victoria darted through the door and down the hall. She was hanging her hat on the hall tree when Mason came up close beside her.
“Victoria.” He spoke her name in the same soft and silky tone he had used beside the wagon.
“We are scarcely on a first-name basis, Mr. Mahaffey.” Her rising anger made the words harsh.
He drew away so he could see her face clearly. “I think we are. But we can discuss that later. Nellie has been very sick and the long trip was hard on her. She’s weak and must rebuild her strength gradually.”
Victoria’s eyes darted to the parlor door where Dora stood watching them. Then she looked up at Mason and felt a sudden constriction in her throat. He was so big, so vitally masculine. Unexpectedly, and for the first time in her life, she was sharply conscious of a man as a man in relation to herself as a woman. Her thoughts were an unwieldy jumble and for something to do she reached out and shoved open a door.
“Nellie and Dora can use this room.”
Mason stepped to the door and looked into the small neat room. He nodded to the opposite door. “Whose room?”
“Mine,” Victoria said and moved so that her back was to the door. “You and your brothers can sleep in the bunkhouse.”
“No. My family and I will sleep and eat under one roof.” His voice was rough and yet at the same time oddly gentle.
“No!” Her heart pounded furiously, she panted for breath and her throat tightened painfully. There wouldn’t even be a locked door between her and this man at night! He wouldn’t dare to come to her room, she reasoned, with his sisters across the hall. Her next thought struck her with the force of a blow. This man would dare to do anything that suited him. Then why, she asked herself a moment later, can I look at his hands and know they will be tender on a woman’s body?
“What’s in here?” He moved toward the door next to hers.
“My office. Stay out of there!”
He opened the door and peered in. “There’s a couch, I’ll sleep here. Now, what’s up these steps?” He asked the question, but he didn’t wait for the answer. His long stride ate up the distance to the top of the stairs. He swung back the door and surveyed the room. “This will do fine. Two big beds. The twins will have to take turns sharing with Doonie.” He was back down the stairs and beside her before her heart steadied and her breathing slowed.
“I told you I don’t want you here!” she said stiffly.
“I know you did, but we’re here. Make the best of it, Victoria.” He seemed to like to say her name. He moved purposefully to the door. “I’ll tell the boys to unload the wagon. We’d appreciate some supper. We’re all hungry.”
Victoria tried to give no indication of the shock she felt on hearing his orders. She reminded herself that she was not alone. She had Ruby and Stonewall and they would stand beside her against this overbearing man.
“Victoria.” He said her name gently and managed to catch her eyes with his. “Where will I find Stonewall Perry?”
His eyes were the color of the cobalt blue glass sugar bowl in the china cabinet, Victoria decided. But that didn’t describe them at all. They were deep, piercing, calculating, by far his most intimidating feature. Added to his size and overweening attitude they spelled danger to Victoria. The need to say something that would put them on a more equal footing forced her to speak rashly.
“You needn’t worry that your arrival has gone unnoticed, Mr. Mahaffey. Stonewall, as well as the other Double M hands, knows that you’re here. They’ll find you.”
He smiled thinly after glancing quickly out the door. It was a smile that barely moved his firm lips and never reached his eyes or stirred another muscle in his face.
“Good. If they want to work for me they’ll have to be on top of things.”
Victoria refused to be drawn into making an angry retort. Instead she replied calmly, “We’ll have to wait and see who works for whom, Mr. Mahaffey.”
“Mason. If we’re going to live together in this house even for a short while, Victoria, we should drop the formalities. Can you see to supper now? You do know how, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I can cook—as well as do other things,” Victoria snapped at him, fighting down a strange trapped feeling while their eyes did battle.
“Right now all I need to know is if you can cook. Later I’ll find out about the…other things.” He let the sentence end with an almost speculative note. A small smile, not at all nice, curled the corners of his mouth.
Forever, Victoria Page 3
