Cherished (8 page)

“You obviously are not unaware of them, Mr.
Breen,” she said breathlessly as she tried unsuccessfully to
extricate herself from his grasp. “And I must tell you that I’m not
accustomed to such advances from a man I scarcely know. So I insist
that you let me go at once. If my uncle only knew ...

“He would do what? Challenge me to a showdown
at high noon? Horsewhip me? Pack his bags and head east without
signing the contracts he came here for?” Breen threw back his head
and laughed. “Your innocence is as delightful as your beauty. Ah,
Juliana, I see I’ve frightened you. Now come on, honey, don’t be
scared.” To her relief, he released her suddenly and stepped back
with a gallant bow. “I’m sorry if I stepped over the line—but
you’re so darned pretty—and I like seeing that angry sparkle that
comes into your eyes whenever you think I’m getting presumptuous.
Now I promise to take things nice and slow. But just the same, you
and I are going to get acquainted during this little visit.”

“I suppose we shall,” she retorted, dodging
past him and starting back toward the house. “As well acquainted as
anyone can become in two weeks. My uncle’s stay here will not be
lengthy—which in my opinion is a very good thing. Good evening, Mr.
Breen!”

She plunged through the doors into the
brightness of the parlour like a fleeing deer, certain he would try
to seize her and draw her back. But Breen merely watched her go,
delighted with her display of spirit. Leisurely, as the doors
slammed shut behind her, he reached into his pocket and removed his
cigar.

“Your uncle will stay put right here in
Denver until I say otherwise, honey,” he mused as he lit up,
inhaling with great satisfaction.

Juliana Montgomery didn’t understand that
yet. She didn’t recognize one tenth of the power he wielded. But
she would, Breen knew, and very soon. She’d take a bit of taming,
but there was nothing he liked better than to exercise the power of
his own will. He had no doubt of the outcome. His reward would be
the loveliest woman this side of the ocean, presiding over his
home, raising his son, reaping the benefits of his empire. Not bad
for a man who started out fifteen years ago with little more than a
horse and saddle to his name. He’d had a fancy education and a
bushel of charm, but his purse back then had been as empty as his
soul. Now he could have anything he wanted—including Juliana
Montgomery.

Especially Juliana Montgomery. The more he
saw of her, the more Breen knew that she must be his next
acquisition. Nothing and no one—including that greedy uncle of hers
or that upstart cowhand Gil Keedy—had better get in his way.

Breen blew a smoke ring and watched it sail
upward into the night. He smiled to himself in the dark.

Juliana, meanwhile, holding her skirts in one
hand, dashed through the parlour without pausing and hurried
straight upstairs to her room. She was mentally reviewing the
entire conversation with John Breen while a dreadful icy fear slid
over her.

How could Breen act so smug, so sure of
himself, and behave with such odious presumption? It was as if he
had no fear whatsoever of censure, as if Uncle Edward had given him
carte blanche to do as he wished ...

But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?

In an agony of uncertainty she kicked off her
satin dancing slippers and threw herself down in the chair before
the dressing table. Her fingers plucked ten gold hairpins from her
hair and a riot of curls cascaded down, but Juliana ignored the
fetchingly tousled image in the mirror, biting her lip instead as
she concentrated on the situation facing her.

She knew Uncle Edward wanted these business
contracts very badly. But would he actually make a bargain like the
one she was envisioning? John Breen had practically told her he was
in the market for a wife—and he had hinted that she was the most
eligible candidate—but surely Uncle Edward wouldn’t have arranged a
marriage for her to a man she didn’t even know—a man like John
Breen.

Yet, as Juliana sat there facing her
reflection, she realized with a creeping horror that Uncle Edward
would not share in her opinion of John Breen. To him, Breen
represented the perfect husband for his vexatious niece, the
perfect solution to a thorny problem. He could secure his business
relationship with one of the richest men in the country, and at the
same time rid himself of the girl he’d been forced by duty to raise
since childhood.

It wasn’t as if she had any prospects for
marriage awaiting her in St. Louis, Juliana reflected tremblingly.
Mama’s past as a dance-hall girl had somehow leaked out into polite
society—and that, combined with Juliana’s own feisty spirit and
sometimes unorthodox ways, had branded her as ineligible marriage
material—perfectly acceptable at parties, of course, thanks to Aunt
Katharine and Uncle Edward’s sponsorship—but certainly not as a
prospective wife for any young man of good background. If word got
out about Wade and Tommy’s infamous exploits, Juliana knew, even
social engagements might become scarce ...

She had realized this for sometime, and lived
with the hurt of it. But Juliana would rather die than let anyone
see her rage over the way she was deemed “inferior stock.” Pride
got her through those parties and teas and balls, pride kept her
head high and her smile brilliant while she endured the compliments
and attentions of smitten young men too weak-spined to defy their
parents by courting her seriously, yet too enamored of her charms
to leave her alone. Even though the sting of overheard words and
superior glances bit through her tender heart, she never let a
trace of pain reveal itself in her face or manner. So far, she
hadn’t met a young man she truly cared for, so she hadn’t yet had
to suffer because of the stigma attached to her, but she knew that
if some day she did meet someone who mattered to her, he had better
not come from the ranks of St. Louis society, or she would be
doomed to unhappiness.

It was possible, she reflected with a
wrenching of the heart, that Uncle Edward, casting about for a
solution to the problem of his unmarriageable niece, might indeed
have jumped at John Breen’s offer—if an offer had been made.
Sitting before the mirror, with the fiddler’s music just reaching
her ears, she began to shiver uncontrollably. Dear Lord, had she
been sold to that man down there? Bartered and sold to that tall,
handsome John Breen with his strange eyes and a touch that
inexplicably made her skin crawl? A wild throbbing born of panic
began in her chest and spiraled upward to her temples until she
thought her head would burst.

She jumped up from the chair and paced the
room. There was a way out of this, there had to be a way out. She
wouldn’t sit idly by and let herself be sold on the marriage block
like a piece of livestock. If Uncle Edward had made any deals
behind her back, he could just cancel them. She would rather set
out into the world on her own and work her fingers to the bone than
marry a man she did not love.

Love. What did she know of love? Not one
single thing, Juliana had to admit as she paused before the window
and stared out in agitation at the shadowed mountains. Maybe it
didn’t exist, except in books and fairy tales. Maybe it didn’t come
to girls who laughed at the wrong times or who danced for the sheer
pleasure of it or who unbuttoned their blouses on hot, stuffy
trains—Aunt Katharine said wickedness was never rewarded. But
wicked or not, Juliana knew without a single doubt that she would
not find love with John Breen.

She had better find a way out.

During the next few days Juliana found
herself thwarted in every attempt to speak privately with her
uncle. He was either closeted with John Breen discussing
“business,” or they were all together: Breen, Aunt Katharine, and
Victoria, and it was impossible for her to broach either her fears,
or her objections to the situation she suspected was brewing. No
matter how many times she tried to waylay her uncle, she never was
able to speak to him alone. But she did manage to avoid being alone
with John Breen, which was something to be thankful for, and to
escape from the ranch every afternoon on horseback. She and
Victoria set about exploring the countryside, but her cousin, not
nearly as adept a rider as Juliana, after a few days pronounced
herself too sore to venture out again. On Friday, Juliana led
Columbine, the mare that had been assigned for her use, from the
corral and prepared to set out alone.

She needed a diversion from the confines of
the ranch house, which she found oppressive for all its grandness
and comfort. And she needed a release for the tension that had been
building inside her ever since she had arrived at Twin Oaks. She
couldn’t wait to race freely through the wild grasses. Only when
she was alone and far from John Breen’s watchful eye did she feel
she could breathe easily, and convince herself that she would not
be snared into a marriage she didn’t want.

The cowhands were all out riding the range,
but as she stepped from the corral, admiring the cloudless sapphire
sky that stretched above, she heard angry voices coming from behind
the barn, disturbing the peace of the beautiful spring afternoon.
The voices slashed through the lovely crystal air like the scrape
of knives against each other, jarring her nerves.

“Don’t ever show your face in this county
again, boy. No cattleman will give you work after this.”

She recognized Bart Mueller’s voice, even
though she had never heard that harsh note in it before. Juliana
held perfectly still, listening, as beside her the mare pawed the
dust.

“You’re a liar, Mueller—and Breen, damned if
you don’t know it.” There was no mistaking Gil Keedy’s Texas drawl,
agitated as it was. “I don’t know what kind of a game the two of
you are playing but you know like hell that Mueller’s the one sent
me down to the south pasture to check on those calves. He never
said a word about riding the north range. Why would I have been
busting my back these past few days down by Flat Peak if he hadn’t
told me to do it?”

“I don’t begin to understand why a lazy,
good-for-nothing hombre like you does anything, Keedy, but you can
get the hell off my ranch.”

John Breen. The icy smooth, even tones
reached Juliana’s ears with unmistakable clarity. Juliana edged
closer, moving at an angle where she could glimpse behind the barn
as the men continued talking.

“The boys on the north range were shorthanded
because of you and I can’t afford to have my ranch suffer because
you can’t follow orders,” Breen continued. “Pick up your wages from
Dusty and get out.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Breen,” Gil shot back hotly.
“I reckon Twin Oaks has gotten a mite odorous for my taste. Matter
of fact, the place stinks like a pig’s innards.” With that he
turned on his heel and marched off, and immediately spotted
Juliana. He motioned her out of sight in front of the barn, then
joined her with quick strides, saying tersely, “Can’t talk now, but
I’ve got something to tell you. Meet me over by Durham’s Creek.
Know where that is?”

She shook her head, holding tight to
Columbine’s bridle.

His face was still flushed with anger; his
usually merry eyes unnaturally bright and hard in the dazzling
sunshine. “Half a mile west of here—there’s a trail leading
straight to the creek bank. You’ll find it easy, there’s a stand of
willow, and some rocks piled up beside a yucca.” He helped her to
mount, glancing quickly over his shoulder. John Breen and Mueller
were walking in the opposite direction toward the cookhouse and
hadn’t noticed them. “Mount up now and git,” Gil whispered. “I’ll
be there directly.” She had no time to ask him any questions even
though she was bursting with them. But his grave expression was
enough to quell her curiosity for the moment, until she could be
sure no one was about.

“You won’t be long?” was all she said as she
gathered up the reins.

“Quicker’n a snake’s bite,” he replied with a
swift smile. He slapped the mare’s rump, and Columbine took off
with Juliana leaning low in the saddle. She didn’t look back,
didn’t see Gil heading toward his horse in the corral—and didn’t
see John Breen and Bart Mueller turn in time to notice her riding
away.

It was hot in the sun when she reached the
creek. The water gurgled quietly beside the softly waving grasses
of pale green and yellow. High red rocks piled up beside a yucca
told her she was in the right place. The mountains rose beyond,
towering granite walls that shimmered in amethyst splendor beneath
the sun. Juliana dismounted and breathed a sigh of pleasure in the
solitude of this lonely, beauteous spot.

From above came the sweet chirping of birds,
but otherwise it was quiet, save for the murmuring water and the
rustling of cottonwood leaves. The sky was so bright a blue, it
hurt her eyes to look at it, and she immediately unbuttoned the
bright red jacket of her riding habit and slipped it off, loosening
the gray silk neckerchief about her throat as well. Her white linen
blouse stuck damply to her skin, making her glance longingly at the
creek, but she had no time to splash water on her face, or even to
cup her hands and take a drink, for no sooner had she tethered
Columbine to a nearby cottonwood than a horse and rider charged
into the clearing. She hurried forward as Gil swung down from his
saddle.

“Breen’s fired me,” he said without preamble.
“You heard that?”

“Yes, I heard, but what I don’t understand,
Gil, is why? If there was some kind of mix-up ...”

“There was no mix-up. He set it up
deliberately so I’d get the wrong orders from Mueller, and not show
up where I was needed. For some reason, he wants me off the
ranch.”

Gil was looking at her oddly, squinting
beneath his hat, and Juliana suddenly remembered the night at the
party when Mueller had said something to John Breen and Breen had
immediately glanced over at Gil—that had happened right after she
and Gil had had a long conversation. The horrible thought that Gil
had been fired because of her made her blood turn cold.