Cloudcastle

by Nan Ryan

  "You don't understand, Ashlin," she insisted heatedly, "the man holds a legal deed to Cloud West. He fully intends to live on it and—"

  "Darling girl," Lord Blackmore placated soothingly, "is it so terribly tragic?" He took careful aim, tapped his purple ball easily, and smiled when it went directly through the wire hoop set up on the turf.

  "I don't feel like croquet this evening," Natalie told him. "Haven't you heard a word I've said, Ashlin? A southern stranger has taken my land.!"

  "Come, darling, we'll go inside." He dropped his mallet and motioned for her to do the same. Placing a hand to her back, Ashlin guided her across the vast yard, reasoning calmly, "Natalie, you know very well that the land this Mr. Covington has laid claim to is of little use." He smiled down into her face and shook his golden head dismissively. "Please don't let it concern you, my love." His lips brushed her temple and his arm went around her.

  Natalie shrugged out of Ashlin's embrace as they climbed the front steps of the house. "Ashlin, the man owns the peak that—"

  "That what, Natalie?" His soft brown eyes were calm, reassuring. "That is unsuitable for even the heartiest of wildlife? That has absolutely no value? That is only rock; vertical and so barren nothing can live there but moss and lichen?" He opened the front door, led her inside, and again pulled her to him. "How long can the man last up there, pray tell?" Softly he laughed, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips to her lustrous red-gold hair. "My guess is that by the time the first snowstorm wreaks havoc on the high slopes, this Mississippi drifter will be anxious to hasten back to a warmer clime."

  Natalie wanted to believe it. After all, Kane Covington knew nothing of the gold. The land he'd won did appear to be useless. Maybe he would soon become discouraged and move on. Or sell Treasure Mountain back to her. Perhaps she should mention that the next time she confronted the tall southerner. Natalie shivered. She had no intention of ever again being alone with the exasperating man.

  "Darling." Ashlin Blackmore felt the shiver. "What is it? Are you so worried then that—"

  "Kiss me, Ashlin." Natalie lifted her face to his, willing him to drive out the memory of Kane's blazing caresses at the tarn earlier in the day.

  "My love." Ashlin was delighted. They stood embracing in the gathering dusk, the chandelier over their heads not yet blazing with light. Ashlin's lips swiftly covered Natalie's, and he kissed her passionately. Natalie ran her slender fingers through his hair and drew his golden head down, responding eagerly, hopefully. Closing her eyes, she kissed her fiancé with an unfamiliar abandon that both startled and pleased him. Ashlin's blood rapidly heated and he held her slim body close, caressing the bare milky shoulders so exquisitely framed in the tall, puffy sleeves of her dress. His heart pounding in his chest, he was certain this beautiful woman he held was as inflamed as he.

  But at the edge of Natalie's mind, thoughts of another man's kisses taunted her, shamed her, and made her pull free at last and say, "Ashlin, I… isn't it time we had our dinner?" And she was out of his arms, leaving her bewildered, aroused fiancé blinking in bafflement and disappointment, his breath short and labored, his ardor fully stirred.

  Facing away from him, Natalie closed her eyes tight and brought her arms up to hug her ribs. Feeling ghastly for treating this kind, loving man so unfairly, Natalie apologized. "Ashlin, I'm sorry." She opened her eyes, dropped her arms to her sides, and slowly pivoted to face him. "I'm upset—needlessly, perhaps—over this whole Covington affair." She forced a smile to her tight lips. "Think you can forgive me for behaving like a foolish female?"

  Ashlin Blackmore unloosened his uncomfortable, perfectly tied cravat, and managed a smile. Brown eyes warm and understanding, he came to Natalie. Cupping her bare shoulders in his soft hands, he promised gently, "My dear, I could forgive you anything. Put all cares away for the evening. Cook has outdone himself for you."

  Natalie smiled, took the arm he offered, and lifted the skirts of her elegant green gown. As they climbed the imposing staircase to the second floor, she silently promised herself and this handsome man who loved her that she would put the disturbing Kane Covington completely out of her mind.

  In the high-ceilinged dining room, tall white candies in heavy silver candelabra cast soft shadows on the snowy white linen, the gold-rimmed china, the heavy sterling cutlery, and on the classically handsome face of the golden-hatred man smiling at Natalie over his stemmed wineglass. Natalie's wide-set green eyes lingered on the familiar features and she told herself, as she had so often in the past year, that Ashlin Blackmore was an extremely attractive man, as well as charming, intelligent, and kind. She was the luckiest of women.

  Natalie returned Ashlin's loving smile and ladled a spoonful of claret consommé to her lips. Ashlin kept the dinner conversation light and amusing but did not fail to notice Natalie's lack of appetite. She picked listlessly at the citrus salad, barely touched the lamb cassoulet, and left the lemon-raspberry ice melting in its sparkling crystal dish.

  Ashlin didn't say a word about his fiancée's unusual behavior. Instead, he patted at his mouth, placed the linen napkin beside his empty plate, and rose. "Let's take our champagne into the drawing room, where we'll be more comfortable."

  "Ashlin, no… I…" She looked up at him over her shoulder when he pulled her tall, velvet-covered chair from the table. "Would you be terribly unhappy with me if we called it an evening?"

  "Not in the least," he said graciously. "After all"—he smiled knowingly—"we'll soon be man and wife and we'll need only to walk down the hall to our bedchamber when we wish to retire early." His brown eyes gleamed and Natalie forced herself to smile.

  On Thursday morning, Kane Covington sat in the dining room of the boardinghouse on Silver Street, enjoying his third cup of coffee after the other tenants had eaten and left. As he lighted a pencil-thin cigar, he grinned good-naturedly at the plump, industrious woman who was clearing away the breakfast dishes.

  Marge Baker smiled indulgently at Kane. "I can't believe, Mr. Covington, that you actually intend to build a house way up on Promontory Point." She shoved dirty plates into a tall stack and deposited a mound of silverware atop them. "There's no way you…" She was distracted by her daughter stepping forward to help. "No, Belinda, honey, that's all right. It's time for you to put on your bonnet and get on up the hill."

  Pretty as a spring flower in her simple cotton dress of pink and white checks, dark curls bouncing prettily, big brown eyes shining, Belinda said, "I can't wear my bonnet, Momma. The ribbon's gone."

  Marge Baker frowned.

  "It so happens," drawled Kane, "that I was in Gallen's Dry Goods yesterday afternoon." He drew from his shirt pocket a bright pink satin ribbon. The long, pretty ribbon was entwined in his lean, dark fingers. Belinda's huge eyes settled on it and she began to laugh happily.

  Starting toward him, Belinda asked excitedly, "Can I have it?"

  Kane's eyes cut quickly to Marge Baker. Silently she nodded, smiling. "You sure can, Belinda. I bought it for you."

  Childlike, Belinda snatched the pink ribbon from him and asked, "Why?"

  "Because you are my friend," said Kane, and smiled with pleasure when the beautiful young girl, forgetting about her bonnet, swept the wide ribbon under her long, heavy hair and tried, unsuccessfully, to tie it into a bow atop her head.

  Kane snuffed out his cigar and rose. "Let me," he offered, and deftly tied the shiny ribbon into a perfect bow amid a mass of dark, glossy curls. "Thanks." Belinda beamed, kissed his smooth cheek, and ran to her mother. "Pretty?"

  "Very pretty," Marge assured, hugging her daughter. "You'd better be on your way." She urged her to the door, issuing rapid-fire instructions. "Look both ways before you cross the street. Don't get into a carnage with a stranger. Don't dawdle and arrive late. And be back here by noon." As an afterthought, Marge added, frowning, "Mind the ice wagon, Belinda; it's due to pass here any minute."

  "I will," the young girl promised, and jerked open the front door, calling over
her shoulder, "Thank you, Kane."

  Kane smiled and nodded his head yes to another cup of coffee. Marge Baker poured and explained. "Every week Belinda cleans Lord Blackmore's mansion."

  "I see," Kane mused. "I would have thought Lord Black-more employed a full-time housekeeper." He drank his coffee. "Oh, he does," Marge assured, "but the housekeeper gets Thursdays off." Kane leaned back in his chair. "Does a mansion get dirty so quickly?" Marge pinkened. "No, I'm sure it doesn't. Lord Blackmore is such a good man and he knows our financial situation. He pays Belinda handsomely for a morning's work, Mr. Covington. I'm very grateful to him. He makes Belinda feet needed and the money is a godsend."

  "How kind of Lord Blackmore." Kane finished his coffee and left. He stepped down off the sidewalk, looked up, and swiftly retreated. The ice wagon, loaded down with huge ice blocks, sped recklessly past, dust from the hooves of four galloping horses rising up to choke Kane and bring a curse to his lips.

  It was ten minutes past noon when Kane, walking down Main on his way to the Eureka Hotel, spotted Belinda Baker skipping toward him, her cheeks rosy with color, and her dark hair spilling around her shoulders and back.

  The new pink hair ribbon was missing. "Hello, Belinda," he greeted her warmly.

  "Hello, Kane." She stopped abruptly and smiled up at him, a tiny dollop of chocolate candy clinging to her full upper lip. "I can't stop and talk; Momma expects me home."

  "Yes, she does," agreed Kane. "Better hurry on, I'll see you at supper."

  "At supper," she repeated, and darted away, calling greetings to others as she passed. She knew most all of them, and they, her. It was an unspoken rule in Cloudcastle that then life-hardened men keep an eye on the pretty girl in case a stranger rode into town with notions of taking advantage of her. She was as safe on the streets as in her own bedroom on Silver Street.

  Kane was still smiling after Belinda when Natalie stepped out of a doorway onto the sidewalk.

  "Hello, Judge Vallance," greeted Belinda cheerily. Natalie looked up from her letter and smiled warmly at the younger woman.

  "You've just come from Ashlin's, dear?" Natalie was pleasant.

  "Yes, ma'am," Belinda said, and hurried on down the street. Natalie's eyes went back to the letter as she walked slowly in Kane's direction. Kane stood, unmoving, watching her approach.

  She wore one of those prim, stuffy suits he so disliked. A drab gray color, its sleeves long and fitted, waist tight; long, heavy skirts flounced up in back over a small bustle. Her titian hair was parted in the middle, pulled tight over small ears, and knotted into a shiny bun at the nape of her long, delicate neck.

  Kane smiled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his snug-fitting buff-colored trousers. He much preferred the judge as she'd been dressed a week ago at Turquoise tarn. What a vision she'd been in those tight trousers that outlined her womanly hips and long, slender legs. Her high, full breasts had pushed provocatively against the cotton undershirt and her hair, that glorious red hair, cascading down about her shoulders, had combusted in the sunlight, blinding him, bewitching him.

  Natalie was so engrossed in the correspondence she'd just received from her beloved uncle Shelby Sutton, she was oblivious to her surroundings. Wide emerald eyes eagerly reading every word of the missive, she had no idea that Kane Covington stood on the sidewalk directly in her path.

  "Oh! I beg your pardon," Natalie hastily apologised when she slammed into a hard male chest. "I'm sorry. I…" Her eyes flew to the dark face above hers and embarrassment changed to anger. The letter dropped from her fingers.

  Strong hands gripping her slim waist to keep her from falling, Kane smiled down at her. "I'm not, Your Honor." His piercing gaze traveled boldly down her slender form. "I had almost forgotten how your body feels against mine." His burning blue eyes were mocking her.

  Threatened, furious, Natalie glanced around to see if people were looking. "I have forgotten," she said angrily.

  "I've warned you about perjuring yourself, Your Honor," taunted Kane. "You've not forgotten and to pretend that you have is—"

  "Get out of my way, you thief!"

  Unruffled, Kane stepped aside to let her pass. Purposely waiting until she had walked half a block, he called, "Justice Vallance, you're forgetting something." He agilely bent from the waist and picked up the note she'd dropped. "Your letter."

  Natalie whirled about. "Give it to me."

  Kane grinned wickedly and brought the crumpled missive up to his chest. Eyes squinted, he said, "Come and get it."

  Fuming, Natalie again looked quickly about. A pair of widows were stepping out of Gallen's Dry Goods. The Reverend John Bellingrath was exiting the Eureka lobby. Several cowboys were crossing the street. She had no choice but to retain her dignity, though she longed to shout insults at him.

  Daintily she lifted her long gray skirts and went to him. " 'Morning, Mrs. Taylor, Mrs. Dunston," she said, nodding to the widows. They greeted her warmly and moved on. Natalie spoke to the reverend, politely introduced Kane, and heard Kane say, "Why, yes, Reverend, I shall be at services on Sunday."

  Natalie rolled her eyes skyward.

  The Reverend Bellingrath left and Natalie, the sweet smile never leaving her face, looked up at Kane and said, "I want my letter this instant!"

  "What letter, dear?" It was Lord Blackmore and he was standing at Kane's right elbow.

  Natalie was momentarily flustered. Kane, however, was not. He lifted the crinkled paper, smiled easily at Ashlin Blackmore, and said, "Judge Vallance dropped this as she passed." He gave the letter to Natalie and put out his hand to Ashlin. "Covington," he said, still smiling. "Kane Covington."

  "Ashlin Blackmore." Ashlin shook the outstretched hand. "Natalie has mentioned you, sir."

  "Has she?" Kane drawled, his eyes never leaving Lord Blackmore.

  Ashlin wrapped a protective arm around Natalie's waist. "She tells me you are soon to be her neighbor. That being the case, I feel we should all become better acquainted." Natalie stiffened. "I wholeheartedly agree," said Kane.

  "Good, good." Lord Blackmore's smile was warm and friendly. "Natalie and I were planning to have lunch at the Eureka. Perhaps you'll agree to join us, Mr. Covington."

  "No, Ashlin." Natalie was quick to answer for Kane. "I'm sure Mr. Covington already has plans." She held her breath.

  Kane's eyes left Lord Blackmore for the first time since the blond man had joined them. A mischievous light dancing in their blue depths, he looked pointedly at Natalie and said in that gentle southern voice, "You're in luck, ma'am. I'm free all afternoon." He turned back to Ashlin. "I'd be delighted to join you two for lunch."

  Natalie wasn't certain which man she was more angry with.

  Chapter Eleven

  If Natalie had been irritated with Ashlin for inviting Kane Covington to join them for lunch, she was downright angry with him when, not a week later, he arrived at Cloud West for an afternoon outing on horseback. With Kane Covington in tow.

  "Look who I ran into on the ride up, Natalie, dear." Lord Blackmore, golden hair gleaming in the September sunlight, strode rapidly up the front walk ahead of Kane. As was his custom when riding horseback, Ashlin wore a fine, ruffled shirt of softest silk. A pair of brown whipcord jodhpurs bloomed voluminously around his thighs and tapered tightly at the knees, where they were tucked into tall, brown riding boots of imported calfskin. A colorful scarf was knotted at his throat and under his arm he carried a British swagger stick.

  Natalie looked from the earl to Kane Covington. Rugged in a pair of tight, faded denim pants, a white shirt unbuttoned down his dark chest, and a battered black Stetson pulled low over his sultry eyes, his expression, as always, was inscrutable.

  Nonetheless, Natalie instantly wished that her fiancé had worn something a bit less dandified. Then she immediately berated herself for such traitorous notions. Never before had she thought Ashlin looked foolish in his riding costume. Why should she now?

  She didn't, she insisted to herself And she was glad
that she had dressed in a fashionable riding habit of dark navy gabardine. The long, split skirt hugged her hips and fell elegantly about her booted feet. The short loose bolero jacket accentuated her tiny waist, and the colorful red cummerbund was the perfect splash of color against the ruffled white blouse. A flat-crowned black hat resting on her shoulders, drawstrings secured at her throat, completed the ensemble. Yes, she was glad Ashlin insisted on maintaining Old World customs here in the wilds of the Colorado Territory. He was, after all, a nobleman, and she was delighted that such was the case.

  Natalie took Ashlin's arm and smiled up at him. "You shouldn't have taken Mr. Covington away from his work. Ashlin." Her green gaze turned icy when it shifted to Kane. "Whatever that might be."

  "Kind of you to be concerned, Your Honor." Kane touched the brim of his hat but did not remove it. "As a matter of fact, I was all finished. You see, I was up on the point, choosing the location for my cabin." He watched her beautiful eyes blaze with anger. "After a morning of riding over my property, I believe I've found the ideal spot."

  Natalie felt her insides twist. She silently cautioned herself to remain calm. As casually as possible she asked, "Oh?" and gave a smile. "I presume it's to be above my home here on the western slope."

  "Nope."

  "Where, will you build, Kane?" said Ashlin Blackmore, and Natalie held her breath. "If not here on the west side, I'd choose the north. You'd be able to see Cloudcastle and the valley below from the north slope."

  "Actually, there's a small, flat clearing just below timberline on the south face of the—"

  Natalie heard no more. She felt the blood drain from her face and was afraid she was going to be sick. The south side! He was building his cabin directly below the Cliff Palace!

  "—and start felling lodgepole pines as early as next week," Kane continued.

  Natalie felt her shock give way to anger. "Bear in mind, Mr. Covington that Trea—that Promontory Point is exactly 14,156 feet tall and you own only the top 4,500 feet!"