Cherished (11 page)

“You’d best hurry,” Victoria snapped. “Mr.
Breen is eager to see you, and he looks especially handsome
tonight.’’

“Well, I have a headache and won’t be coming
down to supper.” Juliana went to her dressing table, and, sitting
down, began with quick strokes to brush her hair. “You may give my
regrets to Mr. Breen, Tory. He’ll simply have to wait until the
wedding ceremony in the morning to drool over me.”

Instead of flouncing out in a huff to carry
the message as Juliana expected her to do, Victoria came into the
room. She was studying her cousin’s set, pale face reflected in the
oval dressing table mirror, and she gave her dark head a tiny
shake.

“I don’t understand you, Juliana.”

“I know you don’t.”

“One would think you were the first girl in
the world whose family arranged a marriage for her. Why, Dorinda
St. Clair’s parents did the same thing last summer and even though
she didn’t care two figs for Harold Lovelace, she welcomed the
match. And their wedding was splendid. I never saw anything like
it. But even Harold Lovelace can’t compare to Mr. Breen. Mr. Breen
has more money than half of the best families in St. Louis
combined! And,” she added, wagging a finger at her cousin, “he
doesn’t mind a bit about your brothers’ exploits, Juliana. He did a
complete investigation of your background even before we arrived
here, Papa learned, and merely laughed when he was told of the
scandal. ‘Everyone has skeletons in their closets,’ he told Papa.
‘So long as your niece conducts herself as a lady and presents only
clean linen to the world, I don’t give a damn about those brothers
of hers.’ So you see, you ought to be grateful for this match. No
man in St. Louis would be as broad-minded as that!”

“How admirable,” Juliana bit out between
clenched teeth. She threw the brush down and jumped up to face her
cousin. “Did it never occur to you, Victoria, that I might wish to
choose my own husband—if I want a husband at all! Marriage need not
be the sole goal of womankind. And marriage to a man one doesn’t
like ... or trust ...” She broke off at her cousin’s sneering
expression. “Never mind. I can see that you will never understand,”
she cried.

Victoria grabbed her wrist. “I understand
that you are being most selfish. Papa tried to do what is best for
you—and he feels quite sad that you aren’t happy about it. Can’t
you—for his sake—even
try
to put on a smiling countenance?
This should be a happy time for him. His business dealings with Mr.
Breen will make him a
very
rich man, and at the same time,
he is discharging his responsibility to you in a most beneficial
way—why, you’ll want for nothing! You’ll be the envy of everyone
back home! But you,” she said scathingly, her skin shining dully in
the fading pool of light, “you fail to show him any gratitude for
it! Or for the years that he and Mama have given to raising,
clothing, and feeding you! I think you’re hideous, Juliana! You
don’t deserve John Breen, you don’t deserve this beautiful dress,
and you don’t deserve one whit of pity. I’m glad that we shall be
rid of you after tomorrow and I know that Mama and Papa will be
glad too.”

Juliana’s eyes stung with tears. “You’re
right about one thing, Tory. You will be rid of me after
tomorrow.”

“It can’t come soon enough for me,” her
cousin shot back, ignoring the pain in the other girl’s face.
Victoria turned on her heel and walked to the door. “I’ll give Mr.
Breen your message,” she flung over her shoulder. “No doubt he will
be most displeased.”

Not as displeased as he’s going to
be
, Juliana cried silently as the door slammed behind
Victoria. She covered her face as hot tears flowed down her cheeks.
Victoria’s words had hurt more than she thought possible. So did
the knowledge that her escape would enrage Uncle Edward and spoil
his dreams of uncountable wealth. Was she so selfish that she would
deny her uncle the vast success this alliance with John Breen would
produce? What was wrong with her that she couldn’t accept her lot
in life and do as she was bidden? Maybe, she thought, on a gulp of
misery, she should stay and make the best of this stupid
marriage.

But at the thought of it a sick shaking
overtook her. No. John Breen was an unsavory man, despite his
smooth good looks, his impeccable fancy clothes, his wealth. And if
the suspicions Gil had voiced about him were true, he was ruthless
and crooked as well. She wasn’t prepared to sacrifice herself to a
man like that just to please her relations. Uncle Edward and Aunt
Katharine had always had quite enough money to live in an elegant
fashion, and they would simply have to continue in that mode,
making do without the boundless grandeur they envisioned.

She strode to the bed and flung the exquisite
ivory gown onto the floor. She was leaving. Tonight. And no one had
better try to stop her.

* * *

She went at midnight. The ranch house was
silent but for the creaking of the floorboards and the moaning
whisper of wind against the windowpanes. Juliana tiptoed down the
long flight of steps, carpetbag in hand, and slipped through the
darkened hall to the kitchen. The kitchen door squeaked as she
pulled it open, and Juliana’s breath caught in her throat. Bright
moonlight illuminated her path to the barn, filling her with
apprehension that she would be outlined clearly to anyone glancing
outside, as she made her way around the vegetable gardens and past
the stone well.

Several horses whinnied when she slid loose
the bolt on the barn door and ducked inside. It took a few moments
for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she dared not use a
lantern. She counted the stalls until she came to Columbine’s, then
calmed the horse with a lump of sugar and a few loving pats before
hoisting the heavy saddle into place. It took only a few moments to
strap the gray carpetbag to the saddle and lead the mare from the
barn, but every second seemed a lifetime of suspense.

She used a fence post to mount and swung into
the saddle, scarcely able to breathe. At any moment she expected to
hear a shout, to find herself confronted by Bart Mueller or John
Breen himself. But when at last she sat atop the mare and stared
out at the moon-frosted land before her, every nerve in her body
started to tingle. She urged Columbine to a gallop, leaning low
over her mane, and rode like fire across the plain, never looking
back.

It wasn’t Denver she headed for. That was the
first place Breen and Uncle Edward would look. Juliana’s
destination was Amber Falls, a little town seventeen miles west.
She was gambling that it was on the stagecoach line, and that from
there she could cross the Rockies to the Arizona border. In her
reticule was the handful of gold she had sneaked from Uncle
Edward’s money pouch under his mattress while everyone was
downstairs at supper. She had left in its place the pearl earbobs
Aunt Katharine and Uncle Edward had given her on her nineteenth
birthday. No doubt they would still call her a thief when they
found out—a thief like her brothers—but Juliana was beyond caring
what anyone thought. She gripped the reins more tightly and leaned
forward with a little cry of exultation, reveling in the slap of
the wind against her cheeks. The mare’s legs tore at the earth,
faster and faster, while the moon sailed overhead. And Juliana’s
heart swelled with the elation of a trapped creature set free.

But there was fear in her as well, a fear she
had to fight to control. She would have only one chance for
freedom. She couldn’t slow down, couldn’t hesitate, couldn’t make a
single mistake. Every second counted.

By dawn the search would begin.

Deathly silence surrounded Twin Oaks as John
Breen confronted his foreman in the privacy of his library.
Ice-cold calm gripped the tall man with the deep-set topaz eyes.
Outside there was an unnatural peace: the hands had all ridden out
on the range, glad to put distance between themselves and the
uproar that had ensued only an hour earlier. No sounds came from
the barns or the sheds or the cookhouse, not even a horse whinnied
in the corral. Inside the walnut-paneled library, there was no such
illusion of peace. Unspoken rage flickered through the room like
the crack of a bullwhip. Breen’s eyes glittered with a menace that
went far beyond what Gil Keedy had experienced by the banks of
Durham’s Creek.

“Find her.”

Bart Mueller nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Be discreet—but
find her
. And
fast.” Breen shot the words out like rapid-fire bullets, “There’s a
five-hundred-dollar bonus for you when she’s delivered to my
door.”

Mueller nodded, eagerly turning his hat in
his hand. The muscles of his thick neck tightened in excitement as
he anticipated the spending of that reward. He watched his boss
with expectant eyes all the while, knowing how dangerous, how
cruelly clever Breen was when he was in this mood. The expression
on his face was as ruthless, as icily furious as Mueller had ever
seen it.

“What do you want me to do, boss?”

Breen stalked up and down the hardwood floor,
his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his vest. Despite the rage
storming through him like a winter squall, his brain clicked along
with relentless precision. He had already sent that idiot Tobias
and his sniveling wife and daughter packing, the business contracts
ripped to hell. Tobias was lucky he hadn’t been shot instead of
just run off. But deep down, even through his fury, Breen knew it
wasn’t Tobias’s fault. It was the girl, that damned stuck-up little
girl who had run off and made a fool out of him in front of the
whole damned town.

Well, she would pay. Breen’s mouth watered at
the thought. When he dragged her back into this house, he’d make
her pay. There’d be no marriage this time around. It would be all
fun and games. His fun, his games. Then he’d turn her over to the
sheriff on charges of horse theft.

A tight little smile twisted the corners of
his lips. Who was to say she hadn’t also stolen money from his
safe, as well as the damned horse? Five thousand dollars ought to
do it. The boys could plant it on her when they found her, and she
could serve a nice long jail sentence—after he finished with her,
of course.

Breen felt no qualms about framing the girl
he’d only yesterday planned on making his wife. That little bitch
deserved whatever she got. If she wanted to act like a no-good
back-stabbing whore, he’d treat her like one. It wouldn’t be the
first time he’d been forced to get rough with a woman. He
remembered another time, another woman who’d gone loco on him and
tried to blow a hole in his chest. But he’d taken care of her. Just
like he’d taken care of the kid ...

Breen’s gaze clouded over for a moment, then
he jerked himself out of his reverie. That was all a long time ago.
He’d come a long way since those grub-grabbing, desperate days.

But his craving for revenge against those who
had wronged him was still as vital as it had ever been. Now every
ounce of that potent deadly hate was turned against the
golden-haired bitch who’d sneaked out on him on their wedding
day.

“Mueller, you nose around in town and see if
there’s any sign of her. Put out the word that I called off the
wedding yesterday, that I found out in time she was a
fortune-hunting little slut. Say that she ran off this morning with
the mare and five thousand dollars in cash. And send some boys over
to Mottsville and Amber Falls,” he ordered, mentally reviewing all
the places Juliana Montgomery might have gone. His shoulders were
hunched with tension, despite the evenness of his voice. “She can’t
get far, not if we’re quick and thorough about it. But if for some
reason you don’t find her ...” His voice trailed off. A fearsome
silence hovered in the air. Breen’s lips clamped together in an
expression of grim determination. An odd little glow that Mueller
recognized entered his eyes.

“Yes, sir?” Mueller shifted from one foot to
the other. “If we don’t find her, what should we do next?”

“Go to Judge Mason and tell him I want a
bounty put out on Miss Juliana Montgomery.” Breen was smiling now,
a harsh, humorless smile that Mueller nevertheless found
contagious. “Offer a two-thousand-dollar reward for her return to
Denver. Make sure the posters specify that I want her alive.”

Mueller whistled. “Two thousand dollars.
Bounty hunters from here to California will be murdering each other
to get their hands on her.”

Breen nodded.
Precisely
. He turned
away from Mueller, and his glance swept across the large, princely
room, from the floor-to-ceiling shelves of handsome leather books,
to the rich walnut paneling and imported Chinese carpet on his
perfectly polished floor. Everything was in place, everything was
magnificent, from the mahogany grandfather clock in the corner to
the gleaming bronze chandelier overhead. Everything looked as
expensive and immaculate as he’d always dreamed. He’d gone through
a lot to get himself all of this. He deserved it, every damned bit
of it. And no highfalutin eastern snip of a girl was going to get
the better of him. No one—man or woman—was going to make him feel
like a loser ever again.

He was the greatest success story this
territory, hell, this
country
, had ever known.

“That’s what I want, Mueller,” Breen said,
fingering the gold signet ring on his perfectly manicured hand. “I
want them itching to get their paws on her and frankly, I don’t
care what they do to her when they get her. So long as they bring
her back still breathing. I want Juliana Montgomery to know and
understand just what it means to cross me.”

“She will, boss, I guarantee you that.”

Mueller left. John Breen stood a moment
longer, gazing around in cold satisfaction at the elegant
possessions, drawing energy from their beauty.