Cherished (5 page)

Cole Rawdon
. Juliana, filled with
relief that the dead man had not been Tommy after all, leaned
against the wall for support. Her mind was spinning. As she tried
to steady the jumbled whirl of emotions and events, her thoughts
turned back to the lean, handsome gunman, the one who had done the
killing and then had so calmly, coldly suggested that she step back
apace.

“There he goes, riding out of town.” Victoria
pointed at a rising cloud of dust to the west. “I declare, what a
monstrous, uncivilized place this is. A person shot and killed the
very moment we arrive in town! When I saw that man—that bounty
hunter—and the way he was holding you, and the way he was looking
at you, Juliana, why, my blood ran cold ...”

“What I want to know,” Aunt Katharine
interrupted, turning toward her niece with a penetrating glance,
“is what you were doing in front of the saloon. Why on earth didn’t
you come into the baggage room with us?”

Juliana forced herself to meet that
suspicious stare. “I was about to, Aunt Katharine,” she said in a
small voice, “but ... my handkerchief blew away and I was merely
trying to retrieve it.”

Katharine Tobias’s gaze remained fixed upon
her face. “And did you?”

“N-no ... in all the excitement, I
forgot.”

Victoria clutched her father’s sleeve. “After
all that’s happened, I think we should get on the next eastbound
train and go home. I don’t
like
this place, Papa.”

“Now, now, my dear, don’t be so quick to
retreat.” Uncle Edward patted his daughter on the shoulder, then
straightened his lapels with a businesslike air. “I’m certain our
stay will proceed more normally from this point on. As soon as Mr.
Breen’s man arrives for us, that is.”

“Well, if it’s Bart Mueller from the Breen
ranch you’re waiting for, he’s coming this way now,” the old-timer
put in.

A thick-necked, beefy man in a black vest and
hat was driving a buckboard up the street toward them. “Thank you,
sir,” Uncle Edward nodded as the old man shuffled off, and the
bewhiskered man, still mopping his brow, went on his way as well.
“Now things will settle down, my dear,” he told his wife.

The driver of the buckboard pulled the team
to a halt and gave the family of easterners on the boardwalk an
apologetic smile.

“Mr. Tobias? I’m Bart Mueller, foreman of
Twin Oaks. Mr. Breen sent me.”

“Well, it’s about time.”

“Sorry, sir, but we had a little problem at
the ranch, and I got here as soon as I could. Mr. Breen sends his
regrets for any inconvenience, but you’ll still have plenty of time
to freshen up before the festivities tonight.” He studied the
easterners with shrewd eyes, one after the other, his attention
caught by the beautiful but deathly pale girl leaning against the
wall.

“Something wrong with the little lady?”

“Nothing serious,” Uncle Edward assured him
quickly. “My niece had a bit of a fright, but she’ll be fine when
she’s had a chance to rest up.”

Suddenly, Katharine Tobias turned toward her
husband, her full skirts rustling about her. It wouldn’t do to have
this man report back to Breen that Juliana was sickly, or
fainthearted. The man might change his mind about everything. Best
to divert attention from the girl as quickly as possible. She took
charge with alacrity, and perfect ease. “Edward, why don’t you and
Mr. Mueller see to the luggage? Juliana, Victoria, and I shall wait
here until all is ready.”

“Yes, my dear, we won’t be but a moment.”

As the men departed for the depot, a great
weariness overtook Juliana. She wished she could find a quiet place
where she could rest and recover her composure. Her aunt’s anger,
and Uncle Edward’s exasperation, not to mention Victoria’s peevish
expression, were not helping to soothe her troubled nerves. She was
ashamed at her own weakness in having fainted. How silly to have
jumped to the conclusion that the dead man was Tommy, all because
of the color of his hair and shirt. It was humiliating to have
fainted like a ninny within five minutes of her arrival in Denver.
She tried to tell herself it was the fatigue of the journey, lack
of food for several hours, and the effects of heat and thirst that
had contributed to her extreme reaction, but she knew there was
something more. It hadn’t been only the thought that it was Tommy
that had made her faint. It had been because of the dead man
himself, the blood, the sight of it. It was the same ailment that
had plagued her since her childhood—a heart-palpitating horror of
bloodshed. Ever since her parents’ violent murder by bandits in
their store, Juliana had been possessed with a foolish weakness at
the sight of even a drop of blood. Once, when Victoria had pricked
her finger while stitching a sampler, Juliana, only fourteen, had
gone into a fit of shaking that had forced Uncle Edward to give her
a strong dose of brandy to restore her to a semblance of calm. When
one of Uncle Edward’s grooms had endured a kick from a frightened
horse in the stables one day, Juliana, witness to the accident and
the bloody wound that resulted, had scarcely had the strength to
run and fetch help before her legs had given way beneath her. Now,
thinking of the hard-eyed young gunman she’d just seen, she
realized that he had killed someone only a moment before running
into her, yet he had looked as calm and cool as a gentleman taking
a stroll in the park. She had heard stories about the savageness of
the frontier, the gunfights and hangings and Indian raids, but it
had not seemed real. It was real though. Real and brutal and
bloody. Juliana shuddered. Suddenly this town, and the men wearing
guns, and the smell of gunpowder in the air, all reminded her of
Independence, of that dreadful, unforgettable day when she and Wade
and Tommy had returned from school to learn of their parents’
deaths.

She fought the nausea and the fear that rose
unbidden within her. She had to overcome these feelings if she was
going to make the most of her time in Denver, to try to find Wade
and Tommy. If she wanted a life out west with them, she would have
to learn to be stronger, tougher. She wished desperately that she
could sit down for a moment, only a moment, to gather her strength,
and give her knees a chance to recover from their trembling. She
was about to suggest to Aunt Katharine that they wait for the men
in the buckboard, when her aunt spoke first, grasping her arm
urgently.

“Juliana, listen to me—before your uncle and
Mr. Mueller return. I must remind you—and Victoria, of course—to be
particularly pleasant to Mr. Breen. It is most important that these
business negotiations progress well. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Katharine, but—”

“Certainly refrain from complaining about any
inconveniences you might encounter in Denver, or at Mr. Breen’s
ranch. You know, they may not have all the little niceties and
refinements we have back home, but it would not do to insult our
host in any way.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t do such a thing.”
But Victoria might
, Juliana thought, with a quick glance
at her sullen-faced cousin. She couldn’t help wondering why Aunt
Katharine was staring at her so fixedly as she spoke, and seeming
to direct all her instructions to Juliana—when it was Victoria who
was prone to complaints and unfavorable comparisons between East
and West. “I shall do everything to make you proud,” Juliana added,
but was baffled inwardly as to why her behavior was being called
into question. Surely Aunt Katharine didn’t really fear that she
would do anything deliberately to offend John Breen.

Juliana had met John Breen on only one
occasion, at the Governor’s Ball some months ago. The man whose
name appeared almost daily in every newspaper in the land had not
exchanged more than a dozen words with her, and had left the party
soon after supper—to catch a train, Uncle Edward said. In the
moment or two that Juliana had spent with him, she had had an
impression of whipcord strength, iron will, and tremendous energy
and drive, all masked beneath a lean face, very large, deep-set
topaz-colored eyes, and a flashing, delightful smile. At thirty, he
had been younger than she had expected from his reputation and all
the wealth he had accumulated, and far more handsome, with a slim
build, glistening fair hair, and rugged features. Juliana couldn’t
understand why Aunt Katharine could possibly think she would
affront him.

She must think little enough of my
character if she expects me to complain about his hospitality, or
make myself disagreeable to him and ruin all of Uncle Edward’s
plans,
she thought.
Perhaps she only fears that my being
in Denver will bring out the tainted side of my nature, and banish
all the good breeding she has pounded into my head these past nine
years.

At this, an irrepressible glimmer of
amusement ran through her, and she was able to shake off a little
bit of the weariness that had overtaken her after her faint.

“See that you do make us proud,” Aunt
Katharine commanded in an undertone, as Uncle Edward and Bart
Mueller appeared at the buckboard carrying a hefty assortment of
luggage. “Conduct yourself as a lady, and be utterly charming—under
all circumstances.”

By the time she was seated beside Victoria in
the buckboard and on her way to the Breen ranch, Juliana had put
aside her aunt’s odd remonstrations. She was once more thinking of
her plans to locate her brothers, and devising ways she might begin
some careful inquiries, perhaps even tonight. She ignored
Victoria’s groans, which sounded every time they rode over a rut in
the trail, or swerved suddenly and were thrown sideways in the
seat. As the wagon made its way across the rose-hued foothills, she
thought of the future and the promise it might hold. A cozy home,
with just herself and Wade and Tommy. A new life, for all of them,
together.

The killing she had seen today made it all
the more imperative to find her brothers—to rescue them from the
dangerous path they had chosen. It was a path that made them
targets of men like the one she had encountered today, Cole Rawdon.
Cole Rawdon, a bounty hunter, would have shot Tommy—or Wade—if he
had found them. He hunted human beings for a living, tracked them
down like animals, for a monetary reward. She shivered as his image
swam into her mind’s eye.

She quickly banished it. She didn’t want to
think about him, she didn’t want to remember. He had killed a man
and shown no remorse. He had frightened her, made her faint, and
then ridden off without a backward glance to see how she fared.

Juliana clenched her hands together,
realizing with a cold, hard knot of fear that the man who had run
into her today was no better than the men who had killed her
parents in their store. He represented violence, death—and
ruthlessness. He was a loathsome animal who would hunt down Wade
and Tommy without a moment’s hesitation if he only knew where to
look.

She prayed to heaven he never would. For
something told her that Cole Rawdon got what he went after. She
prayed he would never set his sights on Wade and Tommy, and that no
other bloodthirsty bounty hunter or posse would either. With urgent
desperation pounding in her heart, Juliana knew she had to get to
them first.

For the remainder of the drive she struggled
to put all thoughts of the bounty hunter and the ugly scene in town
out of her mind, and to think of how she could most effectively
search for her brothers. Her determination mounted as each mile
passed. No longer did she want merely to find her brothers, but to
save them. To save them from their own perilous course in life, and
from the brutality of men like Cole Rawdon.

Just as the pale blue mist of dusk began its
descent over the mountains, she saw, up ahead, the enormous
lantern-lit yard and corrals of the Twin Oaks ranch.

Suddenly, a chill touched her. The skin at
the back of her neck prickled. She didn’t know why. The two-story
stone ranch house and surrounding buildings looked beautiful
silhouetted against the twilit mountains that rose against a
purpling sky. Rolling and majestic beneath the looming shadow of
the Rockies, the Twin Oaks ranch and environs were an impressive
sight, one that should have filled her with delight and relief. The
long journey was over. Refreshment and hospitality and festivity
awaited. But she had to fight the sudden urge to beg Uncle Edward
to have Mueller turn the buckboard around and head back toward
town.

Why?

Nerves, Juliana told herself, irritated.
Stupid, foolish jitters, like the ones that had made her faint.
Nonsense feelings, to be subdued and controlled.

Cole Rawdon would have called it something
else.
Instinct
. The kind of instinct he used every day to
stay alive. He would have been right.

Tucked away in the foothills of the Rockies,
John Breen’s Twin Oaks ranch was a magnificent monument to the man
who had built it and the center from which he ran his empire.
Stretching over more than 250,000 acres, Twin Oaks was well stocked
with horses, cattle, men, guns, and enough food and provisions to
supply an army outpost for months. The sheds, barns, corrals,
cookhouse, bunkhouse, and other buildings were immaculately
maintained and run with hard-nosed efficiency, like all the rest of
John Breen’s business endeavors, from his mines and lumber mills to
his railroad holdings. But it was the sprawling ranch house, with
its gardens and white-columned verandah, sparkling like a jewel
beneath the jagged hills and purple-shrouded mesas, that was his
special pride and joy. The house was the showpiece of Denver—as
luxurious and grand within as any New York mansion—complete with
paintings, books, flocked wallpaper, Turkish carpets, and mahogany
furniture. The only thing lacking, John Breen felt—had felt for
quite some time—was a mistress to preside over Twin Oaks. A woman,
the perfect woman—the one he chose to be his wife—would complement
and adorn the house more than any accessory or painting he could
purchase from anywhere in the world. He had searched for her,
methodically, patiently, critically, refusing to settle for
anything less than perfection, and at last, at the Governor’s Ball
in St. Louis not many months before, he had found her.