“He ever do anything to you?”
“All sorts of things I refuse to talk about. But the worst of his spite was reserved for Tom. He was convinced Mother had slept with someone else even though she had insisted she hadn’t. Father always called Tom his ‘little bastard.’ Father insulted him mercilessly, and always went on about what he saw as Tom’s many flaws. I tell you, it got so bad, many was the time I cringed inside at how terribly Father was treating him.”
“How did your brother take it?”
“You saw him. He hates Father for the abuse he suffered and he hates us for not defending him.”
“What about Charles and Emmett?”
“Charles avoided Father as much as possible. He spends most of his time at the men’s club in town. He hardly ever associates with women. As for Emmett, he’s young yet, like Charlotte, and just as innocent.”
“That leaves you.”
“I’m the oldest. I have a sense of responsibility. I’ve always felt I needed to look after them and protect them. I admit I didn’t do enough to help Tom but there wasn’t much I coulddo given how much Father hated him. I devoted myself to running the household and spent all my nights alone in my room.”
Fargo had one last question. “Why have you told me all this?”
Samantha smoothed her dress, which clung enticingly to her thighs. “I want you to fully understand what you are getting yourself into. I want you prepared for what is to come. Which brings us to why I sent for you.”
At last, Fargo thought.
Just then an older male servant entered and bowed. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I thought you should know.”
“What is it, Jarvis? I’d rather not be disturbed right now.”
“It’s this gentleman’s horse.” Jarvis nodded at Fargo.
“What about it?”
“I was outside when he told everyone not to touch it.”
“And?” Samantha said impatiently.
“Your brother, Tom, saw it out front and is having it taken to the stable even as I speak.”
Fargo was off the divan in long strides. Samantha called for him to wait but he shouldered past Jarvis and hurried down the hall to the front door. Throwing it open, he stepped outside. At the bottom of the steps stood Tom Clyborn, watching a servant lead the Ovaro off by the reins.
Fargo went down the steps three at a bound. His jingling spurs alerted Tom who turned just as he reached him. Without saying a word, without any warning whatsoever, Fargo hit him flush on the jaw.
Down Tom went. More stunned than hurt, he rubbed his chin and looked up in anger. “What the hell?”
“Don’t ever touch a man’s horse without his say-so.” Fargo strode past him and bellowed at the servant, “Hold it right there.”
The servant stopped and looked back.
“Let go of him.”
The servant quickly did and retreated. “I was only doing what I was told, mister.”
“That’s the only reason I don’t bust your skull.” Fargo snatched the reins. West of the Mississippi, taking a man’s horse for any reason was a hanging offense. “Tell the rest that no one goes near my horse but me. Savvy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then make yourself scarce.” Fargo slid the Henry into the saddle scabbard and patted the stallion’s neck. “If I am touchy about anything, I am touchy about you.”
“How dare you?” Tom Clyborn was livid with wrath. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “No one strikes me with impunity. Do you hear me? No one.”
“I made it plain my horse wasn’t to be moved.”
“This is our estate. Wesay what will and won’t be done. If I want to put your damn animal in the stable, I by God will!”
Fargo placed his hand on his Colt. “Care to bet?”
“You’re threatening me? On my own land? In front of the servants?” Tom shook with fury. “You miserable lout. You’ve just made the worst mistake of your life.”
“I’ve tangled with Apaches and Comanches,” Fargo said.
“What do a bunch of stinking red savages have to do with this?”
“Compared to them, as threats go, you’re downright puny.”
Tom’s face twitched and he raised his fist but a jasmine-wreathed vision slipped between them and placed a hand on his chest.
“That will be enough,” Samantha said.
“He struck me.”
“Let it pass.”
“Like hell.” Tom glowered over her shoulder at Fargo. “Mark my words, plainsman. You have made a mortal enemy this day.” Whirling, he stormed toward the house. Two servants scurried out of his path but one wasn’t fast enough and was shoved aside. Another moment, and Tom slammed the front door behind him.
“That was unfortunate,” Samantha said.
“Forget about him,” Fargo said. “I’m not waiting another minute for you to tell me why you’ve sent for me.”
“Certainly.” Samantha smiled. “I want you to be my partner in a hunt unlike any other. There’s just one catch.” Her smile faded. “I can’t guarantee we’ll live through it.”
6
The twenty riders wound along a pockmarked trail that was taking them steadily deeper into the lush green forest. High above, the morning sun blazed bright. Around them, songbirds warbled and squirrels scampered.
It was as perfect as a day could be, but Skye Fargo didn’t let it lull him into letting his guard down. Not when there had been two attempts on his life.
A monarch butterfly flitted past. Fargo watched it, envying it its freedom. Arching his back, he stretched and breathed deep of the rich wood scent. He wished he was back in the Rocky Mountains.
Hooves thudded, and Charles Clyborn came up next to him. “Good morning. We hadn’t had a chance to talk yet and I thought this an excellent opportunity.” As usual, Charles was immaculately dressed, this time in a riding outfit that was the pinnacle of fashion.
“Did you, now?”
“I’m sorry. Am I bothering you? I only wanted to make your acquaintance.” Charles smiled. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still here. I understand my sister explained everything.”
“She’s paying me a thousand dollars a day.”
“Ah. To you I suppose that’s a lot of money. Even so,”—and Charles’s smile became a frown—“do you have any idea what you have let yourself in for?”
“A hunt, she called it.”
“She told you all the rest? How this was our father’s bizarre idea? How he refused to leave each of us an inheritance, as any reasonable person would have done? No, that wasn’t good enough for him. Or I should say it wasn’t vicious enough. So he concocted this ridiculous contest where we must pit ourselves against each another.”
“It’s mighty unusual,” Fargo conceded. Which was putting it mildly. According to the will, only one of Clyborn’s children could inherit his enormous wealth and vast holdings. It would all go to whoever won a special hunt. “How far is it to this hunting lodge of yours?”
“As the crow flies, the lodge is about twelve miles from the mansion. Since we left at seven we should be there by noon at the very latest.” Charles sniffed. “I have only ever been there a few times. I am not the hunter Roland is. With him it’s a passion. I’ve never liked the sight of blood or seeing animals suffer.”
“They don’t if you drop them with one shot.”
“You sound like Roland. Me, I would much rather enjoy the comforts of my club. A fine dinner with friends, a friendly game of cards or perhaps chess, a glass or three of vintage port, and intelligent conversation.” Charles gazed about with distaste. “The wilds are not to my liking. The sun burns my skin and the plants makes me itch and don’t get me started on the mosquitoes and other bugs.”