One Heart to Win

by Johanna Lindsey

  It was a short ride back to the ranch. Not actually short, just much faster than last night’s ride. He stopped at the front porch so she could go on inside before he put the horses away. She was off the horse before he could dismount to help her. But she didn’t make it inside the house before he could detain her.

  He did that with the suggestion “How about joining me on a picnic at the lake sometime this week?”

  She groaned to herself. But she needed to act naturally, say what he expected to hear. She couldn’t tell him yet why she wouldn’t marry him. She would start crying again if she tried. Last night had been so beautiful! Why did she have to find that out?

  So she turned and said, “If you’ll fish for dinner.” Then, realizing Jennifer wouldn’t have said that, she added, “I suppose you expect me to fill a basket with food for it?”

  “No, of course not!” He was lying, he’d obviously thought just that. “I can arrange for a basket from town.”

  It might have been a fun thing to do if she didn’t have new dilemmas to deal with now. But it might also be her last opportunity to talk him into doing something about the feud that didn’t include violence. Obviously she couldn’t do it now. She was simply going to slip away in a few days and be gone without any good-byes, and maybe without having to meet her father at all—which was the only bright spot in all this bleakness.

  She nodded and slipped inside, but didn’t get far enough away not to hear, “Red, get my pa. Looks like trouble is riding in.”

  She peeked back outside and looked in the direction Hunter was facing. A small army, still a few minutes away, was riding fast toward the ranch. She raced upstairs to pound on Mary’s door. It was still early enough that Zachary might still be in there.

  Mary bid her enter. Tiffany said immediately, “Your husband?”

  “In the kitchen making me some breakfast. Is something wrong?”

  “There’s a very large group of men riding this way. Hunter called it trouble.”

  Mary threw back her covers. “Hand me that hobbler.”

  Tiffany was surprised, but did as requested. “You can get out of bed?”

  “I’m almost mended. Still need support though, and still too soon to attempt the stairs. Go on and let Zach know. And you stay out of the way, gal. Don’t want you getting hurt if this turns nasty.”

  Tiffany rushed back out of the room. Violent was what Mary had meant, and Tiffany immediately thought of the miners. Were they coming en masse to slaughter the Callahans? Total massacre, leaving no evidence behind to point the blame on them? And her family would probably end up getting blamed.

  She glanced at the rifles hung on the parlor wall as she flew back downstairs. She wished she’d asked Hunter to teach her how to use one. But she’d grab one anyway and use it if she had to. But first she found Zachary, told him what Hunter had said, and followed him back toward the front porch, just more slowly. But the shouting had already started.

  “Zachary! The gossip in town says you’ve got an Easterner under your roof that should be under mine. Get out here and prove me wrong!”

  Tiffany froze. His roof? Oh, God, don’t let that be her father!

  But whoever it was, Zachary was amused. He was chuckling before he stepped out on the porch. “So you found out?”

  “Then it’s true?”

  “We offered her more money than you did. She works here now, and this is where she’s staying, so don’t even think of topping my offer. She’s needed here. She’s not needed at your place.”

  “You expect me to believe that? You’re holding her prisoner!”

  Zachary snorted. “That’s pure nonsense.”

  “Prove it!”

  “You calling me a liar, Frank?” Zachary asked in an ominous tone.

  He was standing at the top of the porch steps. Tiffany saw him draw his gun with that last question. She couldn’t see much of the riders spread out in front of the house. There were too many of them. Frank had come to do battle. He’d brought his sons and all his hired hands with him, and he’d come here angry. Now Zachary was angry, too. And Tiffany couldn’t move! That her father was out there had her rooted to the spot.

  “You are a liar, Zach! You had your chance to say she was here when we last spoke. You didn’t because—”

  “I think what ya’ll are going to do is get the hell off my property and right now, before Frank takes the first bullet!”

  “You’ll be dead before you fire,” Frank countered.

  A new voice intervened, somewhat angry, too, but not as angry as the voices of the two elder men. “We just need to hear it from her, that she’s here by choice.”

  That was her brother Roy! She was going to kill him. He knew what would happen if they saw her. But would it? Frank had no idea of what his own daughter looked like. He’d never bothered to find out. So Roy must be trying to force her hand, so she’d go home with them. He wouldn’t think it a betrayal of her confidence, but it was!

  Then she heard Hunter say, “He’s right. I’ll fetch her.”

  Run! Run out the back, get a horse and ride to town. Now! Now!

  She was still frozen in place when Hunter took her arm to escort her outside, saying softly, “Just tell them you’re not here against your will, Jenny, and they’ll go away.”

  She looked up at him frantically. “Don’t make me go out there, please!”

  “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

  She dug in her heels. He still pulled her out on the porch anyway. He didn’t understand. He figured he could protect her. He’d be throwing her to the wolves himself in a moment. This could make the feud escalate, if they all didn’t kill each other right there. It could be history repeating itself!

  “Tiffany?!”

  It wasn’t Sam or Roy or her father who said her name in utter amazement. It was her brother Carl, and every eye was on her now. It was easy to spot Franklin front and center in the group. The oldest of the riders, he was also a combination of her brothers in looks. Blond and broad shouldered. A handsome man. A furious man. No wonder her mother had left him. He looked as if he were going to kill someone, and that someone might even be her.

  But it was Zachary he turned his heated green eyes on, accusing, “You son of a bitch, you knew all along, didn’t you?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Zachary demanded, then turned his gaze on Tiffany. “What’s going on here, Miss Fleming?”

  Tiffany couldn’t have answered if she tried, she was so shocked by the anger and accusations, and then she heard Hunter’s voice beside her: “Jenny? Tell them they’re making a mistake.” Oh, God . . .

  “She’s my daughter,” Frank said furiously. “Stop pretending you didn’t know. She looks too much like Rose for you not to!”

  “Like hell,” Zachary snarled back. “Rarely saw your wife to remember what she looked like. Bastard! You sent your girl here to spy on us? Like that ain’t obvious. The wedding is off and that dumb truce with it!”

  “Damned right it is! Should have known better than to trust a Cal—”

  A single shot was fired. A half dozen hands reached for their own guns, but only in surprise. The sound had come from above. The riders were all looking at one of the windows upstairs. Zachary even stepped off the porch to stand next to Frank’s horse so he could see above the porch roof himself.

  “Now, Mary,” he began in a conciliatory tone.

  “It’s my turn, Zach, so hush up,” Mary said. “The men in our two families never did have a lick of sense where the old feud was concerned, but us women knew better. The wedding will go on, just as Rose and I arranged it years ago. And, Frank, since you’re going to be depriving us of the best cook in the territory, we’ll be coming to your place tomorrow night for dinner. We can get this sorted out then—peacefully, hear?”

  Frank didn’t agree or refuse, but he did put his shotgun away before he said to his sons, “Get your sister.”

  All three of her brothers started to dismount, but no one ha
d to get her. Numbly, Tiffany walked to Sam’s horse. He extended a hand and she got on it behind him. She didn’t look at her father again, didn’t care what he thought, didn’t care how angry he was with her. Once she got over the shock of being discovered, she intended to tell him exactly why she’d done something this drastic—because of him!

  The two main antagonists said nothing more to each other. Mary was still leaning out of a window upstairs, a rifle cradled in her arms, though she did wave at Tiffany as they rode off. Hunter was still on the porch. The last thing she saw was his expression. Along with the hurt in his eyes, he looked absolutely furious.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  THE WARREN RANCH LOOKED much like the Triple C. The house was just as big, but it was made of stone instead of wood. Tiffany knew it couldn’t have been like this twenty years ago when Rose had come here as a bride, yet her mother had said Tiffany would feel right at home here. Frank must have built a bigger, more comfortable house just for Rose to give his new wife a home that was more like what she was accustomed to. Tiffany found it hard to believe that her sophisticated mother, who lived a luxurious life in New York City, had ever lived here. Tiffany had lived here, too. But she’d been so young then she had no memories of it. She sure didn’t feel as if she was coming home.

  Sam had tried to tell her on the ride to the ranch, “It wasn’t me,” but she hadn’t responded. The hurt she felt was like a fist tightening around her heart. What had she expected? For Frank to gather her in his arms in front of all those Callahans and his own hired hands and tell her how much he loved her, missed her, wished Rose had never taken her away? Why not? He was her father! But he hadn’t said one word to her!

  When they arrived at the house, she hurried inside with Sam close on her heels. She was frantic. If Frank came in and said anything to her right then, all the pain and rage she was feeling would spew out, so she begged her brother, “Show me to my room and quickly. Please!”

  The note of panic in her voice must have convinced him to go along with her plan, and he led the way upstairs. She was going to barricade herself until she heard from Rose, then just sneak off as her mother had done. Sam could do the explaining for her. There wouldn’t be any dinner with the Callahans. There wouldn’t be a confrontation with that heartless man who had sired her. And she certainly wasn’t going to marry Hunter even if he could forgive her. Actually, she hoped he wouldn’t. It would be so much easier to leave here if she didn’t have to see him again.

  Sam said it again as he followed her into the room he’d opened for her, “It wasn’t me or Roy who told Pa, but Roy wanted to. He argued with me like crazy about it. I finally had to pound on him some to get him to agree to silence. But I think I would have told Pa anyway pretty soon. Guilt was eating me up, keeping silent. It just wasn’t right, Tiff. You belong here with us.”

  “And now everyone’s angry,” she replied tonelessly.

  “Pa sure was this morning,” he agreed. “We were riding out to the range when Herb, one of the hands, got up the nerve to tell him what he heard in town over the weekend. You were seen more’n once with the Callahans. Doesn’t take much to start townspeople to speculating and gossiping about new folks. No one guessed it was you, but they did think you were the expected housekeeper lured to the wrong camp. I think Pa was more angry that Zachary didn’t tell him about his one-up prank when he had the chance to. But Hunter looked hurt before it sunk in and he got angry, too. Understandable, when you’d been eavesdropping in plain sight over there. Was it worth it?”

  Tiffany stiffened, her guilt showing up. She’d made such a mess of things. The Callahans already had a low opinion of her, and now? So very much worse.

  But to answer his question, she said, “Yes, actually. They’re no different than you are. They’re nice people when you get to know them. But because of that old feud, neither side ever got the chance to. Because of it, they feel like you do. Hunter even admitted to me that he couldn’t trust himself not to hate me if we married.”

  “You mean hate the woman he hadn’t met yet?”

  She blushed. “Yes, but he said no matter what he felt about her—me—the hate would always get in the way because he’s lived with it all his life.”

  Sam mulled that over. “I never liked Hunter because of who he is, but I respected him. He never picked on me or my brothers when he could have. He was so much older and bigger than any of us. John now, that man seems to be angry at the world, and he was the same when he was a boy. He goaded us every chance he got, hoping for a fight. But one of his brothers always stopped him. Most often it was Hunter who did. I think their parents had a standing order going, to leave us alone—because of the truce.”

  “Some truce,” she muttered, “when both sides still revile each other.”

  Sam actually grinned at that. “It’s hard to let go of something that entertaining.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “What did you just say?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t know about our parents, but the boys on both sides have pulled our fair share of pranks.”

  “You don’t remember the shootings, obviously, or you wouldn’t say that.”

  He shrugged. “I grew up with the truce, Tiff, same as Hunter and his brothers. We never witnessed anyone getting killed. That was before we were born. Now I’ll send one of the men back to fetch your belongings today. I assume Mary Callahan will let him do that. She’s always been friendly when we’d run into her in town—not like her menfolk.”

  “I don’t want to see anyone, Sam.”

  “You mean Pa?”

  “Yes, I mean your father.”

  “He’s yours, too.”

  That statement hit her hard. “He’s not mine! When has he ever been mine?!”

  “When I held you after you were born,” Franklin said softly from the doorway. He nodded Sam out of the room before he continued, “When I fed you before you could hold a spoon. When I rocked you to sleep at night. When I sat by your bed all night long when you caught your first cold, because your mother was terrified you’d choke in your sleep. When I kept you from falling when you took your first wobbly steps. When—”

  “Stop it!” Tiffany cried, the pain tightening, choking her. “You expect me to believe things I have no memory of? I have no memories of you! Not one! Where were you when it would have mattered? Where were you when I needed you? And now it’s too late. You want to know why I really pretended to be someone else? Because I’d rather live with your enemies than with a father who cared so little about me that he couldn’t visit even once in all these years!”

  She turned her back on him so he wouldn’t see the tears she couldn’t hold back any longer. They streamed down her cheeks, pouring out with the pain of his indifference, the pain of his absence, the pain . . .

  “This was your room,” he said in that same soft voice. “At the beginning of the year I had it readied for your return, but until then, it still had all your baby things in it. I would come in here every night before bed to tuck you in—in my mind. I knew you weren’t here, but I could imagine you were. I missed you so much, Tiffany. It was a double blow, when Rose left me, taking you with her.”

  It sounded sincere, but she wasn’t fooled. My God, did he really think she would believe his lies at this point? Why couldn’t he just admit the truth? He might have doted on her as a baby, but he forgot about her as soon as she was gone. She would never believe otherwise because she had the proof, fifteen long years of proof.

  She couldn’t bear any more of this—of him. Barely getting the words out past the lump in her throat, she said, “I must ask you to leave my room. I’ll stay here for the time being, but I would prefer that you and I dispense with the pretense. If you can’t respect my wishes, then I will stay in town until I hear from my mother.”

  “Tiffany—”

  “Please! Not another word!”

  The door closed. She glanced back to make sure he was gone before she collapsed to her knees where she was. She put a hand
over her mouth to silence the sobs. She didn’t understand. This shouldn’t still hurt so much after all these years. She should be rejoicing instead that she’d finally shown him that she didn’t care either. . . .

  Chapter Forty-Three

  ZACHARY HAD WANTED TO talk. Hunter didn’t. His horse was still hitched to the post in front of the house. As soon as the Warrens rode off, he did, too. Zachary yelled at him to stop. In moments Hunter couldn’t hear him anymore.

  He rode to town in a straight path that avoided the stretch of road where he’d seen the Warrens. At the Blue Ribbon Saloon he ordered a bottle of whiskey. Someone spoke to him at the bar, laughing and drunk. His fist flew. He didn’t even know whom he’d hit, didn’t care whom he’d have to apologize to later. He just grabbed the bottle and left. But he hoped he’d see a few of the miners on the street. He’d be happy to take out what he was feeling on them. He didn’t get lucky, didn’t spot a single one.

  He left Nashart and rode all day, he couldn’t even remember where. By noon half the bottle was empty. It hadn’t done what he wanted. Her image stayed with him, riding off with her family, expressionless, not one bit of guilt or remorse on her face for what she’d done. He finished the rest of the bottle and continued to ride aimlessly.

  The second half of the bottle worked, just not nearly long enough. But it opened a flood of other memories. Jenny roping a cow and laughing at herself over how long it took her. Jenny making beds, washing dishes, cooking for them. It was a wonder she hadn’t poisoned their food. Jenny trying to put out a fire even when she didn’t know how—or would the truth come out now, that she had started it?