Nevada Nights (7 page)

Something raw and primal seemed to take over her control. She was no longer Cameron McCormick, the proper, convent-bred young woman, but a mass of nerve endings, a hungry, trembling wanton.

"Oh God, Cammy." He spoke the words inside her mouth, unwilling to break the contact. "How I want you. Now. Now."

In one last burst of sanity, she pushed away.

"I can’t think." She pressed her hands to burning cheeks. Her breathing was shallow. "This can’t be right. You’re Colt—a gunfighter. And my father has just died. How can I feel such things just hours after his death? What kind of person am I? What can I be thinking of?"

She turned away from him, close to tears. His hand gently stroked the silken tangles.

"Yes. I know, Cammy. I understand. That independent girl I met in the convent would need to know why and how. You have a right to question what’s happening in your life. And you have a right to control your destiny. It’s just—" His voice tightened. "Be warned. I want you. And I won’t be the only man in this town who will."

With a sob choking her, she covered her face and turned away.

"Little Cammy—"

"Don’t. Don’t touch me again. Ever!"

Gently, he turned her toward him. "Look at me," he commanded.

When she looked up, he saw the glimmer of tears on her lashes.

There was a long silence. Then, in an ominously tight voice, he snapped, "You can walk back from here. I can’t go any closer to the McCormick house."

She blinked. "You’re not going to . . . force me?"

He gave her a grim smile. "I don’t think force would be the proper term for it now, do you?"

His fingers traced the tiny trail of tears along her cheek. She stood very still, fighting the desire to move like a kitten against his hand, almost regretting it when he finally broke the contact.

He swore in frustration, then turned and swung into the saddle before saying gruffly, "Think about what I said. Go back to your convent, Cammy. You don’t belong in Virginia City, or in the McCormick house."

She was back in control and feeling the sting of humiliation as she realized just how easily she had succumbed to his persuasions.

"It’s my house too—Colt," she hissed.

She pivoted away. Without looking back at him, she began to run toward the lights of the house—her father’s house. No. Her father was dead now.

She slowed. Tears stung her eyelids. She seemed to have shed more tears this night than she had in a lifetime. There would be no more. Angrily she brushed them away with the back of her hand before stumbling blindly on.

Now it was Alex’s house.
And mine
, she thought fiercely.
Mine.

She shuddered and, drawing the remnants of her dress tightly about her, wondered how she could survive this savage world, her bitter, unforgiving family, and above all, the new, terrifying passions this man had unleashed.

"Well, well. Out meeting the charming men of Virginia City."

Cameron whirled at the shrill voice coming from the darkened parlor. Taking a candle from the hallway, she entered the room. Near the window, Miriam sat in her wooden chair. The smug look on her face faded as she took in Cameron’s torn dress, her loosened hair streaming about her face and shoulders.

Pulling the wheels with trembling hands, she glided nearer.

"Were you . . . Are you—hurt?"

Her real concern wasn’t lost on the trembling young woman. At least it was a start toward friendship. Cameron lifted her head. "No. I’m—fine."

The look of concern was instantly erased. The voice hardened. "I’ve heard that the citizens of Virginia City are a tough lot. That’s one of the things I won’t ever have to worry about. And you wouldn’t either if you didn’t go about the countryside alone."

"Thank you, Miriam. I’ll remember that in the future." Cameron kept her voice even. "And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I’ve had all I can deal with tonight."

As she walked from the room, Cameron could feel her half-sister’s gaze leveled at her.

She was painfully aware of their contrast. Miriam’s fine, cornsilk hair was perfumed and curled, perfectly arranged in a mass of ringlets and tied back with pale blue ribbons to match her blue gown trimmed with blue velvet bows at the neckline. A pale blue shawl fell softly about her lap, to hide her withered limbs.

Cameron’s wind-tossed mane fell in tangles about her face and shoulders. The once demure gown hung in tatters, the hem torn and spattered with dirt. She looked like a creature from the wild.

She held herself erect, though, refusing to give in to the utter weariness that enveloped her until she was safely alone in her room.

For the first time in her life, Cameron felt the need to lock her door. Shoving a heavy dresser across the floor, she positioned it so that it was impossible for anyone to open her door from the outside. Too exhausted even to undress, she fell across the bed and slept fitfully.

*  *  *

Cameron sat in the library with the other family members. She had wanted to avoid this, but Mr. Sturgiss insisted she be present when her father’s will was read.

The funeral that morning had been almost primitive. At her insistence, Jarret drove the rig to town for a priest. Both Jarret and Alex acted as if nothing had happened the night before. For the moment, Cameron was willing to go along with the charade. There were more important issues to deal with. But even as they stood on opposite sides of the pine coffin, Cameron could feel the hairs on the back of her neck bristle as she recalled the terrifying scene at the saloon. Would she ever be able to wash away the feeling of Jarret’s hands on her skin?

The shriveled old cleric, who looked as if all his juices had been sapped by the relentless sun, went through the motions of a funeral in a trance. After saying a few prayers over the casket, the priest turned and cupped her chin in his gnarled hand. Cameron waited, expecting to hear him utter his sympathy, needing some familiar words of comfort. Instead, he broke into a fit of coughing and, pressing a soiled handkerchief to his lips, turned away without a word. The other members of the family followed him. As the carriage carrying him back to his rectory clattered along the road, they disappeared inside the house.

Cameron stood alone on the windswept hillside as two old men lowered the casket into the ground and began silently shoveling red sand into the cavity. At her direction, one of the men hammered a simple wooden cross into the mound of earth. Long after they left, she stood, staring at a spot on the ground. The finality of it all overwhelmed her. Her father was really gone. Forever. And with him went all the answers she was seeking. She had lived her whole life on promises that someday, somewhere, someone would tell her who she was. She had lived for the day when she would receive that wonderful summons to come and share her father’s life. A few days ago, she had been on top of the world. Now, that whole world had come crashing down around her. And all because she had let herself believe that one man would make everything all right.

She fingered the lovely gold locket about her neck, a parting gift from Sister Adele, whose lover’s broken promise had sent her to the convent for solace. The beautiful young sister’s words echoed. "Oh, Cammy, don’t ever pin your hopes and dreams on a man. For he’ll be a thief and steal your most precious possession of all—your hopes, your dreams, your very future. Remember, Cammy, don’t ever trust your life to the whims of a man."

Tears squeezed from beneath lowered lids and trickled down her cheeks. A sob caught in her throat, and she swallowed it and turned away from the grave abruptly.

Surrounded now by family members, she felt more alone than at any time in her life.

Fool! What a silly, childish fool she had been! She had forgotten all the words of caution and had counted on someone else. Her father. Michael. No one could be counted on to change her life. Only herself. Cameron resolved to heed the betrayed nun’s warning or she would be doomed to repeat the mistakes forever.

She came to a decision. She would heed Michael’s . . . Colt’s advice. This wasn’t her world. When the will was read, she would go back to the convent where she belonged.

Sitting alone, to one side of the room, Cameron could see the tense profiles as Harold Sturgiss removed a document from his case and began to read.

"To my daughter Miriam."

Cameron studied the young woman seated stiffly in her wooden wheelchair. Her gaze was locked on the lawyer’s face, as if willing him to read what was in her mind. She seemed to be hardly daring to breathe.

"I leave this house in which she was born and all the furnishings therein."

A slow gleam of triumph spread across Miriam’s face. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to stare at Alex and Jarret.

The lawyer cleared his throat.

"To the twin sons of my dead wife, Salina."

Cameron nearly gasped in surprise. Twins. She studied the profiles of the two men. Where Alex was tall and muscular, with fierce, hard features and dark, swarthy coloring, Jarret seemed slighter of build, with pale skin and bland, vacant eyes. Yet his blandness was deceptive. She knew from the bruises on her wrist where he had gripped her last night that he was a powerful man.

The lawyer’s voice intoned, "I leave two hundred fifty acres of the southernmost section of land and any building thereon. Fifty percent of all profits from this land shall be held in trust for young Alexander. That money, plus the interest accrued, shall go to Alexander on his twenty-first birthday, or be split equally among my heirs in the event of his death. The other fifty percent of the profits shall be shared equally among all my heirs."

Cameron noted that her father never referred to them as his stepsons. He obviously didn’t wish to refer to them in any familiar way. She watched as the two exchanged glances. Alex seemed about to speak, but the lawyer cleared his throat and continued.

"To my daughter Cameron."

Everyone in the room turned to stare sullenly at her.

"I leave the two hundred fifty acres which adjoin the Lampton property and any buildings thereon. I have every confidence that she will put this land to good use."

Cameron sat in stunned silence.

Harold Sturgiss gathered his papers and stuffed them into a briefcase.

Alex bounded to his feet, his eyes blazing.

"Big John McCormick was a double-dealing gambler all his life. I should have realized he’d hide a trump card up his sleeve."

He towered menacingly over Cameron. "So this is why he kept your existence a secret from us all these years. Even in death he was determined to cheat us. He promised our mother that all this would be ours. That was the only reason she agreed to marry him. In return for her being mistress of his fine house, he agreed to secure the future of her fatherless twin sons. That was the agreement they made. It was the only way for a helpless widow to survive."

Cameron found herself wondering about the woman who could have raised such villainous men. A helpless widow? Though Big John McCormick was hardly a saint, judging by the things she had already heard, it looked like he may have struck a bargain with a she-devil.

Alex’s voice thundered. "And now this! You’ve been brought here to take what’s ours. But then, Big John always cheated. He beat old Lampton out of all this years ago. And now he’s cheated us out of our rightful inheritance." He lowered his voice to a chilling whisper as he caught her arm. "You will live to regret this, little sister."

All heads snapped to attention as Cameron’s unwavering voice stopped him.

"Take your hand off me, Alex. Don’t you ever touch me again."

His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in fury. "No little nun can tell—"

"I said, don’t ever touch me again. Do you understand?"

His fists clenched at his sides. Not now, but very soon, he would make her regret this humiliation.

Cameron stared around the room, allowing her gaze to linger for a brief moment on each family member. Then, regally lifting her skirts, she spun and hurried to her room, leaving behind her a stunned silence.

A short time later there was a knock on her door. She opened it to admit the lawyer.

"Mr. Sturgiss, why did my father do this?" She paced the center of the room, clearly agitated.

"I’m sure he had his reasons, Miss McCormick."

"But I didn’t want their inheritance, Mr. Sturgiss." She turned to face him. "You saw their reactions. They all resent me. They think I came here to steal from them what is rightfully theirs."

"Theirs, Miss McCormick? All of this belonged to Big John. He had the right to leave it to whomever he pleased. And it pleased him tremendously to give you that land."

"But he expected me to stay here, to make my home here on his land." Her voice lowered. "I can’t possibly stay here with these people, with all this bitterness."

"I suppose not," the lawyer said dryly. "I would guess it is tempting to think about the simple life in the convent. I’m sure your life there was serene. All your needs were taken care of. Of course, it may be a bit stifling for a spirited woman like you, but at least it’s safe." He paused. "Well then, leave, Miss McCormick, and ask Alex to manage your estate." He leveled his gaze on her. "Is that what you wish?"

Cameron walked to the window and stood silently, staring down at the barren landscape. She had promised her father they would be a team. She had promised herself she would be strong enough to control her own destiny. Was this land her birthright? What did she want—security, or a chance to taste life?

Should she stay long enough at least to put up a fight for what was hers?

The lawyer stood quietly, watching as she suddenly clenched her fists at her side.

She turned to face him. "I can’t imagine Alex managing my—estate."

"You will be staying then, Miss McCormick?" he asked gently.

"Yes. For the time being anyway, Mr. Sturgiss, I’ll be staying."

A flicker of a smile softened his professional bearing. "I’ll see myself out. Good day, Miss McCormick."