Cherished

by Jill Gregory

  “Well, if it’s Bart Mueller from the Breen ranch you’re waiting for, he’s coming this way now,” the old-timer put in.

  A thick-necked, beefy man in a black vest and hat was driving a buckboard up the street toward them. “Thank you, sir,” Uncle Edward nodded as the old man shuffled off, and the bewhiskered man, still mopping his brow, went on his way as well. “Now things will settle down, my dear,” he told his wife.

  The driver of the buckboard pulled the team to a halt and gave the family of easterners on the boardwalk an apologetic smile.

  “Mr. Tobias? I’m Bart Mueller, foreman of Twin Oaks. Mr. Breen sent me.”

  “Well, it’s about time.”

  “Sorry, sir, but we had a little problem at the ranch, and I got here as soon as I could. Mr. Breen sends his regrets for any inconvenience, but you’ll still have plenty of time to freshen up before the festivities tonight.” He studied the easterners with shrewd eyes, one after the other, his attention caught by the beautiful but deathly pale girl leaning against the wall.

  “Something wrong with the little lady?”

  “Nothing serious,” Uncle Edward assured him quickly. “My niece had a bit of a fright, but she’ll be fine when she’s had a chance to rest up.”

  Suddenly, Katharine Tobias turned toward her husband, her full skirts rustling about her. It wouldn’t do to have this man report back to Breen that Juliana was sickly, or fainthearted. The man might change his mind about everything. Best to divert attention from the girl as quickly as possible. She took charge with alacrity, and perfect ease. “Edward, why don’t you and Mr. Mueller see to the luggage? Juliana, Victoria, and I shall wait here until all is ready.”

  “Yes, my dear, we won’t be but a moment.”

  As the men departed for the depot, a great weariness overtook Juliana. She wished she could find a quiet place where she could rest and recover her composure. Her aunt’s anger, and Uncle Edward’s exasperation, not to mention Victoria’s peevish expression, were not helping to soothe her troubled nerves. She was ashamed at her own weakness in having fainted. How silly to have jumped to the conclusion that the dead man was Tommy, all because of the color of his hair and shirt. It was humiliating to have fainted like a ninny within five minutes of her arrival in Denver. She tried to tell herself it was the fatigue of the journey, lack of food for several hours, and the effects of heat and thirst that had contributed to her extreme reaction, but she knew there was something more. It hadn’t been only the thought that it was Tommy that had made her faint. It had been because of the dead man himself, the blood, the sight of it. It was the same ailment that had plagued her since her childhood—a heart-palpitating horror of bloodshed. Ever since her parents’ violent murder by bandits in their store, Juliana had been possessed with a foolish weakness at the sight of even a drop of blood. Once, when Victoria had pricked her finger while stitching a sampler, Juliana, only fourteen, had gone into a fit of shaking that had forced Uncle Edward to give her a strong dose of brandy to restore her to a semblance of calm. When one of Uncle Edward’s grooms had endured a kick from a frightened horse in the stables one day, Juliana, witness to the accident and the bloody wound that resulted, had scarcely had the strength to run and fetch help before her legs had given way beneath her. Now, thinking of the hard-eyed young gunman she’d just seen, she realized that he had killed someone only a moment before running into her, yet he had looked as calm and cool as a gentleman taking a stroll in the park. She had heard stories about the savageness of the frontier, the gunfights and hangings and Indian raids, but it had not seemed real. It was real though. Real and brutal and bloody. Juliana shuddered. Suddenly this town, and the men wearing guns, and the smell of gunpowder in the air, all reminded her of Independence, of that dreadful, unforgettable day when she and Wade and Tommy had returned from school to learn of their parents’ deaths.

  She fought the nausea and the fear that rose unbidden within her. She had to overcome these feelings if she was going to make the most of her time in Denver, to try to find Wade and Tommy. If she wanted a life out west with them, she would have to learn to be stronger, tougher. She wished desperately that she could sit down for a moment, only a moment, to gather her strength, and give her knees a chance to recover from their trembling. She was about to suggest to Aunt Katharine that they wait for the men in the buckboard, when her aunt spoke first, grasping her arm urgently.

  “Juliana, listen to me—before your uncle and Mr. Mueller return. I must remind you—and Victoria, of course—to be particularly pleasant to Mr. Breen. It is most important that these business negotiations progress well. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Aunt Katharine, but—”

  “Certainly refrain from complaining about any inconveniences you might encounter in Denver, or at Mr. Breen’s ranch. You know, they may not have all the little niceties and refinements we have back home, but it would not do to insult our host in any way.”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t do such a thing.” But Victoria might, Juliana thought, with a quick glance at her sullen-faced cousin. She couldn’t help wondering why Aunt Katharine was staring at her so fixedly as she spoke, and seeming to direct all her instructions to Juliana—when it was Victoria who was prone to complaints and unfavorable comparisons between East and West. “I shall do everything to make you proud,” Juliana added, but was baffled inwardly as to why her behavior was being called into question. Surely Aunt Katharine didn’t really fear that she would do anything deliberately to offend John Breen.

  Juliana had met John Breen on only one occasion, at the Governor’s Ball some months ago. The man whose name appeared almost daily in every newspaper in the land had not exchanged more than a dozen words with her, and had left the party soon after supper—to catch a train, Uncle Edward said. In the moment or two that Juliana had spent with him, she had had an impression of whipcord strength, iron will, and tremendous energy and drive, all masked beneath a lean face, very large, deep-set topaz-colored eyes, and a flashing, delightful smile. At thirty, he had been younger than she had expected from his reputation and all the wealth he had accumulated, and far more handsome, with a slim build, glistening fair hair, and rugged features. Juliana couldn’t understand why Aunt Katharine could possibly think she would affront him.

  She must think little enough of my character if she expects me to complain about his hospitality, or make myself disagreeable to him and ruin all of Uncle Edward’s plans, she thought. Perhaps she only fears that my being in Denver will bring out the tainted side of my nature, and banish all the good breeding she has pounded into my head these past nine years.

  At this, an irrepressible glimmer of amusement ran through her, and she was able to shake off a little bit of the weariness that had overtaken her after her faint.

  “See that you do make us proud,” Aunt Katharine commanded in an undertone, as Uncle Edward and Bart Mueller appeared at the buckboard carrying a hefty assortment of luggage. “Conduct yourself as a lady, and be utterly charming—under all circumstances.”

  By the time she was seated beside Victoria in the buckboard and on her way to the Breen ranch, Juliana had put aside her aunt’s odd remonstrations. She was once more thinking of her plans to locate her brothers, and devising ways she might begin some careful inquiries, perhaps even tonight. She ignored Victoria’s groans, which sounded every time they rode over a rut in the trail, or swerved suddenly and were thrown sideways in the seat. As the wagon made its way across the rose-hued foothills, she thought of the future and the promise it might hold. A cozy home, with just herself and Wade and Tommy. A new life, for all of them, together.

  The killing she had seen today made it all the more imperative to find her brothers—to rescue them from the dangerous path they had chosen. It was a path that made them targets of men like the one she had encountered today, Cole Rawdon. Cole Rawdon, a bounty hunter, would have shot Tommy—or Wade—if he had found them. He hunted human beings for a living, tracked them down like animals, for a m
onetary reward. She shivered as his image swam into her mind’s eye.

  She quickly banished it. She didn’t want to think about him, she didn’t want to remember. He had killed a man and shown no remorse. He had frightened her, made her faint, and then ridden off without a backward glance to see how she fared.

  Juliana clenched her hands together, realizing with a cold, hard knot of fear that the man who had run into her today was no better than the men who had killed her parents in their store. He represented violence, death—and ruthlessness. He was a loathsome animal who would hunt down Wade and Tommy without a moment’s hesitation if he only knew where to look.

  She prayed to heaven he never would. For something told her that Cole Rawdon got what he went after. She prayed he would never set his sights on Wade and Tommy, and that no other bloodthirsty bounty hunter or posse would either. With urgent desperation pounding in her heart, Juliana knew she had to get to them first.

  For the remainder of the drive she struggled to put all thoughts of the bounty hunter and the ugly scene in town out of her mind, and to think of how she could most effectively search for her brothers. Her determination mounted as each mile passed. No longer did she want merely to find her brothers, but to save them. To save them from their own perilous course in life, and from the brutality of men like Cole Rawdon.

  Just as the pale blue mist of dusk began its descent over the mountains, she saw, up ahead, the enormous lantern-lit yard and corrals of the Twin Oaks ranch.

  Suddenly, a chill touched her. The skin at the back of her neck prickled. She didn’t know why. The two-story stone ranch house and surrounding buildings looked beautiful silhouetted against the twilit mountains that rose against a purpling sky. Rolling and majestic beneath the looming shadow of the Rockies, the Twin Oaks ranch and environs were an impressive sight, one that should have filled her with delight and relief. The long journey was over. Refreshment and hospitality and festivity awaited. But she had to fight the sudden urge to beg Uncle Edward to have Mueller turn the buckboard around and head back toward town.

  Why?

  Nerves, Juliana told herself, irritated. Stupid, foolish jitters, like the ones that had made her faint. Nonsense feelings, to be subdued and controlled.

  Cole Rawdon would have called it something else. Instinct. The kind of instinct he used every day to stay alive. He would have been right.

  3

  Tucked away in the foothills of the Rockies, John Breen’s Twin Oaks ranch was a magnificent monument to the man who had built it and the center from which he ran his empire. Stretching over more than 250,000 acres, Twin Oaks was well stocked with horses, cattle, men, guns, and enough food and provisions to supply an army outpost for months. The sheds, barns, corrals, cookhouse, bunkhouse, and other buildings were immaculately maintained and run with hard-nosed efficiency, like all the rest of John Breen’s business endeavors, from his mines and lumber mills to his railroad holdings. But it was the sprawling ranch house, with its gardens and white-columned verandah, sparkling like a jewel beneath the jagged hills and purple-shrouded mesas, that was his special pride and joy. The house was the showpiece of Denver—as luxurious and grand within as any New York mansion—complete with paintings, books, flocked wallpaper, Turkish carpets, and mahogany furniture. The only thing lacking, John Breen felt—had felt for quite some time—was a mistress to preside over Twin Oaks. A woman, the perfect woman—the one he chose to be his wife—would complement and adorn the house more than any accessory or painting he could purchase from anywhere in the world. He had searched for her, methodically, patiently, critically, refusing to settle for anything less than perfection, and at last, at the Governor’s Ball in St. Louis not many months before, he had found her.

  Now, Breen thought, watching from the window in his study as the buckboard drew up before the front steps and the Tobias family alighted, she was here at last.

  His waiting was over.

  She’s a jewel, a rare and spectacular jewel, Breen reflected as he surveyed Juliana’s small, piquant countenance, softly illuminated by the night’s first stars. He enjoyed the fact that she had journeyed all this way without the faintest idea of his plans for her. As a matter of fact, he had enjoyed everything about Juliana Montgomery from the moment he had first met her at the Governor’s Ball. Her beauty, her gracefulness, her enchanting, tinkling laugh. He had known as soon as he set eyes on her that she was everything he could ever want in a woman, that she possessed the qualities he had long been searching for in a wife. She was lovely, sophisticated and refined, yet spirited enough to make him proud when he walked into a room with her on his arm. None of these mealymouthed, insipid little debutantes would do for John Breen, nor would a homespun Colorado girl suffice. In marriage, as in everything else he put his hand to, he had to have the best, a woman all other men would envy him for possessing. As soon as Breen had glimpsed Edward Tobias’s niece, decked out in pink tulle and lace, waltzing round and round the ballroom with a score of foolish boys panting after her like pups chasing a bone, he had known that Juliana Montgomery was the perfect bride for him.

  It was time for him to marry, time to think about begetting himself a son to whom he could pass on the empire he had built and which he was constantly expanding. But his wife, and the mother of his son, had to be special, someone as remarkable in her way as he was himself. Juliana was that. Every inch a lady, yet not shy, not prim and boring. There was a natural grace and poise about her, a subtle, tantalizing sensuality that had struck him immediately. She looked soft as a kitten, yet when they had met there had been laughter and confidence in her eyes, a directness that he admired. He couldn’t wait to get her in his bed. Breen had a sixth sense about such things. He’d have bet a fortune that beneath Juliana’s golden innocence lurked a passionate woman, a woman just waiting to be driven wild by a man’s caresses. He would be the one to oblige her, too. No one else. He’d kill any other man who touched her. Breen vowed that to himself as he let his gaze travel over the elegant features and feminine enchantments of the girl walking toward his door. He smoothed the tip of his mustache before turning from the window. Yes, he thought with satisfaction, he would have her, and before the month was out.

  Walking up the lane to the ranch, Juliana breathed in the icy sweetness of mountain pine. She glanced toward the peaks of the Rockies, instinctively drawn by the vista of looming mountains, and was so transfixed, she did not notice the rest of the family lingering behind. As she trod up the steps of the porch, still gazing at the lavender sky and great dusk-shadowed peaks, the front door was suddenly thrown open. A tall man in elegant gray shirt and breeches strode across the porch and smiled directly down at her.

  “Welcome, Miss Montgomery. Welcome to Twin Oaks.” Taking her arm, John Breen guided her up the final step and drew her onto the porch.

  Juliana murmured a greeting in response, and thought he would turn to Uncle Edward and Aunt Katharine and usher them all into the house. But to her surprise he ignored the others, and drew her along the porch to a window where light streamed out. Still holding Juliana’s arm, he stared down at her, studying her face and hair, illuminated by the glowing light. His smile deepened at her surprised expression. Behind his gaze was a keen, richly amused glint that she found somewhat unnerving.

  He cut a splendid figure. Tall and slim, he had a rugged countenance browned by sun and wind and distinguished by a light, well-trimmed mustache and a pair of shrewdly intelligent topaz eyes. She remembered those eyes. His hair, a darker gold than Juliana’s, was brushed smoothly back, each strand perfectly in place. His jaw was strong, with a cleft in his chin. His grooming was immaculate; he looked like a man whose suits would always be flawlessly pressed, whose boots were at all times magnificently polished. Even his teeth shone as he smiled down at her, but something about that smile, and the anticipatory expression in his eyes, made Juliana uneasy. His look was bold, victorious almost.

  Like a mouse caught between a cat’s paws, she suddenly wanted to squeak and r
un.

  Silly, she admonished herself. You’re imagining things.

  But Juliana had not been the belle of St. Louis society for two seasons without having learned to recognize when a man was attracted to her. She felt a tiny shock race down her spine as she continued to meet the intent stare of John Breen.

  He had shown no sign of being attracted to her that one time they’d met—had he? Thinking back quickly, Juliana realized she had been so busy with her swarm of overeager suitors that evening, she had barely paused for breath when Uncle Edward had introduced her to John Breen. Now, searching her mind with great rapidity, she did remember that he had held her hand an inordinate amount of time, and complimented her on her beauty before she had been swept off by her current dancing partner. But she had taken both the compliment and the warm look he bestowed on her as civilities, nothing more. She hadn’t given John Breen another thought until Uncle Edward had told her of this business trip to Denver. Even then, she had thought of him merely as her uncle’s associate, a mogul famous for his vast self-made wealth—never as a suitor with a romantic interest in her. Yet, as she stood before him now on the porch, she could not deny that he was regarding her with the glance of a man who has much more on his mind than business.

  “Are you cold, Miss Montgomery? You’re shivering. Come into the house and get warm.” He glanced over at the rest of the Tobias family, who had come onto the porch and were standing silently by, waiting to be greeted.

  “Edward! Here, at last,” Breen threw over his shoulder. “Come in, everyone. You’ll want to rest before the party gets under way.”

  To Juliana, as he led her into the house, he said, “I hope the journey wasn’t too tiring for you.”