Rexanne Becnel (40 page)

Abby took a ragged breath. “I need to be alone,” she murmured to the housekeeper who shadowed her left elbow just as her grandfather shadowed her right.

“Yes, miss.” The woman, whose name Abby had promptly forgotten, steered her adroitly into the first empty room they passed.

“Mrs. Strickland? Mrs. Strickland!” Abby’s grandfather protested, wheeling around to follow them. “I wanted to show my granddaughter the ballroom, since we shall entertain the cream of Chicago society—”

“She is nigh on to fainting from exhaustion,” the wiry little woman whispered, closing the door firmly and shutting everyone else out. “A fine introduction that would be.”

Though fainting was something Abby had never done, at the moment it was as good an excuse as any. She pressed the back of her fingers to her brow, then sat down abruptly on a gilded bench carved with dolphins and upholstered with embroidered lilies.

“Oh. Well.” Her grandfather bit his lip in indecision as he studied Abby. Mrs. Strickland’s birdlike gaze darted back and forth between Abby and her employer, but finally rested on Willard Hogan with an expression Abby could only describe as amazement. It occurred to Abby that this man probably never evinced any sign of indecisiveness. That was the source of his housekeeper’s surprise. Judging by his house and his personal bearing, he had definite opinions about everything. Was that what her mother had been fleeing all those years ago?

Of course her own father had also held very strong opinions on just about every subject imaginable. Abby had often chafed under his strictures, but she’d nonetheless remained an obedient daughter—at least until the last few months. When he’d become so melancholy, she’d had to take up the slack. She was not about to relinquish her newly found freedom to this man, grandfather or not.

“I don’t believe I’ll be available for any social engagements this week,” she stated, watching for his reaction. “If I could be shown to my room now? Please?” she added when his brows pulled together as if he were about to protest.

“This way, miss,” the housekeeper said, gesturing to a different door from the one they’d entered through. Abby stood up and murmured a quiet good night to her now slack-jawed grandfather. Then she planted a shy kiss on his whiskery cheek.

She was almost out the door when she heard him call in a wondering voice, “Good night, my dear.”

When Tanner was ushered into Willard Hogan’s presence, the old man was sunk deep in thought, his brow lowered until his entire face seemed shadowed in thick gray hair. It was unlike the aggressive Hogan to meet with anyone in a room so frivolous and bright as the morning room. Tanner knew the massive study, lined as it was in framed newspaper articles about each and every one of Hogan’s myriad business coups was the man’s preferred meeting room. It properly cowed anyone who thought they might pull a fast one on the wily Willard Hogan.

But he didn’t look so wily now, Tanner thought. No doubt Abby had disconcerted her grandfather almost as thoroughly as she’d disconcerted him.

“Have a shot,” Hogan directed, indicating a tray with a decanter and two glasses.

Tanner declined. He knew from past dealings with the man that Hogan served the finest Irish whiskey. But Tanner had only just now recovered from his excesses of the previous night—and look where that had gotten him. No, he needed to keep his wits about him.

“Someone tried to kill Abby.”

Hogan’s whole body jerked to awareness. “Kill her? When? Why?”

After relating all the details of Cracker O’Hara and his cohort, Tanner asked, “How many people knew about Abby? About you hiring me to find her?”

Hogan frowned. “Once you left, I didn’t keep it a secret, at least not here in my office. Talk gets out, though. I s’pose it wouldn’t have been hard for anyone to find out.”

Tanner leaned forward in the hard leather chair, his elbows resting on his knees. “All right, so anyone could have known. Who would benefit most if Abby had never shown up? Who would inherit if you died?”

“I’m sure not going any time soon!” Hogan harrumphed, but his brow creased in thought. “I don’t have a will. Don’t believe in them.”

“Surely you’ve thought about who would manage your businesses.”

“I’ve got a passel of managers. But I s’pose if I had to pick one, well, it would be Patrick. Patrick Brady, my godson. He takes care of my East Coast and European interests. But you’re barking up the wrong tree, McKnight. I take good care of my people. It’s my competition we ought to be worrying about. My enemies.”

“That was my next question,” Tanner replied. “I need to know if you have any enemies.”

Hogan snorted. “Enemies? Me? Considering that I’ve bamboozled just about every businessman between Ohio and the Mississippi River at some time or another, that’s gonna be a mighty long list. There’s Mad Jack Horton—he’s the one I beat out for the railroad franchise. And Amos Phillips—I bought out his bank in Springfield. He’s been nursing that grudge for the past five years. Hell, it could be anybody.”

“I’ll need all their names—and all their reasons.”

The older man’s jocularity faded at Tanner’s terseness. “All right, then.” He ran his hand through his hair restlessly, then his eyes narrowed assessingly. “Seems to me you didn’t exactly want to take this job a few months back. I had to offer you a king’s ransom to get you to agree. How come you’re not just asking for your money?” He pointed to the thick cream-colored envelope that lay on the bamboo tray beside him. “How come you’re worrying about any of this when all you have to do is take the money and go?”

Tanner had known that question would come up and he was prepared. “I plan to charge you another king’s ransom to keep her safe—just until I track down whoever’s behind this. I can buy an awful lot of breeding stock with another king’s ransom.”

It was the kind of explanation a man like Hogan understood. To him money was the most powerful motivator there was, and a short time ago Tanner would have agreed. Now, though, there was another, even stronger motivator: love. Though he’d fought the idea with every logical argument he had, ever since they’d camped in his valley, he’d been unable to pretend otherwise. He’d fallen in love with Abigail Bliss.

He was a twice-cursed fool, he knew. But there was no denying the truth—nor the futility of the situation. So he’d decided to take Hogan’s money, just to throw the man off the truth. But he meant to ferret out the person behind this murderous scheme, whether he was paid for it or not. He’d see Abby safe, then he’d get out of her life. It was the best thing he could do for her now.

Abby lay awake though night had descended long ago. The huge house seemed as still as a tomb—and nearly as dark She should be passed out from weariness, and in truth she felt very near doing so. Her exhaustion went beyond bone deep to the absolute depths of her soul. Yet in the huge canopy bed, in the biggest bedroom she’d ever seen, she lay wide-eyed, every nerve on edge.

She could handle her grandfather, she decided. He might bluster and he might bellow, but he’d spent a fortune to find her and it was not likely he’d abandon her just because she behaved in a manner contrary to his expectations. But what was she to do about Tanner?

He was going to stay—to guard her, he’d said. Did she dare continue her wanton pursuit of him? Would it ever gain her what she ultimately wanted—his love? Was it even possible for him to love at all? He’d lived a very hard life, it seemed. He’d referred once to his mother—a prostitute, he’d admitted. While still a boy he’d tracked down and killed the man responsible for his mother’s death.

An enormous wave of sadness washed over her. The poor boy. That boy had grown up to be a hard man, and she knew he had a will of iron.

But he did have his moments.

An inappropriate warmth curled in her stomach, a delicious memory of how he’d touched her and kissed her. And made wild, wonderful love to her. Was it only last night?

“Oh!” She rolled over onto her stomach seeking a cooler spot on the smooth satin bed linens. But it was useless. The room was magnificent—if a little ostentatious for her tastes. The bed was truly phenomenal. But it was far too big for one.

In the end she abandoned the bed in favor of a pink chintz overstuffed settee. She would save the bed for when Tanner could join her in it, she vowed, throwing the coverlet onto the floor as she sought to cool her overheated body and overstimulated mind. Until she could win Tanner’s love she would sleep on the settee.

H
ER FIRST MORNING AT
Hogan Hall, as she learned her grandfather had named his excessively showy home, was hardly better than the first evening had been. She was awakened when Mrs. Strickland knocked, bustled in, drew back the richly figured damask curtains, and let the morning sun spill in through the tall bank of windows. Abby pushed herself up on one elbow, groggy and disoriented at first. But when Mrs. Strickland took a silver tray from the maid accompanying her and set it down on the table next to the settee, everything came back to her. Her grandfather. This house.

“And why aren’t you in the bed?” the birdlike housekeeper asked.

“It’s too big,” Abby muttered. She shoved her braid over her shoulder, swiveled to sit upright, and reached gratefully for the cup of chocolate on the tray.

“If you’d like a smaller bed moved in, I’ll inform Mr. Hogan—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Abby broke in.

“As you wish,” the woman said. “A tub is being prepared in the adjoining bathing chamber. Your grandfather wanted to have breakfast with you, but I told him you were probably exhausted and needed to sleep in. So he canceled a very important luncheon just so that he could lunch with you.”

Abby took a careful sip of the steaming chocolate. It was delicious. Too bad she couldn’t just drink it, get back under the covers, and forget her grandfather even existed. “What time is it?” she asked ungraciously.

“Just past ten. I’ve taken the liberty of laying out your clothes. The carriage will come around at eleven forty-five sharp.”

At high noon Abby was sitting at a magnificently laid-out table in what she guessed had to be the finest restaurant Chicago had to offer. Everyone had stared when she’d been swept in by her grandfather—with Tanner following like a shadow behind her, scowling all the way. Now she sat alone at the table, aware that everyone in the place was discussing her, while Tanner and her grandfather spoke privately in the courtyard beyond the window.

Actually they appeared to be arguing, for even without being able to see Tanner’s face, she could tell that he was furious. He’d tried to forbid her from going, but she’d ignored him, just to be contrary. Now he was obviously haranguing her grandfather, and from the progression of expressions that crossed the older man’s face—anger, frustration, then chagrin—Tanner was just as successful at bullying the grandfather as he was the granddaughter. It was enough to bring a half smile to her lips.

When her grandfather finally joined her, he was much subdued.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, using her sweetest tone.

But her grandfather only frowned. “Don’t you give me a hard time, too, missy. You’d think he was your father, the way he’s acting so protective of you.”

Her father. That chased her humor away. “Yes. I’ve noticed that Mr. McKnight is very diligent about his work. How much do you pay him, anyway?”

“Now, just never you mind about that. You don’t ever have to worry about money again, Abigail. Not ever. In fact I want you to call in dressmakers, milliners—whatever you and Mrs. Strickland think is necessary—and order twice as much as you think you’ll need. Three times as much,” he added, gesturing expansively with his hands.

It was to become the order of the day—of all her days. Buy whatever she wanted. Order whatever caught her fancy. When she asked for drawing materials, he ordered enough to supply an entire artists’ colony with paper and charcoal and pastels. When she mentioned that she liked to ride, he bought her three exquisite steeds: a palomino mare, an Appaloosa gelding, and a chestnut hunter.

But for all his excessive generosity, they were still awkward together. It was her fault, she knew, for she was still angry about everything: his absence all these years, then his high-handedness in having her kidnapped. Even though she knew her father was as much to blame as her grandfather, her grandfather was the only one available to vent her anger on. Him and Tanner.

Tanner, however, seemed somehow able to avoid her. He was there all the time of course. Shadowing her every move. Following her. Guarding her, he called it—as if someone were going to jump out at her any moment. But she felt as if he were torturing her, not guarding her. He was always so near and yet so remote.

For ten days she’d tried to provoke him into a confrontation, but there was always someone else around. They were never alone. Today, however, she’d hit upon a plan. It was so simple! Now, as she made her way across the foyer, determined to escape the house, it seemed she was finally going to get her way, for Tanner appeared as if on cue.

“No more shopping.” He barred her way, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs spread in a posture that was at once both outrageously masculine and infuriatingly condescending.

“Since my accounts at all the shops are in perfectly good standing, I can think of absolutely no reason not to shop,” she replied, giving him her sweetest, most innocent smile. She even batted her eyelashes at him, something that she’d learned just yesterday made him decidedly uncomfortable. She took a step nearer him, all the while gazing steadily up into his glowering blue eyes. “Or if you’re tired of accompanying me to the dressmakers’ and milliners’ establishments, perhaps you’d prefer if we went riding, say, out along the lake? I can be changed in just a minute.”

Tanner gave way to her deliberately provocative assault. It almost made her smile to see his throat flex convulsively as he struggled for control. But for every step he took backward, she took one forward. She was not about to let him off easily. More than anything she wanted him to take her riding on one of her new mounts. She was sick to death of shopping, though she would never let him know it.