Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (8 page)

“You may go.” The words came abruptly. Justin didn’t even look up at the man who stood before his desk.

At the rude dismissal, the detective’s face reddened, and a fierce resentment boiled up within him. It would be worth a year’s pay to take the paper from his inside pocket and slam it on the desk. But the time wasn’t right. It contained information that had come to him during the course of the investigation— information Justin Rowe had not asked for, or paid for. The detective swallowed his pride; holding himself proudly erect, he crossed the Persian carpet to the door. The higher they fly the harder they fall, he thought, and let himself out.

A small but pleasantly rounded woman came into the foyer from a room in the back. She had a basket of flowers on her arm. Could this lady be the wife of that arrogant ass in the office? The Pinkerton man nodded his respects to the lady, plucked his hat from the hand of the servant beside the door, and left the mansion, glad to see the last of Justin Rowe.

The colored servant stood silently until the woman looked his way. He motioned toward the office door. She shook her head in silent answer to his equally silent query. The servant bowed and disappeared into another room. For a moment, the woman held her hand tightly against her breast as if to calm her heartbeat, then took a deep breath and opened the office door.

“Oh, Justin, look at the roses. Aren’t they beautiful?” she asked cheerfully.

The man at the desk gave her a cold stare. “I’m busy, Helga, but you knew that, didn’t you? You saw the detective leave and you’re dying to know what I found out about Garrick.”

“Is that who that was? Oh, my, I thought detectives were big, hard, dangerous-looking men. He looked as mild as a lamb.” Her smile did not reach her eyes. She turned and placed the basket on the wide windowsill.

“You like big, hard, dangerous-looking men, don’t you?” Justin lifted the lid of his cigar box, selected a cigar, and bit off the end. After he blew out the wooden match, he dropped it in the basket beside the desk.

Helga watched the action. She knew when the black mood was on her husband. During the five years of their marriage, she had catalogued in her mind every move he made leading up to an explosion of temper that he would eventually take out on her. First, his voice would soften, and then, always neat and orderly with himself and his belongings, he became even more so. He had dropped the matchstick carefully in the wastebasket instead of breaking it in half and leaving it in the ashtray. It was a sure sign that he wasn’t pleased with what the detective had told him. Helga began to quake inside, but as usual she played the game for as long as she could.

“Of course, Justin. You’re a big, dangerous-looking man, and I love you.”

“You love what I give you, Helga. You would have married the devil in order to live in a place like this.”

“Oh, Justin—”

“The Greek bitch is dead,” he blurted. “Your precious Garrick not only has what my father left to him, but what he left to her. Now he’s richer than I am. Don’t you want to take the next train west? He’s in the wilds of Montana Territory where even you might look good to him.”

“Justin, why can’t you forget Garrick? He’s out of our lives. You’ll never have to see him again.”

“Out of my life? Dear Helga, he’ll never be out of my life until he’s dead. The day my father brought that Greek fortune-hunter into my mother’s house, my life was changed forever. She bewitched him. When she gave him another son, one as dark as a mulatto, he acted as if she had given him everlasting life. From that day on I was shoved aside. The new son was even given a Teutonic name. Garrick, mighty warrior.”

“I’m sure your father didn’t mean to slight you.”

“You know nothing about it, so shut your mouth!” he shouted and jumped to his feet. “The Rowes had been pure Nordic up to that time. Why do you suppose I married a stupid chit like you? You can thank your lucky stars that you’re blond, blue-eyed, pure Caucasian. Our son is the same; his son will be the same, by God, or he’ll not inherit a dime.”

Helga stood with her hands clasped in front of her and looked her husband in the eye. One show of weakness and he would be on her like a hawk on a rabbit. It was always the same. First, he would slap her with the open palm of his hand. It was the only time he struck her in the face, and then he was careful not to leave a mark. Many times she’d had to greet guests when her back, buttocks, stomach and thighs were cut and bleeding from the strap. Worse than the beatings were the sexual assaults that followed. He needed to feel that he had totally conquered her, before he was able to reach completion, but she always kept a secret part of herself from him. It was the only way that she could keep her sanity.

Thank goodness their son was down by the river with his nurse, for Justin was working himself into a rage, and she knew what was to come. Helga had learned that her cries excited him to further violence; and unless it was a terribly bad beating, she was able to take it in silence.

“Your lover is in Montana Territory,” Justin continued with a sneer. It was a sure sign of his rage when he repeated himself. He went to the window and stood with his back to her. “Would you like to see him?”

“Garrick is not and never has been my lover.” If only that were not true, Helga thought. If only he would welcome me if I went to him! But he had showed her nothing but respect At times she had seen pity in his dark eyes.

“No?” He turned to look at her. “You still claim that little black-haired bastard you had last year was mine?”

“Yes, she was your daughter,” she answered calmly. “Many new-born infants have dark hair. The second growth of hair would have been light. Even the doctors told you that.”

“We’ll never know, will we? Had it lived, it would not have been raised in this house!” His voice had risen to a roar.

It won’t be long now, Helga thought. Justin’s obsession with his Nordic heritage and with besting his half brother ruled his life. She had seen Garrick Rowe only a few times. A few months after she and Justin were married he came home for a few weeks to visit his mother. He came back when his father died. After the funeral and the reading of the will, he and his mother left for Paris where Justin’s father had met her. As long as Preston Rowe had lived, Justin had kept his hatred for his stepmother and her son bottled up inside. The moment Justin learned that his father had included Whitecliff in his inheritance, he made it clear that Garrick and his mother were no longer welcome.

“How would you like to take a trip out West?” To Helga’s surprise, Justin sat down on the arm of a chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Out West? I don’t know if it would be a good idea to take Ian away at this time.”

“We won’t take Ian.”

“Not take him? But, I can’t go and leave him.”

“I think you can . . . and will if I say so. It will only be for a few months.”

“Months! No, Justin. I don’t want to leave my child for a week, much less for months.” Helga began to wring her hands and plead. “Please, Justin—”

“No?” he said softly. “You know better than to say no to me. You’ll do as I tell you, won’t you, Helga? I’m the head of this family. Say it.”

‘You’re the head of the family. But I’m Ian’s mother, and I don’t want to leave him. Justin. For once, please be reasonable.”

“For once? So I’m unreasonable other times? Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He was on his feet in an instant. His hand flashed out and he slapped her so hard she stumbled and almost fell. “You’re trying my patience, Helga. I’ve taken all the sass I’ll take from you.” He sank his fingers in the carefully arranged hair at the top of her head and pulled her head back so he could look into her face. “I’ve fed you, clothed you, taken you away from that piss-poor family of yours, and made you into someone whom people look up to. You haven’t appreciated any of it.” He shoved her from him. “Tell the servants to find something to do down at the summer house. Then get upstairs and take off your clothes.”

Helga stumbled from the room.
God help me to endure this,
she prayed. If only there were someplace she and Ian could go where he couldn’t find them. If only there were someone who would help her get Ian away from Justin and that nurse who was accountable only to him. She could leave, but he would find her and bring her back. Not that he wanted her, but it was a matter of pride. Then he would lock her away and she would never see her son again.

The servant came hurrying from the back of the house. She saw the fear on his face change to pity when she told him to take the others and go. Refusing to acknowledge by the slightest gesture what they both knew was going to happen, or to show her fear, she lifted her skirts with her two hands, and with her head high, went up the curved stairway as if she were going to take her afternoon rest.

Five

“Why are you avoiding me, Katy? You haven’t said three words to me in three days.”

Looking at Rowe now, Katy found it hard to believe it had been only four days since he had been shot. He had insisted on getting out of bed for a while on the second day. Yesterday he had gone back to the jail building, and today he had walked up to the funerary for his meals, refusing Mary’s offer to bring them to him. Now he sat in a straight cane-bottomed chair on the porch, gazing at her with narrowed, intent eyes, and Katy returned the stare.

His eyes were like a deep, dark well with little lights dancing on the water. His features were rough, making him look hard and perhaps a little cruel. The woman who belonged to him would feel either terribly safe or terribly intimidated by him. Katy remembered how vulnerable and young he had looked while he lay unconscious on her bed and how he had opened his eyes and said, “You’re here,” as if he hadn’t wanted to be alone.

“Katy, Katy, don’t run away. Sit down and talk to me.” The soft-spoken request told her something else about him. He could be a charmer when he wanted to be.

“I have things to do.” Katy found herself wondering how it would feel to belong to such a man. Even though he overwhelmed her with the intensity of his maleness, he aroused her curiosity. She eyed him warily for a moment. Should she go, or should she stay?

Theresa came to lean against his knee and looked earnestly into his face. “I’ll talk to you, Mr. Rowe.”

Rowe’s face softened as he looked at the child. He ran his palm down the long length of her hair that had just been washed and brushed.

“I’ve not had a better offer, Miss Sugarplum.”

This was another thing that puzzled Katy about Rowe. Theresa had taken to him and he to her. He seemed to be genuinely fond of the child. Theresa was enthralled by him and his dog. She and Mary had held their breaths when Theresa, with squeals of childish laughter, had thrown her arms around the dog’s shaggy neck. “He’ll not hurt her,” Rowe assured them.

“Theresa!” Mary called from inside the funerary. “Come let me braid your hair.”

“Oh, shoot!” Theresa rested her small fists on her hips, a gesture she had picked up from her Aunt Katy.

A deep chuckle rumbled up out of Rowe’s chest, and the dark eyes that sought Katy’s gleamed with amusement. Her own spontaneous laughter rang out, and Rowe sobered quickly as he watched her. He was a little stunned by the intensity of his feelings. She was a creature made for laughter, sunshine, and love. She made his heart jump at the sight of her as no other woman had ever done. He pulled his eyes away from her and brought them back to the child.

“You’d better go, Sugarplum, before your mamma comes with a willow switch.”

“She never hits me with it,” Theresa said confidentially, glancing toward the door. “She only acts like she will.”

“There’s always the first time,” he whispered.

“Oh, all right.” She started for the door, then turned back. Her small, pixie face was serious; her eyes large and round. “I love you more than Papa,” she blurted, and then, as if embarrassed by what she had said, she ran across the porch and through the doorway.

For the second time in the last few minutes Rowe was overcome by emotion. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when a female had said, “I love you,” and he had believed her. His mother had loved him, but she wasn’t the demonstrative type. Whores had said it, and a few of the women in his life had professed love for him. He had never taken the words seriously before.

“She means it.” Katy stared at him, trying to read his thoughts. “Don’t get too close to her. We’ll be leaving here soon and I don’t want her hurt.”

“Why would she be hurt?”

“She adored her father, but he had little time for her. She’s looking for a substitute.”

“He must be a real bastard.”

“He’s just like all the other get-rich-quick gold-seekers. We’re leaving here as soon as we can. Theresa needs to go to school with other children.”

“Mary said she was going to wait for her husband.”

“We’re not going to wait for that fly-by-night to come back. We could be old, gray, and toothless by the time that happens,” she flared. Katy’s temper had never been easily harnessed and now she became flushed with anger.

“Where will you go?”

“Laramie. We have friends there. I can get a job.” Her shoulders lifted in an imperial shrug.

“What kind of job?”

“Teaching. Our friends have an orphanage on their ranch. Mary and I can work there.”

“You know the Gallaghers?”

Katy lifted her eyebrows. “Do you?”

“I know of Pack Gallagher. He was a bare-knuckle fighter. Now he raises longhorn cattle. I heard that he and his wife had built an orphanage on their land.”

“If we don’t go there, we’ll go back to Montgomery where people are civilized.”

“I intend to make Trinity a civilized town.”

“Ha!” She raked her hair over her ear with her fingertip and shot him a contemptuous glance. “Another cow in the tree.”

“What do you mean by that?” he said, thinking that she was wonderful to look at.
Blue is the color she should be wearing instead of that dreary brown. The color of her dress is all wrong, but it fits. Good Lord, how it fits her slim waist and soft breasts!