Rexanne Becnel (41 page)

“Well, riding in the open countryside
would
be safer than shopping in town. Until we find out who—”

He broke off at the clicking sound of footsteps on the marble floor of the immense foyer. When Abby looked around, she wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or not. Her grandfather’s right-hand man, Patrick Brady, dapper as ever, strode briskly toward them. She’d already discovered that flirting with Patrick was a sure way to irritate Tanner. But now, when it appeared she’d almost convinced Tanner to take her riding, Patrick’s timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Good morning, Abigail. McKnight,” he added a little more coolly. He turned his bright brown gaze on her, effectively dismissing Tanner’s presence entirely. “It just so happens, my dear, that I have just concluded a meeting with your grandfather and am free now for the rest of the day. It would be my pleasure to accompany you shopping.”

He took her arm with one of his perfectly manicured hands and deftly steered her toward the door. “I’ll see to Miss Abigail’s personal safety,” he threw back at Tanner as he drew her outside to his waiting carriage.

Abby had all she could do not to protest. She would just have to make the most of a bad situation, she realized. At least Patrick’s offer had made Tanner mad, if his thunderous expression was any indication. But Patrick’s warm grasp on her arm and his intimate smile warned her that there were two sides to this situation she’d created. It had never been her intention to lead Patrick on.

“He’s quite the overbearing bodyguard,” Patrick murmured as he herded her up into the small drop-front phaeton he drove himself.

“I’m afraid I’m so accustomed to dealing with overbearing men that I hardly even notice,” Abby retorted, more crisply than perhaps she ought.

He laughed, either missing or deliberately ignoring the possibility that he might be included among that group. “Willard can be, well, rather a bully at times. If I may give you a bit of advice”—he leaned toward her conspiratorially—“if you’ll simply smile and nod and give every outward indication of agreeing with him, he’s really just a pussycat.”

A pussycat. If his roar was any indication, he was more an aging lion than anything else. He seemed incapable most of the time of speaking in anything less than a bellow. He shouted at the household help. He shouted at his army of secretaries and other office underlings. She’d heard him yelling at Patrick just this morning.

But her grandfather hadn’t once raised his voice to her. At least not yet. If he did, however, she was prepared. She planned to treat him just as she would a difficult schoolboy: deprive him of something he really valued until he understood that such behavior was unacceptable. For schoolboys it was usually recess. For her grandfather it would be the company of his only grandchild: herself.

“… for Joshua Hamilton’s dinner, party,” Patrick was saying when she returned her attention to him. “After all, you’ve been here a week and a half. It’s time you met the cream of Chicago society—such as it is,” he added with that condescending tone she found so aggravating.

Patrick handled her grandfather’s foreign interests and spent most of his time in their New York office. He made no bones about the fact that he found Chicago a rowdy, uncouth town by eastern standards.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she murmured, dreading the coming hours with him.

“And shall your hulking shadow attend as well?” he asked, referring to Tanner, who rode a rangy blood bay gelding just beyond the phaeton, at the corner of Abby’s peripheral vision.

“If Grandfather wishes,” she replied. And he would, she knew. This business of someone wanting to hurt him through her was silly in the extreme. Though she didn’t discount the seriousness of that horrible attack on the trail, here in Chicago such behavior seemed highly unlikely. Besides, those men were dead now. Tanner had seen to that, she recalled with a shudder. Though Tanner believed—and had convinced her grandfather—that someone else had been behind that failed attempt, there’d been no indication since then that he might be right. Besides, it just made no sense.

She made it through the shopping trip only by the hardest exercise of good manners. It was bad enough to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, with someone you didn’t want to be with, but it became even worse when she spied a pair of women trailing two nannies and five youngsters. The children were too young for school, but not too young to enjoy stories, she thought as she stared longingly at them. What she wouldn’t give to spend a peaceful afternoon telling stories to a group of round-eyed little children like that.

When Patrick offered to buy her lunch, she declined, pleading a headache. It wasn’t exactly a lie: her face
did
hurt—from keeping a smile so firmly in place. Once home, however, she swiftly changed out of her apple-green gown and into the simple riding outfit she’d had made up in a rush order. If she couldn’t tell stories of Tillie and Snitch to children, she could at least work on ideas for some new stories. She gathered up her writing instruments. Then, after wrapping two apples, a couple of fresh dinner rolls, and a thick slice of cheese in a linen napkin, she made her way toward the stables. Just as she’d hoped, Tanner was quickly onto her plan.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, falling into step with her as she strode across the manicured rear lawn.

“How do you do that—anticipate my every move? Where were you, anyway?”

“I have my ways. And I was with Hogan. Now, answer my question. What are you up to?”

She chose her words carefully. “I’ve been thinking of that ride along the lake ever since this morning. I’m sick to death of shopping and being dressed up like a china doll all the time. I suppose the prairie must have gotten to me,” she confessed. “I’ve been feeling awfully cooped up lately. And I thought I’d do a little writing while I was out.”

She knew he’d agree. How could he not? He was feeling cooped up these days also. She could tell by the restlessness in his eyes and the small crease between his eyebrows that seemed to be a permanent part of his expression lately. Besides, he’d always been amazingly understanding about her storytelling. Most of all, though, she hoped he would want to be alone with her, for she most desperately needed to be alone with him.

A delicious shiver of anticipation curled up from her stomach. When he held the stable door open for her, however, and their eyes met in a lingering moment of understanding, the shiver turned into the most wicked surge of pure, undeniable longing. Sweet heavens, but he was making her life a living torture!

“All right,” he conceded. “We can ride.”

From his temporary office on the second floor of the Hogan mansion, Patrick Brady watched the pair ride off. Even he, with his meticulous eye for color, balance, and proportion, had to admit that they made a handsome couple. McKnight had that brooding, dangerous look about him, while Abigail fairly bubbled over with life and curiosity. She’d spent weeks in the man’s company—alone in his company. And according to Hogan, the man had saved her from sure death at the hands of two thugs somewhere in the Nebraska Territory.

The
bumbling fools!

He let the curtain fall, smoothing the creases so that the burgundy brocade once more hung in rich, graceful folds, and turned to face the massive library that served as his temporary office whenever he was in Chicago. If those idiots had just eliminated her as he’d ordered, his position in his godfather’s business hierarchy would be secure once more. This time he’d handle things himself.

Only he had a better plan, just as effective and far more pleasurable. For besides being her grandfather’s obvious heir, Abigail Bliss was also an exquisitely beautiful woman. She was slender, and yet lush, with glorious hair and a mouth that made him hard every time he stared at it. How he longed to teach her all the things she could do to him with that lovely pair of curving lips.

Yes, Abigail would make a striking partner to his own blond handsomeness. Once he’d wooed and married Hogan’s new heir, his position would be assured once and for all. He would inherit all of Hogan’s wealth and power through Abigail. And he’d also have the delectable Abigail completely to himself.

There was still McKnight to deal with, however. If there was something between them, it would have to be stopped. Patrick fingered the diamond and jet ring on his little finger. It would have to be stopped.

Abby rode a sweet-mannered palomino mare named Lizzie, a pleasant creature who reminded her unaccountably of Tulip. Abby had learned to ride on Tulip during those long days on the trail, and now she wondered who was taking care of the funny-looking mare. Mac too. If Tanner hadn’t looked so forbidding, she would have asked him. But he rode far enough to one side of her to make conversation awkward, and besides, his hat was pulled low over his eyes and he stared straight ahead as he rode. It was plain he didn’t want to talk.

Still, why should that stop her? Would Tillie pander to every one of Snitch’s moods? Lately her fictional little mouse had become quite outspoken and aggressive—at least in Abby’s daydreams. Today she planned to commit those daydreams to paper. She might as well also act upon them in her dealings with the difficult men in her own life.

“Will you be shadowing my every move at the Hamiltons’ dinner party?” she called out to Tanner as they walked the horses along a hard-packed road that led north.

She was rewarded with an irritated glance. “That depends on whether you go, now, doesn’t it?”

Insufferable, ill-tempered oaf!
But instead of giving voice to the peevishness he so easily roused in her, she leaned forward over her responsive mount and abruptly goaded her into a rolling canter. When Tanner shouted at her to stop, she only hunched lower over the animal’s whipping mane, until the canter became a full-fledged gallop.

Tanner caught up to her in a matter of moments. But then Abby had known he would. As he pulled alongside her, though, she sent him a challenging smile, then veered somewhat to the right. At least now she had his attention.

“Dammit, woman!” This time he caught hold of the mare’s bridle, forcing her to slow down. Though Abby slapped at Tanner with the ends of the reins, it was a futile effort.

“You’re such a spoilsport.”

“And you’re behaving like a spoiled child.”

“I know how to ride. You forced me to learn, remember?”

The horses had stopped now, and as they jostled, Abby’s knee nudged against his. At once he released her reins and edged a good foot away from her.

So he was as moved by that accidental touch as she was. Abby didn’t try to fight the wave of color that rose in her cheeks. “I know how to ride, Tanner.” She took a steadying breath but kept her eyes fastened upon him. “You taught me that. You taught me to do a lot of things I’d never done before.”

“Dammit!” he muttered, low and vehemently under his breath.

But Abby exulted at his unexpected reaction, for she knew the direction his mind was taking. “You taught me how to care for a horse. How to hobble them, how to pack them.” She stifled the grin that so wanted to break free in the face of his mounting frustration.

“Now I want to teach you something,” she said as inspiration struck her.

He eyed her suspiciously. “Teach
me
something? What?”

The horses were on their own, ambling down the overgrown trail that led to Lake Michigan’s long shoreline while the two riders focused all their attention on each other. Abby watched Tanner carefully. “I’m going to teach you to dance.”

He frowned and broke the hold of her eyes. “No. You’re not.”

“Then you’re going to look awfully dull and boring, standing against the wall at the Hamilton party. Everyone else will be dancing, while you …” She paused. “While you shall probably just stand around and glower in that unpleasant manner you so often adopt.”

She was getting to him, that was obvious to Abby. But he was a hard nut to crack, as his deliberate silence proved. They rode on without speaking, but Abby was determined to goad him quite beyond his ability to remain aloof. How she despised that remote look and forced calm he affected whenever she got under his skin. So she began to hum. She’d never been the best member of her church choir, but she could carry a tune credibly enough. What she lacked in finesse she overcame with enthusiasm. Today, however, was not a day for hymns, but for a catchy foot-tapping tune, and after a while she added a few snatches of the lyrics to the melody she’d hit upon.

“… for with this dance I’ll take your hand

And turn you ’round the ballroom floor.

And maybe then I’ll find my chance

To win your heart forevermore.”

Tanner recognized the tune. He knew the words well enough and he knew what she was up to. She was as transparent as glass. He must remind her never to take up cards or any other games that required hiding her feelings behind a sober expression. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and it was getting harder and harder to inure himself to it.

Why shouldn’t he have a chance with a woman like her? Why couldn’t he take what she was so eager to offer? Just being around her made him want things he’d always relegated to the future, to someday. A wife. A home. A family.

“This way,” he barked, wanting her to stop that singing before it broke down the resolve he was fighting to maintain. Hogan would never let his grandchild marry a no-account bounty hunter, no matter how good a job Tanner did for him. And besides that, Abby deserved better. She deserved a more learned man than him. A more cultured one.

“Does Patrick dance very well?” Abby asked from just behind him.

“How the hell should I know?” he snapped. But inside, his heart sank Patrick Brady was exactly the kind of man she deserved. But the thought of that smooth bastard laying one of his lily-white hands on her made Tanner’s blood boil.

“He probably does,” she remarked. “If you won’t let me teach you to dance today, perhaps you can watch Patrick tonight. No doubt he had a dancing master as a boy. He seems the type, don’t you think?” she added with a giggle.

Tanner drew his handsome mount to a halt beneath a wind-bent elm tree. Patrick had probably had a dance master, all right. And tutors and the grand tour and every other luxury his wealthy godfather could provide. He was as close to a son as Hogan had, and the perfect match for Abby.