“Ardis’d left her fortune to Catherine—a name not spoken at Cloister Point for twenty-five years. I got a good laugh at Cyrus’s greedy expense and considered the matter closed. But then you showed up and … enlightened us all. It was only then that I knew I stood squarely in Cyrus’s path.”
He grinned again and crossed his arms. “You saved my life by coming here. With me totally unaware of my status being elevated to first heir, I’d probably already be dead. And now you’ve ruined Cyrus’s element of surprise for me. I’m certain he won’t forgive you.”
Hannah stared wide-eyed at him, realizing that she had indeed saved his life. She looked down at her lap. Her desire for revenge had saved a life. His life. With those tossing and tumbling emotions causing her to frown, she cocked her head in question. “Why didn’t Ardis simply leave the money to me and my sisters in the event of Mother’s death?”
Slade shrugged. “I’m sure she would’ve, if she’d known of your existence. But it wasn’t up to Ardis to name your mother’s heirs.”
“That makes sense.” Now things began to click in Hannah’s mind. She sat up straighter and pointed at him. “But of course Mother was killed before she could take possession of her inheritance.”
Slade nodded. “Exactly. So it reverted to me. And, the will being what it is, the quickest path for Cyrus to get his hands on the money is to kill me before I marry and produce an heir.”
Hannah stared steadily into the blackest eyes she’d ever seen and felt a sudden coldness creeping over her soul. “That explains Cyrus. But not you. It doesn’t explain you.”
He frowned, tilting his head questioningly. “I just told you—”
“No. You haven’t told me anything about you. All I still know is why you need to watch your back around my great-uncle. But there’s more going on here—between you and me. Because you didn’t give a hoot that I had Wilton-Humes blood.” She watched him tense up, watched his eyes narrow to slits. And knew she was right. “It’s the Lawless blood in me that sets your blood boiling. Why is that?”
“I owe you no explanations.” His voice was as flat as the prairie.
Hannah sat rigidly still and glared up at him. “The hell you don’t. And I’m betting it has nothing to do with your needing to marry someone in a hurry to get your hands on that blood money.”
Slade eyed her down the end of his blueblood’s hawkish nose. “I neither want nor need Ardis’s money, Hannah. And I never asked to be involved.”
Even though his voice warned her to tread easy, Hannah ignored it. “So you say. But what else can I believe? You marry me—a Wilton-Humes—and get the best of my uncle. Use one Wilton-Humes to keep the money from another one. That’s revenge. And isn’t that the game you’re playing?”
“Game?” Slade came abruptly to his feet. Broad gestures put the emphasis to his words. “It’s your family being killed off by your great-uncle, Hannah. Not mine. But now I’m next on his list. That is my sole interest here on that score. Beyond that, if I wanted to marry simply to produce an heir, it wouldn’t have to be you. I could marry tomorrow any woman I chose. But if I do marry you, then I could see the money finally in the right hands—yours. You are, after all, your mother’s heir.”
Hannah jumped to her feet and pointed her finger at his chin. “It’s too late for such noble words from you. You’re in this up to your ears—in some other way than the one you’re telling me. Let me tell you something, Garrett—I don’t want one cent of that blood money. Not one. All I want is to see the guilty people pay. With their lives. And if you’re one of them … you’ll be first on my list.”
Breathing hard with rage, Hannah finished him off with, “And that is what it means to cross a Lawless.”
Fury suffused a dusky red over his features, contorting his face into a horrific mask. He grabbed her by her arms, pulling her to him. His voice was no more than a low growl. “Don’t you throw that name in my face, girl. Not if you want my help. Just remember one thing. Five people in your family are dead. Make no mistake here—if my ass wasn’t on the line, too, I wouldn’t give a good goddamn what happens next. But my life is on the line. So is yours. So are two others you obviously haven’t thought of. And every one of us is as good as dead if you and I can’t work together to stop Cyrus and Patience.”
Toe to toe with him, she pushed against his chest. “Now there’re four more? Where’d you come up with four? There’s only me and you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Hannah. There’re your sisters—Jacey and Glory.”
CHAPTER NINE
Hannah stiffened in shock and then wrenched herself out of Slade’s grip. Backing up a few paces, unable to absorb or respond, she turned her back on him. She walked over to the window, skirting Esmerelda. She stared outside at nothing in particular. In the stillness, she heard a clock chime the five o’clock hour. Like a death toll.
At that moment, Esmerelda snored loudly and snorted. Hannah turned enough to spare the dog a glance. The mastiff’s legs worked as if she were running. Wishing she could run away too, Hannah turned back to Slade. He hadn’t moved that she could tell. She centered on him, as if she were sighting down the long barrel of a Winchester. “How do you know my sisters’ names?”
His face set in lines of weary disgust. “I’m not guilty of anything, Hannah. I told you—I’ve been doing some checking. My men tracked down a man who’d bragged in a saloon here that he’d earned some easy money following an outlaw’s daughter to Boston. This tracker said he’d been following you since you left home.” He pierced her with his black-eyed stare. “But he won’t anymore.”
“Following me? And you had him killed?” A cold heaviness spread over Hannah, locking her muscles into a stiff stance. “My sisters. Are they being followed?”
He nodded grimly. “Yes.”
“Who did this?”
“The man … died refusing to say. The obvious guess is Cyrus. But your father had a lot of enemies of his own, Hannah. It could be anybody.”
Images of Jacey and of Glory essentially alone on the ranch—and both of them unaware, just as she’d been—besieged Hannah’s heart. She shook her head, feeling the panic building. “I never saw anyone watching me. I never even noticed. Neither will they. I can’t reach them. Not in time. It may be too late already. Oh, my God, my sisters—!”
Slade took long strides over to her, stepping over the mastiff to grab her arms. He held her tightly, steadying her. “Listen to me, Hannah. Listen. I don’t think these men have orders yet to kill you and your sisters. If they did, they would’ve just waited at the ranch for you to come home and killed you then. Or they could’ve done so at any moment after that. Even while you were on the train. But that didn’t happen. You’re fine, so there’s every reason to believe your sisters are, too.”
Hannah watched his mouth move. She tried to listen to and absorb his words. But a surge of hatred, darker than the bowels of hell, claimed her. With deliberate movements, she pried his hands off her arms and pushed him back. She then slipped a hand into her skirt, pulling out her Smith & Wesson pistol.
Slade jerked in a breath. “What the hell! What do you think you’re going to do with that?”
“I’m going over to Cloister Point and rid the world of two monsters. You and I both know they’re responsible for me and my sisters being followed.” She pivoted on her heel, but was immediately jerked back around and held onto.
“You’re not going any-damn-where, Hannah.”
She unfeelingly poked the gun’s barrel square up against his abdomen. “I say I am. And I’m the one with the loaded gun. Now, let me go. Or say your last words in this life, Garrett.”
He held on to her and said his last words. “If you kill Cyrus and Patience, and they are the ones paying the trackers, they’ll kill your sisters for sure.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes. “You just said their orders weren’t to kill us.”
“I said not yet. And I’m only guessing. They could have orders to kill i
f they should check in and there’re no follow-up instructions. Or money. That’s the type of men we’re dealing with. I don’t know yet who’s paying them. Hell, I don’t even know why you were being followed. Until I find all that out, I just have suspicions. And no way to call them off, if Cyrus and Patience die.”
It made sense. But Hannah wasn’t ready to trust him. Or to lower her gun. “Just how do I know I can trust you? Just how do I know that everything you’ve told me, from the first minute I met you, isn’t a load of so much cattle crap?”
He blinked in surprise as he let go of her and stepped back. “Cattle crap? That’s quaint, Hannah. All my efforts come down to so much cattle crap. Fine. I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. It doesn’t change the fact that my life is in as much danger as yours over Ardis’s money—maybe more.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes and kept her gun poked against his gut. “I don’t want the damned money. You keep it.”
Enraged to the point of stuttering, he bellowed, “It’s … goddammit, it’s not mine to keep! If you don’t want it, then … your sisters might. Now put that damned peashooter away and come here.”
Then, with complete disregard for her weapon, he turned his back and Went around his desk. He sat down, pulled out a bank ledger, and inked his pen. “If you can’t trust me after everything I’ve already done for you, after all the information I’ve shared with you”—he began writing—“after everything I’ve just told you, when I didn’t have to, then to hell with you. You want to be on your own? You want to find your own answers with no help from me? Fine. That can be arranged.” He finished writing and then looked up at her.
Hannah remained in place. Her gun was still pointed at the empty space where his belly had been. She watched him with eyes narrowed—and mind slowly opening. If he only knew it.
He capped the ink and inserted the pen back in its hole. Then he tore the draft out, holding it out to her. “Take this draft. I’ll also make my town house in Boston and a brougham available to you, as well as my employees there. You can take everything I’ve already given you, too. That way, you won’t be hog-tied by my presence or by my interference. And you can then learn for yourself the truth. And match it against what I’ve told you. Fair enough?”
He looked from her to the draft in his hand and then back at her. “Well? Don’t you want it? If it’s a matter of pride, consider it a loan against your inheritance.”
Hannah was through watching him. Up to now, except for bringing her here, he’d pretty much been a man of words. But now he’d just become a man of action. That she understood. When a man put his own money where his mouth was, you could bet yours that he was telling the truth, Papa’d always said.
Hannah lowered her gun, slipped it back in her pocket, and walked slowly up to the desk. She looked him in the eye, saw naked challenge mirrored there, and took the draft from him. She looked down at it and swallowed. She’d never seen a number that big before. Too bad she wasn’t going to keep it. Looking him in the eye again, she tore the bank draft into tiny pieces and tossed them onto the desk between them. “I don’t want your money, Slade. I want you.”
His eyes widened, but he quickly recovered and narrowed them. He then slouched back in his chair, his legs wide, his elbows on the armrests. He put a finger to his bottom lip and rubbed it thoughtfully as he looked her up and down. “What are you saying, Hannah?”
“I’m saying … I believe you. I’m saying I want to stay here with you. But most of all, I’m saying I want you to pretend to marry me and let Cyrus think we’re hard at work producing you an heir.”
Slade catapulted to a stand, leaning stiff-armed over the desk with his fingers tented on its surface. “What the hell do you have up your sleeve, besides another gun?”
The very air crackled with his shouting voice. Esmerelda jerked to a sitting position, woofing out her displeasure at being awakened so rudely. Hannah turned with Slade to the source of the woof. Esmerelda, seeing she had their attention, frowned in judgment and then flopped back down on her side.
Hannah exchanged a look with Slade and then perched her hip on the desk’s corner, dangling her foot and mimicking his posture from when she’d first entered. “I’ll explain, but first you have to sit down.” She waited … and waited.
He finally sat, but gingerly, as if he thought the chair under him would explode. Crossing an ankle over his opposite knee, he spread his hands wide as he leaned back. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Hannah raised her chin. If only her fluttering stomach had as much bravado as her words did. She ticked off her points on her fingers. “Isabel’s already planning a real wedding. Let her. It’ll make everything seem that much more believable.”
Slade eyed her without blinking. His look said he was seeing her in a new light—a very unfavorable one. “I see. We use and deceive my grandmother. Go on.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Garrett. And don’t judge me. Go ahead—tell her. Tell her it’s not a real wedding. Or a real marriage. See how convincing she is then. Just remember—your life’s at stake here, too.”
“Of course. My mistake.” Gripping the armrests now, he swiveled the chair slowly, slowly, side to side, in place. “For the first time, I’m beginning to see evidence of Wilton-Humes blood in you. Or maybe it’s that famous Lawless blood. Or the mix of them both.”
Stung, ashamed of herself but seeing no other way, Hannah narrowed her eyes at him. “You got a better idea?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. And you already know what it is.”
Hannah fairly squinted at him now. “Marry you for real? And give you that damned revenge you’re always spouting off about? That’s not going to happen. Ever.”
His changing expression, like a fast-moving storm racing across the plains, framed his struggle for control. But in the end, all he did was grin. Like a snake would, if it could. “Not ever. That’s a long time. But do go on.”
Hannah’s heart lurched. What was he thinking? Forced into a corner of her own making, she valiantly plunged ahead. “All right. We stage this mock-wedding here in the next couple of weeks or so, and we—”
He held up a hand. “I won’t involve tremendous expense in this scheme. Nor will I break Isabel’s heart by lying to her. Let’s rethink this lavish wedding. The more people we involve, the more chance there is of the truth coming out. I suggest we appear to elope. Dudley Ames will pretend to be our witness. That will lend credibility to this farce. Our story will be that we were swept away with love and desire. That should be a huge scandal and produce a tremendous amount of publicity. And satisfy even you.”
“Don’t act as if I’m enjoying any of this. I’m not. No one has to satisfy me … least of all you.”
He shot forward with lightning quickness and grabbed a fistful of her blouse, pulling her slowly toward him, until the tip of her nose was touching the tip of his. “If I don’t satisfy you—or appear to—we’ll never convince Cyrus we’re working on that little heir we need. And isn’t that what all this is about?”
Hannah didn’t dare breathe or blink. When would she remember how dangerous this man was? Finally, she managed the barest of nods.
“Good girl.” His voice was warmed-over death. “Now, Cyrus isn’t stupid enough to storm over here on the day we announce our elopement and try to kill us. Not with every Brahmin dropping by to belatedly congratulate us and laugh behind their hands. No, he’ll let the furor die down. Then he’ll make his move. So, you see, we have time. A lot of time. We’ll have to be … convincing.”
Hannah swallowed and nodded again. This wasn’t going as she planned. But at least he was agreeing. After a fashion. As for that making-an-heir part, she’d worry about that when the time came. She’d handled him so far, hadn’t she? Yeah, that’s why she was hauled up against him with his fist at her throat. Stung, Hannah gritted out, “Take your hands off me, Garrett.”
He held on to her for another second or two. His grip even t
ightened the least bit. Then he released her as if she’d bitten him. Pulling back from her, he straightened up. His expression right then would scare small children. “When this is all over, Hannah, you get the hell out of Boston. And don’t you ever let me see your face again.”
Near to tears, Hannah fumblingly righted her clothes and snarled right back at him. “Don’t worry, Garrett. That was always my plan. Did you think I was staying here forever? Ha. I want to get this over with as much as you do. Maybe more so because my life, my family, are out West. But I’m here now, and I refuse to wait around for my great-uncle to order my death. So, the way I see it, I’ve got to make Cyrus make a move.”
Slade contemplated her. “You don’t have to convince me, Hannah. I think you’re absolutely right. But tell me, what do you plan to do when he makes his move? What do you get out of this?”
Just thinking about what she’d get, Hannah concentrated on all the hate coalescing around her heart. “I get to kill the man responsible for murdering my folks, that’s what.”
* * *
“Good Lord, Slade, you were serious.” Dudley Ames, a Scotch in one hand and a fat cigar in the other, shot forward like an arrow to the edge of his well-padded and comfortably worn leather chair. He looked around at the censuring stares of his fellow members at the Sommersby Club and promptly lowered his voice to a hiss. “You’re serious? You’re going to marry Hannah Lawless?”
Slade raised his drink. “I am. May I have your blessing, my friend?”
Dudley sat back just as abruptly as he’d slid forward. “Hardly. I wouldn’t sanction something that will damn my own soul for just knowing about it. You’re determined to dishonor yourself and destroy this girl, aren’t you?”
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