Jenny’s story had given Harriet a glimpse of what
lay behind Brandon’s bitter words. But Jenny’s childish
eyes had only seen the surface of what had happened.
The whole truth had to be darker and deeper
than an eleven-year-old girl could begin to imagine.
Darker and deeper than even Harriet wanted to know.
Brandon faced the two men across the polished walnut
surface of his desk. This, he thought, was the worst
part of being a banker, the part he absolutely hated.
The stocky, unkempt pair who sat opposite him,
slumped in their chairs, were twin brothers who
owned a small ranch south of town. Last spring they
had mortgaged their property for five thousand dollars
to buy cattle, which were to be sold at a profit in
the fall, when the mortgage was due. Brandon could
only guess at what Harvey and Marlin Keetch had
done with the five thousand, but no one had seen so
much as a heifer on their land, and now it was time
to pay the money back to the bank with interest.
“’Tweren’t our fault Ma died of the flux,” Marlin
whined. “We needed money for the undertaker and
the coffin and for the spot in the graveyard. After that,
by the time we got up to Laramie, there wasn’t no
cows left to buy.”
“I see.” Anyone who knew Marlin and Harvey
could have guessed the rest of the story. The brothers
had blown most of the mortgage money on drinking,
gambling and whores. Brandon had approved
the loan in the first place because the widowed Martha
Keetch had been an honest woman with a sound
head for business. But any good influence she’d had
on her sons had evaporated with her death.
“I’m sorry, but you leave me no choice,” Brandon
said. “As of today, your ranch is in foreclosure. You
have ninety days to repay the loan in full, with interest.
Otherwise the property will have to be put up for sale.”
“That ain’t fair!” Harvey, always the surly one of
the twins, rose out of his chair and leaned across the
desk. His breath smelled of chewing tobacco and
rotgut whiskey. “We come to ask you for more time on
the loan ’cause Ma died, and you tell us you’re gonna
take our land, our home, what our folks built up from
nothin’! Filthy stinkin’ rich banker! You could pay the
five thousand outta yore own pocket and not even miss
it! Hell, you don’t need our ranch! What’s it to you?”
“Sit down, Harvey.” Brandon deliberately stayed
in his seat, using his voice and manner to dominate
the man. “Sit down and hear what I have to say.”
Still bristling, Harvey lowered himself back onto
the straight-backed chair. His little pig eyes blazed
pure hatred.
“It wasn’t my money you borrowed,” Brandon
explained calmly. “It belongs to the people who’ve
deposited their savings in this bank, and it’s my job
to see that they get back every cent they put in, and
more. If you can’t get the money to repay the loan,
my advice would be to sell the ranch yourselves.
There are people in Dutchman’s Creek who’d likely
buy it if the price was right. The five thousand would
come off the top and you could keep the rest of the
cash for yourselves.”
“The hell you say!” Harvey Keetch was on his
feet, his stocky, muscular body quivering like a prizefighter’s.
“Well, you ain’t takin’ our ranch, you tightfisted
buzzard! We’re stayin’ on that land if we have
to shoot every man, woman and child what sets foot
through the gate. You hear that, Banker? You ain’t
takin’ our home, and that’s that!”
“I think we’ve said enough, gentlemen.” Brandon
rose out of his massive leather chair. He was a full
head taller than the twins and disliked using his size
to intimidate, but sometimes it was called for. “You
have ninety days to pay off the mortgage or lose your
property. Now, I trust you can find your own way to
the door.”
The two men backed away like cowering dogs.
“That ain’t fair!” Marlin whined. “It weren’t our fault
that Ma got sick and died.”
“We’ll git you for this, Banker!” Harvey snarled.
“You lay one greedy finger on our land, an’ you’ll
wish you hadn’t. We’ll make you curse the day you
was born!”
For all their bluster—and it was just that, Brandon
thought—the two men left meekly enough. He didn’t
relish the thought of taking their property, especially
since their parents had been good, hardworking people.
But the money the twins had borrowed was gone,
with nothing to show for it, and he had a responsibility
to his depositors. There would be more unpleasantness
ahead, more scenes like the one that had
just occurred, before this ugly business was finished.
Maneuvering his splinted leg beneath the desk,
Brandon settled back into his chair. A glance at the
clock told him the bank would be closing in fifteen
minutes. Not enough time, he reckoned, for one more
disaster in a day that had started with Helga’s news
that she was returning to her family home in Bremerhaven,
and had gone steadily downhill from there.
The confrontation with the Keetch brothers had been
the capper. He was ready for a bracing walk home,
a good shot of whiskey and a nap in front of the fire,
with his throbbing leg propped on a footstool.
But no, fate was not going to let him off so easily.
Striding through the doorway was the one person
capable of shattering his hard-won composure
and turning him into a snapping, snarling, subhuman
beast—the one and only Miss Harriet Smith.
“Hello, Harriet,” he said, forcing politeness. “Please
have a seat.”
“Who on earth were those horrible men?” She
closed the door behind her, then lowered herself onto
one of the chairs that faced Brandon’s desk.
“They’re customers,” he replied curtly, “and since
it’s not my practice to discuss other people’s business,
what can I do for you?”
Her copper-flecked eyes flashed and he knew that
his brusqueness had piqued her. She glared at him
across the desk, her dark hair framing her face in soft,
feminine waves. Gazing at her, Brandon found it impossible
to forget that he had held this woman in his
arms and kissed her passionately. What would it be
like to do it again? he wondered. How would it feel
to unbutton the front of her ugly gray dress and free
those luscious breasts to tumble into his hands like
sweet, ripe melons?
The fantasy, brief as it was, triggered a rush of heat
to Brandon’s loins. Color stole into his face as he felt
the sudden swelling and realized he was aching to
touch her.
This was crazy, he thought. If he wanted the
woman so much, why did he take such pains to alienate
her every time they met?
But why was he asking himself that question when
he already knew the answer? Harriet was his worst
enemy. She and her brother had taken Jenny away from
him. They were holding her hostage to poverty and disgrace,
pushing her toward a downward spiral that
would turn her into an alcoholic wreck like her mother.
Jenny had always been a sensitive child. Brandon
had recognized her vulnerability early on and he’d
done all he’d could to cushion her from life’s blows
and to ensure her a happy future. But his best efforts
had come to nothing—to
this
.
Now, gazing across the desk at Harriet’s prim figure,
he felt cold, helpless and plain, damned scared.
“Is Jenny all right?” he managed to ask.
“Jenny’s fine. She’s a lovely girl. I have to say
you’ve raised her well.”
“And?” he asked, still on guard.
A faint smile danced on her lips, showing him a
flash of startling beauty. “It seems your daughter’s
inherited your pride,” Harriet said. “She asked me to
give you these.”
Brandon sighed as she reached into her reticule and
laid the handful of gold coins on the desk. He didn’t
need to count them to know that all ten of the double
eagles he’d slipped into Jenny’s pockets were there.
“I wish she’d kept them,” he said. “I know I told
Jenny she’d never get another cent from me, but she
walked out of here with nothing but the clothes on
her back. I couldn’t stand the thought of her living
on your charity.”
“She’s not living on anyone’s charity,” Harriet
said. “Will is her husband, and he’s working hard to
provide for her. While they’re staying with me,
they’re saving up for the down payment on a little
home. They’re so happy together, Brandon. Will is
good to her, and she’s learning how to cook and sew
and manage a household.”
In other words his precious Jenny had become a
servant, Brandon observed, although he knew better
than to voice that thought. Scowling, he leaned back
in his chair, folded his arms and regarded her from
beneath his stern-looking eyebrows. “Listen to yourself,
Harriet Smith,” he said. “The first time we
talked, you claimed to be as dead set against the marriage
as I was. You wanted your brother to go to college,
not to be stuck in Dutchman’s Creek with a
spoiled little wife and a baby. What happened to
make you change your mind?”
She leaned forward against the edge of the desk,
her face heart-stopping in its earnestness. Whatever
she’d done to her hair, it was damned becoming,
Brandon thought. Why had he ever thought the
woman plain?
“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said. “I’ve just
learned that sometimes, when things don’t turn out
as we’ve planned, all we can do is accept what’s happened
and make the best of it. It’s a lesson you’d do
well to learn yourself.”
“Stop lecturing me, Harriet,” he said. “You sound
like a schoolteacher.
“And you sound like a little boy who’s sulking because
he didn’t get his own way!”
Brandon bit back a curse. He had just faced down
the Keetch brothers without so much as a spark of
temper. Why did this woman, of all people, have the
power to goad him to fury with a look and a few
softly spoken words?
“We’re not talking about a toy or a lost turn at bat,”
he retorted icily. “We’re talking about my daughter.
I wanted her to have everything, to be happy—”
“She
is
happy. Just not on your terms.”
“Then you’ve already turned her against me.”
“Oh, Brandon!” Harriet’s face paled and she
looked genuinely shocked. “We would never do that!
Jenny loves you! Truly she does!”
“Then why wouldn’t she accept my help?” He
made a frustrated gesture toward the scattered pile of
gold coins that lay between them on the desk.
“There’s only one thing Jenny wants from you,
and you know what it is.”
Brandon took a deep breath. “No,” he said. “Your
brother seduced my innocent girl and then ran off
with her behind my back, hoping to get his hands on
her inheritance. I won’t forgive him, and I certainly
won’t accept him as my son-in-law.”
“I don’t think Will gave Jenny’s inheritance a second
thought!”
“Your brother clerks at the feed store and hasn’t
got a bean to his name! You wanted him to go to college,
but getting an education is hard work. Marry a
banker’s daughter—that’s the easy way to get ahead,
isn’t it?”
He had finally gotten a rise out of her. Harriet
faced him across the desk, pale and shaken, fighting
for self-control.
“You’re despicable, Brandon Calhoun!” she said
in a strangled voice. “I came here in the spirit of
peace, to offer you a plan to help Jenny without sacrificing
her pride or yours. And all you can think of
is slandering my brother!” She rose to her feet, trembling.
“If I didn’t care so much for those two sweet
youngsters, I’d walk out of here and leave you alone
with your big fancy desk and your gold. Jenny was
right! If you can’t come to terms with this situation,
you’re going to end up a lonely, bitter old man!”
Brandon met her furious gaze, knowing he’d
pushed her too far, but not wanting to give her the satisfaction
of an apology. Beyond the closed door of
his office, the workday was ending. He could hear the
faint, familiar sounds of closing drawers, sliding
locks and departing feet. Minutes from now, if Harriet
did not leave, he would be alone with her.
Was that what he wanted? Heaven help him, he
didn’t know. And he didn’t know what he would do
if she stayed. He only knew that right now the
prospect of her walking out that door triggered a
feeling as desolate as a storm-swept winter prairie.
He exhaled slowly. “Sit down, Harriet,” he said.
“You mentioned a plan to help Jenny. Tell me about
it.”
Chapter Nine
F
eatures composed, spine ramrod-straight, Harriet
lowered herself onto the edge of the chair. Brandon
watched her every move as if he expected her to pull
a pistol out of her reticule and use it to hold up the
bank. His cobalt eyes glittered with arrogance.
She wanted to fly at the man, to rake his smug face
with her nails and slap him senseless. But that would
only make things worse. She had come here on a mission
to help Jenny and Will. She could not allow her
own feelings to interfere with that mission.
“Well?” he asked in a tone that raked her nerves
like the sound of new chalk on a damp blackboard.
Harriet swallowed her annoyance and plunged
ahead. “The idea came to me today, as the children
were leaving to go home. I haven’t had time to
think it all out, but since I needed to see you anyway,
to give back the money—” She broke off, re
alizing that she was talking too fast, explaining
too much.
The stillness on the far side of the door crept in
on her senses. Her eyes flickered to the large pendulum
clock on the wall and she realized that by this
time the customers and employees would have gone,
leaving Brandon to close the building. Her heart
sank. She had come here deliberately, hoping to
avoid a painful exchange like the one that had taken
place in his bedroom. Too late, she realized she had
set up the same kind of trap and walked right into it.
“Take your time, Harriet. I’m listening.” His
voice, though gentler now, carried a mocking undertone.
The man would jump at any chance to make her
look like a fool, Harriet realized. But she could not
back off now, with so much to be gained.
Once more, she plunged ahead. “Here’s what I’m
thinking. There are twenty-four students in my class,
when none of them are absent. Their ages range from
six to sixteen, and giving them all a good education
is a real challenge. The younger ones need practice
with letters and numbers. The older ones need to learn
history and science and algebra—and they’re all there
at the same time. If I had an assistant, someone who
could take the little ones aside and help them with the
basics of reading and writing and arithmetic—”
She stopped for breath, dismayed by the frown on
his rugged face. Then, as she watched, two small
flames seemed to ignite in his eyes.
“You’re talking about Jenny?” he asked.
“Why not? She’s a bright girl—too bright to spend
all of her days cooking and scrubbing in the house.
She’d be wonderful with the children, and it would
give her a chance to earn a little money of her own
before the baby comes.”
He winced at her last words. Plainly, he had not
yet come to terms with his daughter’s condition.
“Have you spoken with Jenny about this?” he asked.
“Not yet. For one thing, I just thought of the idea.
For another, I don’t want to disappoint her if it can’t
be done.”
“Do you think she’s physically strong enough to
handle a job like this?”
“Dr. Tate’s examined her and says she’s in good
health. And being at school shouldn’t be any more
strenuous than being at home.” Harriet held her
breath, hoping he’d be pleased, even excited. But
Brandon’s only response was a skeptical frown.
“The money for your salary comes out of the
school fund, which is controlled by the mayor and
the town council. That fund is stretched to the limit
now. I can’t imagine they’d agree to paying another
salary, even for a few months.”
“They wouldn’t have to!” Harriet moved the ten
gold pieces into a single neat stack and shoved it toward
him. “Not if you fattened the school fund with this.”
He stared at her, stunned by her audacity.
“Listen to me, Brandon!” She reached across the
desk and seized his wrist. “Don’t you see how many
people this plan would help? Jenny could earn money
doing something she enjoyed. You’d have a way of
helping her without hurting her pride. I’d have the
help I need in the classroom, and the children of
Dutchman’s Creek would have a better education!
How could we go wrong?”
Still he hesitated, maddeningly. “We’d be lying
to Jenny,” he said, “and presumably to your brother,
as well.”
“But it would be such a small lie, such a white lie.
And I’d be the one telling it, not you.”
“I’d have to be truthful with the mayor.”
“Of course you would. But Hans Peterson’s a
good man. He’ll understand and he’ll keep it to
himself.”
“And if he insists on running it by the town
council?”
Harriet let go of his wrist and sank back into her
chair. There were indeed members of the town council
who considered themselves the self-appointed
moral guardians of Dutchman’s Creek. But she was
not about to back down in the face of their criticism.
“Brandon, this is a small town. By now, there’s not
a soul who doesn’t know what happened with Jenny
and Will and why they’re living under my roof. As
scandals go, it’s old news. As long as council members
are willing to keep quiet about where the money
came from, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Unless one of those old hens on the council objects
to having a fallen woman teach the children.”
Harriet sprang to her feet, incensed. “I can’t believe
you’d say such a thing about your own daughter,
Brandon Calhoun! Jenny’s a married woman.
Her baby will have a name and a father. And if the
truth be told, I’d wager that at least a third of the families
in Dutchman’s Creek started out the same way!”
She spun toward the door, then turned back to face
him. “Why in heaven’s name can’t you put this business
behind you? Everyone else has!”
“Harriet, wait—” He had risen and was moving
awkwardly around the desk.
“Never mind showing me out!” she stormed. “I
came here with a wonderful idea. But I should have
known you wouldn’t listen to me. All you can think
about is what would go wrong! You’re the most tightfisted,
hard-hearted man I’ve ever met, Brandon Calhoun.
Why don’t you just change your name to
Ebenezer Scrooge and be done with it?”
Her hand was on the doorknob when he caught up
with her and seized her by the wrist. Brandon had intended
only to stop her from leaving, but as she
jerked away from him, her resistance triggered
enough momentum to swing her backward toward
the wall. Supported by only one leg, he lost his balance
and crashed into her, pinning her against the
wood panel with his own weight.
“Ebenezer Scrooge?” His mocking blue eyes
drilled into hers. “Is that what you think of me,
Harriet?”
Her coppery eyes blazed up at him, mere inches
from his own. Her mouth was full and ripe in the light
that slanted through the shuttered window. “Let…
me…go,” she breathed, quivering against him.
And that, Brandon thought, was exactly what he
ought to do. But the feel of those full, firm breasts
thrusting against his chest and the exquisitely light
pressure of her hips against his swelling groin held
him like a magnet. Under threat of death, he could
not have moved away from her.
“Brandon—”
“No, hear me out first.” His voice was thick and
husky. “I wasn’t arguing against your idea. It’s a
good one. But I don’t want Jenny hurt, damn it. I
don’t want her held up to the scrutiny of people
who’ll say cruel things behind her back, or even to
her face. Before I agree to help you, I need to be sure
that isn’t going to happen.”
“You can’t be sure.” She strained against him, setting
off heat waves where their bodies touched. Brandon
couldn’t tell whether she was struggling to get
free or driven by the same sensations that were shooting
liquid fire through his veins. Whatever was happening,
he could not bring himself to step away and
let her go.
“You can’t be sure of…anything.” Her voice was
breathy, her words tangled skeins of logic. “You can’t
just bend life to your will, Brandon. Things happen,
and sometimes you have to let them. You bet and you
lose…you love and you get hurt, or you hurt others…”
“Since when did you become so wise, Schoolmarm?”
His lips brushed the soft hair at her temple
as he spoke. “You don’t strike me as a lady who’s
done a lot of living.”
Or a lot of loving
, he thought. Lord, the lessons
he would teach this woman if things were different
between them. He would smother her with intimate
caresses, kiss her, stroke her, drive her half-mad with
wanting him. He would thrust himself into that
lovely, innocent body and pleasure her until she
begged for mercy.
“Maybe not a lot of living,” she murmured, stirring
against him, making him ache. “But I’ve done
a lot of reading. That should count for something.”
Brandon chuckled under his breath, suddenly
more relaxed than he had felt all day. How long had
it been since a woman made him want to laugh? He
had almost forgotten what it was like.
But this was crazy—worse than crazy because it
was all wrong. Harriet Smith was the creature of his
nightmares, not the sensual angel of his dreams. Any
moment now she would turn on him with a remark
that would leave him grinding his teeth in frustration.
And even if she didn’t, there was the bigger picture.
Harriet’s support of Jenny’s marriage had shattered
his hopes for the girl’s promising future. Harriet had
defied his wishes and turned his own daughter
against him. Take her in his arms and he might as
well be embracing a rattlesnake.
She gazed up at him, her moist, ripe lips all but
begging to be kissed. “Please talk to the mayor, Brandon,”
she implored. “You have influence. I know you
can make this happen. Do it for Jenny and the children
at school. Do it for yourself.”
This was the moment, Brandon thought. Kiss her
and he would tumble over the precipice. He would
lose everything—his pride, his integrity, even his
soul. He had to distance himself now, before the
temptation grew strong enough to sweep him away.
Steeling his resolve, he dropped his arms and
backed away from the wall where he had pinned her.
His splinted leg made it hard to retreat with dignity, but
when he stumbled backward, he managed to keep his
balance by catching a corner of the desk. Harriet stood
where he had left her, looking flustered and confused.
“There’s no need for you to use your wiles on me,
Harriet,” he said, fixing her with a black scowl. “I’m
not prepared to pay the price for what you’re offering.”
“What I’m offering?” Her cheeks flamed. Her
eyes widened. “What I’m
offering?
” She took a step
toward him, her fists clenched, her body quivering.
“I could slap your face for that, Brandon Calhoun!”
She spoke slowly, as if drawing each word
from a well of fury. “The only thing I’m offering you
is a way to help your daughter! Anything else you
perceive to be on the table exists only in your arrogant
male imagination!”
She flung the door open, then turned back abruptly.
“You think you’re such a fine catch, with your
looks and your big house and your gold, don’t you?
Oh, I’ve heard the stories—how every unmarried
woman in town has thrown herself at you at one time
or another. Well, I’m not one of those women! I don’t
know if I’ll ever marry, but if I do, it will be to a kind
and gentle man with a forgiving heart—and I won’t
care what he looks like or how much money he has
in the bank! So good afternoon to you, Mr. Cal
houn—and goodbye!”
As the door slammed behind her, Brandon sagged
against the desk. Harriet had not laid a hand on him,
but his insides felt as if he’d been kicked by a mule.
He had deliberately set out to insult her, wanting to
push her so far away that he would no longer be
tempted to act out those feverish dreams. The strategy
had worked all too well—except for one problem.
He wanted her—wanted her with a hot, raw hunger
that made his whole body burn. The fact that she
had flung her anger in his face and walked out only
heightened his desire. Lord, what was he going to do?
Forget her, that was the only answer, he told himself.
He was old enough to know that a man who took
everything he wanted was a man out of control. Brandon
had been in perfect control—until the day he’d
walked into Harriet’s classroom and tried to bend her
to his will. That was the day when his life had begun
to fall apart.
It was time to pick up the pieces and move on, he
resolved. With Jenny gone and Helga leaving shortly
to care for her aging parents in Germany, he would
be alone in the house. This might be the proper time
to look for a second wife—not a pushy, irritating
creature like Harriet Smith, who would keep his life
in constant turmoil, but a gracious, submissive, quietly
capable woman who would run his household
smoothly and welcome him with a smile and a hot
meal when he returned from work at night.
He even knew such a woman—a comely widow he
had met at a reception in Denver a few months ago. As
soon as his leg was free of this damned splint, he would
pay her a call and renew their acquaintance. Maybe
something good would come of it. And even if it didn’t,
at least it might prove a distraction from the miserable
mess his life had become in the past few weeks.
Why don’t you just change your name to Ebenezer
Scrooge and be done with it?
The words mocked him as he took a small leather
pouch from the desk drawer and scooped the ten
gold coins into it. Was that how Harriet saw him—
as a mean-spirited, miserly curmudgeon? Was that
what he was becoming?
The idea of paying Jenny to help in the classroom
was a stroke of brilliance—Brandon had realized
that at once. But it irked him that Harriet hadn’t given
him the benefit of the doubt. When he’d questioned
what could go wrong—always a wise thing at the
start of a new venture—she’d become defensive. In
the end she’d completely misread him.