Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature (2 page)

Like his father before him, those with long memories recalled.

“We’ll talk to the children first thing in the morning.”

Hazard nodded and then gently kissed Blaze’s cheek. “Thank you for your understanding.”

“My understanding stops at Lucy.” Her gaze was sharp. “Just so we’re perfectly clear on that point.”

“Of course. With luck, she’ll soon be gone.”

“I suspect the ‘soon’ part will cost you.”

Hazard’s brows rose. “If she guarantees me a speedy return to Florence, I’ll be more than happy to oblige her mercenary inclinations.”

“Do you want a speedy departure for Jo as well?”

He shrugged. “It depends.” Raised in a warrior culture where vigilance was the key to survival, having lived in a frontier society where avarice and greed were swaggering credos of empire building, he was inherently wary. “Why don’t we see what kind of person Jo turns out to be.”

"
I
think we’re going to be extremely comfortable here.” Lucy waved her hand in an airy arc that encompassed the elegant sitting room of the Plantation House Hotel’s largest suite. “I’d forgotten how charming small towns can be.” Happily ensconced in the Louis Quartorze suite, the hotel manager suitably cowed, a splendid dinner being prepared for them despite the late hour, the champagne she had ordered being poured, Lucy lounged with royal languor on a much-gilded chaise upholstered in azure brocade. “I think we might stay in Helena for some little while after all,” she murmured, gesturing the waiter out. “Now bring your maman a glass of that lovely champagne, darling, and we’ll drink to our success.”

Jo didn’t move from her chair, her gaze on the servant about to exit the room. “You mean money, Mother, not success,” she snapped as the door closed on the hotel waiter. “This is all about money. Let’s not pretend it isn’t.”

“My goodness. How testy you are about every little comment I make. But then you’ve always needed your sleep and it’s nearly eleven.”

“I’m not tired, Mother, I’m annoyed. You promised me once we met my father, we’d leave. Well, we’ve met him and pleasant as he is, I don’t care to bow and scrape like some servile pensioner to add to our coffers. Not when I can earn a perfectly good living for us.”

“I’m sure everything will look brighter in the morning, my dear,” Lucy murmured, rising from the chaise and moving toward the table that held the champagne. “You’ll see how much better you feel after a good night’s rest.” She picked up a stemmed goblet and lifted it to her daughter. “I think you’ll find this little town very much to your liking.”

“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” Jo retorted, a blistering heat in her voice. “I don’t want to stay. I hate all this manipulation and artifice. I didn’t want to come in the first place. I shouldn't have come!”

“My dear Jo, I’m afraid you’re laboring under some false illusions as to your wishes and my goals,” Lucy declared, each word enunciated with crisp coolness. “I don’t care to live on the money you could earn, even if I agreed with your outlandish notion that women of quality can work, which I don’t. Furthermore, I have no intention of living like some impecunious Frau in some seedy apartment somewhere, which is the only thing we could afford if you were to provide our livelihood. We will get what we came here to get and if you don't wish to cooperate, I’ll do it myself.”

“Then do it yourself,” Jo said, sullen and resentful, jumping to her feet. “I’m going to bed.”

“Well, of all the ungrateful brats! Is that the thanks I get for spending all my money to raise you like a lady of quality!” Already halfway across the room, Jo spun around. “Let me refresh your memory, Mother!” she said, heatedly. “I believe the bulk of your money went to support Cosimo and his polo ponies, not to mention his tailor. He dressed better than either one of us. And I wasn’t the one who dined every night at the most expensive restaurants in Florence. Nor was I the one who insisted on a premier box at the opera. I don’t even like the opera. As for my education, it was gratis thanks to Father Alessandro. And thank God I have an occupation so I don’t have to beg men for money. So please don’t test my credulity,” she spat, grim-faced and furious, “about who most benefited from your money.”

As the bedroom door slammed behind her daughter, Lucy stood motionless for a moment, her mouth pursed, and then she shrugged, brought the goblet to her mouth and drained the glass in one unladylike draught. Jo was right about Cosimo. He’d been terribly expensive—but so deliciously handsome and ever so accomplished in bed. And if she hadn’t listened to Vicenzo and his stock scheme that he’d promised was sure to quadruple her money in six months, she might still be enjoying Cosimo’s superb body and splendid sexual talents.

But Cosimo was in Florence, unhappily married to a sweet virgin bride selected by his family for her fortune, not her looks, Lucy mused, refilling her glass. And who knew, if Hazard turned out to be generous, perhaps she might respond to Cosimo’s wickedly licentious pleas to return. On the other hand, the visit she’d had from the bride’s father warning her off had been unsettling. The man didn’t even have the decency to buy her off; he simply ordered her away from Cosimo as if she were some lowly peasant. She had half a mind to ignore his threats and show the brutish count she wasn’t so easily intimidated. On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t serious about tying her up and throwing her into the Arno.

Not that his rudeness mattered thousands of miles away. The dreadful old goat looked no more like a count than her gardener did, she vindictively reflected. And poor Cosimo, his wife favored her father’s looks.

It served him right. Perhaps after several months with his plain-faced wife, he might be more appreciative if she were to return. Although, at the moment, she wasn’t overly concerned with returning when she had one of the very best lovers she’d ever enjoyed practically on her doorstep.

Hazard had looked devilishly good in full evening rig.

She’d forgotten how magnificent he was, wildly primal, dark and virile, like his black cougar namesake. A little shiver raced through her senses at the heated memory of their flame-hot liaison. And he was delectably rich now, an additional enchanting allure.

It was going to be such fun seducing him again.

At the sudden knock on the door, she sailed across the room in superb good spirits. Very, very soon she would be renewing her warm friendship with the handsome, wealthy father of her daughter; it made her quite giddy.

She welcomed the servants bringing her supper with an especially gracious warmth.

Apprehensive after their last contact when Lucy had ruthlessly berated them for their every move, the waiters hurriedly arranged the food on the table and hastily departed.

“Jo, darling! Supper!” Lucy trilled as the door closed on the hotel staff. Whether it was her champagne consumption or the surety of seeing Hazard again, she was flushed with exhilaration.

This trip to Montana was going to be very pleasurable indeed.

I
t was near midnight when Trey rode into town. Jeb Crawford’s stock auction had drawn such a crowd, the bidding had extended well into the evening. But the prime horses he’d purchased had been worth it. Rather than accept Jeb’s hospitality, Trey had opted to ride home despite the nasty weather. Satchell’s was having some high-stakes games tonight and he felt lucky.

After handing his horse to a boy to be stabled, Trey entered Satchell’s saloon and blinked against the legendary crystal chandeliers ablaze with electric lights. Satchell Mumford had been the first saloon owner in Helena to put in electricity in ’82. He’d sent to New York for his Venetian-glass chandeliers that shimmered and glittered tonight over a barroom filled with rowdy drinkers, gamblers hoping Lady Luck was on their side, and a piano player fighting a losing battle against the roar of the crowd.

Stripping off his wet gloves, Trey advanced into the room, weaving his way through the standing-room-only-crowd at the bar on his way to the stairway leading to the second floor. He moved quietly for a man his size, nodding occasionally to an acquaintance, exchanging greetings here and there, not sure any of the people he spoke to would remember seeing him in the morning. At this time of night, there wasn’t a sober person in the room.

Taking the stairs two at a time with long-legged ease, Trey’s worn boots left wet prints on the plush red nap of the carpet. He was soaked through, the spring snowstorms always heavy with moisture. Coming to the top of the stairs he shook his head, ran his fingers through his wet hair, smoothed it behind his ears and strode down the hall. He was looking forward to a stiff drink after his miserable ride.

Satchell’s office was at the end of the corridor, a burly guard standing before the door. He smiled broadly as Trey neared. “Jus’ about gave you up fo daid.”

“It’s hard to shoot a moving target my daddy always says.” Trey grinned at Donny McGregor whose southern accent was thick as a Georgia native even though his family had come West almost two decades ago.

“Ain’t that jus’ so. Go on in. I ’spect it’s jus’ gettin’ interestin’.”

Trey hadn’t worried about the time. The poker at Satchell’s went on all night. Especially the high-stakes games. And beneath the most colorful of Satchell’s Venetian-glass chandeliers reserved for his private quarters sat a half-dozen men focused on their cards. No one spoke until Trey shed his wet jacket and took his place at the table. A variety of grunts and nods were exchanged as Trey settled back in his chair and waited for the next hand.

George Peabody won the round with his usual reticence and as Satchell opened a new pack of cards, conversation resumed. It was male conversation: brief declarative sentences or queries; briefer responses; an occasional comment of three or four sentences—the talk of cattle, horses, the price of copper and the venal stupidity of “the damned Republicans.” Montana was a Democratic state thanks to the heavy influx of southerners to its gold fields during and after the Civil War and territorial politics followed the casually corrupt standard of the rest of the country.

Anyone who was rich enough to sit in on these games was rich enough to buy off a legislator or two with a campaign donation.

And anyone rich enough to sit in on these games was also immune to the censure of lesser men.

Drinks were refilled, cigars relighted, new cards dealt out before Neal Atkinson looked up at Trey. “Hear you have a new half sister come into town.”

Trey almost spilled his drink. Carefully setting it back down, he stared at Neal with a faint smile. “You’re drunk.” “Didn’t say I wasn’t. You still have a new half sister.”

Trey’s dark brows arched high. “Here?”

“Right here. Lucy Attenborough’s daughter. Your pa explained it at dinner tonight.”

There was no need to say explained what? But it had to have happened long ago because his father was devoted to his mother. “Did you see her?”

“Nope. But Lucy left town after the Judge died in Sixty-five.”

Trey did the calculations quickly. The girl would be near his age. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he realized it was too late to visit his parents. He reached for his cards. “Looks like she’s going to bring me luck,” he said, surveying the straight flush he held. “I’ll start with ten thousand.”

❧

Since gossip traveled belowstairs at lightning speed, Daisy heard the news about Jo on waking. Her maid blurted out the news the moment she opened her eyes.

Not that she doubted Bessie’s information, simply needing a moment to absorb the news, Daisy pushed up on her elbows. “How do you know?”

“Your pa said so at dinner last night.”

A dozen questions raced through her mind, none of which she cared to ask her maid. All of which required an answer from her father. “Take the coffee away,” Daisy said, briskly, throwing back the covers. “Set out my blue suit—the wool serge with the pleats. I’ll have breakfast with my parents.” And rising from her bed, she quickly washed and dressed and walked the short distance to the Braddock-Black mansion on Homer Street.

T
rey and Daisy met on the sidewalk outside their parent’s house.

“You heard,” Trey said.

Daisy surveyed his disheveled state. “And you’ve been up all night.”

“You say it like you’re surprised.”

“Do you ever sleep?”

“You sleep enough for both of us. Do you ever go out at night?”

“My social activities are none of your concern.” Daisy was twenty-seven, intent on her career and very discriminating about the men she allowed into her life.

“Nor are mine, yours.”

“Too late, brother dear. Your social activities are common gossip. Ask Papa sometime how many irate fathers he has to appease on a weekly basis.”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Perhaps to take some responsibility for your wild ways.”

He tipped his handsome head and smiled. “I repeat. . . why would I want to do that?”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said with a little sniff.

“And you inherited all the dutiful family graces, Daisy darling.”

“Save your ‘darlings’ for someone less immune to your charm.”

“Who are you saving your ‘darlings’ for? I hear you sent Dustin packing. How many is that now who haven’t met your exacting standards?”

“At least I have standards.”

Trey laughed. “Gan I help it if I have a democratic eye?”

“If you could confine yourself to only looking, Papa wouldn’t have to pacify so many furious husbands and fathers.”

“Now what’s the fun in that?” he said with a grin.

The door opened and the servant standing in the doorway curtailed their argument.

“Someday, you’re going to find a woman who won’t put up with your dissolute ways,” Daisy murmured, moving forward.

“No, I won’t,” Trey muttered under his breath. “Because I’m not looking for that kind of woman. Good morning, Teddy,” he said in a normal tone of voice. “I hear we have a new member of the family in town. Are we too late for breakfast? I’m starved.”