Cloudcastle

by Nan Ryan

  "The man is a southern renegade, Carol," Natalie reminded her.

  "Who cares? He was cleared of all charges and I love his drawling voice and polished manners."

  "And don't forget those brooding blue eyes," put in Esther Sanders. "Carol is right, Natalie. He's terribly attractive and mannerly and I hope he comes to the El Dorado Day celebration. I'd trade both my babies for one dance in his arms." Carol laughed and Natalie forced herself to smile.

  "I want to spend more than a dance in his arms," admitted Carol, and Natalie felt her insides twist. She longed to warn Carol that Kane Covington was no gentleman at all, that he was hard and dangerous, an uncaring thief with no heart.

  Instead she said, "Ashlin told me he's not what he appears to be." She plucked absently at the white linen napkin on her lap. "His demeanor suggests defiance and strength. In fact he's turned out to be quite weak and fearful… he was—"

  "For heaven's sake, Nat," Carol Thompson cut her off. "The man's enlightened, that's all. Only a fool would tangle with that horrid Leatherwood clan again. I, for one, am delighted those bullies didn't get under his skin."

  "Amen," agreed Esther Sanders.

  Staring into the leaping flames, Natalie realized she'd been standing there too long. Her face was flushed and her long, full skirts were near scorching. Withdrawing the glowing red poker, she replaced it by the andirons and left the overwarm room.

  A walk, that's what she needed. She'd take a short walk in the cold, brisk air and enjoy her free Saturday morning. All too soon the ground would freeze and heavy snows would make walking impossible. Lifting her long skirts, Natalie rushed up the stairs to her bedroom and swept a warm, green wool shawl about her shoulders. Tying the fringed ends into a firm, tight knot below her breasts, she rushed downstairs, went to the back of the house, and stepped outdoors, smiling and gasping at the rush of frigid mountain air that enveloped her.

  She took a deep, cold breath, crossed the rear gallery, and went down the steps. The hot, bubbling springs hidden between the tall walls of Escalante Canyon would be about the right distance to walk on this blustery autumn morning.

  She climbed at a brisk pace, her red-gold hair and long green skirts whipping in the rising winds. She didn't care. The wind in her face felt good and seemed to sweep all unpleasant thoughts and worries from her mind. Natalie hurried up the rocky incline to the canyon's mouth, smiling when she reached it.

  She lost the bright sun when she entered the narrow, steep-walled canyon, and soon she lost her smile. Eyes squinting, she nimbly picked her way around an up thrust of ragged rock rimming the nature-concealed springs. Stopping abruptly, she stared, unbelieving, at the newly built stone enclosure rising above the near end of the gurgling, steamy brook.

  "That damned Covington!" she said aloud, and felt her fury rising. Did he leave no stone unturned? Was he everywhere at once?

  Fuming, she skirted the enclosure, seeking its open end. Bending to peer inside, she halfway expected to see Kane lounging about naked, just as he'd been that day at Turquoise Tarn. Heavy, vaporous white steam rose thickly within the stone building and Natalie could see nothing.

  She called out and, getting no answer, rose, her green eyes snapping with displeasure. She would confront the presumptuous interloper immediately! Was he sure the springs were on his property? Would it have been asking too much that he check with her before he altered a favorite landmark that was practically in her backyard? Was he intent on taking everything she valued?

  Natalie was back out of the canyon in no time and rushing down the mountain. Without thinking of the distance, she stormed off in search of Kane Covington. And as she walked at a brisk, unwavering pace, she rehearsed all the things she would say to the swarthy Rebel!

  Her legs were growing weak and shaky and Natalie realized she had come a long way. Her throat was dry, her lungs were laboring, and she had a catch in her right side. Swallowing with difficulty, she continued, pressing her hand against her waist. She stopped, turned her head, and listened. And new resolve spurred her on.

  She heard the rhythmic thudding of an ax against a tree trunk. So he was there, even though it was Saturday. Good! She'd waste no time in giving him a piece of her mind. She didn't give a damn; she had something to say to Covington and nothing and no one would stop her!

  Natalie halted a hundred yards above the cabin site. And her breath quickened. Kane, shirtless, his dark, scarred back gleaming in the October sunshine, swung the heavy ax in sure, fluid movements. And he was alone.

  Natalie ventured forward, transfixed by the powerful play of sleek muscles moving in Kane's shoulders and chest with each swing of the heavy ax against a tall lodgepole pine tree. Coal-black hair disheveled and falling over his forehead, sweat glistening on his long arms and in the thick mat of dark hair covering his chest, he moved with a graceful freedom that was spellbinding.

  Natalie gave no warning of her approach, did not call out to announce her coming. But Kane slowly lowered the ax and looked up, as though he could feel her presence.

  Expecting his hard, handsome face to break into that knowing, mocking grin she so hated, Natalie was confused when he let the smooth handle of the heavy work tool slip from his fingers and stood watching her approach him, his beautiful blue eyes fathomless and haunting, his wide, mobile mouth compressed.

  Each time she had been near this man, she'd felt a mysterious excitement. Approaching him now, alone in the wilderness, with those hypnotic indigo eyes holding her, Natalie wondered at the wisdom of confronting him. He looked almost vulnerable, and she found the effect totally devastating.

  As if the strong mountain winds blew it away, the almost sad expression in his eyes vanished and was replaced by a cynical, familiar gleam. "Your Honor," he said, folding long arms over his bare chest, "welcome to my mountain home. Sorry it's not yet completed, I would offer you coffee."

  Natalie's wrath returned.

  "And I'd refuse." She fell easily into the jabbing banter that was their custom. "I'm here to—"

  "—to admire a dark-skinned god working in the wilds?" He lowered his long arms to his sides and drew in his breath, the posture causing his low-riding trousers to fall away from his flat, hard belly.

  "You conceited fool; the last thing in this world I want to look at is your sweaty body."

  "Ah, that's right." Kane shook his dark head. "You don't like to look at it, you like to feel it—"

  Boiling by now, she cut him off "I came to here to voice a complaint, Mr. Kane Covington!"

  "You? Complain about something! I can hardly believe it."

  "Why did you build that stone enclosure over the Escalante Canyon hot springs?"

  "You saw it?"

  "I did and I don't like it."

  "Well, I'm heartbroken. I built it for you."

  "You're a liar, Covington. You never do anything for anyone other than yourself."

  "Well, it's for us both, actually. Now we can enjoy the springs both winter and summer. Won't that be delightful?"

  "I want it torn down immediately!" she informed him indignantly.

  "No. Judge, it's like an Indian sweat-house." He took a step closer, looming tall and menacing against the clear blue sky. He casually lifted a hand to finger the green fringe of Natalie's shawl while he spoke. "Even in winter, you can be inside steaming the aches and pains from your body." He grinned boyishly, his long, tanned fingers idly toying with the wool fringe.

  "I will never use it, Kane." She hurriedly brushed his hand away.

  His fingers returned to the fringe, plucking and twisting. "Have you ever enjoyed the springs?"

  "Yes, but now you've ruined it. You had no right… you…"

  His fingers released the green fringe and moved with slow determination beneath the woolen shawl. Her breath stopped when that hand gently touched her waist and he said in a low, persuasive tone, "I haven't, Your Honor. You'll see." His fingers caressed her. "We'll make love in the stonehouse."

  "We'll make love nowhere
, Kane Covington, nowhere!" Violently, she shoved away his hand. "I made a mistake at Spanish Widow and I'm sick of you holding it over my head!" Her eyes were hard and she unintentionally swayed toward him as she tilted her head back and looked up angrily.

  "You're imagining things, Judge." Kane's fingers were back on the fringe, twirling, twisting, and teasing.

  "No, I'm not. You feel you have the upper hand, but, I've got news for you, Kane Covington. Nobody intimidates me, nobody! I do as I please, when I please, and you'll not sit in judgment on me, no matter what has passed between us."

  "Your Honor." Kane feigned surprise. "I'd not dream of judging you." He shook his dark head. "That's the farthest thing from my mind. Shall I tell you what is on my mind?"

  "Spare me," she snapped, but he grinned and told her.

  "I want to make love to you."

  "No."

  His smile remained in place and he moved closer. "Lots of pretty girls say no when they mean yes." His free hand came up to her wind-tossed red hair.

  Natalie jammed a forefinger into his chest and informed him, "It's been more than a decade since I was a girl and when I say no I mean no!"

  Kane caught her wrist and held her hand against his bare stomach. Ignoring her struggles, he raked long fingers through the fiery tresses falling about her shoulders and said, distractedly, "God, your hair is pretty. You should always wear it loose like this." His azure eyes met hers.

  "Let go of me," she ordered.

  "I can't," he answered huskily, "I can't."

  And Kane saw the fire ignite in her eyes, despite her anger. He fully realized that a war was raging within her and knew it was much like the battle he fought. He reminded himself, each time he thought of her, that what he felt for this lovely red-haired woman was nothing but desire. Pure, basic lust. It was normal, natural, and nothing to concern him.

  And here she stood before him, that beautiful face tilted up to his, red, silky hair glinting gold, sultry emerald eyes half hidden by full-lashed lowered lids. His gaze locked with hers for a time, then focused on her mouth. Dewy, parted lips tempted him to kiss her. He wanted her; it was that simple. She had been a responsive and satisfying lover that night at Spanish Widow and he wanted more.

  He had a hunger for what she could give him. He cared nothing for her. Nothing. She was the epitome of all he disliked in a woman. She had everyone fooled. Everyone.

  But not him. And as much as he wanted her, he also wanted her to know that she meant nothing to him. So, instead of using the persuasive charm that might have made her melt in his arms, powerless to fight the raging fire that blazed between them, instead of behaving gallantly, as a man would with his adored sweetheart, instead of even remaining mute and bending to take her lips in a heated kiss of passion, Kane promptly set her straight.

  "We're two of a kind, Judge Vallance. You want it, so do I. Why hold out? Let me. Let me, baby." His fingers tightened their hold on the long, flowing mane of red hair even as he urged her slender body to his with a hand moving around her back to press her to him. Natalie winced and squirmed against him, feeling, even through the heavy folds of her skirt, what was happening to him. "Feel that," he said huskily, his breath hot upon her face, "it's for you, baby." He moved his slim hips in a slow, rotating motion that made her pulses race, made her aching breasts seek closer contact with his naked chest.

  Natalie's senses stirred alarmingly from the contact with his tall, hard body. The heated masculine scent of him assaulted her with such frightening force, her knees buckled. His hand still held her own against his flat stomach and she could feel his pulse beating there. Throbbing there.

  Her heart was at odds with her head, but it was broad daylight and there were no Apaches threatening to end her life tomorrow. And this sexual animal pressed against her was just that A sexual animal who cared nothing for her and was so convinced of his power, he thought he could coldly, cruelly insult her and still seduce her.

  Well, she could be just as cold, just as cruel, and she would enjoy every minute of it. Natalie lifted her free hand to his face, fingers gently urging his mouth toward hers. Her lips found his and she kissed him teasingly, teeth playfully nipping at his full bottom lip.

  She pulled back a little when his open mouth tried to claim hers in a deep, anxious kiss. She lifted her gaze to see his lids lowering over passion-glazed blue eyes and she waited no longer. She said softly, "I feel it, Kane." She purposely wet her lips and smiled seductively up at him. "Remember what I did that night at Spanish Widow?" She held his smoldering gaze, pulled her hand free of his fingers and moved it provocatively, boldly down over his belly.

  His breath quickened. "Yes, honey, yes," he said, his mouth coming down to hers.

  "Wait." She turned her head just as his hard, hot lips touched hers. "Move back just a little, Kane."

  He obeyed instantly. Her eyes lowered to his groin. She teasingly licked her bottom lip as her hand moved steadily toward the rigid maleness straining against his tight trousers. "Know what I'm going to do to you, Kane?"

  "Do it, honey, do it!"

  "All right," she purred, "you asked for it." With that, Natalie pressed her middle finger against her thumb and gave his hard male flesh a swift, resounding thump, laughing in his startled face as desire vanished and he was instantly limp.

  Shocked, speechless, he stood there unmoving, his dark, stricken face suffused with crimson. Natalie walked away, laughing gaily. She had not felt so lighthearted in weeks.

  Chapter Fourteen

  El Dorado Day!

  A bright, warming sun filled the cloudless blue Colorado skies on that Saturday, October 19, 1872, and the citizens of Cloudcastle awoke and rejoiced at their good fortune. Mother Nature, that fickle female of the elements, had bestowed on the jewel-like high country hamlet a day of brisk, golden excellence. Had they put in an order for a perfect day, it could have been no better than the one delivered.

  Throughout the mountain community and all the surrounding ranches and farms, from the smallest toddler to the most hardened of old sourdoughs, everyone arose with a measure of excitement causing the blood to zing through their veins as the fun-filled day they had looked forward to for weeks finally arrived.

  Households bustled to life as last-minute preparations were carried out and families rushed through their morning meals to get on with the more important business at hand.

  Kitchens all over the valley were filled with the pleasing scents of cinnamon and nuts from sweet breads baking in overworked ovens, while on cupboards covered with clean white dishtowels, baked hams, fried chickens, and rare roasts of beef lay ready to be transported to banquet tables downtown.

  In bedrooms throughout Cloudcastle, young girls pressed their best dresses while boys polished their scuffed boots, fathers shaved extra close, and mothers hurriedly dressed, calling instructions and orders to their children and husbands. "No, Janie, I've told you repeatedly, you are not to wear that raspberry frock, no daughter of mine is going to be seen on El Dorado Day in a neckline so daring" or "James, I'd give my hair an extra turn with the brush, your cowlick is still sticking up," or "Now, dear, promise me you'll not drink too much whiskey; it's a long time until night and I want to dance every dance."

  At the Blackmore mansion in the cul-de-sac end of Main Street, Lord Ashlin Blackmore, wearing a dressing gown of claret satin tied loosely about his trim waist, lounged on top of his tall four-poster bed, sipping coffee while he studied, as he had so often in the past two years, the crude parchment map his late brother had once sent him.

  Ashlin set the fragile cup on the drum table and placed his forefinger on the map where young Titus Blackmore had drawn a heavy blacks "Damn it to hell!" spat a frowning Lord Blackmore. "The very land that now belongs to Kane Covington!"

  From the folds of the map he drew a yellowed document. It was a letter from his younger brother. A letter written over a dozen years before.

  Dearest Brother Ashlin,

  I'm enclosing a map of grea
t value. Each day brings me closer to the gold treasure my young Indian maiden spoke of. Do not despair, after I killed her, I hid her body well. And had I not, it would have made no difference. These Americans think nothing of killing the savages.

  I pretend I am American… it has been not been difficult as I spent so many years in one of their universities. I thought it wise to conceal my true identity as I plan to return to England once my fortune is secure and I certainly would not wish to bring any whisper of scandal on the Blackmore name.

  Only one obstacle now stands in my way. An old Ute shaman; but I'm confident I can surprise and kill him as I did the girl who told the secret of Treasure Mountain. Millions of dollars in gold will then be mine!

  Your loving younger brother,

  Titus

  Ashlin refolded the old letter.

  He had paid little attention to it when he had first received it. Actually, he hadn't been all that interested in his brother's message. As the eldest son, he had inherited his father's sizable fortune and at the time Titus's letter had arrived, life had been a splendid one of country estates, fox hunts, gleaming coaches, sleek Thoroughbreds, fine French wines, and beautiful women.

  When word came of young Titus's death, Ashlin had merely shrugged his shoulders, waved away the mess age-bearing servant, and turned back to the little tailor meticulously measuring him for a new wardrobe. The map and letter had been tossed into a drawer and forgotten. Until the Blackmore fortune had dwindled away over the next decade.

  Ashlin sighed wearily and rose. Replacing the worn documents in a drawer of the tall mahogany chest, he shook his fair head.

  All had gone well following his arrival in America. He had promptly discovered that the land with its hidden gold was owned by a beautiful widowed judge. He'd pretended he was purchasing railroad right-of-way and had made an offer to Natalie. She refused, so he had begun to court her, reasoning that once she was his wife, he would merely take what was rightfully his and once again live in graceful ease.