Protected. After letting out a shaky breath, she waited until her heartbeat leveled and the need to scream passed. She was safe now. But it wasn’t over.
She closed her eyes briefly. It was far from over. It was madness. Jim Carlson was as mad as his poor mother had been, but instead of killing himself he had killed her father. She wanted to weep, to let the new, aching grief come. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t weep, and she couldn’t sit.
Rising, she began to pace. The room was small but beautifully furnished. There were delicate porcelain figurines and a painting in fragile pastels. It reflected Samuel’s elegant taste and eye for beauty. How un-alike the brothers were, she thought.
Cain and Abel.
With a hand on her heart, she rushed to the door. She could never have borne the guilt if one brother killed another over her.
But the door was locked. For a moment she thought it was only her nerves making her fumble. After a deep breath she tried the knob again. It resisted.
Whirling around, she stared at the room. Locked in? But why? For her own protection? Samuel must have thought she would be safer behind a locked door until he came back for her.
And if it was Jim who came back with the key? Her heart thudding in her throat, she began a frantic search for a weapon.
She pulled out desk drawers, pushing ruthlessly through papers. If not a pistol, she thought, then a knife, even a letter opener. She would not be defenseless.
Not again. She tugged open the middle drawer, and the brass pulls knocked against the glossy mahogany. Her hand froze when she saw the miniature. Her miniature.
Like a sleepwalker, she reached for it, staring blindly.
It was the self-portrait that she had painted the year before, the one she had shipped to her father for Christmas. The one, Sarah realized as her fingers closed over it, that he had shown with pride to his friends in town. The one that had been missing from his possessions. Missing because it had been taken by his murderer.
When the key turned in the lock, she didn’t bother to close the drawer or to hide what she held in her hand. Instead, she rose and faced him.
“It was you,” she murmured as Samuel Carlson closed and locked the door behind him. “You killed my father.”
Chapter Fifteen
Carlson crossed the room until only the desk was between them. “Sarah.” His voice was almost a sigh, a sigh touched with patience. In his hand he carried a delicate cup filled with fragrant tea. But she noted that he had strapped on his gun. “I realize how upset you must be after Jim’s inexcusable behavior. Now, why don’t you sit down, compose yourself?”
“You killed my father,” she repeated. It was rage she felt now, waves of it.
“That’s ridiculous.” The words were said gently. “I haven’t killed anyone. Here, my dear. I’ve brought you some tea. It should help calm you.”
The quiet sincerity in his eyes caused her to falter. He must have sensed it, because he smiled and stepped forward. Instantly she backed away. “Why was this in your desk?”
Carlson looked at the miniature in her hand. “A woman should never intrude on a man’s personal belongings.” His voice became indulgent as he set the cup on the desk. “But since you have, I’ll confess. I can be faulted for being overly romantic, I suppose.
The moment I saw it, I fell in love with you. The moment I saw your face, I wanted you.” He held out a hand, palm up, as if he were asking for a dance. “Come, Sarah, you can’t condemn me for that.”
Confused, she shook her head. “Tell me how this came to be in your drawer when it belonged to my father.”
Impatience clouded his face, and he dropped his hand to his side. “Isn’t baring my soul enough for you? You knew, right from the beginning, you knew the way I felt about you. You deceived me.” There was more than impatience in his face now. Something else was building in him. Something that had the bright, hot taste of fear clogging her throat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Samuel.” She spaced her words carefully and kept her eyes on his. “But you’re right. I’m upset, and I’m not myself. I’d prefer to go home now and discuss all of this later.” With the miniature still clutched in her hand, she stepped around the desk and toward the door. The violence with which he grabbed her and shoved her back against the wall had her head reeling.
“It’s too late. Jim’s interference has changed everything. His interference, and your prying. I was patient with you, Sarah. Now it’s too late.”
His face was close to hers-close enough for her to see clearly what was in his eyes. She wondered, as the blood drained slowly from her face, how it was that she’d never seen it before. The madness was bright and deadly. She tried to speak and found she had to swallow first.
“Samuel, you’re hurting me.”
“I would have made you a queen.” He took one hand and brought it up to stroke her face. She cringed, but his eyes warned her not to move. “I would have given you everything a woman could want. Silk.” He traced a finger over her cheekbone. “Diamonds.” Then he ran it lightly down her throat. “Gold.” His hand tightened abruptly around her windpipe. Before she could begin to struggle, it was loosened again. “Gold, Sarah. It belonged to me, truly to me. My grandfather had no right to lose that part of my heritage.
And your father…he had no right to deny me what was already mine.”
“He did it for me.” Perhaps she could calm him, if only she could remain calm herself, before it was too late. “He only wanted to see that I was taken care of.”
“Of course.” He nodded, as if he were pleased that she understood. “Of course he did. As I do. It would have been yours as much as mine. I would never have let you suffer because I had taken it back. As my wife, you would have had every luxury. We would have gone back east together. That was always my plan. I was going to follow you back east and court you. But you stayed. You should never have stayed, Sarah. This isn’t the place for you. I knew it the moment I saw your picture. It was there, in that miserable little cabin, beside the cot. I found it while I was looking for the deed to the mine.”
His face changed again. He looked petulant now, like a boy who had been denied an extra piece of pie.
“I was very annoyed that my brother and Donley killed Matt. Clumsy. They were only to…convince him to turn over the deed. Then, of course, it was up to me to think of causing the cave-in to cover up what they’d done. I never found the deed. But I found your picture.”
She didn’t think he was aware of how viciously his fingers were digging into her arms. She was almost certain he was no longer aware of how much he was telling her. She remained silent and still, knowing her only hope now was time.
“Delicate,” he murmured. “Such a delicate face. The innocence shining in the eyes, the soft curve of the mouth. It was a lie, wasn’t it, Sarah?” The violence sprang back into his face, and she could only shake her head and wait. “There was no delicacy, no innocence. You toyed with me, offering me smiles, only smiles, while you gave yourself to Redman like a whore. He should be dead for touching what belonged to me. You should both be dead.”
She prepared to scream. She prepared to fight for what she knew was her life.
“Sam!” The banging on the door brought with it a mixture of fear and relief.
Swearing, Carlson dragged Sarah to the door to unlock it. “Goddamn it, I told you to go back and get rid of the wagon and team.”
“Riders coming in.” The sweat on Jim’s face attested to the fact that he had already ridden, and ridden hard. “It’s Redman and the sheriff, with some men from town.” He glanced at Sarah. “They’ll be looking for her.”
When Sarah tried to break away, Samuel locked an arm around her throat. “You’ve ruined everything, bringing her here.”