Bride of the Wolf (9 page)

She backed toward the door. “If that is what you wish,” she said.

Heath shoved his hands in his pockets and watched her hurry into the house. Her hips swayed, though he was pretty sure she didn’t intend to show off her womanly charms to him.

Did she really meet Jed in Ohio, even if they didn’t get married? Did she share his bed?

Or had she known other men, lain beneath them panting and bucking and crying out as she…

It didn’t matter how many men she’d had. He still wanted her. Worse, he was starting to respect her, and that was a lot more dangerous. Every minute they were together…

Get out
, he told himself.
Take the boy now
.

And have him get sick again? Maybe die, because his pa was scared of a woman?

Heath drove the toe of his boot into the ground. The only thing to do was keep up that truce Rachel wanted and try to pretend he wasn’t every bit the puling coward Sean was.

“
D
ON’T WORRY
,” Amy said in a soothing voice, leaning on Sean’s arm. “That man will be gone soon, and then everything will be all right.”

Sean smiled because it was necessary, not because he had any inclination for it. He’d taken pains to get Amy in his pocket, and now he had her—not that there’d ever been any real doubt—especially once Colonel Blackwell’s previous foreman had suffered an unexpectedly serious “accident” on the range three days ago and Sean had offered himself as a replacement. Artemus Blackwell would be watching him carefully, so he would have to start putting in a full day’s work from now on. But if that was what it would take…

He stared out over the carefully tended garden to the neat ranch buildings and the plains beyond, seeing nothing but the blackness of his own rage. His men had returned from Hey wood yesterday afternoon. El and Gus had located Jed’s lawyer, the only one in town, and had broken into his office. They’d found exactly what Sean had been looking for—and not at all what he’d wanted.

Three wills. One made out to Sean, leaving the ranch and Jed’s bank account to his nephew. One giving everything to Renshaw. And the last and most recent
naming one Rachel Lyndon the recipient upon the completion of her marriage to Jedediah McCarrick.

Gripping the porch rail, Sean closed his eyes. Even after all Jed’s threats to disinherit him, even after he’d unsuccessfully tried to buy Rachel off in Javelina, he’d never quite believed it. Against all sense, he’d convinced himself that Jed was only trying to scare him.

Now he couldn’t deny it any longer. Jed had betrayed him. It was small consolation that the third and unsigned will confirmed that Rachel Lyndon had never married Jed. The first two wills had been rescinded in expectation of Jed’s signature, rendering them moot. If not for Rachel, Renshaw would have had everything.

“You’re upset,” Amy said, clutching his arm. “I warned Renshaw myself, Sean. He knows he can’t stand against my family, and we are on your side. Once your uncle returns, we will make sure Renshaw pays for what he’s done.”

Sean swallowed a laugh. Once Jed’s death was discovered, the wills would be made public, and everyone would know what Jed had intended. Renshaw would take the greatest pleasure in Sean’s humiliation.

Unless Sean found a way to turn the wills and their contents to his advantage. He had considered forming a temporary alliance with Rachel against Renshaw, at the same time letting him learn anything he could use against her if and when that became necessary. But her wariness and lack of enthusiasm when he’d spoken of Renshaw’s evils had convinced him that the foreman had already poisoned the waters against him. She would never be any more cooperative than when she had refused to return to Ohio.

Rachel’s current position depended upon her main
taining her deception. And while she might be persuaded to leave the county under threat of exposure, Sean couldn’t be sure he could get her out of the way before Jed’s death was revealed and his own situation exposed to the public.

The wills themselves—assuming he could come up with an acceptable way to explain his knowledge of them—would be the best proof of her deception, but the risks of using them to force her hand were manifest. Even the one to Rachel alone could raise far more questions than it answered. And even without any wills or proof of Rachel’s fraud, Sean could still assert that Jed had not made his intentions clear and dispute any claims “Mrs. McCarrick” might make on Jed’s property. A sympathetic judge would certainly take his part over that of a woman no one knew. The Blackwells were already on Sean’s side, and a few well-placed bribes would ensure his success.

But that wouldn’t be enough. Unless she were shown to be a liar, Rachel would still receive benefits she hadn’t earned. And the very fact that Jed had loved and trusted Heath so much that he’d almost given the scum everything he owned…

“Sean?”

He ignored Amy, his brain afire with speculation. What if Renshaw
had
known about Jed’s wills and his decision to disinherit his nephew? He would have been laughing at Sean all this time, fully aware that he could eject his rival and make it stick, even after Jed returned. He might even know that Rachel Lyndon wasn’t really Jed’s wife, playing along only because he understood how much her presence would rile his enemy.

But all Renshaw’s assumptions would be based on
the expectation that neither Sean nor Rachel knew about Jed’s plans. And he must surely be angry that he, too, had been disinherited because of Jed’s fiancée.

Sean released his breath. No, Jed would never have revealed that second will to Renshaw. The date indicated that Jed had had it drawn up only a few months before the one leaving everything to Rachel, perhaps in a fit of anger at Sean. And it seemed unlikely, given his high-handed behavior, that Renshaw knew anything about the will leaving everything to Jed’s bride-to-be.

A pity. Renshaw was ruthless and without scruples of any kind. If he had believed himself disinherited, he would have had motive to kill Jed himself.

Renshaw could have killed Jed
.

“Sean?” Amy said again, worry in her voice.

Patting her hand, Sean looked deeply into her very common hazel eyes. “I’m sorry, darling. I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“Tell me,” she said, pressing his arm again. “I can help.”

He sighed and shook his head. “I’m concerned about my uncle. I would have expected him to return by now.”

Her lips pursed in a ladylike frown. “You haven’t heard from him yet?”

“Not a word.”

“Mrs. McCarrick must be worried, left alone with that man.”

Naturally Sean had informed Amy about Rachel’s arrival soon after he had arrived at Blackwater, leading her and her parents to believe he had known of her coming and supporting his judgment that it had been better to leave Dog Creek rather than put Jed’s wife into the middle of a bitter conflict. Amy had offered to visit
Mrs. McCarrick to make sure she was all right, but Sean had discouraged her. Renshaw, he had told her, would only regard her as an enemy, and the foreman was unlikely to trouble Jed’s wife unduly for fear of angering his employer.

“Well,” Amy said when Sean didn’t respond, “I’m sure Mr. McCarrick will be home soon, and he’ll see right away how badly you’ve been treated. He is a nice man.”

Naive words indeed from the daughter of a fine old Southern family who’d created their own small empire with money, luck and ruthlessness. Ironic when Artemus Blackwell so resented Jed for refusing to sell Dog Creek. Any resemblance between Jed and Artemus ended with their interest in cattle. The Blackwells were aristocrats; Jed was of humble origins, unlettered and unpolished.

And Amy thought he was “nice.”

He tucked her arm through the crook of his elbow. “We’d best go in to breakfast. Your parents will be waiting.”

“Oh! I’ve lost track of the time. Mother and Father do like promptness.” She smiled at him seductively. “Let’s go for a ride after breakfast. I’ve hardly seen you the past few days.”

For all her ladylike ways, it took only a little scratching to find the dross under Amy’s well-bred veneer. She was a wildcat at heart, but he would tame her.
She
would never stand in his way.

“You know I have work to do, darling,” he said. “Your father will hardly think well of me if I shirk it.”

She pouted but didn’t press the issue. They went inside to the dining room, where Sean respectfully
greeted Colonel and Mrs. Blackwell. The butler they’d brought with them from Georgia seated the family, and he and the maid began to serve the elaborate breakfast in the European fashion.

This will
all
be mine
, Sean thought as he smiled into Mrs. Blackwell’s colorless face and sipped his coffee. Money. Servants. A house finer than anything west of San Antonio. Power. All the things he’d wanted since Uriah McCarrick had dumped his only son at his brother’s ranch like a pile of manure.

One step at a time
, he reminded himself as he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. Jed was gone, and eventually, when he was ready, Sean would make sure his body was found. But only when he knew just how to use it.

Sean excused himself from the table with a bow for the ladies, changed his clothes and saddled Ulysses. Charlie Wood found him as he was ready to ride out.

“Mrs. McCarrick’s settlin’ in comfortable,” Charlie said once they’d found privacy in the foreman’s cabin, a bottle of whiskey on the table between them. “Don’t look as if there’s much chance of her quittin’ the place anytime soon.”

It was no less than Sean had expected. “Renshaw?” he asked.

“Well,” Charlie said, scratching his ear, “they don’t like each other none, that’s plain. He ain’t tryin’ to win her favor. But she’s startin’ to make herself useful around the place, and I think he respects that.”

Sean clenched his fist on his knee. “Has he replaced the hands?”

“No, sir. Him and Joey and me take care of everything that needs doin’ on the range.”

“You haven’t learned anything more about the child?”

“I asked Lucia Gonzales and Maurice and the boy, but they didn’t know nothin’, either. Mrs. McCarrick dotes on it.”

“And Renshaw is still interested in it?”

“Yup. Mighty strange, if you ask me.”

Sean downed his whiskey, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at his upper lip. The baby was a minor complication. Maybe even a useful one, if both Rachel and Renshaw really did care about it—fantastic as it was to think the man capable of any such emotions.

Caring was always hazardous. It made a man dangerously vulnerable. Sean had learned that lesson well.

In a worse mood than when he’d started, Sean sent Charlie back to Dog Creek with instructions to report again in two days. Then he mounted Ulysses and, kicking him into a gallop, rode out of the yard and set out for Willow Bend along Dog Creek, six miles southeast from the house, where he was to inspect a bunch of cattle Artemus Blackwell planned to sell in Crockett County.

Two hours later he arrived to find that a number of DC cattle, cows with calves and a handful of mavericks, had crossed the creek and mingled with the Blackwater beeves.

Sean pulled up at the hill overlooking the creek. Holden and Joey couldn’t watch every stretch of the creek or keep an eye on every unbranded calf, even in the diminished herd. He kicked Ulysses down the slope and joined the hands who’d been waiting for him.

“We was just waitin’ on your word to cut them out, Mr. McCarrick,” Gus said, shifting nervously in his saddle. “You want us to drive them Dog Creek beeves back over the creek?”

“Now, why should you do that? We will take the mavericks. El, you will drive the Dog Creek beeves north away from the creek. Let Renshaw come and find them.”

The hands exchanged quick glances. “Yessir,” El said, and started in one direction, while Gus circled in the other, crooning to keep the animals calm. They cut out the DC beeves, and El drove them away from the creek. Sean briefly inspected the Blackwater cattle and instructed Gus to bring them in the next morning.

Sean was about to head back to the ranch house when he heard hoofbeats across the creek. Ulysses jerked his head up and snorted. Sean reined him around.

The rider was coming fast, bent low over his roan’s neck like a monkey. Sean recognized the straw-colored hair stuffed under the oversize hat and the frayed blue bandanna as the boy brought his mount to a skidding halt on the opposite bank.

“Damn thief!” Joey Ackerman yelled, his hand hovering over his rifle scabbard. “Those are our beeves!”

Sean leaned back in his saddle. “You’d best watch what you say, boy. Wild accusations are likely to make you plenty of enemies.”

“I’m right proud to call you my enemy, McCarrick,” Joey said, glaring at Sean as if he had the nerve to back up his words.

Yawning widely, Sean let his hand rest on his thigh near his holster. “You overestimate your own significance. Run on back to the nursery before I lose my patience.”

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere with our beeves!”

“They happen to be mavericks, boy. You’re a little too late.”

Joey’s prominent ears turned red, and he reached for
the rifle. “I seen you stealin’ more than mavericks. Holden’s comin’ after me. He’ll teach you to regret your thievin’ ways.”

Sean felt his hands growing moist inside his gloves. Holden was on his way, was he? He glanced with feigned indifference at Joey’s hand on the rifle butt, sighed and turned Ulysses around. Gus and El were watching, frozen and useless, from the top of the rise.

“You stop right where you are!” Joey shouted. “You damn yellow belly!”

For an instant Sean considered shooting the boy. He could certainly make sure that Gus and El backed up his story of self-defense, and no one in Pecos County, least of all Renshaw, knew how skilled he had become or how eager he was to try his Remington revolver on something other than coyotes and rabbits.

But Joey was small fry. Sean had only begun to consider a way of ruining Holden Renshaw by more deliberate means, but it involved considerable risk to himself and rested on the most fragile tissue of possibilities. The temptation to finish it now was great. If Renshaw really was on his way…if he could be goaded into a rash attack…

Ignoring Joey’s curses, Sean rode on up the hill. “Do you have your whip, Gus?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. McCarrick, but…what’re you fixin’ to do?”

“Give me the whip.”

Gus unwound the bullwhip from around his saddle horn. He handed it to Sean without another word.

“You wait here,” Sean said. “And whistle if another rider comes this way.”

He didn’t wait for Gus’s answer but rode back down
the hill, removing his gloves. Joey was aiming his rifle right at Sean’s chest, but his hands were shaking. He’d never shot at a man before, and he clearly wasn’t eager to begin now.

“Put that down, boy,” Sean said softly. “You don’t really want to start any trouble.”

“You…you back off, McCarrick,” Joey stammered.

“Just put the rifle away and we’ll talk.”

“I don’t got nothin’ to—”