Linda Castle (11 page)

“I wouldn’t think of offering you more money to stay.” Flynn shoved his chair back with his knees and stood up. He glared down at her.

She shivered under his chilling gaze. “Good. ’Cause more money wouldn’t make a bit of difference-not one bit.”

“Believe me, Mrs. Young, after hearing your thoughts on the matter, I wouldn’t consider having you stay a minute longer in this den of Satan.”

She blinked twice and took a tottering step backward. Her mouth worked as if she were trying to formulate something to say. “I’ll be off,” she managed to croak.

Flynn slammed the door behind her-hard. “Goodbye, you haughty hypocritical old bitch.”

A sound made him whirl around. He found two pairs of blue eyes watching him. For an instant Flynn could only stand there and blink. It was more than just being caught cursing that froze him to the spot.

It was
her.

The Arizona sunshine blazing through the tall kitchen windows bathed her in an almost heavenly glow. She was wearing a butter-colored silk morning wrapper that skimmed over her slight figure and caused his mouth to go dry as dust.

“Rachel, honey, would you check and see if the newspaper has been delivered yet?” Marydyth asked.

“Sure.” Rachel bounced from the room, oblivious to anything that was going on around her.

Flynn marveled that Rachel was so innocent that she could not feel the white-hot current flowing between him and Marydyth. “How much did she hear?”

“Only the goodbye,” she said with a lift of one brow.

“How much did you hear?” He focused on her face, studying it, trying to read her thoughts.

“All of it.”

“I’m sorry.” He was shocked to realize that he meant it.

She managed a crooked smile with one side of her mouth but she gave a little snort. “Don’t be. I’ve heard worse.” Marydyth walked into the kitchen. The yellow silk wrapper fluttered around her ankles like butterfly wings when she moved. It whispered a little sound that raised the flesh on Flynn’s arm.

He drew a breath through his tightly clenched teeth and fancied that he could taste her on his tongue—a combination of sweet and hot spices.

She got a cup from the cupboard and poured herself some coffee while he tried to pull his gaze from her slender form.

“Mmm—this is good.” She turned her eyes on him again and he felt color rise in his throat.

“Mr. O’Bannion, if you are able to find a replacement for Mrs. Young, and I assume what she said about my cooking would make you wish to, I want it made clear that whoever is hired will be working for me.”

“What?” There was a buzzing in his ears. He blinked and focused on her face, hoping it would be less distracting.

She frowned at him.

“I don’t want anyone in this house to have divided loyalties. I heard Mrs. Young mention that Victoria was paying her, or at least Moses Pritikin has been. I want no more of that. Whoever is hired will be on my payroll.”

“Your payroll?” Flynn repeated dumbly. He blinked and tried to dispel the image of her delicate ankles.

She looked at him as if he were simple in the mind. ’Today I intend to go to the bank and get my affairs in order.” She drew herself up straight. “I need to find out what shape my finances are in and exactly what my situation is.”

“Your finances?” Flynn could only repeat what she was saying.

“Yes, I’ll tell you straight out, I intend to see Moses Pritikin and hire him to revoke your guardianship of Rachel.”

Her words settled on him like a cold blanket, driving the crazy, lust-filled thoughts from his head.

He swallowed hard and his brain slowly processed all that she had said.

She doesn’t know about the terms of J.C.’s will

He stood there staring at her. She had survived Yuma, but what would it do to her when she found out the truth about J.C.’s will—the fact that
she
didn’t have a penny to her name?

“I need to go out for a while—”

“That’s fine.” She cut him off before he could finish his thought. “Rachel and I will do very well without you.”

There were at least a dozen things that he wanted to
say to her, but he knew he’d live to regret every damned one of them so he just clamped his jaw tight and left the house.

An hour later Flynn was sitting across the desk from Moses Pritikin. “You must’ve left in a god-awful hurry, Flynn.”

“Why do you say that?” Flynn was still thinking of the strange sensations he had experienced that morning.

“’Cause I’ve never seen you out without your hat. Hell, you look practically naked.”

Flynn felt his face color as that truth set in. He had been so rattled by Marydyth and his stunning awareness of her that he had not even realized he didn’t have his Stetson.

“I want to talk to you about Marydyth,” he blurted out.

“Is she giving you trouble already?” Moses leaned across the desk, all business written in the craggy lines of his weathered face.

“No, it’s not like that.” Flynn fidgeted beneath Moze’s steely gaze.

“Then what’s the trouble?”

“Hell, Moze, she intends to hire you to try and fire me.”

A burst of laughter erupted from Moses. “Fire you?” His thick white brows shot nearly to his equally white hairline. “Does she really think that she can?”

“Yep.” Flynn slouched in the chair, suddenly angry at himself and Moses. “I can’t blame her. I’d do the same thing in her position.”

“Except she doesn’t have a pot to make water in or a window to throw—”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Moze.” Flynn avoided Moze’s gaze.

“What do you mean? I executed J.C.’s will—she had nothing. And since her jewelry never turned up she doesn’t even have that to fall back on.”

“She does—now,” Flynn said dryly.

“She—? No. Tell me that you didn’t do what I think you did.” Moses leaned back, his face a mask of incredulous wonder.

“I transferred forty-five thousand dollars into an account at the bank—in her name alone—no strings attached.”

Moses narrowed his eyes. He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together. “Where did you get fortyfive thousand dollars on short notice?”

Flynn flicked a brown agate glance his way.

“I’ll be damned.” Moses exclaimed. “You put all the money from the annuity in an account for her.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. “Why, for Christ’s sake?”

“I dunno.” Flynn squirmed in the chair. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“J.C. evidently didn’t think so,” Moses pointed out.

“Perhaps J.C. didn’t know her as well as he thought,” Flynn heard himself snap sharply. “His will should have stated that Marydyth would inherit-not Rachel’s ’guardian.’“

Moses drew back, his eyes narrowed while he studied Flynn’s face. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I never wanted that money. Marydyth is entitled to it.” Flynn shifted in his seat. “But that isn’t what I came here to tell you.”

“Well—surprise me!” Moses shook his head from side to side, obviously in total disbelief.

“Marydyth wants to try and have the guardianship revoked.”

“She doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. Those papers are unbreakable, Flynn.” Moze’s eyes narrowed down to slits. “I made sure of it, myself.”

“She is still going to hire you.”

“Can’t be done. I am Victoria’s attorney.”

Flynn sat in the chair and stared at the pressed tin ceiling overhead. He could just imagine what Marydyth would think if Moze told her that. She would believe that it was all a plot to prevent her from trying to revoke the papers.

“Is there anybody else?” Flynn heard himself asking. It was crazy. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he trusted her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I want you to recommend somebody anyway. How about Foster in Tombstone?”

“Have you gone loco since I saw you last? You want me to recommend somebody to
help
her?”

“Yes—no—hell I don’t know what I want.” Flynn stood up and stared at Moses.

“You and I are the only ones who know exactly what was in that letter, Flynn.”

“I know.”

“Are you so convinced of her total innocence that you are comfortable doing this?”

“That’s just it, Moze. I’m not convinced of her innocence at all.”

I
t was late afternoon when Flynn finally returned to Hollenbeck House. The minute he opened the front door he was met by Rachel’s smiling face. He scooped her up and inhaled the fragrance of lilac toilet water.

“Mmm…you smell good.” He made an exaggerated game of sniffing her neck and the tender flesh behind her ear.

“Mama put some stuff on me.” Rachel’s smile slipped and she frowned at him. “Do you like it?”

“Very much.” Flynn kissed her soft cheek and inhaled deeply again. He laughed when she shivered.

“Then it’s all right? You don’t care if Mama combs my hair and puts water on me?”

Flynn looked into Rachel’s innocent pale eyes. It tore at him to know how very much she wanted to care for her mother, but how her little heart was guarding itself, trying to spare itself pain and hurt. He didn’t fully trust Marydyth, but something inside him wished that Rachel could.

“Punkin, it suits me just fine when she does nice things for you,” he finally said.

“I’m glad, ’cause I liked it. Now carry me into the parlor and see Mama’s company, Unca Flynn.”

“Company?” Flynn asked as he shifted Rachel up to his shoulders for her piggyback ride.

“Uh-huh. He wanted me to call him Unca too, but I said no.”

“Uncle?” The signature at the bottom of the letter flashed through his mind. Had Marydyth’s mysterious uncle Blaine showed up? A flash of anger surged through Flynn. Could the bastard really be so bold as to enter this house after letting Marydyth take the blame for Andre’s murder?

Flynn strode into the formal parlor, ready to physically eject the man. But he stopped in his tracks when he saw Ted Kelts sitting across from Marydyth, sipping what appeared to be a cup of tea.

“O’Bannion.” Kelts stood up and set his cup on the marble-topped table. “Nice to see you again.”

“Kelts?” Flynn glanced at Marydyth. She looked like a different woman than the one that had sent his mind spinning this morning. Now she was dressed in a demure mauve-colored day dress. The smudges beneath her eyes were almost gone, and she had smeared a little rouge on her cheeks. Her golden curls were gathered and caught by the two combs he had purchased at the mercantile.

Flynn shook himself. What the hell was he doing, worrying about what she was wearing—whether or not she was looking rested?

“Ted stopped by to say hello and to welcome me back.” Marydyth smiled warmly at Kelts, then she-turned to stare coldly at Flynn. “I am sure he will be the only one in Hollenbeck to make such a gesture.”

“Nonsense, Marydyth.” Ted reached across the wool rug separating them and patted her hand. “Give people
a chance. They’ll come round,” he assured her in a voice that Flynn thought was a mite too syrupy.

“I doubt it, but I thank you for trying to make me feel better, Ted. You were always a good friend to both J.C. and me.” Marydyth’s gaze slid across Flynn. Then she turned her attention upward to Rachel, still perched on Flynn’s shoulders. There was an easy bond between them. Seeing the way Rachel clung to Flynn, the way she trusted him, she felt a hot stab of jealousy.

“Marydyth, I need to go, but I want you to think over my offer,” Ted Kelts said.

“What offer is that?” Flynn asked bluntly. He wasn’t too damned happy to hear Ted Kelts wanted Rachel to call him Uncle—especially since Kelts had never so much as asked about Rachel all the time Marydyth was gone. His concern now seemed hollow and false.

“Ted has made an offer to buy some of the Hollenbeck mining property,” Marydyth said.

“What’s propty, Unca Flynn?” Rachel asked from her perch on his shoulders.

“It’s land and copper mines—like the Lavender Lady,” Flynn said coldly as he turned to stare at Ted Kelts.

Ted only shrugged and smiled, making no attempt to act as if he were sorry to be caught. “I told you I was accustomed to getting what I want, O’Bannion. Now that Marydyth is home I’ll be able to deal with her, and I don’t think I’ll be getting the same answer now.”

“We can talk about it later, Ted, after I give the matter some thought.” Marydyth stood and brushed the wrinkles from the front of her tiered skirt. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Flynn turned and watched Ted and Marydyth disappear into the hall. He wondered how in the hell he was going
to tell her that J.C. had ensured she could never sell or manage any Hollenbeck interests? He had made sure that Marydyth would never have a say in how the business was run. He had thought his young wife beautiful and incapable of understanding finance. Now the die was cast; Marydyth could never manage Hollenbeck Holdings as long as Rachel or Flynn were alive.

Marydyth came back into the room and was relieved to see that Rachel had scampered off somewhere.

She advanced on Flynn and did not stop until she was practically touching his boots. “Just who in the hell do you think you are?” she demanded.

His eyes narrowed. His already stone-hard jaw clamped tighter, giving his rugged face a stony look. “What do you mean?”

“Victoria appointed you Rachel’s guardian, but you are nothing more than hired help, Mr. O’Bannion. I think you may have forgotten that.”

His cold, agate eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

She waited for him to answer—to defend himself, but he just glared at her. “Well? What have you got to say?” Marydyth sounded braver than she felt with those unsympathetic eyes fixed on her face.

“I don’t.”

“What?” She blinked back her surprise and found herself backing up a step.

“I don’t have anything to say, Marydyth. If you want answers you’ll have to go see Moze Pritikin.” He turned away and left her standing in the parlor all alone.

Two hours later Marydyth sat across the desk in Moses Pritikin’s small office, feeling her heart pound slowly in
her own ears.

A thick sheaf of papers had been spread out, examined and read. She stared at the pages feeling numb, confused and
betrayed.

“But I—don’t understand. Why didn’t I know about the terms of J.C.’s will before now?” Her voice was a ragged whisper.

“There seemed no need to worry about it at the time, Marydyth. With the trial going on and then the sentencing.” He could no longer meet her gaze. “J.C. loved you, I have no doubt of that, but he never thought of you as capable enough to handle the Hollenbeck holdings.”

Capable.
The word rolled off Moze’s tongue and went straight through her heart like an Apache war lance.

Suddenly all her idyllic memories of J.C. altered, shifted and took shape again. Now she saw things in a different light. Instead of being flattered by his attention, she realized that in some ways he had thought she was weak. Instead of seeing the way he treated her through the eyes of an innocent girl being protected and loved for the first time, Marydyth saw the truth.

J.C. had considered her a lovely woman-child—a trophy more than a helpmate. He had petted and pampered and dressed her in fine clothes, he had built her a mansion and was proud to have her on his arm when they gave lavish dinner parties for the territorial governor. But now she realized that he had never considered her his equal in any way. And he certainly had not considered her competent enough to take care of their daughter’s interests. He had left his money and the future of Hollenbeck Corners in Victoria’s hands, and now.

“She put it all in Flynn O’Bannion’s control?”

“Every red cent, every acre, every mine and lease.
Even the stock wearing the Rafter H brand. Flynn has done a good job of managing it all up to now,” Moses explained patiently.

“But•but there is money in my account at the bank—the bank manager and I spoke on my way over here. J.C. must’ve left me something?” Marydyth had seen the account.

Moses cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. His frosty gaze slid over her face.

“Where did that money come from?” Marydyth asked.

“I am not at liberty to discuss your account at the bank or any more of this.” He began to gather and straighten papers. When he had them in one pile he shoved some of them into a battered folder. “I am Victoria’s attorney, and according to J.C.’s will that means I handle whatever legal questions Flynn O’Bannion may have. I can’t take you on as a client, Marydyth. I have an extra copy of everything for you.” He glanced up and handed her a stack of papers. “I hope you understand.”

“Perfectly,” she said stiffly as she rose from the chair.

“If you feel you need an attorney of your own, there is a new fella from the East who settled in recently. Wainwright Sloan has set up an office over on Fir and State. I would suggest you go retain him—ask him any questions you may have.” Moses managed a grim smile. “I’m afraid that’s all I can do for you, Marydyth.”

She clutched the stack of papers he had shoved toward her. “Thank you, Mr. Pritikin. You’ve been very informative.” She turned toward the door. When her fingers closed around the knob, she paused with her back still to Moses. “Knowing Victoria as I do, I am certain that she did not set up that account for me.”

Nothing but the sound of Moses shuffling papers could be heard in the compact office.

Marydyth continued. “That leaves only one person who could have done it.”

“I really cannot discuss this, Marydyth.”

“There’s no need for you to. I intend to ask Flynn O’Bannion why he gave me the money—and just what kind of game he is playing.”

Marydyth walked through the kitchen door and found Flynn and Rachel eating oatmeal cookies.

“Aren’t you afraid they’re laced with arsenic?” she asked acidly.

He looked up at her and frowned darkly. But when he turned to Rachel, his face was bland. “Sugar, would you do me a favor?”

“What, Unca Flynn?” Rachel asked around a mouthful of cookie.

“Would you get a couple of carrots and take them out to Jack?”

She was off the chair in a blur of blue and white gingham. Her shoes clattered on the floor as she raced into the pantry and found a bunch of carrots.

“I’ll take him three,” she said. Her curls, bright as new pennies, bounced as she skipped to the door.

“Good idea, but you stay on the outside of the stall,” Flynn warned.

“I will.” Her words were muffled by the slamming of the back door.

As soon as she was gone Marydyth took off her gloves and walked to Flynn. She stared at him for half a minute, then she slapped him hard across the face. “I hate you.”

He sat there, feeling the sting of her hand on his face
and the sting of her words on his soul. And then something in him snapped.

He was out of the chair and had both of her hands in his before he even realized what his intentions were. Flynn drove her back until the wall stopped her. With one hand he gathered her wrists together, forcing her breasts to jut out toward him. He could have snapped those bones with no more effort than it took to break a matchstick.

“Do you, Marydyth?” He studied her face from no more than two inches away. “Do you really hate me?”

Before he knew what he was doing his lips were upon hers in a crushing kiss. He wanted to silence her sharp tongue; he wanted to dominate her.

No, he didn’t. Because as he felt her body shudder and recognized it as a tiny whimper, something inside of him changed. The kiss became one of desire and hunger. He found himself growing gentle and curious. His tongue traced the outside of her lips, tasting the cool, sweet spice that he had sensed last night.

His blood got thick and heavy inside his veins and his pulse raced. He pressed himself against her.

She stiffened.

It felt good. No, it felt better than good. But then in the midst of his muddled lust he realized who it was he was holding.

He drew back and studied her face. Her eyes were wide and her breasts were rising and falling with each agitated breath.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Flynn searched her face and realized that she wasn’t questioning him about the kiss. “About what?” His own voice was low and husky with latent passion.

“You bastard!” She jerked her hands, trying to get
away but he held her tighter, bringing her body hard up against his. Heat radiated between them.

“I hate you—I hate you!”

“No, you don’t.” He kissed her hard and long. And this time he felt her body lose some of its brittle tension. When he released her wrists her hands slid up his shoulders and curled around his neck. Damn it all to hell, she felt good in his arms. Marydyth didn’t exactly return his kiss, but she didn’t resist it either. Maybe she was hungry for a man’s touch after being locked in prison. Whatever the reason, his bruising possession of her mouth was long, sweet and uninterrupted.

She settled back on her feet with a kind of startled sigh. Then she reached up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, as if she had only then become aware of what had happened between them.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she whispered. Impotent rage burned in her eyes. “Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Marydyth, but I can’t say I won’t do it again,” Flynn replied truthfully. He didn’t trust her, but damn it all to hell, he could no longer trust himself either.

In that moment she hated herself almost as much as she hated him. She should have fought him, should have scratched his eyes out. But the kiss.

It filled her with an emotion she didn’t want to feel and was hungry to feel again. She was mad and confused, and Flynn only made it worse. All of her notions about J.C. were nothing more than a foolish woman’s dreams, and in the midst of all of that Flynn O’Bannion had managed to make her feel like a woman again.

“I do hate you.” She spit out the only defense she had

He backed up and gave her a little space between them. She sighed unconsciously in relief.

“Quit spitting like a she-cat and talk to me.”

“I spoke with Moses Pritikin.”

“Oh.” Flynn watched her draw her wrist close to her body and rub it with her fingers.

Had he hurt her? Was she afraid of him—was that why she kept herself all bristly like a porcupine?

“Is that all you can say?” She looked up at him with unshed tears swimming in her eyes. “Why?”