His Forbidden Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 7) (13 page)

But to her great surprise, her father stepped forward and grasped her arms. “What have they done to you? What have they threatened you with?”

For the first time in the confrontation, Honoria wanted to shrink back. Rex held her firmly in place, though, an inexplicable panic in his eyes. “I—”

“I told them they were not to hurt you, only him. They weren’t to harass you or lay a single finger on you. You’re
my
daughter!”

Any temptation to think that her father wanted her spared out of love was dashed by those last words. No, he just didn’t want his property damaged. But his outburst proved what she’d suspected all along.

“Those men are harassing my husband under your orders.” It was a statement, not a question. She knew the truth, and she could see her father for everything he was now.

“I told them not to hurt you.” He let go and took a hard step back.

“Then tell them not to hurt Solomon either.” Her mind raced. There was no guarantee her father would do a single thing she said. The only thing she could bargain with was his own sense of pride and self-importance. “I swear to God above, Papa, if any of those men lays a finger on Solomon, I will go down with him, fighting all the way.” Death would come for her sooner than later, so why not use it to her advantage? “And everyone will know you were behind it.”

Rex took another step away from her. The blood drained from his face. He wiped his hand over his mouth as though trying to wash away a sour taste. And that was how she knew she had him. She wasn’t proud of the way she’d won, but she’d won nonetheless.

“I’ll tell them to use no physical force,” he conceded at last, voice hoarse with frustration. “I cannot and will not stop them from completing their investigation.”

“They will find nothing wrong with the way my husband conducts business,” Honoria promised him. “You will come out of this looking like a raving, jealous fool.”

“How dare you speak to Papa that way?” Melinda yelped.

“Does no one care about my poor, wretched nerves?” Vivian wailed.

“Papa does kind of look bad in this,” Bebe added quietly.

“Shut up, Bebe!” Melinda and Vivian barked at her.

“Come on.” Bonnie rushed forward, wedging herself between Honoria and Rex, and taking Honoria’s arm. “I’ll help you mount up so you can go home to your husband.”

Honoria was still so caught up in the power and awe of everything she’d said and done that she let Bonnie lead her off the porch without protest. Honoria wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Bonnie so tense, though.

“Consumption, eh?” she murmured as they reached the spot where Travis’s spare horse was tied.

“What?” Honoria shook herself out of her emotions.

“Isn’t consumption supposed to waste you away? Make you weak?”

Honoria blinked at Bonnie.

“Are you coughing up much blood?”

“I…” Honoria pressed a hand to her chest, feeling that she should probably be breaking down into a coughing fit right then and there. But she wasn’t. Her lungs didn’t even feel tight. “I haven’t coughed blood. I suppose I haven’t reached that stage of the disease yet.”

“Bonnie! Get back up here!” Rex shouted, recovering himself.

Bonnie sent a wary look over her shoulder. She bent down to form a cradle for Honoria to put her foot in, then hoisted her up into the saddle. “You run home to your husband as quick as you can and tell him what Rex just said. Maybe it’ll help.”

Honoria nodded, gathering the reins. “Bonnie,” she added before she turned the horse to spur him on. “You be careful.”

Bonnie looked up at her with a sad smile. “Honey, I’ve been doing this longer than you can imagine. I know how to be careful around men who have foul tempers.”

Something about the comment ignited far more questions than it answered. There was a story there, a story Bonnie wasn’t telling. Honoria would give anything to know what it was, but now was not the time. Bonnie was right, Solomon needed her. She nudged the horse to turn toward the drive, then set off at a run for home.

B
reakfast was unusually quiet
. Solomon sighed over yet another confirmation of sale of stock, then set the telegram on the pile beside his plate. He reached for his coffee, glancing across to Honoria as he took a gulp. As beautiful as ever, Honoria was unusually quiet. She picked at her scrambled eggs with the edge of her fork, but Solomon didn’t think she was seeing her food.

“Is everything all right, sweetheart?” he asked. It was one thing to be concerned for his business, but concern for his wife opened up places in his heart that he hadn’t known existed. “Honoria?”

“Hmm?” She popped out of her thoughts, lifting her brow as she met his eye. She shook her head. “Oh. I’m just worried about everything going on.”

Solomon sent her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t let it worry you too much. The whole point of the two of us being together is so that you can have peace and happiness, not strain and strife while…” He let the rest go. There was no reason to upset her—or himself—by reminding them that as close as they were to the beginning, everything would soon come to an end.

Honoria did her best to smile in return. “I’m less worried than I was.”

Solomon wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he took another gulp of coffee. Honoria had run off in a fury the other day, when the men from the WSGA were vandalizing his bank in the name of their investigation. She’d made no secret of the fact that she’d been out to her father’s ranch and had had words with him, but instinct told him there was something more.

“Luke was telling me last night that he hasn’t seen a single suspicious person loitering near the house or the bank for the past few days,” he told Honoria, hoping that bit of information would prove that whatever she’d said to her father had been effective.

“I’m glad.” She smiled, but her gaze was fixed on her plate—or rather on the white handkerchief next to her plate—once more.

Solomon frowned. He set his coffee aside and went about finishing his breakfast. What had Honoria so…distracted? She wasn’t upset like she’d been the other day at the bank. There was something more, as if she was working out a puzzle in her head. Strangely, he thought her handkerchief had something to do with it.

A terrible thought hit him. He swallowed and made himself ask, “Are you feeling well?” She’d been so energetic and fiery since their wedding day—at night especially—but it would do him no good to pretend that this fit of melancholy wasn’t related to her illness. What if she was beginning to feel poorly at last?

She took too long to reply. In fact, she only looked up at him when the silence between them went on long enough for her to realize he’d asked her a question.

“Fine, fine,” she answered, then frowned, more puzzled than ever.

Solomon chewed a bite of bacon. “Maybe as soon as this foolish investigation into my bank is over we should take a vacation. I hear the seaside is good for those suffering from…lung problems.” He couldn’t bring himself to call her illness what it was. Consumption had too much finality to it.

Honoria sent him a sad, wary look. “It might be difficult for us to travel anywhere outside of Haskell. There aren’t many other places I can think of where we would be accepted as married.”

He hated that. He should have considered it before agreeing to marry her. It was the reason he had held off speaking his heart to her for so long in the first place. But instead of addressing the bitter issue directly, he feigned resignation and tapped the pile of telegrams beside his place. “There’s a fair chance we don’t actually have the money to go away either.”

“Is there?” She seemed to focus more, her expression deeply concerned for him.

Solomon shrugged. “I’ve had to liquidate more than half of my investments to meet the demands of the ranchers and local workers who keep coming in insisting on withdrawing their money. There have been three Western Union deliveries already. That leaves less and less in terms of profits that I can call my own…our own.”

“But the flood of people coming in has to stop eventually,” Honoria reasoned. “My father’s reach isn’t that long.”

“It only has to be long enough to—”

He was interrupted by a loud knock on the front door. Both Solomon and Honoria jerked straight in their chairs and turned to the hall. A second knock sounded. Solomon glanced to Honoria, then stood and strode into the hall.

One of the porters from Gunn’s hotel waited on his front porch.

“Can I help you?” Solomon asked as Honoria came up behind him to see what the fuss was.

The porter swallowed. “Sorry, sir. Mr. Eastman wanted me to hand-deliver this to you.”

Solomon’s heart sank as the porter handed a simple scrap of folded paper to him. He nodded to the young man, who nodded in return, then headed on his way. Solomon turned back into the house, unfolding the paper to read.

“What does it say?” Honoria asked as she shut the door.

Solomon sighed. “The WSGA contingent has finished their investigation. They’re demanding my presence at the hotel immediately to hear what they’ve determined.”

Honoria wrung her hands, looking pale. Her expression betrayed that she had no more confidence that the WSGA men would to come to a fair conclusion than he had. “What do we do?”

“We go to the hotel and hear what they have to say,” Solomon answered. “It’s the only thing we can do.”

A sort of resigned calm came over Honoria. She smoothed her hands on her skirt, then said, “Then we’d better clean up breakfast and get over there.”

The two of them worked in tandem to clean up the dishes and leftovers from breakfast as fast as possible. Solomon finished his coffee as he worked, figuring he would probably need it. Once everything at their house was in order, he took Honoria’s arm and escorted her out to Station Street and up to the hotel.

It was a possible stroke of luck that they crossed paths with Howard as they reached the top of Main Street.

“Good morning, Mr. Templesmith, Mrs. Templesmith.” Howard greeted them with all his usual bombast. His wide smile faltered as soon as he saw the serious expressions both Solomon and Honoria wore. “What is it?”

“The WSGA have completed their investigation,” Solomon answered, strangely glad to have someone to tell. “I’ve been summoned like some medieval serf to hear their conclusions.”

Howard’s frown darkened. “I’m coming with you.”

A small part of Solomon thought he should argue, that he should face this firing squad alone, but Howard had as much right to hear what these interlopers had to say about the bank in his town as anyone.

The hotel was its usual calm, orderly self when they crossed the threshold into the lobby. Gunn was waiting for them and came out from behind the front desk to meet them in the middle of the room.

“They demanded I set them up in one of the private parlors as if this was some kind of inquisition,” he grumbled. “I would have ignored their request but for the fact that I assumed you’d want to deal with this in private.”

“Thank you, Gunn.” Solomon nodded to the man, his other staunchest ally. “We already know that whatever they say is going to be bad, so it might as well be said where other ears can’t hear it. Show me the way.”

Gunn held out his arm, gesturing to one of the side halls off of the lobby. Solomon exchanged another look with Honoria before following him. It was strange to him how he had always prided himself on being stalwart and immovable on his own, but in the scant two weeks since Honoria had been by his side, he felt immeasurably stronger. He would give up his entire banking business and every cent he had if he could only keep her by his side forever.

Gunn stopped in front of a door at the far end of the hall and knocked to announce their presence, then opened the door. As he did, Solomon shifted so that he held Honoria’s hand instead of escorting her.

“They’re here,” Gunn said, preceding them into the room.

“They?” Lamb blurted just as Solomon and Honoria stepped in.

The four WSGA men had set themselves up at a long table at one end of the room, like judges on a bench. They had been smoking long enough to make the air in the room thick. Solomon was instantly more concerned for Honoria’s lungs than anything else, but she seemed to take it in good stride. Where judges would have stacks of books on the table to back up their findings, the only thing on the WSGA table—besides Eastman’s feet—was a single piece of paper in front of O’Brien. The whole thing instantly put Solomon on edge.

But before he could say anything or demand the men share their results then leave, Howard barreled into the room.

“What nonsense are you blackguards up to now?” he demanded.

Solomon thought about letting Howard know it was all right, he didn’t need to start a war on his behalf, but the shocked looks on the WSGA men’s faces kept his mouth shut. He settled into a comfortable stance, squeezing Honoria’s hand and wondering what Howard would do next.

“This is a private meeting,” Eastman said, dropping his feet from the table and sitting up straighter.

“This is a witch-hunt,” Howard corrected him.

“It is a sanctioned investigation by the Wyoming Stock Growers Association that has been initiated based on the evidence of one of its foremost members.” O’Brien sniffed with all the arrogance of a bean-counting bureaucrat.

“Foremost members?” Howard boomed. “Rex Bonneville is nothing more than an ass. No, he’s the pimple on a particularly round ass.” Solomon nearly choked, especially when Howard flinched and turned to Honoria to say, “Terribly sorry, Mrs. Templesmith.”

“No, no.” Honoria couldn’t hide her grin. “At the moment, I’m forced to agree that that’s an apt description of my father.”

“You should be grateful that your father is trying to get you out of the shameful position you’ve landed yourself in, young lady,” Lamb snapped.

“I beg your pardon?” Howard roared.

Honoria held up a hand. It was a simple gesture, but Howard looked chastised and took a step back.

“My father does not understand my decision nor the position I am in,” she said, facing the men behind the table boldly. Solomon’s chest swelled with pride.

“Poppycock.” Lamb snorted. “It’s a disgrace to see a woman like you debasing yourself for a man like him.”

“Because I am white and he is black?” Honoria raised her voice. When none of the men answered immediately, she went on with, “This is not 1850, gentlemen. Men of color are no longer enslaved. It’s 1876, the centennial of a nation founded on ideals of liberty and equality, and it’s high time you realize that a man’s appearance or birth are no indication of his character or their ability to excel in life.”

“Here, here!” Howard cheered her.

“Radical nonsense!” Lamb shouted.

“Blasphemy!” Eastman agreed. “Though we should expect no better coming from the feeble mind of a woman.” He leaned across the table, narrowing his eyes at Honoria. “They never should have given you people the vote in this state. Mark my words, we’ll fix that mistake in a few years! If this isn’t raw evidence of your inability to think and your rash and imbecilic temperament, then I don’t know what is. You need a
real
husband to take you in hand and beat this impertinence out of you.”

“I revise my opinion, gentlemen.” O’Brien tilted his nose up as if both Honoria and Solomon stank. “These two…
things
deserve each other.”

An odd mix of emotion pounded through Solomon. On the one hand, he could have beat all three men into a bloody pulp for insulting Honoria. On the other, he couldn’t have agreed with them more. He and Honoria were meant to be together. They were a matched set, a perfect union.

And when she died she would take a part of him with her.

The fourth man at the table, Chalmers, who had so far sat there looking increasingly embarrassed, cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, perhaps we should get to our findings and conclude this interview as quickly as possible.”

The other three sneered at him but settled into their chairs. Solomon nodded shortly to Chalmers in thanks, but Chalmers refused to look at him. The man wasn’t an enemy, but like far too many others, he wasn’t going to lift a finger to help if it put him in a bad position with the bigger bullies in the schoolyard.

O’Brien picked up the paper in front of him and read, “It is the conclusion of the investigating committee of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association that Mr. Solomon Templesmith is in violation of several banking standards, as laid out by the National Banking Act of 1863, including failure to keep adequate records, failure to comply with solubility standards, and failure to provide the necessary information to the investigating authorities.”

“Solomon provided every one of those things to you,” Honoria protested. “
You
were the ones who destroyed and mangled his records, and as to your solubility standards—”

Solomon squeezed Honoria’s hand, prompting her to take a breath instead of railing on. He could have shouted and raged enough to bring the hotel down around them at the unfairness of it all, but experience had taught him it would do no good. There was nothing he could do to stop the tide from coming in, but if he was clever, he could make himself a boat to get over and past it.

O’Brien stared down his nose at Honoria and her interruption as though she was a swollen tick he’d found on a dog. He cleared his throat and went on. “Therefore, this committee has determined that if sufficient funds are not provided for any and every customer wishing to withdraw their funds from this sub-par institution, legal action shall be taken.”

“Though we won’t necessarily have to get the law involved in meting out punishment,” Eastman added in an ominous growl.

“This is outrageous,” Howard bellowed. “I will not have you threatening citizens of my town.”

“Also,” O’Brien added before the others could get into any sort of confrontation with Howard, “the WSGA is imposing a fine on Mr. Templesmith in the amount of five thousand dollars.” He set the paper down with a smug grin. “Payable immediately.”

“What?” Howard gasped.

Solomon clenched his jaw, fighting with everything he had not to give the men behind the table the reaction they wanted. It would only make things worse if he lost his temper, justifiably or not. At least the materials he needed for that boat he’d use to rise above the tide were there. Enough money to cover the ridiculous fine would be arriving on the train that morning.