by Carol Finch
The simple truth of the matter was that Cale was now using her as her father had. She’d become his conversation piece, his social window dressing while he laid his trap for Otis Pryor, and he didn’t want her help. She was, in fact, his cover to infiltrate Pryor’s kingdom and sabotage his army.
When this investigation was concluded Cale would return to Fort Smith to see Otis Pryor stand trial. She would take her inheritance and head west to enjoy limitless freedom. Any leftover feelings for Cale would be unnecessary emotion that would weigh her down. He, obviously, wouldn’t be hindered by any ties to her when he left.
A tear trickled down Hanna’s cheek as she accepted the reality of this charade she was playing with Cale. And it was definitely a charade. She’d just let herself get caught up in playing house with him. This wasn’t real and neither were her feelings for him—or so she tried to tell herself.
Hanna squeezed back more tears and reminded herself that she’d been rejected and unloved by her father, too. She really should be getting used to it by now.
Otis Pryor was positively livid! He stood on the front porch of his ranch house and didn’t see a single head of livestock. The empty water tank indicated the windmill had malfunctioned, and none of his men had checked on it. Of all the guards who were supposed to be standing watch on the sandstone peaks, only three were at their positions. The rest were sprawled on the ground, sleeping off their drunken stupor.
It was one thing for him to drink himself unconscious, but he paid these worthless bastards good money and gave them perks to watch his back. How dare they neglect their duties!
Wheeling around, Otis stormed into the house to grab a shotgun from the gun case that stood beside the front door. He stamped back outside to shoot off several rounds of ammunition. On the canyon rim, his guards staggered to their feet to answer his signal.
When the men congregated around him, Otis vented his fury by employing every profanity in his vocabulary. When he finished raking his bleary-eyed men over live coals, his arm shot northwest. “Take your sorry asses down to the river and soak your heads!” he bellowed. “Then round up your horses and find my straying cattle!”
The scraggly group of men wobbled off, leaving Otis to curse their incompetence. They’d gotten lazy and lax because there were no longer threats from neighboring ranchers and townsfolk. The bullying tactics Otis had used had worked too well. His men had no challenge to keep them alert and sober. Now they countered their boredom and lack of excitement by turning to the bottle. He knew that for a fact because he was bored and restless himself.
Otis blew out a frustrated breath. He needed a diversion, a challenge. The thought put a devilish smile on his lips. Perhaps it was time to focus his attention on Hanna McCloud. Charming the new bride away from her husband would be an intriguing challenge. Taking a woman that belonged to another man had always given him a thrilling sense of accomplishment. Otis knew he had the kind of good looks women appreciated, and now he had the lure of wealth to go with it. He could be gallant and charming if he felt like it. Indeed, pouring on the charm had worked well for him over the years.
Ah yes, he mused as he returned to the house to make himself presentable. Stealing a man’s lovely wife out from under his nose was as gratifying as stealing cattle, horses and stagecoach strongboxes. Appeasing his lust with the harlots in Cromwell had lost its appeal. He was ready to focus on acquiring the kind of woman who would complement his new status in society. That woman was Hanna McCloud. And once Otis set his mind to what he wanted he was determined to acquire it—one way or another.
In order to keep her mind occupied, Hanna dismantled several pistols on display at the shop, then quickly reassembled them. She’d learned the name and function of each part and she could rattle them off without fail. That served to reassure skeptical male customers who were hesitant to make purchases on her recommendation.
A few days earlier she had been bursting with enthusiasm because she’d discovered her aptitude with weapons. Now that she and Cale were barely speaking, and he made excuses not to be alone with her—most especially in the privacy of their living quarters—her sense of self-satisfaction had taken a nosedive.
Cale rarely bothered to glance in her direction or make direct eye contact. She was reminded of the way her father had treated her the past few years, and she wanted to rail at Cale because of it. He’d obviously grown bored and disinterested and totally focused on the primary objective of this stint in Cromwell. Repeatedly, Hanna told herself that it didn’t matter, that she’d soon be on her way and he’d become a bittersweet memory that she could outrun when she headed west.
Hanna glanced sideways when the shop door swung open. She inwardly winced when Otis Pryor sauntered in. He was decked out in expensive finery and wearing a charming smile. He reminded her of the scores of men her father had paraded past her in recent years.
“Good morning, Hanna. You’re looking lovely, as always,” he murmured.
No, she wasn’t. She hadn’t been sleeping well because of this emotional estrangement from Cale. Nonetheless, she flashed a smile and let Otis think his empty flattery was getting to her.
“Why, thank you, Mr. Pryor. How kind of you to say that.”
“Otis,” he corrected, sending her another charming grin.
Hanna decided she liked it better when snakes-in-the-grass slithered on their slimy bellies rather than stood upright, smiling pleasantly at her. But two could play this game, she decided.
“Very well, Otis it is.” She batted her eyes at him and pivoted, just so, granting him a view of her profile. Men seemed to like that—shallow insincere creatures that they were. “What brings you into town this morning…? Oh dear, did my husband forget our rent payment? We’ve been so busy getting settled that it probably slipped his mind.”
“No, your husband brought out the cash payment earlier this week,” Otis reported. He glanced curiously toward the back storeroom. “Where is Grayson this morning?”
He’d left at the crack of dawn to undermine the workings of Pryor’s ranch. Releasing cattle from pastures, tampering with whiskey bottles, sabotaging windmills and discreetly slicing saddle cinches and reins had been on his list of things to do. But, of course, Hanna wasn’t about to tell Otis that his doom was impending.
“Actually,” she replied, prefabricating as she went along, “Grayson is a bit under the weather. I insisted he stay abed. Something he ate must not have agreed with him and he was nauseous most of the night.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Sure he was. Hanna smiled sweetly. “I’ll convey your concern.”
Otis reached into the pocket of his gold brocade vest to fish out his ornately decorated timepiece. The status symbol reminded her of the pocket watch her father carried so he could impress members of high society.
“Since Grayson isn’t feeling well perhaps you’d allow me to escort you to lunch,” Otis suggested.
Hanna turned up the radiance on her smile. “That’s kind of you. I would appreciate the companionship at lunch.” She glanced toward the stairs. “Perhaps I should inform Grayson.”
“Why bother the poor man?” Otis said smoothly. “Let him sleep. After all, the annual fandango is tomorrow night and I’m sure he’ll want to be in better health so he can accompany his lovely wife. I do envy him that, my dear.”
Another flirtation. Another flicker of blatant interest in those sea-blue eyes. Hanna might not know all the survival techniques she needed, but she definitely knew how to play these social games. Otis was making his interest known, as many men had done before him.
Hanna batted her lashes and smiled at the devious scoundrel. “Really, Otis, all this flattery will leave my head spinning.”
“Flattery? Ah, my lovely Hanna, I only speak the truth. You are the most beguiling woman I’ve ever met.”
She trilled a laugh for his benefit. She was sure he would try to come up with something more original if he knew she’d heard such empty compliments a few h
undred times before and had been unimpressed by it.
Cale, on the other hand, would never have stooped to such manipulative tactics.…Hanna forced aside the thought and concentrated on outcharming Otis. “Let me fetch my purse from the storage room, and I can close for lunch.”
“No need to fetch your purse, sweet Hanna,” Otis cooed. “Lunch is on me.”
“I’d dearly love to see that,” Hanna said under her breath.
“Pardon, my dear?”
“I said that is kind of you, but unnecessary.”
“Nonsense. A man likes to treat a beautiful woman to a meal. I insist.”
And what, as if she didn’t know, did he expect as payment for this meal? Hanna returned his smile. “Very well then, but I still need my key and it’s in my purse.” Swinging her hips in a manner that would’ve done Millie Roberts proud, Hanna entered the storeroom. She swallowed a surprised yelp when she saw Cale looming by the back exit like a shadow. As always, the sight of him stirred suppressed emotions, and she had to concentrate to maintain her composure. He didn’t speak, just studied her with those penetrating obsidian eyes that probed into her heart and nearly broke it in two.
“Hanna, my dear, is something wrong?” Otis called out.
She jerked to attention, her gaze still glued to Cale’s ruggedly handsome face. “No, just checking to ensure I have my key,” she called back.
When she turned and left the storeroom, Cale swallowed a salty curse. The moment he’d seen Pryor mount up and ride toward town, Cale had followed him. From the look of things Otis Pryor wasn’t satisfied with stealing his neighbors’ livestock and keeping the citizens of Cromwell under his thumb. Now he’d set his greedy eyes on Hanna.
Damnation, Cale should have put Hanna on a westbound stage. Now she was determined to aid his cause and was playing along with Pryor’s pursuit. An amorous and intimate pursuit, obviously. Otis was a master at getting his way, by hook or by crook. The bastard.
Cale slumped against the wall, muttered sourly, then reached over to let Skeet in the door. Cale had eavesdropped on the entire conversation and had heard the deceptive charm oozing from Otis’s voice. Possessive annoyance fizzed through him. He’d taught Hanna to take care of herself, but he still wanted to take Otis apart with his bare hands for flirting with his wife.
That kind of thinking was unproductive, Cale reminded himself. Hanna had no interest in Pryor. She was trying to do Cale a favor by keeping Otis occupied, and encouraging his obvious scheme of seduction. But if that murdering scoundrel laid a hand on her…Cale sucked in a steadying breath and willfully cast aside that repulsive prospect so he could concentrate on the matter at hand.
The sooner he disabled Pryor’s ranch operation and dissolved the theft ring, the sooner Hanna would be out of harm’s way. Cale had to trust her to take care of herself and provide a distraction, while he focused his time and energy on this investigation.
Cale was building a case, establishing dates and times matching the man’s illegally acquired prosperity with the mysterious disappearance of local citizens who’d resisted his takeover. There could be no loopholes, and Cale intended to be on hand to give his recommendations to Judge Parker when Otis Pryor and his band of murdering cutthroats went to trial.
Let them all hang—twice. Three times would be even better.
Forcing himself not to dwell on Hanna joining Otis for lunch, Cale made a discreet exit. Now was the time to sneak into Otis’s stronghold and have a look around the house. Pryor had sent most of his men to round up livestock, repair broken fences and malfunctioning windmills. Cale needed to confiscate the land deeds and bills of sale that were likely stashed in the man’s home office. Cale preferred not to slip into the house in broad daylight, but he’d managed similar feats before and he was going to take advantage of the opportunity Hanna had provided by keeping Otis occupied.
With Skeet at his heels, Cale headed for the ranch, wondering if this empty feeling around his heart was going to plague him for the rest of his life. Funny, he’d distanced himself from the rest of the world for years, but the distance he’d purposely placed between Hanna and himself—for her benefit as well as his own—felt unnatural, uncomfortable.
“Get used to it,” he ordered himself. Hanna wasn’t his to keep, and he’d known that from the onset.
Pierce Hayden paced back and forth beside the Red River, which separated Indian Territory from Texas. Impatiently, he checked his watch—again. Julius was four hours late. Had those pesky Pinkertons overtaken him? Had his injured leg made it difficult to spend so many hours in the saddle? Pierce blew out a frustrated breath, then halted in his tracks when he heard a thrashing in the underbrush.
“Damn leg.” Julius scowled as he hobbled from the bushes, leading his horse.
“What the hell took you so long?” Pierce asked.
“Blasted Pinkertons,” Julius muttered. He wiped a smudge of dirt from his whiskered face, then plunked down on a tree stump to take a load off his leg. “Made it out of the upstairs window dandy fine, but that Sykes character—the pretty boy of the Pinkerton trio—saw me ride off. Before I knew it those bloodhounds were on my trail.”
When Pierce glanced around uneasily, Julius waved off his concern. “Not to worry. I lost ’em by doubling back and brushing away my tracks. They cost me a few hours and I had them running in circles, but I’m guessing they’ll be here shortly. After all, there are only a few safe places to cross the Red and that trio has enough reward money to shell out for information that they’ll persuade folks to point them in our direction.” Julius heaved himself to his feet, expelled a weary sigh and said, “C’mon, partner, we’ve got Pinkertons breathing down our necks. We’ve got to reach Cromwell and give the Big Chief fair warning that his father-in-law wants Hanna back, pronto.”
“Sure wish I knew what that’s all about,” Pierce murmured as he mounted up. “And no telling what kind of trouble Cale’s in if Hanna’s sending an SOS.”
Julius unpinned his badge and crammed it in his shirt pocket. “Yup, don’t sound too good. Elliot doesn’t usually require anybody’s help when he’s on a foray. He must’ve gotten himself mixed up with a whole nest of vicious varmints.”
Pierce snickered. “It’d serve those Pinkertons right to find themselves on our side when we reach Cromwell. I’m curious to know if they’re as good in a showdown as they seem to think they are.”
While Julius and Pierce thundered off to catch the ferry, Agent Richard Sykes monitored their progress through his high-powered field glasses. “They’ll lead us right to Hanna Malloy,” he said confidently.
“Ignorant fools,” Agent Gilmore scoffed as he swung into the saddle. “Who do those yahoos think they’re dealing with here?”
“It’s going to be a pleasure humiliating those bungling marshals,” Agent Williams said as he trotted his horse toward the departing ferry.
Chapter Fifteen
While Hanna dressed for the fandango, she could hear Cale moving quietly around the room. She was careful not to let her gaze stray toward him while he dressed because she needed no reminders of that swarthy masculine body she’d once had her hands all over, at any time she pleased. The peaceful camaraderie and immense pleasure they’d shared had been replaced by a strained existence, where two people living in each other’s pockets tried not to encroach on one another’s private space.
So many times during the past few days Hanna had wanted to reach out to touch Cale, but she’d held back at the last moment. So many times she’d awakened in the night to find her arm or leg draped over him and had forced herself to inch way.
Not so long ago he’d been her closest friend, her lover. Now he was a stranger who’d built an emotional wall to separate them.
And while Cale had been pushing her away, Otis Pryor had been doing his damnedest to get up close and personal. He’d showed up the previous evening to escort her to supper, and had found all sorts of excuses to touch her. Hanna had endured it, and even behaved as if she
approved, but she’d had to force herself not to wince or withdraw.
Otis had returned again this morning, insisting that he wanted to formally introduce her to the group of women responsible for organizing the fandango and setting up the refreshment tables. During the introductions Otis had kept a possessive hand on the small of her back and stood too close for her comfort. He’d been subtly staking his claim and drawing the speculative glances of the other women. No doubt he wanted word to get back to Cale that he had a rival for his wife’s affection.
Otis had been persistent about giving Hanna a tour of his home. And, naturally, he’d insisted that she join him for a home-cooked meal prepared by his servant. Otis had cornered Hanna before she could exit the door and had crowded her against the wall.
“Do you have the slightest idea what you do to me, sweet Hanna?” he’d murmured against her neck.
When his arousal pressed against her thigh she’d felt as if she’d betrayed the memories of the passion she’d shared with only one man. Her first reaction had been to shove Otis away, but she’d reminded herself that it was more beneficial to the cause to play along.
She hadn’t wanted the scoundrel to see her as the slightest threat because there might come a time when she needed him to take her for granted so he’d let down his guard. Taking him by surprise at an opportune moment was a vital weapon she needed at her disposal.
When Otis had leaned down to kiss her it had taken every ounce of self-control not to spit in his face. Otis repulsed her, while Cale had the ability to melt her down to shivering desire. It had taken tremendous acting ability for Hanna to pretend to enjoy Otis’s kiss when she’d craved the sensuous feel of Cale’s mouth upon hers.
“We could go upstairs, Hanna,” he’d whispered against her cheek.
