HIDDEN PASSIONS
Keso forced himself to step away from Wannie, knowing he had no right even to think what he was thinking. All these years, he’d cherished and protected her as she turned from annoying brat to gangly girl-child to grown-up beauty. In a few months, she would belong to another man.
Maybe if he finally told her how he felt about her, she’d change her mind about marrying Cleve. “Wannie, I ... I want you to know that, well, I love you.”
“I love you, too, Keso,” she said absently and looked toward the window where the fireworks flashed. “You’ve truly been like a brother to me.”
He almost cursed aloud at that. “No, what I meant to say was...”
She looked up at him expectantly and he felt like an idiot. He’d told her he loved her and she’d brushed it off. There was no need to say more. Wannie—sweet, sweet Wannie. He would die for her, or kill for her, but he would never have her.
Keso wished for a fleeting moment that he was back among the Cheyenne, attacking Wannie’s train or stagecoach and taking her captive. As a savage brave, Keso would fight any man who tried to claim her, and Wannie would belong to the victor as a warrior’s prize.
If only life were that simple.
ALSO BY GEORGINA GENTRY
APACHE CARESS
BANDIT’S EMBRACE
CHEYENNE CAPTIVE
CHEYENNE CARESS
CHEYENNE PRINCESS
CHEYENNE SPLENDOR
COMANCHE COWBOY
HALF-BREED’S BRIDE
NEVADA DAWN
NEVADA NIGHTS
QUICKSILVER PASSION
SIOUX SLAVE
SONG OF THE WARRIOR
TIMELESS WARRIOR
WARRIOR’S PRIZE
GEORGINA GENTRY
Zebra Books
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.zebrabooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
HIDDEN PASSIONS
ALSO BY GEORGINA GENTRY
Title Page
Dedication
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
TO MY READERS
Copyright Page
Two women with the same first name have had a lasting impact on my life. This novel is dedicated with love and gratitude to:
My grandmother, Sarah Jane Crooks Rushing, whose passing left a hole in a little girl’s life that no one else ever filled,
and
Sara Orwig the best-selling romance author who found me in her university writing class and changed my life forever.
PROLOGUE
It would go down in American history as the last great Indian uprising—that brief time when the Ute Indians of northwestern Colorado rose up against oppression and fought the whites who coveted the Utes’ land.
Unaware of the bloodshed about to explode across the rugged mountains, three people rode into this untamed wilderness: a dark-haired beauty accompanied by two very different men. One of this pair was a light-haired, back-East gentleman, the other an Indian brave. The only thing the two men had in common was that both desired the woman as did some of the Ute warriors. She would become a prize to be fought for and won ...
ONE
Late June, 1879
He had loved her all his life; he realized that now as he stared out the window of the moving train. Did she feel the same or was he about to make a fool of himself?
He would soon find out, Keso thought with a shiver of apprehension. He shifted his tall, muscular frame in the red plush seat even as the engine whistled, shuddered, and began to slow.
“Boston!” yelled the conductor, working his way down the aisle. “Coming into Boston!”
So many people and such big buildings visible through the dirty window! Even Denver, where he seldom ventured, had nothing like this. Wannie had said she would meet the train, knowing he had never been out of Colorado. Keso looked around, aware that other passengers were staring at him. Was it the new suit that fit his big frame so badly? His shoulder-length black hair? Or maybe his bronze, high-cheekboned face?
As the train slowed coming into the station, Keso reached into his pocket to reread the graduation announcement: The Class of 1879 invites you to the commencement ceremonies of Miss Priddy’s Female Academy ...
How the time had flown! He stared at her card: Miss Wannie Evans. She hadn’t been home at all these past four years. He wished now he had written her about how his affection had gradually changed into something much deeper, but he wasn’t good with words on paper. His answers had been brief and casual.
He took his little gift from his vest to reassure himself. The antique silver ring gleamed in the sunlight, highlighting the flowers entwined around the band and the old French words: Pour toujours. The shopkeeper said it meant For always. Keso couldn’t read French, but the well-educated Wannie could. When he asked her to marry him, surely she’d say yes. Maybe he was taking too much for granted, even though they’d grown up together.
The brakes screamed as the train ground to a halt. Keso put the ring back in his pocket and looked out the window again. He felt uneasy and bewildered by the sprawling array of buildings, carriages, and crowds of people waiting on the platform in the summer heat.
Eagerly, his gaze searched the crowd. Ah, there she was, beautiful, black-haired Wannie in a stylish sunshine-yellow dress complete with a bustle and an elegant flowered hat. Oh, how she did love clothes and pretty things ... maybe too much.
He waved frantically, but she didn’t seem to see him, even though her brown eyes were searching the length of the train. Grabbing up his carpetbag, he pushed through the crowd and stepped off onto the bustling platform. “Wannie! Wannie! Here I am!”
“Keso!” She came toward him, arms outstretched, flinging herself into his embrace. “Oh, Keso! I’m so glad to see you! I was afraid you’d make a wrong connection and get lost!” She kissed his cheek and hugged him.
She felt so good in his arms. He stifled the urge to kiss her, really kiss her the way he’d been dreaming of. However, the throngs of people were turning to look at the couple and anyway, just to have her in his arms was enough for the moment. She felt so warm and smelled like wildflowers. Reluctantly, he gave her just a quick peck on the cheek. “Wannie, you’ve turned into a grown-up lady!”
“Spoken like a brother.” She laughed, kissed his cheek again, and pulled out of his arms. Then she turned toward the pretty blond girl standing next to her. “I’m forgetting my manners—this is my roommate, Alexandra Griswold. Alexa, meet my big brother, Keso.”
Keso made a slight bow to the tall, blond beauty in the expensive peppermint striped dress. One did not need to know much about fashion to know a wealthy, stylish aristocrat when he saw one. “How do you do, Miss Griswold.”
“Very well. So you’re this Keso I keep hearing about.” Alexa Griswold assessed him with a bold gaze, put out her hand, and shook his rather than curtsying. “Such an unusual name. Tell me, what does it
mean?”
“Keso? It’s actually Poh Keso, ”he said. “It’s Cheyenne for ‘Fox.’ ”
Alexa held onto his hand, staring up into his dark eyes as he disengaged his fingers. “Your sister talks about you all the time.”
“Good things, I hope.” His gaze returned to the dark beauty, wondering how much time would pass before he could be alone with Wannie.
“I’ve always wanted to meet a real Indian,” Alexa said, her blue eyes bright with curiosity. “Have you ever scalped anyone?”
“Alexa!” Wannie gasped. “You’re impossible!”
For a moment, Keso was taken aback, unused to such rude behavior. “Well, I haven’t tomahawked anyone lately,” he said, “but you do have a lovely head of hair.”
Alexa threw back her head and laughed boldly. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“Alexa, Miss Priddy’s doesn’t seem to have taught you anything,” Wannie sighed.
“I wouldn’t say that. You should have met me before my aunt threw up her hands and sent me to the academy.”
Alexa Griswold was evidently both spoiled and rich, Keso thought, and such a physical contrast to his petite foster sister. The way Alexa was looking at him in fascination and amusement made him feel like a country bumpkin.
Wannie took his arm. “Come on, Keso, you must be tired. There are rooms on campus for relatives arriving for the ceremonies.” She studied him a moment, smiling gently. “We really should get you a new suit while you’re here.”
Did he look so bad? “This is a new suit.”
“Oh.” Wannie bit her lip. “I—I’m sorry, I forget fashion is always several years late getting to Denver.”
“He just has such wide shoulders and a big frame,” Alexa said, her blue eyes sweeping over him in unabashed admiration. “He needs custom tailoring. I’m not sure what my family’s going to think when they see him.”
He started to tell Alexa that he didn’t care much what her snooty family thought, but decided it wasn’t polite.
“Hush, Alexa,” Wannie said. “You’ll ruin my surprise.”
Surprise? What surprise? Maybe she suspected about the ring, although Keso hadn’t even told their foster parents.
“I am tired. It was a long trip.” He smiled down into her beautiful, olive-skinned face, loving the feel of her arm linked with his. For the hundredth time, he rehearsed in his mind what he would say to Wannie when they were finally alone.
“Is that all the luggage you brought?” Alexa’s eyes widened as she stared at the little carpet bag.
He nodded, feeling like a backwoods hick again.
“Now, Alexa, maybe Cleve could take him shopping and—”
“Who’s Cleve?” Keso asked.
“My cousin,” Alexa said, “and quite a stylish dandy—his tailor is the best. Come along then,” she gestured. “We’ve got Uncle’s carriage.”
They started across the platform, Keso keeping his stride short so that the petite Wannie could keep up with him. “Your family’s in town for your graduation, Miss Griswold?”
“Actually, my parents are dead. I’ve been reared by my aunt and uncle. Aunt Bertha’s a Griswold. They’re coming because they’re so delighted I’m graduating, but I wouldn’t have without your sister’s help.”
“Oh, the brat’s not really my sister,” Keso corrected with a smile. “We’re both orphans taken in and raised by Silver and Cherokee Evans.”
“They couldn’t have been more loving if they were really our parents,” Wannie said as they walked. “I’m so disappointed they couldn’t come.”
“So were they,” Keso said with a shrug, “but as the telegram told you, Silver’s been down with the grippe and didn’t feel up to traveling, and, of course, Cherokee wouldn’t leave her. They’ve missed you terribly.”
As I have, he thought, threading his way through the noisy crowds. Well, he could stand this smelly, confusing place a couple of days, knowing that he’d soon be on a train returning to the Colorado wilderness with his beloved Wannie. In his mind, he was already picturing the log cabin he would build for her in the Valley of the Singing Winds with a view of snow-capped mountains.
They paused on the curb and Keso smiled down into Wannie’s lovely face, thinking that the first time he had ever seen her, she was a little girl of about four while he was a street kid of ten or twelve. He really didn’t know his true age or much about his background.
“Here’s the carriage,” Alexa said and gestured toward a fine coach and four matched gray horses in silver-studded harness.
“Fine horses,” Keso nodded with approval as a coachman in gray livery climbed down, bowed, and opened the door while taking Keso’s bag.
“The Brewsters can afford the best—Uncle Cleveland’s rich,” Alexa yawned.
“Alexa!” Wannie scolded. “Remember, proper young ladies don’t discuss money.”
“Admit it,” Alexa challenged with a toss of yellow curls. “You love fine things, too.”
Wannie colored. “I—I suppose I do.”
“Brat, Miss Griswold knows you well.” Keso laughed as he assisted the ladies up into the coach, then got in himself, “Even when you were little, you were always playing princess in Silver’s dresses, and making me play the prince or the servant, whichever you needed at the moment.”
“I guess I was a silly child,” Wannie admitted. “You were so patient to put up with me.”
I raised you to marry you, he thought, but he didn’t say it. “If your mother had lived, she would have been proud.”
“Oh, yes, the Duchess,” Alexa said as the coach pulled away. “The Brewsters are so impressed with royalty.”
Duchess? Keso glanced over at Wannie, wondering just what Wannie had told her roommate. He hadn’t even been sure Wannie knew about her past. Wannie ignored his inquisitive gaze and looked out the carriage window at the crowded road.
Keso was dreading the next several days, knowing he didn’t fit in among the elegant people of Boston. He should have stayed up in the Rockies and waited for Wannie’s return, but it had seemed a shame for her to graduate with no family in the audience. He resigned himself to Alexa Griswold’s empty chatter. Wannie seemed pensive, as if she had something on her mind. Later, he consoled himself; later he and Wannie would have time alone together and he would give her the ring.
“So,” Alexa said, staring at him in unabashed curiosity, “I’m just eaten up with curiosity about the details of your family. Wannie is always so vague.”
“Maybe she just thinks some things should be kept private,” Keso said. He was a very private person and he didn’t know quite what to make of this brittle beauty.
“Well,” Alexa said, seeming quite unabashed, “I just think it must be a really romantic story about how the Evanses became your foster parents.”
“Why?” Keso blinked.
“Keso, I just told her how the Evanses found us both,” Wannie blurted. “I know it’s not very interesting to you to dredge all this up.”
Alexa looked from one to the other. “Of course it’s interesting! I can see them befriending an Indian boy in Colorado, but what are the chances of a Spanish duchess dying and leaving her little girl for them to raise?”
Spanish royalty? Keso took a deep breath. “Very small chance, I reckon,” he said wryly as he looked past Alexa into Wannie’s dark eyes. “My little sister is a very unusual person.” He must get this inquisitive girl off the subject until he found out exactly what Wannie had told her. “Do tell me about yourself, Miss Griswold.”
Alexa beamed at him and began a long monologue about her uncle, a wealthy manufacturer, and how she had always wanted to see the untamed West.
Keso hardly heard any of it; he was looking into Wannie’s troubled eyes. Maybe she didn’t know the truth about her heritage—or maybe she didn’t want to face it. The truth was ugly. He knew and he didn’t care, nor did the Evanses. In the West, a person’s actions and character were what counted; nobody gave a damn about your ancestors
or your wealth.
Alexa chattered on. Keso nodded at the right times and shifted so he could watch Wannie. He was already envisioning being alone with her. They’d been raised as brother and sister, but somewhere along the line, his feelings for her had gradually changed.
When Alexa finally took a breath, Wannie said, “Keso, there’s a party tonight for graduates and their visiting relatives.”
“I had thought we’d have dinner alone and catch up on old times, brat,” Keso grinned.
“There’s plenty of time for that later,” Wannie said and shrugged him off. “I’ve got a gorgeous new dress that goes perfectly with my pearls and rubies.”
“Clothes and jewelry,” Keso said and grinned, “I thought you’d outgrow that.”
Wannie ignored that. “I’ve also spent the last several years learning the proper etiquette for a ball.”
“That’s not something you’ll have much use for back in the mountains,” Keso reminded her.
“There’s something I need to tell you—”
“So, Mr. Evans,” Alexa interrupted, “with so much gold from that mine, why do the Evanses live in a log cabin in the mountains? Sounds as if they could afford to build a mansion in Denver.”
“Why would anyone want a mansion anywhere?” Keso said, trying not to be annoyed. Wannie’s shallow society roommate was evidently having a bad influence on her. “The cabin’s comfortable and plenty large.”
“For servants, too?” Alexa asked.
“Servants? We don’t have any servants.”
“Maybe Alexa’s right,” Wannie said. “The Evanses have plenty of wealth from the Silver Heels mine; they could build a fine house in Denver. Servants would make life so much easier for Silver. Think of the parties and costume balls she could hostess.”
Keso laughed. “Brat, you’re the one who wants to dress up in fine clothes and jewels. Silver wouldn’t care about costume balls.”
Alexa continued to stare boldly at Keso. “Did anyone ever tell you that white scar across your eyebrow makes you look terribly interesting? I’ll wager you got that in a fight.”
Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15) Page 1
