Johanna Lindsey - Savage Thunder

"But you said—"

"That I wouldn't be surprised if he proposes. How many proposals have I had in the past three years?"

Vanessa sighed, "Too many to count. So you mink he's just another fortune hunter?"

"I'm afraid I do."

"You could be wrong, you know. Look at the attention he lavishes on you. And he's so deucedly handsome — and civilized, I might add."

That stung, so Jocelyn retorted, "He isn't likely to ignore me with my fortune on his mind."

"But what makes you so sure, my dear?"

"His eyes."

"His eyes?"

"Yes, the way he looks at me. There's nothing there, Vana, not even the tiniest spark of interest. Oh, he says all the right words, but his eyes belie every one of them. He's simply not attracted to me. But then few men are."

"More fools they," the countess said in her behalf. "It doesn't matter, dear. We weren't considering him for a husband, merely as an entertaining diversion, so don't let it bother you."

Jocelyn had to force down a smile. "I won't."

But Vanessa was having a hard time letting the idea go. "You're positive?" she asked after a moment.

This time Jocelyn did smile. "Vana!" And laugh. "He looks at you with much more warmth than he does me." At the countess's blush, she added, "Ah, you have noticed that, at least?"

"Well, I assumed you were receiving even more admiring looks," Vanessa said defensively.

"Now you know better. But don't fret about it. He has been entertaining, and quite amusing, which was partly what you hoped for, wasn't it?"

Again Vanessa blushed. "I meant well, my dear."

Jocelyn leaned over to hug her. "I know, and I love you for it. And you needn't worry about our mean-tempered guide anymore. If you haven't noticed, he's been avoiding me like the plague. It's quite over."

"Is it really?"

She didn't want to explain about the argument, not at this late date, so she said simply, "Yes." But knowing Vanessa wouldn't leave it at that, would start to pick it apart for her own assurance, she cowardly added, "I think I'll have that ride after all."

They rode east toward the Manzano Mountains. The fast gallop brought them to the lower foothills in little time, though Jocelyn was far ahead as usual. She dis-mounted to wait for Miles to catch up, walking Sir George beneath the golden aspen and ponderosa pines that dotted the area.

She was warm after the ride, but the cold wind kept her from removing her fur-trimmed riding jacket.

They had had to dig out some of their winter clothing from the trunks with the recent weather change, a fortunate inclusion since they were likely to see snow before reaching their destination. They were also for-tunate that with so many people, there had been only a few minor colds and sniffles to date.

Miles slowed his borrowed mount as he approached the duchess. He was dreading this, but Maura had been after him to get it over with, and she was right, of course. They were running out of time with the railroads close now, and without some defi-nite encouragement from the lady, they had no excuse to continue on with her. And his other option wouldn't wait around indefinitely either.

They had assumed there would be more time, that they would all be taking the train from Santa Fe. They had since learned otherwise. The duchess's party would have to split up to "transport so many vehicles on the rails, if the new Santa Fe line even had plat-form cars to accommodate them. Jocelyn had already decided to wait until the larger depots in Denver were reached before traveling the railroads, if even then, since that half-breed had assured her she could reach Wyoming via the flatlands of the plains.

For the first time, Miles was lacking the confidence so necessary to this scheme, because he had been unable to predetermine the duchess's feelings toward him. Her direct gazes unnerved him, but gave nothing away other than a sense of amusement. He sometimes even imagined that she was laughing at him rather than with him, that she saw right through his cam-paign to win her.

Of course, his heart hadn't really been in this en-deavor from the start. The old broads of the past had been easy prey, susceptible, lonely, gullible, easily won and managed. But this young one lacked all the basic ingredients for a quick and effortless courtship. She also left him cold, despite her youth, which was what was really causing his dread of today's meeting. No matter how much she was worth, he almost hoped she would turn him down.

With self-disgust, he brought forth a smile as he dismounted. "You win again, Jocelyn."

She had allowed him the use of her name, but she still looked at him strangely each time he said it. With so many titles, she likely was simply not used to hear-ing it. Even the countess addressed her only as "my dear."

"We weren't racing, Miles. The only animals who can give Sir George a decent challenge are his mares, but their condition precludes such strenuous exer-cise."

He gritted his teeth. He always had the feeling she was condescending to him, and no doubt she was. A poor boy from Missouri, he was out of his depth deal-ing with an English aristocrat born and bred to wealth. Her damned horseflesh alone was probably worth more than he had gained from all four of his dead wives, especially if you counted the foals she was anticipating in the spring.

"Did you race him in England?" he thought to ask. She was always most agreeable when she talked about her horses, and he needed her agreeable today.

"Dear me, no. He was too young when we left. But his sire. what are you doing, Miles?"

He had placed his arm around her shoulder as they were walking. Now he turned her to face him.

"Don't be shy," he said gently. "It's natural for a man to want to touch the woman he loves."

"I suppose it is."

That answer confounded him, especially since it was said without the least inflection in her voice. "Didn't you hear me? I've fallen in love with you."

"I'm sorry."

Sorry about what? That she hadn't heard him, or that he loved her? Jesus, it was bad enough he had to propose at all. Did she have to make it even more difficult?

"I suppose you've had many declarations of love."

He wasn't even aware that sarcasm dripped from his words, but Jocelyn was, and it annoyed her. She had intended to treat this anticipated proposal as if it were sincere, to simply refuse gently, without letting on that she knew the only thing he was attracted to was her money. She still wouldn't come right out and call him a liar, but after that sneering comment, she decided to make him wonder.

"You would truly be surprised how many fortune hunters there are, Miles, who profess to undying love, and they do it so sweetly. Declarations, proposals of marriage. there have been so many I stopped counting long ago."

"Are you accusing—"

"Certainly not," she cut in with feigned indigna-tion. "A fine, upstanding man like you wouldn't re-sort to such a low, despicable means of acquiring a fortune. I never thought that for a moment," she assured him with a pat on the arm. "If I was a bit tepid in my reaction, it's only that it's become rather tedi-ous, having to explain so often why I never intend to marry again. But of course, you weren't proposing marriage, were you? Heavens, of course you weren't. You've only known me for a few weeks, after all."

She had to turn away before he saw her amusement at the flush his pale skin couldn't hide. His hand on her shoulder kept her from walking away, however.

"What do you mean, you never intend to marry again?" he demanded rather sharply.

"What? Oh, that." She managed a heavy sigh in preparation for the whopping lie she was about to tell.

"There's simply nothing I can do about it. It was my husband's way of assuring I would always honor his memory. I will lose everything I have, you see, should I remarry. And I can't very well risk that, now can I?"

"Everything?" he fairly choked.

"Yes, everything."

"But you're so young! What if you want children? What if you fall in love?"

"My husband's will doesn't deny me children or lovers. Should I want either, I shall simply have them.

Oh, dear, have I shocked you?" His expression cer-tainly said so. It was all she could do not to laugh.

"You must hate his memory," Miles said bitterly. He certainly did.

"Whyever would you think so? He was merely try-ing to protect me, to assure that no one could ever control me or the money he left to me. I see nothing wrong in that."

"You wouldn't," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." With a supreme effort, his winsome smile reappeared. "As you say, it's too soon to speak of marriage. Tell me, I have wondered, with so many guards, why none accompany you on your daily rides."

Jocelyn laughed at the sudden change of subject, but made him think it was his question she found amusing. "But how could they keep up? The purpose of these rides is to exercise Sir George. My own en-joyment of them is secondary. Besides, I never ride beyond the point that a shot couldn't be heard."

She indicated the rifle on her saddle. "And you are along to protect me, after all. If I were alone, I would sim ply stay within sight of my entourage. Now, shall we return?"

"If you're tired, of course," he said smoothly, his fury well under control now. "But there was a lovely meadow I thought you would enjoy seeing. We passed it, oh, not long before we stopped for luncheon, so it isn't very far from here."

He seemed quite eager to show it to her, and to grant his wish was the least she could do after nipping his plans so neatly in the bud. Truth to tell, she was feeling rather guilty about all those lies she had come up with to avoid the distastefulness of accusations and bad feelings.

"By all means," she agreed with a genuine smile. "It sounds delightful."

“This is purely a waste of time, if you ask me."

"So who's asking you?"

Pete Saunders glanced sideways at the new man. He was a strange son of a bitch. He went by the name of Angel, just Angel. It was supposed to be his last name and probably was. Who'd pick such a name if they had the choice? But he didn't look like an angel, not by any means. Oh, he was tidy enough in appearance. Shaved every morning, cut his own hair, and neatly too; cleaned his own clothes when there was no laundry around he could take them to. A real stickler about his appearance, Angel was, just like the boss.

But you didn't seem to notice such things about him, not right off anyway. First you'd see that scar he had running from his chin to his ear along the jaw-line, as if someone had tried to cut his throat but missed by a few inches. Then you'd see his eyes, black as sin, cold, ruthless, predatory even. You couldn't look into them for very long and not wonder if your days hadn't come to an end.

He wasn't all that tall, but that was another thing you didn't seem to notice, not right off. He always wore a long mackintosh slicker that nearly scraped the ground, and large silver spurs that warned he was coming and made mincemeat of his horse when he was in a hurry. But he rarely hurried about anything. Slow and easy were his movements, and his patience seemed boundless. You never knew what he was thinking either, for he was disturbingly quiet most of the time and never smiled. Even the cold, steely-eyed Englishman had been known to twitch his lips on oc-casion, but not this Angel.

He'd been picked up in Benson along with two ex-members of the Clanton bunch who didn't want any part of the ongoing feud with the Earps, especially after the Tombstone shoot-out and the new talk of revenge. De-wane had gone to Benson to find a tracker after they'd lost the duchess and her party between there and Tuc-son. They'd ridden all the way to Tucson first, however, before figuring out that they'd been duped somewhere along the way. With four days wasted, the boss had been pissed some, enough to backhand Pete right off his horse as if it were all his fault.

Pete hadn't forgotten that. well, how could he? The bruise on his butt-bone hadn't had a chance to fade with all the hard riding they'd done, and the pink spot on his lip where the scab had only recently fallen off was still tender. He'd almost parted company from this bunch then and there, except Dewane had pointed out where the blame really lay, with that wily half-breed the duchess had hired on. Pete wanted that bastard himself now for making him look bad, and figured the only way he'd get a chance at him was to stick with the Englishman a while more. But with the way things were going, and the boss's new plan— which didn't call for taking out the half-breed just yet, and did call for a helluva lot of patience — it didnt look like he'd get what he wanted.