Capture the Sun (Cheyenne Series) (45 page)

      
“And you plan to revive her fallen reputation,” Lola supplied with a cynical laugh. “Don't count on too much gratitude, Karl. You may just have to think of another way to get Circle S.”

      
It promised to be a very interesting fall in this godforsaken wilderness after all, she thought to herself, settling down on the plum velvet sofa to sample some of Karl's schnapps. Very interesting indeed.

* * * *

      
It was time to get a haircut, Hawk decided that morning as he considered the hot, cumbersome braids hanging down on his bare chest. He nicked himself shaving and swore absently. The long hair had been like a badge of defiance, to soothe his hurt pride and fierce anger when he first returned. But what the hell was he proving by continuing to dress like a Cheyenne? And to whom? He threw down the towel after wiping the remnants of soap from his face. He would ride into town this afternoon.

      
Miles City had changed somewhat since the coming of the railroad. A few new faces were scattered among the old familiar ones. Jeb Brighton had sold his livery stable to a young Swede named Magnusson and the bank had several new clerks. Business was booming. Cattle prices were high back east and the easy access to rails made rapid delivery of livestock a reality for the ranchers.

      
As he rode by Cummins' Emporium, Hawk noticed the fancy new title and sign hanging on the wooden facade of the big old store. Idly he thought of Kitty, then dismissed her from his mind. He would get a bath and haircut, then head to Clancey's for a much-needed release. He thought back over the better part of a year's celibacy, now amazed at his lack of interest in women.

      
When Wind Song died, he was so numbed by guilt and grief he had no desire for months afterward. But when Carrie came back into his life, his feelings quickly changed. The air at Circle S was charged with sexual tension every time he encountered her. Damn her
veho
soul to hell!

      
If the citizens of Miles City were not exactly overjoyed to have Noah Sinclair's half-breed son return, everyone knew better than to cross him openly. His shocking liaison with his father's wife gave the town gossips plenty to talk about. They sniped behind his back, and Hawk certainly provided ample grist for their mills, alleviating the boredom on many a long, hot summer afternoon.

      
No one contributed more to keeping the fires of scandal blazing than Mathilda Thorndyke. She had settled in town after having been discharged from Circle S and now worked at Cummins' Emporium and resided at Mrs. Crump's boardinghouse. Her nest egg was safely deposited in the local bank. Since her arrival she had devoted her life to making sure every last soul in the eastern territory heard the sinful tale of adultery that surrounded Carrie Sinclair.

      
Hawk saw her standing on the wooden porch of the newspaper office. “Probably going to take out an ad denouncing me as a heathen killer and despoiler of white women.” He smirked bitterly. Then, unable to resist, he swung Redskin over toward her and paused to tip his hat insolently. “Good day, Mathilda. You look in the bloom of health, like you just strangled a litter of newborn kittens.” When she gasped and jumped back, almost falling over a bench next to the plate-glass window, he laughed and kneed his big red horse on toward the barber shop down the street.

      
Lola Jameson took in the exchange between Hawk and the Thorndyke crone from her vantage point inside the bank. She had come to town today to check on her meager resources and make discreet inquiries about Hawk and Carrie. Lola did not believe they could continue to live at the same ranch and not resume their earlier relationship. Krueger was a fool, hoping to win the Sinclair girl. Lola had decided to take a gamble and wait it out as her brother-in-law's houseguest. She was desperate. Her money was running low, and she must find a husband soon.

      
Karl was her perfect answer—titled, rich, and worldly. They could appreciate each other and overlook one another's flaws. If only she could make him see how stupid it was to pursue Carrie Sinclair. Her eyes narrowed as she thought of her rival. Lola had wanted revenge on the acid-tongued redhead ever since their encounter at the ball two years ago in Miles City.

      
As she watched Hawk, Lola felt the same old hungry compulsion seize her. What was it about dangerous men that had always drawn her to them? Her reputation was in shreds back east despite her marriage to a titled European. During her years with Ernst, she had flitted from one scandalous amour to another, earning the censure of eastern society. Now she felt that yearning stir her again, made doubly strong by the unattainable status of her quarry. Hawk had resisted her blandishments since he was a youth, but Lola loved a challenge. Taking what was Carrie Sinclair's would sweeten the bargain even more.

      
Wetting her red lips with the tip of her tongue, she stepped out of the bank just when she saw him leave the barbershop. Her timing had never been better as she stepped onto the walk at the exact moment he looked out to cross the street. They narrowly missed colliding, and she reached one silk-gloved hand out to steady herself on his arm.

      
“Why, Hawk Sinclair! I heard you had come home.” She scanned his freshly barbered black hair, now cut crisply above his shirt collar. One inky lock fell across his high forehead as he reached down to extricate himself from her grasp. “Still sinfully handsome, and so aloof, darling. I've heard all sorts of the most delicious gossip about you since I came to visit Karl. You have heard my poor, dear Ernst died this spring?
I'm
a widow,
too
.” She emphasized the first and last words of the sentence overmuch.

      
He scoffed. “I can see how much you mourn poor, dear Ernst's passing.” His black eyes took in her elegant red suit with its matching feathered hat. Her overblown curves were displayed so no man could miss their blatant invitation.

      
“Don't be cross, darling. After all, you can scarcely throw stones now, can you? If I'm willing to overlook your rather obvious lapse with Carrie Sinclair, you should be willing to overlook my past indiscretions.” She saw him stiffen and quickly went on, “Besides, I have some news you'd be very interested in hearing. It concerns Karl and your redheaded light o' love.”

      
“Whatever Carrie has to do with Krueger is her own business. I just run Circle S, that's it.” His eyes were shuttered, his voice carefully controlled.

      
“Even if Karl is at your ranch right now, having lunch with her, inviting her to a special party next month? Aren't you the least bit curious about why he's willing to negotiate her re-entrance into polite society?” She could tell she had his attention now.

      
Hawk slid her hand on his arm and they began to stroll up the street. “Suppose you just let me in on Karl's plans, Lola.”

* * * *

      
“But why on earth invite me to such an elegant social occasion, Baron von Krueger? You must realize all the right people in the area will decline to attend if they know a harlot like me will be there.” Carrie was frankly baffled by Krueger's unexpected visit and oily, effusive European charm.

      
He smiled. “Please, my dear young woman, do not distress yourself. I realize that you have been ostracized since last summer. If I may speak bluntly, your reputation will continue to be in shreds as long as that gunman lives on this ranch with you and you are not married.”

      
She smirked archly. “I scarcely think my stock would go up in town if I married him at this late date!”

      
“But of course not! I did not mean to imply you should ever marry the barbarian who took advantage of you. I merely meant that you need the protection of someone whose influence and respectability are above reproach.”

      
“Such as yourself? Why sponsor a fallen woman like me?” Could he possibly have the gall to think she'd marry him and hand Circle S over to him just to regain her reputation!

      
“Would you not like to—how do you Americans put it?—thumb your nose at all those snobbish women? How long has it been since you have dressed up in a beautiful gown or waltzed with a man? Would it not be a pleasure to be admired by all the gentlemen? You are a very beautiful woman, Carrie Sinclair.” His hooded eyes shone with lust as he spoke.

      
Carrie repressed a shudder of revulsion. His manner reminded her so much of Noah. The naked ruthlessness of him, the enormous bald nerve. He wanted her ranch and would do anything to get it. Well, two could play his dangerous game of intrigue. It might be interesting to see the palatial mansion he had built on K Bar land. And, yes, she would love to flaunt herself in front of every hypocritical, psalm-singing man and woman in the territory! Accepting Krueger's invitation would infuriate Hawk and possibly make him jealous as well.
 

      
“I accept, Baron.” As he bowed and kissed her hand, she smiled wickedly.

* * * *

      
“You can't seriously consider going to a party at K. Bar!” Hawk glared at Carrie across the parlor as he paced back and forth in agitation.

      
“Why not? Surely you don't think I'm so naive and gullible that I'll fall in his arms and hand Circle S to him, signed and sealed for some marriage lines?” She stood squarely in front of him now, hands on her hips, glaring right back.

      
“Then why go at all?” His look was both cynical and accusing.

      
“You wouldn't understand,” she replied bleakly, thinking of all those women in town who crossed the street to avoid contamination from her skirts, and the men like Cy Cummins with his insolent demand for cash payments on all Circle S supplies.

      
“Lola told me exactly what that old badger is up to. I just hope you're not stupid enough to fall for some hand kissing and a Continental accent, Firehair.”

      
Her head shot up and she flinched, not only for the insult of his patronizing, but also because he used that old endearment. It had been so long since he'd called her Firehair. “You're a fine one to talk, listening to anything that sluttish Lola Jameson says. Her husband's scarcely cold in his grave and she's on the prowl for a replacement!”

      
He laughed harshly as he poured himself a generous predinner whiskey. “I'll hardly fall for Lola's charms after all these years. Anyway, she's not after a gunman without a cent in the bank. She wants Krueger. Let her have him.”

      
“I won't argue that they don't deserve one another,” she said darkly, “but I'm going to the baron's little party. You never know what I might find out about Caleb Rider and the rustling.”

      
He scowled. “They're both dangerous men. You're getting in deep water, Carrie. If you won't stay clear of Krueger, I'll just have to invite myself along as your escort.”

      
She almost smiled, but caught herself, suppressing the surge of triumph. “Suit yourself. It's a formal affair,” she replied levelly.

      
“I still have dress clothes,” he said defensively, irked at her flat acceptance of his offer.

      
Remembering how he had looked the night of the ball in that elegant black suit, she felt the heat stealing into her cheeks and turned to excuse herself abruptly.

      
He cursed silently, certain she was mortified at the prospect of attending the baron's party with a half-breed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      
Carrie took special pains dressing for Krueger's party. She found after living so long in riding skirts and boots that it was a genuine pleasure to try different gowns and hairstyles, to primp and pamper herself. That was the real reason for her elation, she told herself repeatedly, not that she would be beautiful for the man who was escorting her. She finally decided on a gown she had never worn, part of the elaborate trousseau Noah had bought for her.

      
It was a deep honey-colored silk, trimmed with bronze-gold lace across the shoulders, so elegantly and simply cut that it did not look dated. She had not liked it when she first tried it on because of the color, but now with her golden suntanned skin it was exceedingly flattering. Her fiery hair was set off beautifully by the honey color as well. The low neckline emphasized the swell of her breasts, grown larger since Perry's birth.

      
Running her fingers idly across the four inches of lace at the neckline, she inspected her appearance in the mirror. Her long, slim waist seemed emphasized by the clinging layers of silk that fell away below it. Yes, the dress was quite perfect, bringing out amber flecks in her dark-green eyes. Estrella styled her hair with two long, soft curls on one side and then piled the rest high on her head in a rich, gleaming welter. She wore a thin, gold-filigree necklace set with an amber pendant nestling between her breasts, and matching amber earrings. Inspecting herself critically in the mirror, she decided she looked elegant in an understated yet sensuous way.
I hope Lola Jameson wears scarlet satin and pounds of diamonds!

      
Clutching her shawl and reticule, Carrie anxiously went downstairs. She knew Hawk was waiting in the parlor. Thinking of the parties she had attended in St. Louis, she had to laugh at the recurrence of schoolgirl nerves.
I'm a grown, twenty-year-old woman with a child,
she reminded herself.

      
For once it was she who caught him unawares as she silently stood in the open door of the parlor. He had his back turned, gazing out the window, lost in contemplation. He looked splendid, just as she remembered from that long-ago evening at the hotel in Miles City, wearing that same perfectly tailored black broadcloth suit. The snowy-white shirtfront contrasted with his coppery skin and blueblack hair. One elegantly booted foot was on the windowsill as he leaned his arm casually across his knee and stared into space. She could see his face in profile as she moved soundlessly over the thick carpet. He looked for all the world like a sleek, dark panther poised to spring, powerful and dangerous even in repose.