Chasing the Sun (16 page)

That was the good news.

The bad news was that with the government no longer buying silver to mint into coin, the mines weren’t producing the income needed to offset the cost of the spur line and the smelter his brothers had built in partnership with three other local mine owners. Hank had already closed the mines. Now he was looking to shut down the spur line and sell off what machinery they could.

“I’ve gotten an offer on the locomotive and ore gondolas.” Hank shuffled through a stack of papers weighted down by a rusted gear the size of a small plate. Finding the note he sought, he shoved it across his desk to Brady. “It’s not a good one, but with the way the railroads are wobbling right now, I think we better take what we can get before the market crashes completely.”

Brady studied the paper for a moment then tossed it back across the desk. “What about the concentrator?”

“A fellow is coming to look it over, but with so many mines closing down, there’ll be too many on the market to get a good price.”

“Maybe we could dismantle it and sell it piecemeal.”

While his brothers discussed the possibility of selling off various other pieces of mining machinery, Jack stared absently out the window and thought about his confrontation with Daisy in Kate’s room earlier that morning.

She had seemed wary of him. He wondered why, or what he might have done to put such a guarded expression on her face. He knew he had used whiskey to blunt his disappointment over Elena. Apparently he had used Daisy too, and their time together had meant something different to her than it had to him. He regretted that. He liked Daisy, at least what he remembered of her. Mostly all he recalled was a terrible emptiness that seemed to ease a bit whenever he was with her. Like he was drowning, and whenever he sank too deep, Daisy was there, reaching down to pull him back to the surface.

Then something had changed. But what? Had he told her about Elena? Had he harmed her during one of his drinking bouts?

The idea of hurting a woman was so alien and repugnant to him he wouldn’t even consider it. He liked women. He liked the way they smelled, the sound of their laughter, the softness of their bodies. He didn’t always understand them, but he never tired of trying to figure out how their minds worked. And he would never knowingly hurt one.

But it was obvious he had hurt Daisy. He’d done something to put her defenses up, and if he were ever to find his way to Kate, he would have to get past those walls of anger. Normally, he would have relished the challenge, but this time the stakes were too high. If he failed to win, he would lose his daughter forever.

Win what? Daisy? Kate?
And what would he do with them if he did win?

But Kate was a fascination to him. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind, and he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.

“Then all we’ve got to worry about is the debt on the smelter.”

An odd note in Hank’s voice grabbed Jack’s notice. Shifting his gaze from one brother to the other, he sensed tension between them but didn’t know the cause.

Hank scratched at his chin, then sighed. “I guess now would be the best time to ask—”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Brady’s voice was abrupt, curt.

Hank stopped scratching. “Then how do you plan to pay Blake?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Like what?”

“I’ll let you know. Just drop it for now, okay?”

Jack knew his brothers. He knew all their tricks and evasions and what every eye roll and smirk meant. And he especially knew when they were keeping something from him. Like now. “Are you talking about the same Blake that Daisy and Kate rode out with?” he asked, watching their faces.

Neither answered.

“Why do you owe him money?”

Hank sat back, his expression shuttered, his gaze on Brady, as if waiting for him to speak first.

Which Brady did. “He bought the paper on the smelter loan from the bank.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To get a hold over us. He thinks if he squeezes hard enough, we’ll cough up the ranch.”

Jack was astounded. They had been through rough patches in the past, years when cattle froze by the hundreds, or when grass fires or drought or tick fever decimated the herds. But the ranch had never been in real jeopardy. “Is that a possibility? We could lose the ranch?”

“No,” Brady said sharply, his chiseled face as hard and unyielding as their father’s had ever been. “That’ll never happen. It’s just a temporary cash problem. Something every rancher deals with.”

In other words,
Butt out. I’ll take care of it.

Jack knew Brady was still holding back, but he also knew the harder he pushed, the more his brother would dig in. It was a pattern Jack knew well. Brady hoarded his troubles like a miser with his gold, as if to admit to them would show an inability to handle any crisis that came along. Jack’s brain knew that.

But his heart heard a different refrain—
don’t tell Jack. He’s too young, too dumb, too useless to help.

He was weary of it. And long past the age of allowing himself to be protected—or intimidated—by his big brother. “How much do you owe?” He had some money set aside. Maybe he could help. If Brady would let him.

When Brady didn’t answer, Hank did.

Jack was stunned. He didn’t know much about smelters or mining, but it seemed like a huge amount. “Is that the total, or just what we owe?”

“Both,” Hank said.

Jack frowned, confused. “What does that mean, exactly? I thought you had partners.”

“We did.” Brady sent Hank a warning look, which Hank ignored. “Blake was pressuring them to sell, so rather than risk him getting controlling interest, we borrowed from the bank to buy them out. Apparently Blake bought the loan from the bank, so now we owe him. But with no more silver being coined, the smelter is worth less than we owe.”

“No it isn’t,” Brady insisted. “It can be used for other kinds of ore, not just silver. Iron, gold, copper. We’ll find a buyer.”

Hank snorted. “In what? A month? Five weeks?”

Brady looked out the window, his mouth a thin, hard seam beneath his black mustache.

Jack thought he saw fear in his brother’s eyes, but wasn’t sure. He’d never seen that expression on Brady’s face before.

“And if not?” Hank persisted.

“There’s always the horses.”

Hank waved that idea aside. “We only have a dozen ready and that won’t cover it.”

Brady continued to stare out the window, his jaw set.

“Hell.” Hank shook his head. “You’re not just talking about the colts, are you? You’re talking about all the horses. Brood mares and studs included. You’re talking about everything.”

Brady finally turned from the window. Jack recognized the unyielding jut of his chin. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

“It’ll kill the whole breeding program, Brady. Four years of work.”

“Then we’ll start again.”

“Hell.”

Nine

AS JACK ROUNDED THE CORNER OF THE UPSTAIRS HALLWAY, he saw Daisy walking ahead of him toward her bedroom door.
Finally
. “You been avoiding my family?” he called, continuing toward her.

With a start, she turned, one hand on the doorknob. He saw surprise give way to wariness and hoped she wouldn’t bolt before he had a chance to talk to her.

He’d had a time tracking her down. After leaving his brothers, he’d checked the bedrooms, the porches, the barn, and the paddocks. No luck. Then it was noon, and figuring he’d corral her at the house, he went to the kitchen, which was loaded with women clearing away dirty dishes. Apparently he’d missed lunch too. Jessica—who seemed unusually irritated with him—said Daisy had just taken Kate up for a nap and shouldn’t be disturbed.

Ignoring the hard looks sent his way by both Molly and Jessica, Jack snagged what food he could from the serving dishes and quickly ate. It wasn’t until he was into his second helping of roast beef that he realized Elena wasn’t in the kitchen. When he asked about her absence, Jessica’s scowl deepened until her eyes were two brown slits in her freckled face. Definitely mad at him for some reason.

“She’s praying,” was her terse reply, as if that had some hidden meaning he should understand, which of course, he didn’t. He understood regular women fairly well. Religious ones, not at all. He always had the feeling they were praying for him, or about him, or against him. And anyway, it was Daisy he needed to see, not Elena.

As soon as he’d finished eating, he had headed upstairs to his wing, hoping he would figure out what to say to her once he got there. But now, as he walked down the hall toward her, he decided that maybe accusing her of avoiding his family hadn’t been a good start.

“Not your family,” she replied, her chin coming up. “You.”

His smile faltered. Why was every woman in the house so mad at him? He stopped before her, so close he could smell flowery soap, and near enough to realize again how small she was. Not short. She came up to his chin, after all. But small and fine boned, with delicate wrists and long-fingered, graceful hands, and a rib cage so narrow it was a wonder it could support such a robust chest. It took monumental effort not to look down and check that it still did.

“Avoiding me why?” he asked.

She lifted one of those graceful hands, showing swollen, scraped knuckles. “My hand is still sore and I was afraid I might hit you again.” With a dismissive glance, she swung open the door.

Before she could shut it in his face, he stepped through behind her. “Why do you want to hit me?”

“Do you need the entire list?” She crossed to the windows, putting most of the room between them before turning to face him. “Or just the latest reason?”

Closing the door behind him, Jack stood in front of it, arms crossed, feet braced. He smiled. “Let’s start with the latest and go from there.”

“I met your other lover this morning.”

Jack blinked. “Other lover?”

“You really do have a poor memory, don’t you? I’m referring to Elena.”

Oh, hell.
“Elena and I aren’t lovers. We never were.”

For some reason that made her laugh. It wasn’t a happy sound. “This just gets better and better.”

“How so?”

“Never mind.” Moving to one of the wingback chairs before the unlit fireplace, she sat and folded her hands in her lap. “What do you want, Jack?”

He’d forgotten. She had an uncanny ability to make him forget things. And rattle him. Being unaccustomed to it, he retreated to safer ground. “I’m sorry.”

Women, he’d learned, loved for men to apologize, whether there was reason for it or not. Apparently they saw it as a victory of some sort. And he’d further learned that triumphant women became forgiving women, which in turn made them generous women. It was in their nature. They might fight like wolverines over some inconsequential matter, but once assured of victory, they became as docile as lambs. He thought it was one of their finer traits.

“Sorry for what?” she asked.

Damn.
She wanted a reason. There were so many—forgetting her, looking at her chest, doubting Kate was his, Elena. As the list grew, his confidence waned. He really had treated her badly. And he really was sorry for it.
Damn.
Suddenly he didn’t want to fight with her anymore, or try to sweet-talk her. She deserved better.

He walked to the chair across the hearth from hers. “Can I sit?” he asked.

She studied him for a moment as if trying to read motive in his eyes. He’d seen friendlier expressions on feral cats. Then she shrugged. “If you like.”

He sat. Leaning back, elbows on the armrests, fingers twined over his belt buckle, he studied her, trying to spark a memory of their time together. He found few and that troubled him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, Daisy?”

She took her time answering, as if debating what to say. Then finally, in a weary tone, she said, “I didn’t know until you’d been gone two months.” Tilting her head, she studied him. “Had you known, what would you have done?”

“I’m not sure.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Silence. He watched her pluck at a loose thread on her skirt and had a sudden image of those same fingers twining in the hair on his chest. They had just made love and he was sinking into a sated, whiskey-warm sleep when her voice had jolted him awake. “I love you, Jack.” He had heard a similar sentiment from other women and had always managed to dismiss it, or laugh it off, or talk them out of it. But hearing that declaration from this woman had sent his befuddled mind reeling. Unable to come up with a response, he had pretended to be asleep. As far as he knew, she had never said it again.

But now, thinking back on it, he felt an odd regret. The loss of that moment, of those words and of her, saddened him and he wasn’t sure why.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

Anger flashed in her yellow-green eyes. “About Kate?”

He shook his head. “I could never be sorry about Kate. But I am sorry I left you to go through that alone. That I wasn’t there to help.”
That I couldn’t love you back. That I used you.
He’d never felt those regrets before. It made him wonder how many other angry, resentful women he’d left in his wake. And how many children he didn’t know he had.