Love and Fury: The Coltrane Saga, Book 4 (31 page)

“Any other man,” he went on, “would tell you to go to hell. A deal’s a deal, and it was entirely legal. But I know you been through a lot, and something about all this stinks, so I’ll sell the land back.” He hesitated. “I take it Travis didn’t know anything about this.”

Colt shook his head. Why lie? He moved to the window, gave in to the plea of his tormented heart, and looked toward home. There was a stab of awful pain, and he turned away again. Lifting miserable eyes to Seth Parrish, he vowed, “I’ll get your money back. All of it. Just give me some time.”

Seth nodded. “You wouldn’t sell it to someone else, would you?” Colt asked.

Seth said, “No. I’ll give you all the time you need. Within reason,” he added. He was a businessman, yes, but he prided himself on following the Golden Rule. Not that Seth was a religious man, but he did follow that creed.

Colt walked to the tall oak hat rack by the door to Seth’s office and took down his hat. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, and I appreciate your being so decent, Seth.”

Seth shook hands with Colt. Then, curiosity rising, he followed as Colt made his way through the spacious house to the front door.

From the front porch that stretched the entire length of the mansion, Seth watched as Colt mounted Pedro. Only then did he give in to the question that was bursting within him. “Colt, where do you plan to
get
that kind of money?”

Colt smiled, but there was no warmth in the smile. His eyes were like ice. “From the person you gave it to, sir.” He said it as though it were all quite simple. “I’m going to France.”

He urged Pedro into a gallop, and dust flew as he rode away.

Seth Parrish stood on the porch and watched until John Travis Coltrane disappeared over the horizon.

Then he turned and went back inside, smiling to himself. Getting back a million dollars was a formidable mission. But this was, after all, Travis Coltrane’s son.

As soon as they had as much gold as it was possible to buy in Nevada, they set out for San Francisco.

Gavin warned them on the journey from Nevada that, once they arrived in France, they would have to be very circumspect. It wouldn’t do to let anyone learn of their new wealth because that might lead to undesirable questions. They would take second-class train accommodations and, when necessary, ride in plain coaches. They would have to arrive in Monaco very discreetly.

For that reason, he’d felt they could enjoy their new wealth while in America. If they rode into San Francisco in a huge, fancy coach, what harm could it do?

Anxious to celebrate and to show himself off, Gavin hired an enormous white coach for himself, Briana, and Delia, letting the guards ride behind in plainer coaches, and on flatbed carts, with the luggage and the gold. Once the larger portion of the gold bars was acquired, in San Francisco, all six hired men would have to ride with it in plain wagons.

The white coach suited Gavin’s mood. He was elated. He even became sufficiently expansive to tell Delia and Briana stories about his poverty-bound childhood in Kentucky. His face darkened as he related the story of his father’s death, and Travis Coltrane’s part in it. Briana understood then why it had been so easy for Gavin to defraud Travis Coltrane’s son, and why he’d taken such an unholy gleeful attitude toward her seduction of Colt. It wasn’t mere greed. Gavin hated the Coltranes. Travis had killed Stewart Mason. Seeing the look in Gavin’s eyes as he told of his father’s death, Briana realized that Gavin’s madness had begun early in his life. And it
had
been a hard childhood; she didn’t deny that. But hers had been difficult, too, and her attitude toward life was wholly different from Gavin’s. What had warped him? Had it been his adoptive aunt?

Gavin talked on and on, oblivious to whether Briana and Delia were actually listening. He was enjoying his role as wealthy American, recently returned from Europe, a man of great means who had a château in Monaco and would soon be able to buy something much, much larger.

As he talked on, throwing in observations about America and how Kentucky would probably look to him if he paid his home state a visit, Briana’s mind drifted from what he was saying. She looked around inside the large coach. The interior was done in deep brown leather, and the floor rug was red velvet. There was gilt paint everywhere, inside and out. There were lanterns inside and outside, too, and four matched black horses drew the carriage.

She smiled sadly, thinking of how high she’d risen in the world since betraying her friend, Dani, and breaking the heart of the man she loved. How high she’d risen, and how low she’d fallen. Her friend Marice would laugh and laugh, she thought. Some months before, Briana had been horrified to learn of Marice’s receiving a gown and a bracelet for her services. How much more horrifying were her own recent deeds, reflected Briana.
Oh, Charles,
she silently begged,
did I do right? Will you live? Are you truly better already?
The possibility that all she had done would mean very little to Charles in the long run was unthinkable, and she shut her mind against the thought.

One night, when they stopped at an inn near Sacramento for dinner before going on—Gavin wanted to make the best time possible—Briana watched covertly as Gavin preened himself before a large ornate mirror in the foyer. Primping his blond curls, smoothing his mustache, he brushed at his favorite deep blue velvet coat and gazed adoringly at his reflection.
He may seem silly and vain,
Briana cautioned herself,
but in fact he can be cruel, and he’s violent. Remember that, because you are under his thumb until you reach Paris.

They dined on very good food, including fresh brook trout, which Gavin continually disparaged because it wasn’t prepared elegantly. There was no wine, only beer, and Gavin rolled his eyes at Delia and Briana as if to say, “See how provincial they are?” His attitude became more supercilious the closer they got to San Francisco, and the greater the distance they put between themselves and Silver Butte, Nevada.

In San Francisco, they had no difficulty getting passage to England. Still feeling quite extravagant, Gavin booked the best accommodations, on the
Pacific,
a luxurious American liner that could sail at a speed of thirteen knots.

The ship boasted the latest in everything including the new electric lighting. There were elegant public rooms, decorated in French and Italian Renaissance styles. In the state rooms there was furniture by notables such as Adam, Sheraton, and Chippendale.

Gavin chose the best room for himself and Delia, and Briana was just across the hall, so he could keep an eye on her. Dirk and the other five hired men, however, stayed in plain cabins on the lower decks.

Briana had been closely guarded throughout the trip from Silver Butte, and the sea voyage was no different. There was not a moment, day or night, when one of Dirk Hollister’s men was not posted outside her door. Her meals were brought to her, and once a day, with a guard beside her, she was allowed some walking, for exercise. Finally, Gavin had told her she was not to attempt to speak to anyone.

Being a prisoner suited her, for all she wanted was to be left alone in her misery. She was grateful, too, not to be in the company of Delia, who was arrogant and mean and talked incessantly.

Briana spent her hours agonizing over Colt and trying to be hopeful about the future, about making a life with Charles in Paris. She longed desperately to see him. Had the operation been performed? She guessed so, as Gavin had sent the money.

By day, she stood at the little porthole in her cabin and stared out at the endlessly rolling sea. She felt caught in a void. Nothing ended, and nothing began.

Nights were the worst, for she had no control over her dreaming, and her mind gave way to the tortures of guilt. Colt’s handsome, adoring face would drift toward her. She was tormented by that smile, those laughing dark eyes, the two small dimples at the corners of his mouth. Sometimes she could even feel his arms tight around her, holding her close against his rock-hard chest. She awakened sobbing.

She wanted him. Fiercely. She loved him.

She knew she would carry the nightmares to her grave, and she knew she would carry her love for Colt with every beat of her heart.

Finally, mercifully, they arrived in London and went at once to the train depot and boarded the train for Dover. From Dover they crossed the channel to Calais. There they boarded another train for the trip to Paris.

At long last they reached Paris, and though it was still night, Briana ran from the train, exhilarated. She looked toward the glittering lights of the city and hugged herself with delight.

It was over.

Her role as Dani was done with, and her new life would begin now—her life with Charles, in Paris.

A strong hand clamped down on her arm, and she whirled around. It was the swarthy guard, Tom.

“Mason says I’m to take you to the hotel,” he said, staring at her chest instead of her face. “Let’s go.”

Briana tensed, then chided herself for being so stupid. Of course they would go to a hotel for the rest of the night. She could not go to the hospital to see Charles. Not yet. A few hours’ sleep, then a nice, hot bath… The thought birthed a smile. She wasted it on Tom, for he returned her smile with a gloating secret look, just as Delia had sometimes done on the train. Tom made her flesh creep. All of Dirk’s henchmen made her feel that way.

Tom stood guard outside Briana’s door at the hotel. Exhausted despite her exhilaration, she went straight to bed, wanting to be refreshed when she saw Charles. She hoped weariness would keep the nightmares at bay.

Mercifully, sleep came quickly and soundly, and it seemed that only moments had passed when she heard someone calling her name.

Gavin stood over her. “Get dressed quickly. We leave within the hour for the depot. Your brother will be there waiting.”

“The depot?” she echoed, mystified. “Why? How? Has he been discharged from the hospital? Why didn’t you tell me?” She glared at him.

“Just get dressed,” he ordered. “I have no time for questions.”

Within a half hour, Briana tapped on the door to let the guard know she was ready. She was wearing one of Dani’s prettiest gowns, a day dress of yellow velvet, with a long-sleeved jacket and high collar. Paris could be cold in mid-November.

Dirk Hollister was waiting for her, having replaced Tom as her guard. He stepped forward and took her arm. He smiled down at her and whispered a compliment, but she frostily ignored him as she always did. Her comeuppance was not going to be long in coming, he vowed. When Gavin Mason had his fill of her, Dirk was damn well going to have his.

They rode in silence through the as-yet silent streets of. Paris, and when they arrived at the train depot, Briana didn’t even wait for Dirk to help her alight. In unladylike fashion, she slid from her seat, grasped the sides of the carriage, and jumped to the cobblestones below.

She looked around wildly, excitedly, and then she saw him, sitting in one of those chairs with large wheels, a thick blanket tucked around him. A poker-faced woman dressed in a stiff white uniform stood beside him, but Charles was smiling joyously, his whole face illuminated with a love too great to be contained. He raised his arms to his sister, shouting her name over and over. Briana called out, “Charles! Charles!” Lifting her skirt and petticoats, she ignored Dirk Hollister’s commands to wait, and began running toward the brother she adored and had been so horribly, desperately worried about.

She fell to her knees before Charles, wrapping her arms around him, and he hugged her, their tears mingling. For a long time, neither could speak, then they both began at once, convulsing with laughter.

Then Gavin appeared and dismissed the nurse, explaining to Briana that she would be taking over her brother’s care.

As the nurse walked away, Briana called out to her, asking if there were any special instructions she should know about.

The woman looked to Gavin, then turned and left.

As Briana stared at Gavin, waiting for an explanation, he instructed Hollister, “Get the boy on board, then load his chair.”

As Dirk started toward Charles, Briana held up her hands in protest. “Why are we boarding the train?” she cried. “I told you, I’m staying in Paris. It will be easier for me to find a job here, and Charles will be near—”

“You are leaving with us,” Gavin said smoothly. “Do not cause a scene, Briana.”

He barked orders to Hollister. “Get them on the train. Now!”

“No!”

Briana got to her feet and faced Gavin with more courage than she’d known she had.

He had what he wanted: the Coltrane money. And she had her brother. It was time to part. She wanted it done quickly, for she couldn’t bear the presence of this despicable man any longer. If he was going to renege on their bargain and not give her any money, then so be it. She would find a way to support herself and Charles. But being in the company of Gavin Mason and his friends was destroying her.

She told him as much, keeping her voice low so the passersby didn’t overhear.

He exchanged amused glances with Dirk Hollister, then stepped very close to her and said, in an equally quiet voice, that she would either do as he said—at once—or he would have Hollister take Charles away and kill him. “Don’t think I won’t do it, my dear.” He smiled. Anyone watching would have thought they were having a pleasant conversation. “You will be gagged. That’s easily done. And Hollister will take your brother into those bushes over there and choke him to death and leave his body for the crows.”