Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15)

by Georgina Gentry

  “Wannie,” Silver took a deep breath and faced her, “your father was a Georgia cracker who had been in prison.”

  “Prison?” Wannie swallowed hard. In that long moment, she looked around at the three of them, waiting for someone to deny it, but no one did.

  Silver nodded. “His—his name was Dallinger. He was trying to kill Cherokee and I—”

  “Silver, don’t,” Cherokee said.

  “You what?” Wannie had to know, even though she wished now she had never asked.

  “I—I killed him to save Cherokee’s life.”

  She felt as if she’d been stabbed in the heart. With a strangled cry, Wannie turned and ran out the door.

  “Wannie! Wannie! Come back here!” Behind her as she ran, she heard Keso’s voice as she fled to the woods. How could she live with this? Worse yet, how could she face the aristocratic Cleve Brewster with the terrible scandal of her past?

  “Wannie!” Keso ran after her, caught up with her, whirled her around. “It doesn’t matter!”

  She lashed out at him with both fists. “It matters to me! You knew and didn’t tell me!”

  He caught her wrists and pulled her to him, wanting so badly to kiss her, but she was in love with another man. “How could I? Besides, it’s like my being Ute. It isn’t something I can change.”

  She began to cry and he held her close and stroked her hair.

  She collapsed against him, weeping. “It hurts so much.”

  “I know, brat,” he whispered and forced himself not to do any more than kiss her forehead, “but Cherokee was right. It doesn’t matter who your ancestors were— it’s how you’re raised, what you make of yourself that counts.”

  “What am I going to do? What if Cleve finds out?”

  If the young aristocrat knew, he wouldn’t want Wannie, and then Keso could have her, but he loved her too much to do anything to hurt her. “He won’t find out, Wannie, if it means so much to you. We’ll all be very careful—I’ll talk to Silver and Cherokee about it.”

  “My mother was a whore,” she wept. “How can I live with that?”

  “Crying your eyes out won’t change it, honey,” he reasoned. “Believe me, if I could change it for you, I would, but like me, you’ll pull yourself together and decide it’s not the end of the world.”

  She looked up at him, big eyes bright with tears. “Once we’re married, we’ll be living far away and he’ll never know. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  He loved her more than life itself but all she could think of was the dashing Cleve Brewster. “Yes, Wannie, you can keep your secret. He need never know!”

  TEN

  It had been a long, uneasy night. Wannie got up early and splashed cold water on her face. Her eyes were swollen, but maybe she’d look better by the time Cleve’s train arrived. The only good news was that it was the first week of September and there’d been no real Indian trouble. Cherokee had decided from all reports that the Ute trouble had faded away.

  Wannie knew that the other three had talked long and late and were going to try to keep Cleve from finding out about the scandal. She could only hope it worked.

  Silver finished clearing off the breakfast dishes and looked around as her children hurried back and forth through the cabin. “Keso, are you and Wannie about ready to go?”

  “I am,” Keso said and came into the room, his black hair damp and neatly combed back. “You know Wannie, she’s still trying to decide which dress to wear.”

  “Clothes and jewelry mean too much to her,” Silver sighed, looking down the hall toward Wannie’s closed door, “but it was important to her mother, too. Certainly more so than Wannie was. I suppose it gave the poor child a false sense of values.”

  Cherokee came through the front door. “Keso, you and Wannie about ready? I’ve got the buggy hitched up.”

  A frown furrowed Keso’s handsome face. Drat it all, he looked miserable, Silver thought. A hundred times she had wanted to speak to Wannie, but Keso was such a deeply private person, he wouldn’t appreciate her meddling. Anyway, according to him, he’d already told Wannie he cared about her and it hadn’t made any difference to her. No, Silver’s interference could only make things worse. He was already in a state of melancholy over the truth that Cherokee had told him.

  She wanted to hug the boy and tell him that everything would be all right, but of course, he was a man now and that would embarrass him. “Keso, we could drive her in to pick up young Cleve—you don’t have to go.”

  “It may be the last time I ever get to be alone with her,” he answered softly.

  “Oh, Keso.” The expression in his dark eyes tore at her heart. “Do you want to talk about it?” She kept her voice low.

  “What’s the point?” Keso shrugged and looked from one to the other. “I can’t seem to change her mind. She’s stubborn and spoiled, but then, maybe I helped make her that way.”

  “We all did,” Cherokee assured him, “feeling so badly about the terrible tragedy.”

  The three exchanged glances.

  “It’s been many years,” Silver said. “We may be the only ones around who remember the scandal and we’ll keep young Brewster from finding out.”

  “Anyway,” Keso kept his voice low, “young Brewster will be shocked enough when he sees wild and rowdy Denver and there’s no telling what he’ll think of you two.”

  Cherokee leaned against the mantel and looked around the room. “You sayin’ we’ll disappoint him?”

  “Cherokee,” Keso said, “you’d have to see how these snobs live. All they think of is money and social position. Young Cleve is no doubt already figuring out what the Silver Heels mining interests are worth and how to get his hands on them.”

  “No chance of that,” Cherokee said.

  “Young Cleve’s ambitious,” Keso warned, “and it takes a lot of money to keep up his grand life style. Frankly, I think the only reason his family approves of Wannie is that they think she’s rich royalty.”

  Cherokee looked as if he might laugh, then he realized that Keso was not joking and his weathered face turned serious.

  Keso glanced toward Wannie’s door again and put his finger against his lips. “She’ll learn to live with the truth.”

  “But can she hide it from her fiance forever?” Cherokee asked.

  “Hush, dearest,” Silver warned, “she might hear you.”

  The truth was so terrible and tawdry. For a long moment, Silver closed her eyes, seeing the blazing fire as the fancy Denver bordello had been burned down by a drunken mob. The Arapaho slut known as the Duchess had died in the inferno while attempting to save the gold from her safe, heedless of her screaming child. Silver, who was working as Wannie’s governess, had risked her own life to rescue the terrified little girl.

  “Maybe we did wrong,” Cherokee admitted as he slipped his arm around Silver, “but our intentions were good.”

  Silver laid her face against his broad chest and he patted her hair. Silver had killed that ex-convict, Jake Dallinger, to save Cherokee’s life as the two men battled to the death. “Maybe we can keep anyone else from ever finding out.”

  No one said anything for a long moment, all nodding in silent agreement.

  Keso looked toward Wannie’s door. “Hey, brat!” he yelled, “if you don’t stop primping and come on, your fancy fiancé’s going to be cooling his heels at the Denver station. He might get on the train and go back to New York!”

  A long moment passed and then Wannie came out, wearing a beautiful pink flowered print dress and some fine dainty gold jewelry along with the big diamond ring. “Oh, I think he’ll wait. Silver, have you seen my cashmere shawl?”

  Silver pulled out of Cherokee’s arms. “Hanging on a peg by the back door, Wannie. Hurry up, Keso’s ready to go.”

  Wannie disappeared a long moment, then returned, wearing the shawl. “How do I look?” She smiled and whirled around.

  “Why, Wannie,” Silver said, “you’re trembling. Are you cold?”


  “No, just nervous.” Wannie walked to the small mirror on the wall and checked her hair again. “I can’t believe after all these weeks, he’s finally about to arrive.”

  “And we aren’t going to be there to meet him, brat, if you don’t get a move on,” Keso grumbled.

  Wannie took a deep breath and stuck her chin out. “Cleve just loves this dress. Remember I wore it at one of the afternoon teas his mother gave?”

  Silver forced herself to smile. “What’s his mother like, Wannie?”

  “Very high class—they all are. Did you know some of the Brewster’s kin came over on the Mayflower?”

  “That’s nothing,” Cherokee scoffed, “I think some of mine were there to meet them. Too bad we didn’t have stricter immigration laws two hundred years ago.”

  Wannie laughed, but her eyes didn’t show it. “Now, Cherokee,” she warned, “don’t you be teasing Cleve. He’s very proud of their position in society.”

  Oh God, Silver thought, so many secrets. The snooty Brewsters would break the engagement if they found out Wannie was the half-breed daughter of an Arapaho madam. If Wannie married into that family, she would be living thousands of miles away and the Brewsters would never learn the truth. Maybe the Evanses could keep him from finding out. After all, he was only going to be in Colorado a couple of weeks.

  Keso opened the door. “I’ll try to treat him nicer than he treated me. How’s that?”

  He followed her out the front door, looking back at the older couple in silent appeal.

  Cherokee shrugged at him. Keso sighed and went out.

  Silver went to the door and watched the young couple get into the buggy and drive away. “It’s sad because it’s so important to her. Oh, dearest, what are we going to do?”

  He came up behind her and kissed the top of her head gently. “Sweet darlin’, I don’t know. Her values are skewed, but that’s something she’ll have to deal with herself.”

  “Cherokee, I don’t know if she’s up to it.” She leaned back against him, drawing strength from his big body. “This marriage is so important to Wannie.”

  “Damn it, she belongs with Keso.”

  “I know that and you know that and Keso knows that, but she’s dazzled by this high society dude.”

  Cherokee turned her loose and began to pace. “It would serve the little priss right if the Brewsters did find out her mother was a whore and he dumped her.”

  “I don’t want her hurt.” She walked over and slipped her arms around his neck. “Young Cleve will only be here a couple of weeks and when they marry, Wannie will be in New York, a long way from her sordid beginnings. Her secrets will be safe.”

  Cherokee kissed her forehead. “If young Cleve’s that kind of shallow bastard, Keso could break that engagement up by telling him what he knows.”

  She leaned into him, loving the feeling of his arms around her, his lips nuzzling her hair. “I’m sure that’s crossed Keso’s mind, but he’s got character—he wouldn’t want to win that way. It would hurt Wannie too much. If he can’t win her fair and square, he’d rather bow out.”

  The buggy moved at a brisk pace down the winding mountain road. Wannie clutched the seat to keep her hands from trembling and stared straight ahead without seeing.

  “Brat, I know what you’re worried about.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped. Maybe if she didn’t discuss it, it would all go away.

  “All right, have it your way.” His voice was casual and cool, now that she had dismissed his empathy.

  Wannie thought and bit her lip. No, none of it could be true. Her beautiful mother had been a Spanish duchess who had died nobly in a Denver hotel fire while attempting to save her precious child. Her father had died in Europe in a grand duel with some duke or baron. Yes, that was the way it was, Wannie assured herself over and over. After an hour or two, she gradually began to believe it again and stopped trembling.

  Cleve was coming. Wannie could hardly contain her excitement as Keso drove toward Denver. She was certain that when she saw Cleve again, her old feelings for him would be rekindled and the uncertainty she had felt these last few weeks would be dissipated.

  They drove into Denver, past wagons crowding the roads and bustling crowds on the streets. “It’s certainly grown while I’ve been away all these years,” she said. “Once it was just a mining camp and now it’s becoming a city. Maybe Cleve won’t think it’s such a rough frontier community after all.”

  “Compared to New York and Boston, Denver still won’t look like much to that city boy.”

  “Now, Keso,” she said as she put her hand on his arm, “remember you promised you would be polite to Cleve.”

  “If it’ll make you happy, brat, I’d do anything, you know that.”

  She had forgotten the virile strength of the man. His arm felt like bunched steel under her fingertips. She was abruptly so aware of his masculinity, she took her hand away in haste. “Thank you, Keso.”

  He glanced over at her as they drove down the dusty road. “Wannie, I want you to know that no matter what or where you are or how much time passes, if you ever need me, I’ll be there.”

  His earnestness touched her heart. “Thanks, Keso, but of course my husband will take over those responsibilities. I realize I’ve been a real bother.”

  “No,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “I know I gripe a lot, but I’ve gotten used to having you around. I’m not sure what I’ll do when you’re gone—the cabin will seem so empty.”

  “But you and Silver and Cherokee will come to New York to visit me,” she insisted. “I couldn’t survive without seeing you all often.”

  “I don’t know what Cleve would think of that.” He slapped the horse with the reins to hurry it a little.

  “Or,” she suggested, “you could marry Alexa and all four of us would be together a lot.”

  “Now wouldn’t that just be wonderful!”

  “Don’t be so snide. You know you thought she was pretty.”

  “She certainly was.”

  He had only agreed with her; then why did Wannie feel such a sinking sensation?

  In the distance, a curl of smoke drifted across the sky. The train is already in. Hurry, Keso, Cleve will be wondering where we are!”

  Keso slapped the reins and the old gelding broke into a trot. They drove through the crowded, bustling streets with the September sun beating down on them.

  The train was already in the station. Wannie’s heart beat faster as they reined in before the red brick building and Keso got out, tied the horse to the hitching rail, and came around to help her down. She had already scrambled out of the buggy, not wanting Keso to put his hands on her waist. It always brought her such unexpected emotions, and she was an engaged, respectable girl.

  “Here, you’ll get your dress dusty.” He caught her and lifted her up to the board sidewalk. His hands felt hot as molten steel, she thought, then felt unnerved by her emotions. Maybe she wasn’t respectable; maybe she was no better than her mother. “Wannie, are you all right? You’re trembling.”

  She pulled out of his grasp and whirled away. “Like I said before, I’m excited and nervous about Cleve’s arrival.”

  “Yeah, I can hardly wait,” Keso said.

  Ignoring his sarcasm, Wannie hurried across the platform through the throngs toward the big, hissing locomotive standing in the station. She could hear Keso’s long stride on the platform behind her. She put her hand up to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun, looking around for that familiar face. She saw the magnificent yellow hair first. “Cleve! Cleve! Here I am!”

  She waved, thinking he looked so handsome and stylish standing there on the platform with his luggage.

  He brightened when he saw her and waved back, coming toward her. “Wannie! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten to meet me!”

  “Oh, never!” She almost threw herself into his arms, then remembered it wasn’t proper, and besides, Keso was watching. Instead she offered C
leve both her hands.

  He squeezed them and kissed her fingertips, looking down at her. “Oh, sweet, I’ve missed you!”

  “I’ve missed you, too. Silver and Cherokee are so eager to meet you!”

  Keso came up. “Hello, Cleve.”

  “Hello, nice to see you again.”

  The two shook hands warily in a way that made Wannie think of opponents shaking hands just before a boxing match.

  Wannie was annoyed but she didn’t want to make an issue of it. She linked her arm in Cleve’s. “You must be tired, dearest.”

  “I certainly am. You have a carriage?”

  “A buggy,” Keso said. “A carriage is a bit too fine for hicks like us.”

  She glared at Keso. “Get the luggage, Keso.”

  “I can remember when you used to say ‘please.’ ” He grinned at her.

  “Egad,” Cleve said, “people of our class don’t carry luggage.” He looked around. “Where’s your coachman?”

  “I’m it,” Keso said, looking askance at the pile of luggage. “Good God, is this all yours?”

  Wannie took a long look at all the bags and trunks and Keso’s incredulous face. “Cleve, dear, we live a pretty simple lifestyle. I doubt you’ll need all those clothes.”

  “It’s not all clothes,” Cleve said. “Actually, I caught an earlier train. I’ve already been to Governor Pitkin’s office this morning to show him merchandise samples—Father arranged it. The governor’s excited to think Brewster Industries might open an office here.”

  “Oh, Cleve,” Wannie said, “aren’t you clever! What did he say?”

  Cleve ran his hand through his hair, evidently pleased with himself. “I told him of Father’s friendship with Senator Teller and he said he could envision all of us working together to open up Western Colorado.”

  Keso frowned. “Did anyone bother to ask the Utes what they think of these plans for their land?”

  “The savages? Surely you jest.” Cleve smiled and picked up a smaller bag with his free hand. “I hope there’s some kind of social life in Denver.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Keso said.