Moon Racer (7 page)

He spoke with a slow Southern accent rather than
the clipped drawl of a Texan, and his tone was too
soft to suit her.

"It always brightens my life to see you, Abby."

Many people thought him charming, and to be
sure he was tall and distinguished-looking, with
blond hair that was slightly graying at the temples.
But his eyes disturbed Abby-they were a hard,
marble blue with no warmth in them at all.

Reluctantly remembering her duties as hostess,
she asked, "May I offer you something cool to
drink? I'm sure you're thirsty after your long ride
from town."

He dabbed at the back of his neck with a snowwhite handkerchief. "It is hotter than usual for this
time of year." Shoving his handkerchief back in his
pocket, he took her arm and led her toward the
door. "Where is everyone?" He looked toward the
barn. "Is anyone else around?"

"Yes," she said quickly, not wanting him to think
she was alone. "Quince is in the stable with an army
officer. I don't know where Brent is, and I suppose
Frances must be somewhere in the house, probably
in the kitchen."

Edmund reached for the door and held it open for
Abby to pass through. "It seems a bit strange that an
army officer would visit the Half-Moon." A deep
frown creased his brow. "I noticed a couple of
soldiers hanging around town this afternoon-I
wonder if they are with him."

"I wouldn't know."

He stared down at her, his hand touching and
sliding up her arm, his gaze stabbing at her. "You
are damp and warm with perspiration."

"No," she said, prickling, "I'm dusty, tired, and
sweating." She moved quickly away from him,
leading him into the parlor. She offered him a chair,
but he went to the picture of her mother that hung
over the fireplace; it seemed to be a ritual that
Edmund performed every time he came to the ranch.
He always stood beneath the portrait and stared at it.

"Did you know," he asked after a long silence,
"that I was with your mother when she posed for
this?"

"My father never told me that."

"The artist was so taken with Beth's beauty that
he gave the painting to her when he had finished it.
If any of you ever want to sell the portrait, I'll pay
handsomely for it."

Her head snapped up, and she stared at him.
"Why would we want to sell my mother's portrait
to you?"

Edmund shrugged. "Maybe you'll need the
money someday. And she was a beautiful woman;
I'd like to have this likeness of her... if you ever
do decide to sell it."

"I believe my family would sell the Half-Moon
before letting Mama's portrait go. I know I would."

"You never know what you'll do when you're
desperate." His eyes turned cold, and his voice
dropped in tone. "I want you to remember that we
had this conversation."

Abby glanced away from him, wishing she could
just leave. Where was everyone, and why did she
have to entertain Mr. Montgomery? Swallowing her
feeling of uneasiness, she turned toward her
mother's likeness. "I wish I could remember more
about her," she said, striving to make conversation.

Edmund came up to her, touching her hair and
allowing his finger to trail down her cheek. "You
are very like her, you know. If you want to
remember her, just look in the mirror. Underneath
that smudged face you have Beth's features, and
you are a temptress just like she was."

Abby knew she certainly wasn't trying to tempt
him! She stepped quickly away from his grasping
hands. "I need to change before supper. If you want
to talk to Quince, I'll get him for you."

He smiled, showing a perfect row of white teeth.
"I don't want him. I'd rather talk to you."

She edged toward the door, knowing she had to
get away from him. "If you will excuse me, I'll
have Frances bring you a cool drink."

He reached for her hand, drawing her back into
the room. "No, don't go yet. I have something to
tell you."

Abby stiffened; her mind was screaming that this
was not right. His hand glided from her shoulder to
her arm, brushing against her breast on its way to
her hand. The movement was just subtle enough
that she could not accuse him of fondling her-she
was not sure if he had done it on purpose, or if it
had been accidental.

"Why are you here?" she asked, drawing away
from him and feeling as though she wanted to wash
everywhere he had touched.

I came to tell you about your father."

He eased her closer to him again, and she wedged
her elbow between them. "What about Papa?"

He stepped away from her as if he sensed he was
making her nervous.

"Your father bought a new horse yesterday
morning, and by afternoon he had already entered it
in the two-mile race. I told him it was rash to suppose
he could win the race when he wasn't familiar with
the horse, but he wouldn't listen to me."

Abby felt her heart plummet. "Papa didn't have
the money to buy a racehorse. Please tell me you
didn't loan him money again, Mr. Montgomery."

"Sure I did." His eyes hardened. "Jack Hunter is
my friend."

"Brent and Quince aren't going to like it when
they find out you loaned Papa money. You know
very well Brent has asked you not to extend Papa
any more credit."

Edmund waved his hand dismissively. "Brent is
too cautious, and he's too hard on your father, for
that matter." He shook his head as if in disbelief.
"Anyway, I was happy for your father when his
horse won the race, and you should be, too."

She watched his face, afraid to hear the truth, and
yet needing to know. "Did he win much money?"

He liked playing mind games with her-first raising her hopes, only to dash them. "Not anything to brag about. It was the starting race of the day the
teaser."

"But there was some money?"

"Yes, there was."

"Enough to pay you back for the horse?"

"Not anywhere near that." His mouth smoothed
into a straight line as he smiled. "He had just enough
winnings to invite all the men to accompany him to
the Lone Star so he could buy drinks all around."

Abby's hopes were dashed, and she had a sick
feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was always the
same with her father-horse racing was in his blood,
and he had no head for business. It was all Brent and
Quince could do just to keep the ranch going from
day to day, while their father made it harder for them
with his gambling and wild buying sprees. hen he

Edmund smiled slightly when-he-
saw the misery
in Abby's eyes. "Your father was in no condition to
come home last night, so I put him up at my place,"
he said in a pretense of sorrow.

"Thank you for giving Papa a place to sleep," she
said, forcing herself to be polite. "But please don't
loan him any more money."

"You have to understand, when a friend asks me
for help, I give it when I can. That's what a banker
does."

"Papa doesn't seem to know what to do with
himself since he returned from prison. And he isn't
making good decisions. If you were his friend, you
would see that."

"Poor Abby." His hand ran up her arm while he
stared over her shoulder at the likeness of her
mother. "Sweet Abby. I am not only your father's
friend; I'm yours, too. I want you to know that you
can come to me for anything."

She twisted away from him as she got a whiff of
the too-sweet scent of his cologne. She hated the
touch of his hand on her, and she could hardly resist
the urge to bat it away. "I-"

He pulled her back to him, holding her so she
could not escape this time.

"Please let me go, Mr. Montgomery."

His hot breath touched her ear. "Call me
Edmund-I have waited a long time to hear you say
my name."

Abby was about to shove him away when she
heard footsteps on the front porch. "That'll be
Quince." She was glad when Edmund's hands
dropped to his sides. "You can ask him what to do
about Papa."

Before he could say anything further, she hurried
out of the room, relieved to get out of his reach. She
would make certain that she was never alone with
him again.

Quince had seen Edmund's horse, so he was not
surprised to find him in the parlor. After introducing
Jonah to the banker, Quince excused himself so he
could let Frances know about their guest and that
the family would all be gathering for supper.

Edmund eyed Jonah warily. "Do the two soldiers
I saw in town belong to you, Major?"

"Yes, they do." He gave no more information.

"Do they have any special reason to be in Diablo?
I heard the troopers were asking a lot of questions,"
Edmund pressed. "I saw by their insignias that they
were with the Sixth Cavalry out of Fort Griffin."

Jonah took an immediate dislike to the man. "No.
We are from Fort Fannin."

Edmund's eyes dilated just the merest flicker as
he absorbed that bit of information. He watched the
young major closely when he asked the next
question. "Perhaps you're here to call on Abby," he
implied glibly.

"No. Pm not." Jonah moved to the painting; at
first he thought it might be Miss Hunter, but the nose
wasn't quite right, and the dress was from another
era. There was a serenity about the green-eyed
woman that Miss Hunter certainly didn't possess.

"Beautiful, wasn't she?" Edmund asked, nodding
at the portrait.

"Yes. Is that the mother?"

"That's right she was." Edmund stared into the
green eyes that would haunt him for the rest of his
life, even from her grave. "Abby's very like her,
don't you think?"

"Perhaps, a little."

Edmund's gaze bored into the young officer.
"How long will you be staying at the Half-Moon?"

The man's persistence made Jonah suspicious, so
he continued to make his responses vague. "I
haven't yet decided."

"I had heard a rumor that a young officer was
given temporary command at Fort Griffin until Cap tain Irving returns from Washington. Could you be
that officer?"

Jonah's eyes narrowed, and he stepped away
from the banker and settled onto a straight-backed
chair on the opposite side of the room. "Captain
Irving has returned by now."

Edmund was having a hard time controlling his
temper. No one had ever treated him with such
disrespect. The officer was much too imperious to
suit him. As always, though, the banker managed to
hide his true feelings behind a smooth smile. "I
have a friend who is the Indian agent at Fort Fannin.
He said something to me about a young officer who
was taking over command there. Could you be that
officer?"

"Yes."

"Are you acquainted with Norman Williamson?"

Jonah's eyelids closed halfway. "I have met the
Indian agent, but I wouldn't say I was acquainted
with him."

An uneasy silence fell across the room as Jonah
speculated on the relevancy of a friendship between
the Diablo banker and the unscrupulous Indian
agent.

At last Edmund spoke. "Nothing can turn a
young girl's heart to romance quicker than the sight
of a man in uniform." Rage smoldered just below
the surface, but Edmund struck a perfectly serene
pose. "I'm sure Abby has noticed you."

The banker's rude probing was become entirely
too personal for Jonah. "I don't know Miss Hunter very well, but I don't believe she is interested in me
one way or another."

"I wager you find her fascinating."

Jonah was on the verge of losing his temper. He
had no intention of discussing Quince's sister with
this man, so he turned the conversation and threw a
question at Edmund. "Why don't you tell me about
your friendship with Norman Williamson?"

"Norman and I have known each other for a long
time. He is an easy man to do business with, don't
you think?"

"I can't speak on that point, since I've had so few
dealings with him."

Much to Jonah's relief, Quince reentered the
room, and the probing questions stopped.

Edmund had already decided he-would have his
hired man, Kane, keep an eye on Major Tremain
while he was in the area.

After bathing and dressing in clean clothing, Abby
went to the kitchen to help Frances with the evening
meal. She found the housekeeper mixing a bowl of
frosting to ice the cinnamon cake that cooled on the
windowsill. When Abby saw the scowl on the older
woman's face, she knew there was going to be
trouble.

"Well, missy, I heard that you made a complete
spectacle of yourself today."

Abby dipped her finger in the frosting and licked
it. "You can't be very mad at me if you made my
favorite cake." Then she carefully lifted the castiron lid on the pot that was bubbling on the stove.
"Umm, this stew smells wonderful! That's my
favorite, too."

Frances gave a disapproving grunt. "You could have worn a dress, since we're having company to
supper."

She hoped it wasn't Mr. Montgomery. "Who?"

"That fine major will be staying with us for a few
days. I got him settled in Matt's old room. By the
way, Brent and Crystal will be here for supper, and
so will Quince and Glory."