Heart of Thunder by Johanna Lindsey
“You are saying, señor, that you let your daughter have her way without giving you an explanation? I find that hard to believe.”
“Oh,” Hamilton waved at Hank with disgust, “she claimed the land meant more to you than it did to her. She felt…you’d suffered enough.”
Hank’s eyes narrowed. “So. As I suspected, she conceded out of pity.”
“Pity?” Hamilton laughed. “You don’t know my daughter.”
“It is the only thing that makes sense.”
“Think what you like. I’m not going to stand here arguing with you about it.”
“Then I will see Samantha.”
“No, you won’t,” Hamilton said with cold finality.
Hank gazed at him levelly. “Has she divorced me?”
Hamilton sat down wearily. “No, I’m sorry to say. She hasn’t.”
“Then I have a right to see her.”
“Not in my house you don’t. In case it’s not clear to you, Chavez, you’re not welcome here. State your business and get out.”
A muscle twitched in Hank’s jaw. He was up against a brick wall and knew it all too well. He had come alone, not wanting to cause additional hostility by a show of force. He didn’t really know what he’d expected.
“I am here to reclaim my IOU,” Hank said stiffly as he dropped a bank draft on the desk.
Hamilton picked up the check with a good deal of surprise. “Well, now, I never thought I’d see this. You strike it rich all of a sudden?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
What Hamilton had meant as sarcasm stuck in his craw as fact. “From my mines?” he fumed. “By God! You’re paying me off from my own mines!”
“That would be ironic—if it were true,” Hank said wryly. “But no, señor, the copper mines hardly support themselves. This money comes from Colorado silver.”
“A big strike?”
“So my partner tells me.”
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” Hamilton replied, disgusted. “Hell, Chavez, you could fall in a shit pot and come out smelling like a rose. You got it all, don’t you—everything you wanted?”
“Not quite, señor.”
“Oh? You mean there’s still some justice in this world?”
Hank could barely contain his own temper. The brick wall was growing.
“The IOU?”
“By all means.” Hamilton opened a drawer, searched through it quickly, then tossed the note across his desk. “And that ends your business here, Chavez. You may be married to my daughter for the time being, but it’s not a marriage I recognize. Don’t come again.”
Hank stared hard at his father-in-law, debating whether to force the issue. He desperately wanted to see Samantha. But he was alone. All Kingsley had to do was call a couple of his vaqueros.
“I will go, señor. Will you tell Samantha that I was here? That I wish her to get in touch with me?”
“I’ll tell her, but it won’t make any difference. She doesn’t want to see you.” He chuckled drily. “The last time she mentioned your name, it was to curse you. No, Chavez, she definitely has no wish to see you.”
Hank turned on his heel and left, his anger growing as he went around the back to get El Rey. Samantha was here, somewhere. Here, yet unavailable. He wanted only to talk to her. Did they think he would kidnap her again? Dios, she was his wife! He had not intended to take advantage of that fact, yet the fact remained. And Samantha had done nothing to change it, not yet.
“Mi caballo, por favor,” Hank asked the old vaquero standing just inside the barn.
He wouldn’t enter that barn. Just the look of the place brought back the pain, the fear. It also made him think of what Lorenzo had told him about that night. He could envision Samantha here, magnificent in her fury. But helping him? Saving him? He still couldn’t picture that, not without knowing the reason. He had to know the reason. If he kept on wondering about it, he would go crazy.
“Your horse, señor.”
“Gracias.”
Hank mounted, but did not ride away. He looked around, looking at the house in particular. Was Samantha inside, or out riding?
The ranch had been cleaned up, and it looked as if the Kingsleys had always lived there. His own ranch looked just as good since Patrick McClure had dumped a fortune on his doorstep. As Lorenzo was always saying, Hank should be satisfied. He had reached his goal. He had his family estate back, and it was prospering. It was everything it had once been. But there was such a lack. Hank wasn’t enjoying his triumph. Even his new wealth made no difference to him.
“She will not suddenly appear, señor. You have wasted your time coming here.”
Hank looked sharply at the old Mexican. “What do you mean?”
“Did you not come here to see Sam?”
“I came to pay a debt,” Hank replied coldly.
The vaquero grinned, raising Hank’s ire. “There are many ways to repay a debt. You did not have to come all this way just to do that.”
“Who are you?”
“Manuel Ramirez. I have been with the patrón since before his daughter came to him. Nothing goes on in this family that I do not know of.”
“You know where Samantha is, then?”
“Of course. Just as I know you are her husband, Señor Chavez.”
“Then tell me, Manuel, will you not agree that a man has a right to see his wife?”
“Certainly,” Manuel replied, but added pointedly, “if that wife had married the man willingly.”
Hank scowled. “Damn it, I just want to talk to her!”
“Why, señor? You did not even want to marry her. You told her she was free to divorce you.”
“Qué diablos!” Hank swore. “How do you know all that?”
“Sam confessed many things to my wife and daughter while she was here, some things that she did not even tell the patrón.”
Hank eyed the man thoughtfully and said softly, “Then perhaps you can tell me why she helped me that night.”
“Sí. I know why. But it is not for me to tell you, señor. It is not something you should hear from anyone other than Sam.”
“Por Dios! But if I cannot see her…”
Manuel shrugged, saying nothing further. In a rage, Hank jerked on the reins and rode off. But something Manuel had said struck him, and he stopped suddenly, pulling El Rey around to trot back to the barn. “While she was here,” he had said.
“Ramirez! Sam is not here at all, is she?”
Manuel grinned. “Ah, so you caught my slip of the tongue. I thought you had missed it.”
“Is she?”
“No, señor. She was not happy here. She has been gone for several months. If you wish to see her, you will have to travel a great distance.”
“To where?” Hank asked impatiently.
“To the land where she was born.”
“She’s in England?” Hank was stunned.
“Sí, England, where her hermano lives.”
Chapter 39
“SAM, you must hurry or you will not be ready on time.”
“Oh, leave me alone, Lana,” Samantha grumbled, pressing the warm, wet cloth against her brow. “I have a terrible headache, and I feel a cold coming on, too.”
“I think you just make excuses because you do not wish to leave that warm bed.”
“Nonsense. So what if it’s a little cold in here? It’s the middle of winter. I’m getting used to the cold.”
“You are used to it no more than I am,” Froilana scoffed. “And if you are catching cold, it is because you insist on taking morning walks in the park.”
“I have to get out of this house sometime, don’t I?”
“In good weather, sí. But we have not had decent weather for a month. And as for a headache, you have been in bed all afternoon. It is impossible for you to have a headache.”
“Well, if I didn’t have one before, you’re certainly giving me one now! Honestly, you’re worse than your mother ever was. Do this, do that. If I had
“And who would take care of you if not me?”
“Damn it, Lana, I’m not a child!” Samantha snapped.
“Then do not act like one. And get out of that bed.”
“No! Don’t argue with me anymore. Just give my brother some reason why I’m not dining with him.” She sighed then, relaxing into her plump pillow. “Really, Lana, I just can’t face getting all dressed up for a simple dinner. Shelly’s formality drives me loco. He’d have me wear a ball gown to breakfast if he thought I’d do it.”
“You forget this is not a simple dinner, Sam. His novia comes to meet you tonight.”
“Oh, Lord!” Samantha groaned. She threw off her warm covers and sat up wearily. “I did forget. Why didn’t you say so to begin with? Get me a gown—the bright yellow velvet—and the yellow slippers. And a shawl—don’t forget a shawl, a heavy one. I’m not going to sit down there in that big, cold room and freeze just to please my brother. Oh, damn, how could I forget?”
“Perhaps you had other things on your mind.”
Samantha scowled as her friend moved off to the wardrobe. “I haven’t been brooding, Lana, and I wish you would stop insinuating that. I hardly think about him at all anymore.” Froilana’s silence was eloquent, and Samantha didn’t try to argue further. She was tired of that subject. Her arguments were all lies anyway, and Froilana wasn’t fooled. Samantha did think about Hank. She thought about him all the time.
“She is late then?” Samantha asked as she entered the drawing room and found Sheldon there alone.
“Women usually are, my dear.”
She let the remark pass, though she had just spent a frantic half hour rushing through her toilet so that she wouldn’t be late. Remarks like that were typical of Sheldon. He could be so irritating at times, and he was so utterly snobbish that she wasn’t even sure she liked her brother.
He certainly hadn’t been what she had expected. Their reunion had been a surprise to both of them. Sheldon thought her too animated, too outspoken, too American. She thought him just plain dull.
Sheldon was everything their grandmother would have wanted, the perfect aristocratic snob. But he was her brother, the only family she had besides her father. And she had to make allowances, too, had to be understanding of his life with their grandmother. Their lives had taken completely different courses. They spoke differently, they thought differently, they had absolutely nothing in common. They did not seem related at all, except for their physical similarity.
In fact, Samantha still had to remind herself that Sheldon was her brother, for he was a stranger to her even after all these weeks together. There were no questions from him. Anything Sheldon knew about her, she had volunteered.
She had been willing to bare her soul, but quickly changed her mind when his lack of interest became all too apparent. He didn’t ask why she had come to England, how long she meant to stay with him, or even why her husband hadn’t come with her. She was relieved not to have to talk about Hank, but it did astonish her that he never even asked a single question about their father—not even about his health!
She supposed it was breeding that made him that way. She could even be generous and put his lack of curiosity down to discretion. His feeling that one’s life is one’s own affair went both ways: he never mentioned anything out of his past, either. What she did learn about him was from her own observations.
In that way she learned about Teresa Palacio, Sheldon’s bride-to-be. He announced one morning over breakfast that he would be married in the spring. Not one word had been mentioned of the young Spanish girl before that moment, not for the entire month of Samantha’s visit. Samantha was anxious about the meeting. She wanted to make a good impression for her brother’s sake.
“Would you care for some wine before dinner?” Sheldon offered in a dull, lifeless voice.
Samantha shook her head, wondering how any woman could fall in love with this cold, unemotional man. Oh, he was handsome enough. Very handsome, in fact, and rich—their grandparents had left the entire estate to him. But he was just so…so damn boring. Lifeless. But, then, maybe Teresa was like Sheldon.
“Some tea then?”
“I’ll wait until your novia arrives.”
Samantha moved about the room, restless. The truth was, she felt uncomfortable alone with Sheldon. She wished it weren’t so. It shouldn’t be so, but it was. She tried to remember their childhood together at Blackstone, but the more she thought of it, the more she realized that they had hardly ever been together then, she under her grandmother’s thumb, and Sheldon virtually raised by a score of male tutors. They hadn’t had a typical childhood, and they couldn’t have a normal relationship as adults.
“Novia. Such a quaint word, that,” Sheldon remarked, surprising Samantha. “Teresa calls me her novio. She would like me to learn Spanish, but I don’t see the point in our both learning a new language.”
“She doesn’t speak English?”
“Not very well yet.”
Samantha grinned. “Then how did you two ever get so far as to discuss marriage?”
As soon as she asked, she realized she shouldn’t have. Sheldon’s look was clearly disapproving, although anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t have guessed, the change was so subtle. But she had seen that look many times. It angered her. She couldn’t even ask a simple, spontaneous question without his getting all out of sorts.
“You needn’t answer, brother,” she said stiffly. “I suppose this, like everything else, is none of my business.”
His milk-white complexion took on a good deal of color very suddenly, and Samantha was delighted. What she really wanted was to see her staid, unemotional brother lose his temper once, just to prove he was human. She sighed. That was probably asking too much.
“Actually, my dear, we did need a translator when we met. Jean Merimée proved quite adequate. Remember Jean? You met him at the races when you had only just arrived, before…”
Samantha burst into laughter as Sheldon’s face darkened even more. He couldn’t finish. “Before I chose not to join you anymore on your rounds of amusement? It still embarrasses you, doesn’t it?”
“Now, Samantha, it was your choice.”
“My choice! Oh, it doesn’t bother me. It’s perfectly natural for me to look the way I do. But I knew how uncomfortable I made you, so I declined your invitations. Look! You can’t even speak of it! I pity your new wife, Sheldon, I really do. You’ll probably lock her in her room when she gets—”
“Samantha! Really!”
She grinned up at him innocently. “Don’t you plan to have children?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied uneasily.
“Then I must warn Teresa about your attitude. She would do well to keep any tidings of that sort to herself as long as possible.”
“Good Lord, you wouldn’t say anything to Teresa!”
Green lights danced mischievously in Samantha’s eyes. “Teresa would thank me for it, don’t you think?”
“I certainly do not.”
“Why, Sheldon, have I upset you?” she asked solemnly. “You actually look quite angry.”
“I am not angry,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I just don’t understand you, Samantha.”
“You never tried to,” she replied, truly serious now. “If you had, if you knew anything about me, you would know that I was only teasing you.”
“But your bluntness—”
“—is part of me. I’ve had the freedom to speak my mind ever since I left England. You can’t imagine what a blessed freedom that is, Sheldon. But I won’t embarrass your novia with it. I do know how to be tactful. Just don’t expect me to curb my tongue with you. You’re my brother, and if I can’t be frank with you—” She stopped, grinning as the front door knocker sounded. “Well, your novia has saved you from your brazen sister. I’ll go let her in.”
“Samantha, no.”
But she moved out of
“Samantha!” Sheldon followed her into the hall. “For God’s sake, it’s not proper for you to—”
“Nonsense.” She cut him off. “It’s much nicer to be informal this way.”
Sheldon couldn’t say any more without raising his voice, and he would never do that. Samantha glanced back to see him standing in the drawing room doorway, gazing at the ceiling as if to say, What next, Lord? She grinned, thoroughly satisfied with herself. She couldn’t remember when her spirits had been so high. Sheldon had almost lost his temper—almost. She would have to work just a little harder to see him angry, really angry, at least once before she left. She would prove to them both that Sheldon could be human.
A knock sounded once again just as she reached the door, and she composed her features. She would have to show their guest how gracious and proper she could be.
“Bienvenido, señori…” The welcome died as the lamplight revealed the man on the doorstep. “Lorenzo?” Samantha gasped.
“Sam,” he said simply.
“Oh, Lord.” She laughed. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
“When I was offered the chance to see Europe, I could not refuse,” Lorenzo replied smoothly as he doffed his hat. The top hat seemed so odd on Lorenzo. He grinned, his gaze drawn to her belly. “You have put on a little weight, I see. It becomes you.”
But Samantha didn’t hear. She had finally noticed the carriage, and the man on the curb paying the driver. She panicked and slammed the door shut, the sound drawing Sheldon and Wilkes back into the hall.
“Samantha, are you mad?” Sheldon demanded, coming toward the door.
“It’s…not Teresa.”
Before he could speak again, the door knocker rapped loudly.
“Samantha—”
“No! Don’t open it, Sheldon! They’ll go away.”
“This is absurd. Wilkes, kindly see who it is.”
“Damn you, Sheldon!” Samantha cried, and she moved as quickly as she could toward the stairs. “At least let me leave the room first,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t want to see him.”