Sandra Hill - [Creole] (33 page)

She was going to rescue Etienne, or die trying.

Brandon Briggs was an oilier version of J. R. Ewing in a nineteenth-century leisure-style cowboy suit. His graying brown hair and goatee were too perfectly styled with too much Macassar oil. His fancy boots carried too high a shine. The gold onyx ring on his left hand was too gaudy for a rancher, or a senator.

“Have a drink, Scarlett,” Briggs advised with exaggerated concern. His clammy hand rested a second too long on her shoulder as he steered her forward through the hallway of his rambling mansion in the middle of nowhere. “I think you need a spot of brandy to settle your nerves after that ride.”

Harriet had decided to pretend to be Etienne’s sister, Scarlett Baptiste, to give her story a note of authenticity, just in case Briggs had some background information on Etienne and his family.

“Thank you,” Harriet said, sinking into a leather wing-back chair in the plush library. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with leather-bound first editions whose pages had probably never been slit.

As Briggs leaned against the fireplace mantel, he studied
her through crafty, hard-as-steel eyes. “Tell me again why you made that long ride from Houston, my dear.”

Harriet hadn’t wanted Briggs to know she’d come from Devil’s Junction; so she’d ridden slightly west and south of Beaumont, coming to his ranch from the southwest. She probably wasn’t fooling him, but she’d thought it was worth a try.

“I have to admit,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him, “that I ran away from home. Again. My Papa is such a tyrant and so…so rigid in his way.”

Briggs made a clucking sound of commiseration, but the whole time his eyes were riveted on the expanse of bare shoulder she exposed when her shawl “accidentally” slipped. Harriet wasn’t comfortable in this vamp role, and hoped she wasn’t making a real muddle of things.

Licking her lips, which really were dry with nervousness, Harriet continued, “I always wanted to visit my brother, Etienne, in Louisiana. Papa said he was such a wild ruffian, and, well, I figured Etienne would be more understanding of a young woman’s…uh…needs.” She put special emphasis on that last word, and was pleased to see Briggs’s florid complexion burn a shade brighter. “But then when I got to Bayou Noir, I learned that he’d gone off to Texas. I didn’t know what else to do but follow after him.”

Briggs looked skeptical.

“But I didn’t know he was a thief,” Harriet added, taking a good swig of brandy to bolster her flagging courage. “Truly I didn’t know about his horrible character, or I never would have come. Please let me apologize on behalf of my entire family for his stealing your gold. Papa would be horrified.”

Briggs’s skeptical demeanor softened a bit. “There’s always one black sheep in every family.”

Briggs seemed to accept her story about being Scarlett, but she didn’t doubt that he considered her a gift horse…another wedge to use against Etienne. She would have to be careful.

“Now I guess I’ll have to go back to California.” She sighed. “I don’t suppose you could have one of your men drive me to Houston?” There were dozens of cowhands and what she assumed were armed guards all over the sprawling ranch and the house itself. “I’m sure I could arrange transportation from there to California, but I don’t think I could face riding there myself. The trip here about did me in.”

“Certainly, my dear, but you must stay overnight. It would be best to leave early in the morning after you’ve rested.”

Uh-oh!
“Oh, I couldn’t intrude on your hospitality. Nor that of Mrs. Briggs.”
Oh, please, God, let there be a Mrs. Briggs
.

“My wife is in Washington,” he told her with a smarmy leer. “But you’ve no need to fear for your…ah, reputation. There are maids aplenty about the house.” The way he said
reputation
made it clear he didn’t think she had one worth saving.

“Well, if you insist.” She smiled weakly at him and batted her eyelashes again. God, her eyelids were beginning to hurt. How did those Southern belles do it?

“I’ll have Lillian take you up to a guest room,” he said, ringing a little bell. “You can refresh yourself; then we’ll talk some more before dinner.”

“You are so kind.”

“I suppose you’d like to see your brother?” he asked, as if reading her mind.

Harriet forced herself to remain calm. There was a calculating glimmer in Briggs’s beady eyes. She couldn’t appear too anxious. What would be the best reaction to his question?

Harriet fluttered her fan. “If you insist, although I have to admit I’d like to clobber the fool. I’m ashamed to claim he’s my brother right now, I truly am. I don’t think we’ve ever had a thief in our family before.”

Briggs relaxed, obviously pleased with her answer.

“Perhaps you can tell me later how you built up such a big ranch. From what I could see, the Double B is very impressive. Why, it must be twice the size of my papa’s ranch in California.”

Preening at her compliment, Briggs said, “Yes, I can see that you are in no way like that villainous brother of yours. I look forward to our conversation. You will join me for dinner, of course. Perhaps we’ll find other areas of common interest.” His gaze was directed at her breasts as he spoke.

In your dreams, mister. In your dreams
.

It was late evening before Harriet got to visit Etienne. Holding lanterns, Briggs and a guard led the way out the back door and about five hundred yards to a small stone building with iron bars on the windows. The two wagons sat beside the miniature fortress, with open crates and Bibles strewn about.

Only one guard sat in the little anteroom before the iron-barred cell that presumably held Etienne. The guard was reading a dime novel by the light of an oil lamp. Harriet was afraid to examine her surroundings, fearful of appearing too anxious, and fearful of what she would see.

“Are you sure I should be here, Mr. Briggs?” Harriet twittered. “I know you insisted, but the smell is atrocious.”

“It’ll only take a second,” Briggs soothed, then banged on the cell bars with the butt of his pistol. “Wake up, Baptiste. You got a visitor.”

There was a stirring in the pile of rags in one corner, which, to Harriet’s horror, turned out to be Etienne. He stood slowly, painfully, and blinked in the dim light from the two lanterns. A bone protruded against the skin of his left forearm where the arm had been fractured and left unset. His once beautiful face was a mass of purple and yellow bruises.

Harriet steeled herself not to show her distress.

“I brought your sister Scarlett to see you, Baptiste,” Briggs announced with jovial cruelty. “Don’tcha wanna
come over here and show her what a brave brother she has? Ha, ha, ha!”

If Etienne doesn’t kill this man, I will
, Harriet vowed.

Etienne inhaled sharply on recognizing her. “Scarlett?”

Harriet tried to signal him with her eyes, but she wasn’t sure he could see with his almost swollen shut. “Etienne Baptiste, I am ashamed of you. Stealin’ gold from decent folks. Runnin’ from the law. Why, Papa would whup you good if he was here, just like Mr. Briggs’s men did.”

Etienne shuffled closer.

“What the hell are you doin’ here,
Scarlett?
” Etienne gritted out through his split lips. That little speech caused the cuts to start bleeding again.

“I ran away from home, if you must know. I went to Bayou Noir, but I shoulda known I wouldn’t be able to depend on you. You no-good rascal.”

“Go away, Scarlett,” Etienne said. Harriet could see that her presence angered him. “I don’t want your help.”

“Well, I’m not here to help, you ungrateful lout. You deserve whatever you get, although”—she put a beseeching hand on Briggs’s arm—“although I think it would be decent Christian charity to set Etienne’s broken arm.”

Briggs muttered something about it not making sense when he was going to die anyway, but Harriet moved closer, brushing against his chest with her breasts, now almost totally exposed by the shawl, which she let fall to the floor.

“Please,” she coaxed.

There was a sharp inhale of breath in the room. She wasn’t sure if it came from Briggs or Etienne.

A short time later, the guard went into the cell with Harriet. Briggs stayed outside the locked cell door, coward that he was. The guard allowed her to pull on Etienne’s arm until the bone popped back into place. It must have been extremely painful for Etienne but he just glared angrily at her through his unforgiving blue eyes. As she was wrapping the arm with a splint and some clean linen cloths that
Briggs had reluctantly sent for, Etienne rasped out, “I don’t want your help.”

“Big deal!” She gave him back an equal glare.

“So you ran away from home, did you?” he asked, trying a different approach. “You always were a selfish little bitch. Just how far are you willing to go to attain your ends this time?”

Harriet knew he was asking in his convoluted way just what she was willing to do to save him.

“As far as I have to,” she said, giving him a level stare.

His eyes did a quick survey of her harlot gown. “Don’t do it,” he whispered.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped. “You have no rights over me.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“That’s for damn sure.”

“You know what he wants from you,” Etienne said in a rushed undertone when the guard stood and turned for a moment.

“Yes.”

“And you’d do that?”

“Etienne, I would do tricks for the devil to save you.”

“Don’t,” he repeated. “I’ll hate you for it. I’ll hate myself.”

She shrugged, but her heart was breaking. He was telling the truth. In doing whatever she had to in order to save him, even if she succeeded, she would lose him. A lose-lose situation all around, for her.

“What’re you two whisperin’ about in there?” Briggs snarled.

“Oh, he was just asking me if I had a knife,” Harriet said flippantly. “As if I would do anything to save him!”

After the cell was locked behind her, Harriet proceeded to leave with Briggs who looped an arm over her shoulder, becoming increasingly bold. She spun around suddenly. Addressing Etienne, who stood with his white-knuckled fists encircling the bars, watching her, she said, “Oh,
Etienne, I just thought of something. Do you remember that book you gave me once, a long time ago…something about body language?”

He moved his head up and down hesitantly.

Then, holding his eyes, she made a quick fluid gesture before Briggs or the guard could understand what she was doing. The fingertips of her right hand pointed to herself, pressed briefly over her heart, pointed to him, then made a circular motion near her head.

I love you, stupid
.

Etienne’s jaw clenched with anguish, but he nodded.

Harriet knew by late evening that she would have to kill Briggs, or have sex with him. Neither prospect was attractive.

The slimy senator had the tentacles of an octopus and the wet mouth of a fish. She’d felt both on various parts of her anatomy throughout the lengthy dinner and after-dinner drinks, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to put him off much longer.

Harriet had stashed her guns in a small cave before entering Briggs’s property, knowing she would be disarmed as soon as she encountered any of his guards. As expected, she was searched immediately. But she’d hidden a small, lethal knife in her hair, which she’d French-twisted and anchored with a number of bone hairpins. It hardly seemed equal to the challenge of fighting off Briggs, but a gun wouldn’t have worked, either. Its sharp report would have alerted every man on the ranch.

She was in her bedroom now, presumably preparing herself for Briggs’s late-night visit.
Yech!
She’d tried the eye-hypnotism trick on Briggs earlier, but it hadn’t worked. And her instincts told her not to try standing behind the door and bashing him over the head. Briggs was a creep, but a smart one. And though he pretended to be taken in by her pretense, Harriet was sure he would be on his guard.

When Briggs rapped on her door, she called out, “Come in.”

Not surprisingly, he kicked in the door and waited a few seconds before entering. He beamed with pleasure when he saw her on the other side of the room, wearing only her leopard-print nightie, which Blossom had mended, and panties.

Etienne would have a fit if he knew.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you just the sweetest picture,” Briggs said as he moved closer to her, already removing his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt.

Fifteen minutes later, the naked, bug-eyed, evil man was flat on his back on the bed, a knife blade sticking out of his jugular vein, which gushed blood onto the pure white counterpane.

Harriet retched the contents of her stomach into a chamber pot.
Oh, God, oh, God! I actually killed a man. Not that he didn’t deserve it. Oh, I will never forget how his horrible hands felt on me. Never! But he didn’t get inside me. At least I have that. Oh, God!

Finally, Harriet washed herself all over and dressed again. It was after midnight by now, and Harriet knew she’d have to proceed carefully. With tonight’s full moon, her red dress would be instantly visible to any of the many nighttime guards.

Amazingly, Harriet made it to the guardhouse with little trouble, having to wait twice while guards passed by on their rounds before slipping outside. The jailer was luckily the same one as before. He stood abruptly, knocking over a chair when she entered. “What the hell—”

Harriet also noticed that Etienne rose to a sitting position, watching alertly. She ignored him totally, knowing she needed all her concentration.

Dropping down into a second chair near the desk where the guard had probably been snoozing, Harriet hurried to explain her presence before he kicked her out. “I couldn’t sleep, and the only book I have with me I’ve read a hundred
times. I noticed you were reading one of those dime novels, and I was just wondering if we might trade for the night.”

She’d startled him with that one. Before he could react, she pulled up her briefcase, flicked open the locks and pulled out
Sweet Savage Love
. “This is my favorite novel. I think you’d like it. It’s about this rogue who seduces all the women and kills lots of bad guys. What’s yours about?”