Her Dearest Enemy (7 page)

The storm had diminished to a few drifting flakes
of snow. What time was it? she wondered. Surely it
would be light soon. There would be travelers on the
road, men with horses who would free Brandon’s
pinned leg and get him to a doctor.

Harriet’s eyes scanned the ribbon of starlit sky
above the canyon walls. Its color was an inky blue-
black, with no sign of approaching dawn. Daylight,
Harriet realized, could be hours away. And Brandon
didn’t have hours of life left in his body.

As she shifted his position to make him more
comfortable, her hand brushed something hard and
heavy beneath his coat. The pistol—he said he’d
fired it to scare off the cougar. Could she use it now,
to signal for help?

Reaching down, she pulled the hefty Colt revolver
out of its holster. A quick check of the cylinder confirmed
that there were four bullets left. The odds of
anyone being on the road at this hour were slim, she
knew. But she had to take a chance.

Aiming the pistol at the sky, she thumbed back the
hammer and fired one shot, then another. The sound
echoed off the sheer rock walls, sounding like a full-
fledged gunfight. At least the noise should be enough
to scare off the cougar, Harriet thought, forcing a
grim smile to keep up her spirits. She would save the
last two bullets in case she needed to signal again
later. For now she could only wait and pray that
someone had heard.

Holstering the gun, she strained her ears into the
silence. The wind had died with the passing of the
storm. Only the water, gurgling around the wrecked
landau, broke the stillness.

Brandon groaned softly and shifted against her
breast. “Be still,” she whispered, holding him.
“Rest and save your strength. Someone will find us,
you’ll see.”

Exhausted now, she lay her cheek against his wet
hair. The icy water had numbed her feet and legs, and
the cold was creeping upward. It would feel so good
to sleep, she thought. Just drift off here, under the
buggy, with Brandon in her arms…

Two distant gunshots echoed down the canyon.
The sound startled her, causing her body to jerk. Had
she been asleep? How long?

Another shot! Yes, it had to be a signal! Someone
was coming! Harriet fumbled for the pistol and fired
an answering shot into the air. Brandon was breathing,
but she could not rouse him. “Hold on!” she
whispered, shaking his shoulders and rubbing his
hands to warm them. “Just hold on!”

She could not see the road from beneath the
buggy, but after what seemed like an eternity she
heard the sound of horses on the road, coming from
the direction of Johnson City. Closer and closer they
came until, at last, Harriet heard them stop near the
spot where the landau had careened into the creek.

“Papa?” A small, frightened voice floated out of the
darkness. “Papa, where are you? Are you all right?”

The voice was Jenny’s.

When Brandon opened his eyes, the first thing he
saw was the familiar ceiling of his own bedroom. The
second thing he saw was the elderly town doctor,
Simon Tate, standing beside the bed, wiping his
hands on a towel. Behind him, the shutters were
closed. Slivers of bright sunlight slanted through the
cracks to fall across the quilted coverlet.

“What…happened?” Brandon’s mind felt as fuzzy
as his throat. It was all he could do to piece two
words together to make a question.

“You had a damned close call, that’s what happened.”
The doctor took off his spectacles and
cleaned them on the edge of the towel. His pale eyes
were bloodshot with weariness. “Another half hour
in that creek, bleeding the way you were, and you’d
have been a dead man, or maybe lost the leg. As it
is, you were lucky. You’re going to be as sound as a
dollar!”

The leg
—Brandon’s hand fumbled downward as
the memories washed over him. The rolling buggy, the
screaming horses, the awful, crushing weight, snapping
bone and tearing flesh…and before that, Lord, yes,
he’d been going after Jenny and that damn-fool boy,
trying to stop them from making an even bigger mistake
than they’d already made. Someone had been with
him—he remembered big dark eyes in a pale face. Had
it been the schoolmarm? His mind was like drifting fog.

“Don’t worry, the leg’s all there,” the doctor said,
noticing Brandon’s alarmed expression. “I set it while
you were unconscious. You’ll be wearing the splint for
a couple of months, and after that you may have a limp,
as well as a touch of rheumatism over the years. But
all in all, I’d say it’s a miracle you’re still in one piece.”

The old man replaced the spectacles on his bulbous
strawberry nose and busied himself with
repacking his instruments. Brandon’s heart dropped
as he glimpsed the bone saw that had been close at
hand but ultimately not needed.

“How…did I get here?” he asked.

“Well now, that’s a long story. I’ll let one of the
people waiting downstairs tell it to you when I send
them up. But don’t overdo the visiting. You’ve lost a
lot of blood and you’re still not out of the woods. I’ve
got a spare set of crutches I’ll drop by in a couple of
days, but meanwhile you need to rest. No gallivanting
around, hear now?”

“The bank—” Brandon struggled to sit up, but
the wave of dizziness that washed over him forced
his head back onto the pillow.

“The bank will be there,” the doctor said. “You
have competent clerks who can handle the business
just fine for a couple of weeks.”

“Weeks—” Brandon pushed upward again, but
this time it was the doctor’s firm hand that pushed
him back.

“It’ll be even longer if you don’t rest! You’re only
human, Brandon Calhoun, and if that boy hadn’t
come along and pulled you out of the water, you’d be
lying on the undertaker’s table, not in your own bed!”

“That boy…?”

The doctor’s medical case snapped shut as if to cut
off the conversation. “I’m going home and get some
rest myself. It’s been a long night. I’ll send your daughter
and the others up, but they’re only to stay for a few
minutes. After that, Helga has orders to give you some
hot porridge and see that you’re left alone to sleep.”

Sleep. Sleep was the last thing he wanted right
now, Brandon told himself as the old man walked out
of the room and closed the door. He needed to find
his daughter and the man who had ruined her sweet
young life. He needed answers to his questions about
what had happened. But he was already drifting into
a gray fog that enfolded him like a soft blanket, and
he was too weary to resist. As it closed around him,
the last thing that floated through his memory was a
pair of deep, copper-flecked eyes.

“Papa?” The voice, like the tinkling tone of a little
silver bell, startled Brandon out of his slumber.
How much time had passed since the doctor had left?
Minutes? Hours?

“Papa, can you hear me?”

He blinked himself awake. Jenny stood next to the
bed, gazing down at him with worried eyes. Her
golden braids were pinned into a coil on the crown
of her head, like a halo, he thought. His angel child.
Why did she look older than he remembered? Why
were there violet shadows beneath her eyes?

Brandon forced a drowsy smile. “The doctor tells
me I’ll be almost as good as new,” he said. “And I
will, now that you’re here.”

Jenny’s gaze flickered nervously toward the open
doorway. Looking past her, he caught sight of two
people standing on the threshold—the last two people
on earth he wanted to see.

Will Smith was rumpled and unshaven, dressed in
clothes that looked as if he’d slept in them. His sister
stood beside him, dressed in a faded gray twill gown
that washed out her pale features. Her hair was skinned
back into its usual tight bun and her eyes looked as if
she’d been up grading papers all night for the past week.

“What are they doing here?” he muttered.

Jenny reached down and clasped Brandon’s fist
between her child-size hands. “Don’t you remember?
Will was the one who pulled the carriage off your leg
and brought you back to town. And Harriet was with
you the whole time, holding you in the water. When
we got you to the road, she tore up her petticoat to
bandage your leg. You owe them your life, Papa.”

“Owe them my life, you say?” Brandon raised his
head off the pillow, only to fall back again, overcome
by a wave of dizziness. “What the devil do you think
I was doing in the narrows at that hour, snipe hunting?
If Miss Harriet Smith had kept a proper eye on
that brother of hers, I would never have been there.
And I wouldn’t be lying here like a slab of beef with
my leg in a splint! Owe them my life? I don’t owe
them a blasted thing!” He glared at the pair in the
doorway, then cast a gentler gaze on his daughter.
“Never mind. You’re home now. Send them away
and we’ll get on with my plan to set things to right.”

“No, Papa.” There was a thread of steel in Jenny’s
girlish voice.

“No?” He stared up at her.

“When Will and I found you, we were on our way
back from Johnson City. We were married there last
night. It’s done, Papa. So now I’m giving you a choice.”

“A choice?” Brandon felt the walls of his world
begin to crack and shatter.

“Will is my husband now,” Jenny said. “The rest
is up to you. Either you welcome him to the family
as your new son-in-law, or so help me I will never
set foot in this house again as long as I live!”

T
ime slowed to a crawl, each second punctuated by
the sonorous tick of the grandfather clock in the entry
downstairs. Harriet’s gaze was fixed on Brandon’s profile
where he lay on the pillow, staring up at his daughter
as if she had just plunged a knife into his chest.

Jenny’s ultimatum had caught them all off guard.
Who would have guessed that beneath the girl’s doll-
like prettiness lay a core of the same stubborn steel
that ran through her father? This clash of two unbendable
wills, Harriet feared, could only end one
way—in heartbreak.

For the space of a breath she was tempted to leap
in and do her best to smooth things over. But no, she
swiftly realized, it was not her place to interfere in
this deeply personal confrontation. Nor was it her
brother’s. She felt Will beside her, straining as if held
back by invisible chains. Jenny was his wife now, and
it was natural that he would want to stand beside her.
But it was clear that she had warned him off. She had
wanted to face her father alone, as an equal.

In the leaden silence Harriet’s memory flew back
over the events of the past hours. After their midnight
wedding, Will and Jenny had planned to wait out the
storm in Johnson City. But when, purely by chance,
they had spotted and recognized the two loose horses
wandering the main street of town, Jenny had realized
her father was in trouble. Rounding up Captain
and Duchess, they had tied the pair behind their
rented buggy and headed back down the dangerous
road into the narrows.

Will had been instrumental in rescuing Brandon
out of the creek and easing him into the buggy, as
well as getting him undressed and into his bed. Brandon
had been semiconscious much of the time, moving
his head and muttering incoherently; but now
that he was awake, it appeared that he remembered
almost nothing that had happened after the accident.

Including that earth-shaking kiss.

“Choose, Papa.” Jenny stood beside the bed, looking
every inch her father’s daughter with her jaw
firmly set, her spine ramrod-straight. “Will is here
waiting to shake your hand, but we won’t beg you to
accept us. If your answer is no, we’re prepared to
have a perfectly good life without you.”

Brandon’s angry gaze flickered toward Will, then
back to Jenny. “I’d just as soon shake hands with the
devil!” he snapped. “Don’t you know it’s your money
he wants, girl? I tried to buy them off—that boy and
his schoolmarm sister. But no, that wasn’t enough.
They wanted everything—you and your whole inheritance.
Well, by heaven, they’re not going to get it.
You walk out of this house, Jenny Calhoun, and the
first person I’ll send for is my lawyer. You and your
new so-called family will never get a cent from me!”

The color had drained from Jenny’s face, but she
stood her ground. “My name is Jenny Smith,” she
said, “and my husband is quite able to provide for me
and our baby.”

“Is he?” Brandon’s hands had clenched into fists.
“You have no idea what it’s like to be poor. You don’t
know how a woman can suffer when there’s not enough
money to pay for the roof over her children’s heads or
even to put a decent meal on the table. But you’ll find
out. And when it happens, don’t come begging to me.
I gave you a choice, and you’re the one who made it.”

Harriet watched, heartsick, as Jenny drew herself
up to her full five-foot height. The girl was clearly
on the verge of tears, but not one drop escaped to
trickle down her face. “You had a choice, too, Papa,”
she said. “And someday that choice is going to make
you a lonely, bitter old man.”

Jenny’s body was rigid as she turned away from
the bed and walked toward the door. Brandon did not
watch her go. When Harriet glanced back at him, she
saw that he had turned his face toward the wall.

They descended the stairs in silence, like mourners
at a funeral.

Will opened the front door and the three of them
passed out of the dim hallway into the blinding afternoon
sunlight. Dazzled by the glare, they crossed
the porch and made their way down the front steps
of the imposing brick house. Last night’s storm had
passed and today’s warm sunshine had melted much
of the snow. Water filled the wagon ruts, turning the
road into a quagmire of fallen leaves and sticky
brown mud. Sparrows flocked around a puddle,
grateful for this last reprieve from winter cold.

Harriet tried not to think of Brandon, alone and
helpless in his bed, with only the dour Helga to look
after his needs. The man had thrown away his daughter’s
love for the sake of his own stubborn pride. For
that, she told herself, he deserved to be miserable the
rest of his days!

Still, as she stole an upward glance at the shuttered
window, she could not help feeling the anguish of the
man who lay in that shadowy room. No one could
doubt that he loved his pretty child. But loving a person
wasn’t the same as owning them. That was a lesson
Brandon had yet to learn—and Harriet could only
pray that time would grant him the wisdom to learn it.

As she tore her gaze away from the house, the
scathing memory of last night’s kiss swept over her.
How many times over the past hours had she relived
the thrill of his lips closing on hers, the heady taste
of him, the dizzying rush of sensations from the wet,
quivering core of her body?

What would it take to purge that memory from her
mind? How could she stop herself from feeding it,
nourishing it, dreaming of it?

The careless moment that had passed between
them last night meant nothing to Brandon.
She
meant
nothing to him. She was only the schoolmarm, the
sister of the enemy who had taken his daughter. He
had all but ignored her today, and she wanted to hate
him for it, to shake her fist and curse his name to the
sky. But right now she was simply too tired. Hatred
was like a bonfire, demanding fuel, and she had nothing
left to feed it.

Because of Jenny and the coming baby, she was
bound to have future dealings with Brandon. She
would do her best to be civil to the man. But she
knew better than to let down her guard with him. He
had humiliated her once. She would not give him the
chance to do it again.

Only after they had climbed into the rented buggy
and pulled away from the house did Jenny’s self-
control begin to crumble. She stared straight ahead
at the road, her chin quivering and her breath coming
in tiny hiccups. Will handed the reins to Harriet
and gathered his little girl-wife into his arms, where
she broke down and began to sob.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he murmured, cradling
her head against his shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Lots of
families start out with no more than we’ve got.”

She looked up at him, her eyes overflowing with
tears. “It isn’t the m-money, Will. It’s my father. You
saved his life and he didn’t even thank you! I never
knew he could be so hateful! The thought of living
in the same town with him, passing him on the street
and not even speaking—” She pressed her face
against his damp coat in a paroxysm of grief. “How
can we stay here?” she sobbed. “Surely you can get
a good job in Johnson City. We can buy a nice little
house there, with a big tree in the yard where you can
put up a swing for the baby…”

Will sighed and stroked her shoulders. His young
face was already etched with care. “I know you’d like
to get away from your father. So would I, darlin’. But
winter’s almost here, and we don’t know anybody in
Johnson City. I’ve got a good job right here in Dutchman’s
Creek and I can’t afford to walk away from it.
As for buying a house, that’s going to cost a lot of
money. We’ll need to save for a few years, maybe
pick up some cheap land and build on it. But you’ll
have just what you want one day, I promise. I’ll work
my fingers to the bone to get it for you.”

Jenny frowned, her forehead wrinkling prettily.
“We need someplace to live right now, Will. I don’t
have any money of my own, and I know you spent
most of yours on renting this horse and buggy—and
on my ring, of course.” She fingered the tiny gold
band on her finger as if it were the greatest treasure
on earth. “What are we going to do? We can’t sleep
in the street.”

Harriet had kept herself out of the conversation,
leaving the two young people to deal with the realities
of their new life. But now she sensed an impasse.
It was time to step in and offer them the only
solution that made sense.

“Why don’t you stay with me for the winter?” she
suggested. “I could move into your room, Will, and
give you two my bigger bed. True, we’d be crowded,
but we could manage all right. Instead of paying rent
somewhere else, you could save your money. Then
come next spring, after the baby’s born, you could
find a little place of your own.”

Will looked as if the weight of the world had been
lifted from his shoulders. But Harriet could sense
Jenny’s hesitation. Sharing an ugly little house with
her new sister-in-law could hardly be what Brandon
Calhoun’s spoiled daughter had expected of married
life. But that couldn’t be helped. Will was eighteen
years old. He was a hard worker, but he had not come
far enough in the world to provide a home for his
bride and baby.

Harriet’s thoughts flickered briefly to the money
in the Denver bank—the money she had saved for
Will’s education. It would be more than enough to
buy the newlyweds a nice little home and some
things for the baby. But no, the voice of wisdom
whispered. That money was for the future. Offer it
to them now, and they would burn through it in a few
months. Then the money would be gone and, with it,
the hope that Will would ever have the means to
make something of himself.

Taking a deep breath, she reached across the seat
and squeezed Jenny’s small, cold hand. “I know this
isn’t what you’d hoped for,” she said. “But I’d be
happy for your company over the winter. And you’re
going to need some help when the baby comes. It’s
not a good time for a woman to be alone.”

Jenny had pulled away from Will and sat with
downcast eyes. Her fingers, their nails bitten to the
quick, toyed with her wedding band, twisting it one
way, then the other. The girl had been through a
wrenching night, Harriet reminded herself. The
elopement, the wedding, the hours of waiting while
her father lingered between life and death, followed
by their final, shattering confrontation, had all taken
their toll on her. She was emotionally and physically
drained. A rational decision at a time like this might
be too much to expect from her.

“Of course, you don’t have to make up your mind
right this minute,” Harriet said, feeling awkward.
“We can talk about it after we’ve all had something
to eat and a good night’s rest. Or it can wait a few
days. Goodness knows, I don’t want to push you to
a decision you won’t be happy with.”

“No, that’s all right.” Jenny raised her eyes and her
shy smile was like the first glimpse of sunlight on a
gloomy day. “We’d be happy to stay with you, Harriet,
if you think it’s for the best. I can help you with
the cleaning and the washing, and when you and
Will come home from your work, I’ll have supper on
the table. I don’t know much about cooking and
keeping house, but I’m willing to learn, if you’ll
teach me.” She reached out and timidly touched Harriet’s
arm. “I’ve always wanted a big sister. Now I
have one.”

Caught off guard, Harriet blinked back a freshet of
tears. She had said some spiteful things about this girl,
both to Will and to Brandon. Only now did she realize
how judgmental she had been. She owed Jenny an
open mind, if nothing else. Maybe time would prove
that her brother hadn’t chosen so badly after all.

She could only hope, for all their sakes, that time
would do as much for Brandon’s feelings toward Will.

She was in his arms, her skin warm, living satin
to the touch. Her aroma floated through his senses,
stirring waves of fevered desire. Brandon moaned beneath
the quilt as he felt himself rise and harden. He
needed her so much—needed her strength and passion,
needed to be inside her ripe
woman’
s
body,
feeling her moist heat tighten around his shaft, hearing
her little love cries as he thrust deeper, deeper
into the sweetest heaven a man can know
.

She hovered above him, secrets as old as time
dancing in her copper-flecked eyes. A smile teased
her mouth as he reached up and pulled the pins from
the
teacherly
coil of her dark mahogany hair, setting
the fragrant mass free to tumble over him in a long
silken cascade. Her breasts hung free as she leaned
over him, their nipples brushing his chest. He caressed
them, kissed them
…

Now, he thought, he had to have her now or he
would burst
.

Sensing his need, she shifted above him and glided
downward to capture him in the place where he
wanted to be. He thrust upward, deeper, harder…
feeling the delicious, shattering surge
—

A sharp rap on his bedroom door jarred Brandon
like a dash of icy water. The afternoon sunlight was
pouring into the room. Receipts and ledger books
were scattered across the coverlet, one page blotched
with ink where the pen had fallen when he’d dozed off.

A sticky wetness on the part of the sheet that covered
his hips told the story of what had just happened
to him. Brandon cursed as the rap on the door
sounded again.

“
Herr
Calhoun?” The familiar voice was Helga’s.
“Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he muttered, although the question
was not unreasonable at three in the afternoon. When
was the doctor going to bring those damned crutches
by so he could be up and about his business? After
three days in bed, he was sick of this mollycoddling,
sick of making work for himself to pass the time.
Most of all, he was sick of the silence in this big,
lonely house.