18 

It’s over.”

Warren stared at the man who stood in the door of his office. He’d seen Barrett happy, he’d seen him angry, he’d seen him disappointed, but never before had he seen him looking like this. Warren’s most important client appeared defeated. His shoulders slumped, his eyes were clouded, his skin looked almost gray. It seemed as if he were turning into a shadow.

Warren felt the blood drain from his own face as Barrett took one of the chairs in front of his desk, not bothering to remove his hat or coat. On an ordinary day, Barrett would be joking, pretending that the decision of whether to sit in the dark green leather chair rather than the one covered in deep red suede was a momentous one. Today he was not joking.

Though it was clear that something was terribly wrong, Warren had no idea what it could be. Barrett was like that mythical King Midas. Everything he touched turned to gold. That was why Warren had allied himself with him. It wasn’t simply that the work associated with Barrett’s cattle raising was lucrative or that other cattle barons had sought Warren’s counsel because of his connection to Barrett. That was good, but what was even better were the possibilities if Barrett gained public office. When he’d realized that political patronage could be a gold mine for the candidate’s advisers, Warren had chuckled. Working for Senator Landry would be far more profitable and decidedly less strenuous than actually mining gold. All Warren had to do was wait for the man to send work his way. But now it appeared that his dreams of wealth were in jeopardy.

“What do you mean?” Warren demanded, his voice harsher than he’d intended. “If you play your cards right, the party will come around.”

For the first time since he’d entered Warren’s office, Barrett’s eyes showed a spark of light. “If you believe that,” he said, his lips curving into a rueful smile, “you’re probably the only person in the territory who does. Even Richard tells me I have no chance. He advises me to wait at least a year until everyone has forgotten that I mentioned regulating stock growers.”

“That wasn’t your finest moment.”

“It could have been.”

Barrett shook his head when Warren offered him a cigar. The man didn’t appreciate good tobacco, but that wasn’t going to stop Warren from enjoying a smoke.

Warren lit the cigar and took a deep puff. “I still think you have a chance.”

Turning his head when the smoke rings drifted in his direction, Barrett tapped his fingers on the chair arms. “Did you hear about Betty Dawson’s Valentine’s party?”

Warren felt his muscles tighten. Was Barrett asking a simple question, or was he reminding him that, no matter how much he tried, Warren wasn’t yet accepted by the cream of Cheyenne society? It rankled him to know that he was considered good enough to manage their legal affairs, but he wasn’t invited to dinners and other social occasions.

“No,” he said abruptly.

“Half the party leadership was there, or so it seemed. I can tell you that, despite the occasion, their hearts were not filled with love, at least not toward me. They barely acknowledged my existence.”

“They’ll get over it. Their memories are notoriously short.”

Though he had expected Barrett to smile, the man shook his head. “I doubt that. I’m beginning to believe you’re right, that I don’t have the starch that’s needed.” Before Warren could protest, Barrett continued. “Besides, I have bigger problems than running a political campaign now. My days as a cattle rancher are over.”

“That can’t be true.” Warren didn’t want to consider the possibility of ruin. The money Barrett paid him to handle the cattle business’s affairs was too important to lose, especially if there would be no political patronage. “You have one of the finest herds in the territory.”

“Had, Warren. Past tense. At least half the herd is dead, and I have no idea how many more I’ll lose before spring.” Barrett looked directly at Warren, his eyes once more bleak. “It’s over.”

Five hours later, Warren stared out the window, his hands fisted, his rage still simmering. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to play out. It was bad enough that Barrett appeared obstinate about not running for office. Though Warren had counted on that extra money, he might have been able to survive the loss of it, were it not for Barrett’s other news. That had turned his stomach sour. He had bet money—far too much money—on this year’s cattle profits. It was supposed to be a sure thing. Prices were cyclical, and this was the year they should have risen. Warren had counted on ’87 being as good a year as ’83. Now it appeared that it would be a disaster. If Barrett’s livestock were dying, they all were.

Spring, which was supposed to have brought him wealth, privilege, and a wife, was starting to look bleak. It was true that he had the Franklin ranch, small as it was, but that wasn’t enough to convince the Cheyenne Club to admit him, and it certainly wasn’t enough to show Gwen how much he valued her. He couldn’t let her slip through his fingers. No, sirree. Gwen Amos was a fine woman, part of his ticket to acceptance, and he intended to dress her in jewels and furs and make her Mrs. Warren Duncan before spring ended. To do that, he needed money.

Warren pounded the windowsill in frustration. Money. He’d been so close, and now . . . Now there was only one answer. He had to find the money Jeffrey Crowley had taken. Once he had that, there would be no more problems. He’d be richer than Barrett Landry or F.E. Warren or Joseph Carey ever dreamt. He’d find that money. He would. But in the meantime . . .

Warren reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out his mask. It was time to pay Sylvia a visit.

Someone was pounding on the door. Though his bedchamber was at the back of the house, the noise was loud enough to rouse Barrett from a sound sleep. Thrusting his feet into slippers and donning his dressing robe, he hurried downstairs. By the time he reached the door, Mr. Bradley, similarly clad in nightclothes, was opening it.

“Where is she?” Cyrus Taggert’s face was contorted with rage, the bulging veins so prominent that Barrett feared they would burst. “Don’t try lying. I know she’s here.”

There was no question who he meant. “Miriam’s not here. I haven’t seen her in several days.” Barrett kept his voice low and calm as he ushered Miriam’s father into the parlor. “Why did you think she was here?” He forbore pointing out that Miriam’s presence in a man’s house at 5:30 would be highly scandalous.

“This is why.” Cyrus held out a crumpled sheet of paper. “Mrs. Taggert thought she heard a strange noise. When I went downstairs to investigate, I found this on the breakfast table.”

Barrett smoothed the paper and read. Dearest Mama and Papa, please forgive me, but I cannot live without him. I love him more than I ever thought possible. I love you too, but my future is with him. Miriam.

“Where is she?” Miriam’s father repeated. “She’s got to be here. You’re . . .”

It might be rude to interrupt, but Barrett couldn’t let Cyrus Taggert continue. “I’m sorry, Mr. Taggert, but Miriam is not here. I’m not the man she loves.”

The older man’s face sagged. “Then who?”

Though Barrett had a strong suspicion, he would not voice it until he was certain. “Why don’t you go home? I’m sure your wife needs you to comfort her. I’ll search for Miriam.”

“Will you bring her home?”

Barrett wouldn’t lie. “I won’t force her, but I’ll tell her how worried you and her mother are.”

Cyrus Taggert nodded as he made his way to the door, his gait that of a much older man. “Thank you, Barrett. You’re a better man than I thought.”

Someone was following her. At first Charlotte had thought it was her imagination. After all, she had never before seen anyone out at this time of the early morning once she turned onto Ferguson. While it was true that she’d passed an occasional vagrant on 15th Street, the homeless men had paid her no attention. This was different. Whoever it was hadn’t wanted her to be aware of his presence, not at the beginning. The first few times she had heard what she believed were footsteps, she had turned to look but had seen no one. Now there was no doubt. The man was becoming careless. Either that or he wanted her to know he was there. The last two times he had barely concealed himself in a doorway, his sleeve protruding.

Charlotte increased her pace. In another block, she’d be home. She’d be safe then. The footsteps were closer now, and for the first time she heard the man. It was nothing more than a chuckle, and yet the sound sent shivers down her spine. Whoever it was was evil. When the chuckle was repeated, she turned, and as she did, Charlotte felt her heart stop. Her pursuer did not bother to hide. He stood there, as if taunting her, a figure clothed in black, his face hidden by a mask. The baron.

Charlotte began to run.

By the time Barrett was dressed, Mr. Bradley had the carriage ready. It would have been easier to simply saddle Midnight, but Barrett wanted the carriage in case he was able to persuade Miriam to return to her parents’ home. He doubted he’d succeed. If she was with Richard as he believed, she was unlikely to leave.

She loved Richard, and unless Barrett was sorely mistaken, Richard loved her. Barrett smiled as he climbed into the carriage and seized the reins. He was surprised by the notion, and yet he knew he shouldn’t be. The signs had been there, but he had been too blind to see them.

When he’d taken Barrett to task for neglecting Miriam, Richard had practically confessed tender feelings for her. As for Miriam, she’d made it clear that she sought a man who shared her love of music and literature. Richard did. If the Taggerts didn’t interfere and insist that Miriam marry a man with a future in politics, she and Richard would be an ideal couple.

As Barrett had expected, Ferguson was deserted at this time of night. It was still hours before the shops would open, and so the majority of houses were dark, the few lighted windows possibly the sign of a fussy child. Was David awake? Barrett pushed the thought aside. This was no time to be thinking about Charlotte and her son. He needed to find Miriam and then do whatever he could to smooth matters between her and her parents.

Barrett was about to turn onto 18th Street when he saw her. Though the street was dark and she was clad all in black, there was no mistaking the fact that a woman was running.

“Help me!” she cried, and as she did, Barrett’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice.

“Charlotte!” Barrett flicked the reins, drawing them in when he reached her. “Get in.” In the dim light from the stars, he saw that the woman with Charlotte’s voice had her face covered with a heavy veil. “Charlotte?” This time he made it a question.

“Yes. Thank God you’re here. He’s after me.” As she climbed into the carriage, her voice trembled so much that Barrett could barely understand her.

“Who?”

She shuddered, and Barrett reached out, wrapping his arm around her to draw her closer to him.

“The . . .” She stopped, her teeth chattering from cold or fear or perhaps both. “A man. He was right behind me.” She pointed south on Ferguson.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“At first he hid in doorways.” Her voice was stronger now. “Then he came out, as if he wanted me to know he was there. Oh, Barrett, I’ve never been so scared.”

Barrett tightened his grip on Charlotte. “We’ll find him,” he assured her. But though he drove slowly, pausing to look at each doorway and every narrow passageway between the buildings, he saw no one.

“He’s gone.” If he really existed. Charlotte wasn’t a woman given to flights of fancy, but there was no evidence of anyone lurking in the darkness. Perhaps she had heard a stray dog and her imagination had run wild. Anything was possible at this hour when the streets were empty and the shadows long.

“Why were you out?” Though he tried to keep his voice even, now that the danger was past, he found himself recoiling with horror over what might have happened if she was being pursued. Charlotte was a resourceful woman, but she was no match for a man bent on harming her.

“I was delivering dresses to a boardinghouse on 15th Street.”

Barrett blinked in astonishment. “At five in the morning?” He hadn’t thought Charlotte foolish, but that was the height of foolhardiness. Fifteenth Street was not a place for gently bred ladies, particularly at this hour.

“It was the safest time,” she insisted. “No one’s out then.”

“That wasn’t true today. You could have been hurt or worse.” Though he hadn’t intended it, anger crept into his voice. “If you’d asked me, I would have taken you there at a reasonable time.”

Charlotte stiffened and pulled away from him. “I will not be coddled.” Her voice was once again ragged, but this time Barrett recognized anger as well as fear. “I told you what my childhood was like, so surely you understand that I’ve spent too much of my life being protected. This was something I had to do by myself. I don’t want to be treated like a hothouse flower.”

“It’s not coddling to want you to be safe, Charlotte. It’s called caring. I care about you.” What he felt was far deeper than mere caring, but this was neither the time nor the place to tell her that. “Let’s get you home.”

She nodded. To Barrett’s relief, her trembling stopped and her breathing returned to normal. When they reached her house, he alighted from the carriage and helped her out.

“I want to see you safely inside,” he told her as he took her arm and led her to the stairs.

She nodded again. It was only when she had lit the kitchen lamp that she turned to Barrett. “Thank you for being there.” A look of mild confusion flitted across her face. “I know God sent you. It had to be his hand that led you there at exactly the right time, but I don’t understand why you were outside at this hour.”

“I was looking for Miriam.”

A quarter hour later, Barrett was still looking for her. When he’d reached Richard’s house, all the first floor lights were blazing, but when Barrett knocked on the door, no one answered. He’d waited a minute, rapping constantly, but Richard did not appear. Finally, Barrett had opened the door and gone from room to room. All empty. He did not doubt that Miriam had been here, for her perfume lingered in the parlor, nor did he doubt that she and Richard had left together. What he did not know was where they’d gone. It could be anywhere. Though he hated the message he would have to deliver, there was no choice. He had to tell Cyrus Taggert that he had failed to find his daughter.

Barrett was not surprised when he saw the lights on at the Taggert mansion. Undoubtedly Cyrus and Amelia were waiting for him. He was not surprised when their butler greeted him as if there were nothing unusual about callers arriving before dawn. However, Barrett was surprised when he entered the parlor and saw Miriam and Richard seated on the long couch, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“We’re going to be married,” Miriam announced. Though her cheeks were stained with tears, her smile was brilliant. “Mama and Papa have agreed that we’ll have a small wedding this afternoon. Will you come?”

“Of course.”