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“Five Hearts! AMBER MOMENT is a truly great story and I found myself totally captivated the whole way through. The characters were strong and very well matched, I could not put this book down. This book is definitely going on my keeper shelf.” Dina Smith , The Romance Studio
AMBER MOMENT
By
Marion Marshall
(c) Copyright Sept. 1996 by Linda Slater
Cover Art by Eliza Black (c) Copyright Sept. 1996
ISBN 1-891020-03-x
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
CHAPTER ONE
TEXAS
JUNE, 1880
The Texas sun was warm and brilliant as she raced her horse through the tall grass. It waved before her like a green sea, rippling and dancing in the light breeze that stirred the heat of the June afternoon. The wind in her face lifted the mass of golden waves from her shoulders and left it trailing behind her, sparkling in the sun like a cape of sunbeams.
"This is wonderful, Sheik," Amber McCandless shouted against the wind. "I had almost forgotten how good it feels to ride so fast. There were few places in Boston where I could ride so freely."
Finally she eased the big horse into a sedate walk to allow him to regain his breath and looked around happily. As far as she could see in any direction lay acres of grassland on which fed her uncle's herd of Texas longhorns.
Amber looked toward the northwest and squinted through the sun at the peak of Guadalupe rising above the land at the point where the New Mexico territory began and her uncle's enormous ranch ended. The McCandless ranch lay between the Pecos River on the west and the Colorado River on the east, covering several thousand acres of West Texas cattle country.
To the east lay the silver ribbon of railroad tracks that kept McCandless, Texas in touch with the rest of the world. The railroad was new to Amber. It had been built during the time she had lived in Boston with her grandparents after her father's death. When she had left Texas twelve years earlier the only method of getting cattle to market was to drive them down the Chisholm Trail.
It had been on one of those cattle drives that her father was killed, bringing to an end her life in Texas. Shortly afterwards her mother had taken her and moved back east to live with her mother's parents. Her grandparents had died within months of each other when Amber was still in school, leaving Amber and her mother alone in the big house until her mother was stricken ill a few weeks ago. Thinking about her mother brought sadness to Amber's mood and she shook herself to get rid of the heavy feeling of loss that still came upon her whenever she thought of her mother.
She supposed she should be thankful that her mother's illness had been a short one. Althea McCandless had died without much suffering, but only a short time had passed so Amber still felt the numbing loss.
The easy gait of the horse made it easy for Amber to become lost in her thoughts. Her mind drifted back to a day the previous month when Mr. Swanson, the family's attorney for many years, told her the surprising condition of her finances. Amber had long suspected her grandparents had lived in a manner beyond their means, but it came as a shock to learn they had left nothing at all. Everything had been heavily mortgaged so that Amber had been forced to sell even the grand old house to pay off their debts when her mother died.
Althea McCandless had left Texas with only what she could carry, but Amber remembered the letters that arrived with regularity from Texas all those years. Althea had thrown them away unopened, forbidding Amber to discuss her uncle.
That was the strange part, Amber mused as she absently patted the horse's silky neck. She only knew that when her father died, her mother took her back East and forbade her to speak of her uncle or write to him.
Her brow wrinkled as she tried to remember her mother's words shortly before her death. Althea had said something strange and unsettling. She had asked Amber to promise that she would never return to Texas, no matter what. When Amber questioned her mother, asking Althea McCandless to explain her strange behavior all those years, her mother murmured something about a diary, but died before she could explain further.
Amber's search for the diary had turned up nothing, but she felt little regret at having broken that promise. It was a promise she did not understand and one that had become impractical upon learning her true financial picture. It had been a great relief when Mr. Swanson informed her of the huge trust fund Owen McCandless had established for her. The terms were simple; on her twenty first birthday she would receive one half of Sierra Vieja; the land, the cattle, the sulfur mines, the railroad contracts, everything. The only stipulation was that she had to live in Texas to claim it.
With her mother gone and her education completed, the only thing holding her in Boston had been Larkin Prentiss. Even now her nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of him. How naive and trusting she had been, she thought angrily. She had thought her future was assured when Larkin proposed marriage on her eighteenth birthday. Funny how the love she thought would last forever had dissolved into vapor when he realized she would have to leave Boston.
Larkin had been thrilled to learn of her inheritance until he realized it meant giving up the wealthy friends he had accumulated over the years. Amber learned quickly that his love for her wasn't deep enough to endure living in the southwest, which he considered to still be under the control of roaming bands of wild Indians.
So she had given him back his dainty diamond ring, packed her trunks, and caught the first available packet for Galveston. Even now the thought of his shallowness still hurt.
Amber drew a deep breath and looked about once more, breathing in the smell of fresh air and open skies. God, it was good to be back in Texas! To finally be home. She had not realized how deep her love for this great sprawling land went until she stepped off the stagecoach two days earlier and saw the familiar sight of McCandless.
The black Arabian tossed his head and snorted, pulling her from her thoughts. Amber loosened her grip on the reins, allowing the animal to break into a swift gallop. Sheik had been a gift from her uncle upon her arrival at the ranch and she had fallen in love with him immediately. He was a pure-bred Arabian gelding, brought all the way from the Middle East just for her.
Despite Larkin's betrayal fresh in her mind, Amber had to admit to a certain attraction for the handsome sheriff of McCandless whom she had met upon arriving in town. Steven Riker was everything Larkin wasn't; self assured without being arrogant, handsome without being flashy, friendly without being pushy. Yes, she thought cheerfully, Steven Riker had definite possibilities as a beau. And although he had not come to call on her yet, she felt sure he would, and soon. An approaching rider put Steven Riker into the back of her mind as she directed her attention to the stranger who was riding toward her. She glanced around uneasily, realizing that she was miles from any assistance, but the approaching cowboy halted his mount a respectful distance from her and smiled. "Howdy, ma'am," the man said with a polite tip of his hat. "Sorry to bother you, but I think I must be lost. I'm a stranger to these parts and I wonder if you could tell me how to get to McCandless."
"The ranch or the town?" Amber asked cautiously.
"The town, ma'am." The cowboy's manner was polite and he made no effort to move closer. It made Amber relax a little.
She smiled in a friendly manner and turned in the saddle to point toward the north. "It's directly north of here about ten miles. You can't miss it," she told him.
The cowboy nodded and tipped his hat again, smiling pleasantly after glancing over his shoulder in the direction she had indicated.
"Much obliged, Miss..."
"McCandless, Amber McCandless," Amber replied.
"McCandless? The same McCandless the town is named after?" the lanky cowboy asked in surprise.
Amber nodded, smiling. "Yes. The town is named after my father and my uncle. They founded it more than thirty years ago."
"Well, thank you for the directions, Miss. I best be getting on if I'm gonna make it before nightfall," he said in a Texas drawl. After tipping his hat once more, he rode away in the direction Amber had instructed.
Amber watched him for a moment before turning the Arabian around and heading back in the direction they had come.
* * *
As the girl on the black horse disappeared into the distance, the cowboy urged his horse into a gallop and headed for a stand of cottonwoods a short distance beyond the spot where he encountered her. Within moments he reined the horse to a halt and grinned at the man who waited for him beneath the trees.
"Did you get a good look at her, Morgan?" he asked.
Morgan nodded, watching the girl on the black Arabian as she rode swiftly across the prairie. "Was that her?" he asked in a quiet voice.
The cowboy nodded and grinned again. "Yep, that was her. Miss Amber McCandless in the flesh. Quite a looker, ain't she, boss?"
Morgan nodded, watching the girl until she was only a speck on the horizon.
"The only thing that interests me, Jase, is her name. She's the chance I've been waiting for, the chance to get Owen McCandless where it hurts. Now that she's here, it won't be much longer," he said in a cold, ominous tone.
"You're sure this is the best way, Morgan?" Jase asked cautiously.
He had known Morgan for a couple of years now but he had never heard him speak so coldly or look so dangerous before. Morgan silently studied the girl on the black horse disappearing beyond the horizon, then turned his remarkable eyes on Jase again. "It's the only way," he said curtly.
CHAPTER TWO
Amber's arrival at the ranch did not go unnoticed by the cowhands gathered around the corral. As she cantered into the ranch yard and sprang down from the Arabian, the men lost interest in the job of breaking new cow ponies to ride, preferring instead to gawk at the slender girl as she led the horse into Owen McCandless' private stable at the side entrance of the enormous barn.
The girl seemed unaware of the approving stares of her uncle's hired hands. She was more concerned with the immediate job of unsaddling and brushing the big horse. She led him to his sizable private stall, took off the saddle with practiced ease, then hung it and the damp blanket on the side of the stall to dry. She took a moment to dish up a bucket of grain from a barrel nearby and put it into the feed bin in one corner of the stall before taking down the curry comb and beginning to groom the animal.
Always take care of your horse, Amber, and he'll take care of you, Price McCandless had taught her. It was a lesson she had never forgotten. Sheik turned his head and nudged the girl with his shiny muzzle, rousing her from her thoughts. His intelligent black eyes surveyed her quietly as though trying in his own way to comfort her.
Amber smiled faintly and rubbed his shiny coat, brushing down across his sleek sides to the powerful muscles in his front legs. It must have cost her uncle a fortune to have him shipped all the way from the Middle East. His thoughtfulness made her eyes mist with love.
"Well, how was the ride?" came a deep masculine voice from the doorway.
Amber's head snapped up and a smile quickly flashed across her face at the familiar sight of Cooter Jackson, her uncle's friend and head wrangler for many years.
"It was wonderful, Cooter," she said happily. "Sheik is magnificent. He runs like the wind."
"He should, for what he cost," the old cowhand grumbled with a smile that offset his gruff tone of voice.
Cooter had been with Owen McCandless for more than twenty-five years. He was getting along in years now. His sight and hearing weren't as good as they once were and his once strong body was now often crippled by arthritis.
He came into the stable while Amber noted with dismay the noticeable limp that slowed his progress. His weathered face was wrinkled but the eyes set amid a maze of crows-feet were startlingly blue and alert.
"But I guess he's worth it if he makes you happy," he conceded with a teasing grin. Amber squeezed his arm affectionately before returning to the task of grooming Sheik. "He is beautiful, isn't he, Cooter?"
The old cowboy nodded as he reached into the stall to rub the animal's shiny back. "He is that, Miss Amber. Your uncle sure knows his horseflesh."
Then his eyes took on a more somber glint as he directed his full attention to the girl. "It means an awful lot to him to have you back here, Miss Amber. He's missed you more than anybody knows."
"I'm glad to be back, Cooter. This is my home, where I belong. I never wanted to leave it. I've never understood why we had to leave after Papa died, or why Mama never answered any of Uncle Owen's letters."
"Your mama did what she thought was best, Miss Amber. You cain't fault her none for that. And just look at you now, why, you're just about the prettiest little thing in Texas. Who'd ever thought you'd turn out to be such a beauty? You look more like you mama every day," Cooter told her fondly.
"Do you really think I look like my mother?" Amber asked while she brushed the horse's sleek sides. Amber had always admired her mother's grace and beauty, but had never considered herself in the same way.
Cooter nodded with a grin. "You sure do, Miss Amber. I never thought I'd ever see a woman as pretty as your mama but I do believe you out-shine her. You've got her hair and those eyes, I've never seen eyes like that except your mama's. Yes sir, you've turned out to be quite a looker, Miss Amber."
"Do you think my father would be proud of me, Cooter?" she asked wistfully, her hand pausing in mid-air to await his reply.
The old cowboy's eyes took on a faintly bleak glow as he glanced away from her for a moment. "He sure would, Miss Amber. If your daddy was still alive, he'd be bustin' his buttons with pride. It's a damned shame he ain't here to see how you've turned out."Amber's eyes grew misty as she cleared her throat in an effort to keep her voice steady. "You still miss him too, don't you, Cooter?" she asked softly.
"Your daddy was the finest man I ever knew, Miss Amber. He was the most honest, hardest workin' man that ever came to Texas. And he loved you and your mama more than anythin' in the world," he said gruffly.
"Isn't it a shame, Cooter, that Uncle Owen is the only McCandless left? I mean, there was my daddy and his older brother, the one that died before I was born. Now Uncle Owen is all alone except for me," she said sadly, still brushing absently at the Arabian's legs.
"Well, Miss Amber, I wouldn't worry too much about your Uncle Owen. There ain't nobody in this world stronger than Owen McCandless. Sure, he's been real lonesome since you and your mama went back east, but I don't think he's wasted much time over the years mournin' his losses."
Amber failed to note the sarcasm in his voice and stood staring at him wide-eyed and confused. "That's a terrible thing to say, Cooter." His eyes softened a moment later and he reached out to pat her arm fondly. "Anyways, that's all in the past now, Miss Amber. You're here and that's all that matters."
The confusion faded from the girl's beautiful face as she nodded with a smile. "Yes, that's all that matters, Cooter. I'm home and I am Uncle Owen's family. What more could he need?" she added with a teasing lilt in her voice.
"Nuthin' as far as I can see," the cowhand agreed with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
He took the curry comb from her and hung it in its place on the stable wall, then limped alongside her as they walked from the cooling shade into the sun outside. He left her in a few strides and paused to watch her hurry toward the house. His wrinkled brow furrowed in thought as he studied her disappearing back, then he shook his head.
"I'm afraid, Missy, that you've got a lot to learn and it ain't gonna be a pleasant lesson," he said aloud.
Amber swept into the house with a sunny smile. Pausing to pick up an inviting red apple from the bowl on the credenza in the front hallway, she took a bite and scampered down the hall, chewing.
The house was a grand structure built in 1855 by Owen's own hands. It was a rambling ranch house two stories high with a wrought iron railing running the length of the balcony that graced the front of the house. Sierra Vieja, the ranch and house were called, or old mountain, so named because of the mountain range that extended along the Mexican border northward toward the New Mexico territory. The name had always had a certain romantic ring to it for Owen, for it was here he had planned to bring his young bride. He never had, for the young lady fell in love with another man and married him instead, leaving Owen with a houseful of shattered dreams.
Nevertheless, Sierra Vieja was home and over the years Owen had built it into a showplace of wealth and social position. Those grand old walls had been visited by kings, governors, senators, cattle barons, railroad financiers, judges and mayors. There had been a succession of women as well, but none ever stayed more than a few days before she was asked to move on, always with a generous check in her bag for her services.
The house was sparkling white, standing out on the horizon like a beacon. It contained eighteen rooms, running water and an assortment of expensive imported furniture sitting on elegant Oriental rugs brought overland from San Francisco on Owen's own stage lines. Sierra Vieja was an oasis in the Texas prairie, a gathering place for the state's wealthiest and most powerful men. Still, the house at Sierra Vieja lacked the things needed to make Owen McCandless a happy man; the woman he had lost and children of his own.
Amber paused to tap lightly on Owen's office door, but did not wait for an invitation before opening it and breezing inside. She was home again at Sierra Vieja. It was as though she had never left it when the door swung open and her uncle raised his head from the stack of papers on the desk he was seated behind and smiled widely.
"Well, there you are," Owen McCandless boomed in a hearty voice as the girl entered the room and closed the door behind her. "How was the ride?"
"It was wonderful, Uncle Owen. Sheik is the most magnificent animal I've ever ridden. How can I thank you for such a marvelous gift?" Amber replied cheerfully.
"Just knowing you're enjoying him is all the thanks I need," Owen replied in his deep voice, his face bathed in smiles at Amber's happiness. "Does the ranch look the same after all these years?" he asked, leaning back in his plush chair to survey her.
"I can't tell its changed at all. But I was only seven the last time I saw her."
"The land hasn't changed much, Amber, just the improvements I've made on it," Owen said proudly.
He tapped the stack of papers he had been looking over when she entered and smiled again. "The railroad is new. It's only been around a few years. It makes things a good deal easier at roundup time, I can tell you. Now all we have to do is take the herd into town and load it on stock cars. The railroad does the rest."
"What about the land the tracks run through? What became of all the small ranchers in that area?"
Owen nodded and paused to take a cigar from the gold case on top of his desk and lit it before responding to her questions. "I bought them all out years ago, princess. Cost a great deal of money too but it was well worth it. I've more than recovered my expenses since the railroad has come over that land."
Amber nodded in understanding, her golden head shimmering in the sunlight that streaked through the bay window behind her uncle's desk. She took a moment to look around the familiar room and then sighed with contentment. "I can't tell you how glad I am to be home, Uncle Owen," she said happily.
Owen shifted in the big leather chair and drew on his cigar, exhaling a gray plume of smoke into the air, then smiled affectionately at her. "You can't be more happy than I am to have you here once again, princess."
"Uncle Owen," Amber began hesitantly, trying to find the words to ask the question that had been on her mind for a very long time. "Why did my mother take me away after Papa died? And why did she refuse to open your letters all those years?"
Owen met her curious gaze over the smoke of his cigar without blinking. "It was some silly misunderstanding, princess. It didn't amount to anything really, just one of those silly things that got blown out of proportion. But your mama was one stubborn woman. She could hold a grudge longer than anybody I've ever known."
Amber studied him silently for a moment. She knew how determined her mother could be once she made up her mind about something. Since Owen's expression was frank and candid, she had no reason to doubt him.
"Uncle Owen, my mother mentioned something about a diary shortly before she died. I looked and looked, but I couldn't find it. Do you have any idea what she was talking about or where it might be?" she asked.
Owen's brows rose momentarily. He cleared his throat as he tapped the cigar into the ashtray. "Princess, your mama was a very sick woman at the end. She was probably remembering something from her childhood. I doubt there was a diary. If there was, I don't know anything about it."
He smiled widely then to dispel the somber mood that had invaded their conversation. "Listen to us, will you? We should be celebrating your homecoming, not talking about such sad things. Now tell me about your ride."
Amber nodded in agreement, eager to put those painful memories away, and broke into animated conversation about the wind and sunlight, and the performance of the Arabian gelding. Owen smiled and nodded from time to time as she talked, pausing occasionally to draw on the cigar and flick the ash into a crystal ashtray on the desk top.
Owen McCandless was an impressive looking man, tall and powerfully built with massive shoulders and a thick neck, his skin burned to a deep bronze from years of the relentless Texas sun. He was well over six feet tall with once dark hair, now graying at the temples, which gave him a sophisticated air. His still handsome face was lined from years of hard work and his blue eyes were clear and contained a shrewdness that was difficult to overlook. He was 55 years old now, but the agile way he moved belied his advancing age. He still considered himself a young man, and a better man than any of the younger cowhands he employed. He was a proud man; proud of his looks and proud of his accomplishments.
Everything he had been through to make himself a rich, powerful man had been for Amber. When he was gone, she would be an immensely wealthy young woman so he would have to groom her carefully on how to deal with that wealth and the power that came with it. He would take great pleasure in teaching her the operation of the ranch during the coming years. For the first time in twenty years, Owen felt that life had something worthwhile to offer him...
"Are you listening to me, Uncle Owen?" Amber inquired with puzzled eyes.
"Of course I am, princess. I was just thinking how much more like a home this old house seems with you here."
Amber smiled, her eyes glowing with affection. "I've missed this house so much, Uncle Owen, and you. I promise never to leave either of you again."
Owen crushed out his cigar and pushed his chair back from the desk as the girl bounced from her seat and rushed around the desk to give him an impulsive hug. Owen returned the brief embrace with affection then reluctantly pulled away from the slender arms wrapped around his neck.
"You better get upstairs and change for supper, princess," he suggested gruffly.
Amber smiled after glancing at her reflection in a heavy mirror that adorned a spot in the center of the far wall of the room. She reached up to smooth her tumbled hair and grimaced at her dusty clothing and boots.
"I suppose you're right, Uncle Owen. I must smell a good deal like Sheik. I'll hurry down. Something smells wonderful and I just realized that I'm starving."
Owen smiled and gave her a mild swat on the rump as she moved toward the doorway. Before she reached it, the double doors swung open and the ranch foreman burst inside.
"Mr. McCandless, I've just come from the east range. We got five miles of cut fence and a couple dozen dead cows. Somebody's poisoned the water hole too," he blurted out, gasping for breath from the long hot ride.
Owen came to his feet with surprising speed for a man his age and strode around the desk in two long strides. Then he remembered Amber and stopped to lean back against the desk. "You're forgetting your manners, Wade," he growled. "I don't believe you've met my niece. Amber, this is Wade Harding, my foreman."
"Miss McCandless, please excuse my manners. I didn't know the boss was busy," he stammered.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Harding. If you will excuse me, I must run up and change for supper," Amber told him in a warm, friendly tone, then swept past him through the doors.
Harding's eyes followed her, taking in the curves of her slender body and the tantalizing way her hips swayed in the fitted riding dress.
"Close the door, Wade, and put your eyes back in their sockets," Owen grunted, his eyes narrowing and taking on an ominous gleam.
Harding swallowed, turning to close the doors behind him, then moving further into the office. "Sorry, Mr. McCandless, I didn't mean to stare."
"See that you keep your distance from my niece, Wade, if you value your job here."
"But, Mr. McCandless, I didn't mean anythin'..."
"I know exactly what you mean, Wade," Owen cut in sharply. "And I'm warning you. My niece is a lady and you will treat her like one. Is that clear?"
"Of course, Mr. McCandless," the cowboy stammered, wondering what he had done that was so terrible.
"Now tell me about the trouble in the east range. Cut fence and a poisoned water hole?"
"Yes sir," Harding replied in a relieved tone. He fidgeted with his hat and found it difficult to look his boss in the eye. There was something unsettling about Owen McCandless, something that always made him nervous but he didn't dwell on it. He had a good job here and he wanted to keep it. "About two dozen dead cattle, sir. Looks like Devereaux's work again."
Owen's meaty fist slammed down onto the desk top with a sharp bang that caused Harding to jump. Owen's face had paled beneath the deep tan and his eyes had narrowed to slits of ice cold, blue fury. "That son-of-a-bitch! What does he want from me?"
He turned away for a moment to regain his composure. He took a few deep breaths and turned back to his foreman.
"Send one of the men into town for the sheriff, Wade. I know it's probably a waste of time, but I want Riker to know about this. He must have a catalog of my complaints about that bastard by now," he said in a more controlled voice.
Harding spun about, took a step toward the door, then paused to look back at Owen, his eyes puzzled. "Don't it strike you as a bit odd, Mr. McCandless, that Devereaux ain't cut anybody else's fences or poisoned their water holes? Last week it was the Austin stage his gang held up and the week before that he ran off the supply train for the mines. It's almost like he's got something personal against you."
Owen didn't reply and after a moment Harding shrugged and left the room. Behind him, Owen's fist came down on the desk again in frustration. He hated to admit it, but it was beginning to look like Wade was right. For weeks now he had been plagued by Morgan Devereaux and his band of outlaws.
The incidents were never serious, no one had been gravely injured, but the man was a constant source of irritation. Cutting fences, running off herds, holding up stages when there was no money aboard, terrorizing the men at the sulfur mines, burning down line shacks and taking stray shots at out-riders. And for what? Why? What was the purpose? He didn't even know Morgan Devereaux.
CHAPTER THREE
Steven Riker arrived at Sierra Vieja while Amber and Owen were still having supper. Quincy, Owen's colored butler, led him into the dining room and Owen rose to greet him with a smile.
"Steven, good of you to ride out so late in the day. Have a seat and join us," Owen invited as he indicated a chair next to him at the long dining table. "You remember my niece."
"I certainly do, Mr. McCandless. How could I forget such a lovely young lady?" Steven said with a friendly smile as he reached across the table to lightly kiss the back of Amber's hand.
He took the chair Owen had indicated and paused to let Quincy take his hat before turning to his host with a smile. Amber was seated directly across the table from him, making it an effort to keep his eyes focused on Owen.
Who would have imagined that a tough old Texan like Owen McCandless had a female relative like this glorious creature?
"Won't you join us in a bit of this delicious roast chicken, sheriff?" Amber asked in a soft voice.
"No, thank you, Miss McCandless," Steven declined politely. "I've eaten already but please, don't let me interrupt your meal."
Amber's cheeks dimpled with a smile before she returned to her supper. She glanced upward occasionally at the sheriff and was impressed by what she saw.
His clothes were immaculate and his black boots, she had noted, were polished to a rich gleam. He was obviously a man who took pride in his appearance. He was dressed in a dark gray broadcloth suit, complete with silk vest and a crisp white shirt. He was attractive, no doubt about it, and she felt a blush warm her cheeks when she glanced up to find those deep blue eyes fixed on her. Obviously, he felt the same about her.
"I understand you've had another visit from Devereaux and his boys," Riker remarked, directing his attention to the real purpose of this visit.
Owen nodded, but took a sip of the deep red wine from his glass, giving himself a moment to consider his reply before answering. "It appears so. Wade tells me he discovered five miles of cut fence and a poisoned water hole this afternoon," he grunted finally.
"This is becoming a habit, isn't it, Mr. McCandless? This makes about the sixth or seventh incident you believe Devereaux's responsible for."
Owen's face bore a distinctly annoyed expression as he surveyed the young sheriff. "I don't need a list of the offenses, Riker. I need action."Amber stopped eating to stare at her uncle in concern. She had never heard him speak so sharply to anyone and her eyes flashed to Riker's face. Surprisingly, the sheriff did not seem offended by Owen's caustic remark. He sat calmly swirling the contents of his wine glass in one hand while he met Owen's level gaze.
"Mr. McCandless, you know I'm doing everything possible to round up Morgan Devereaux and his men. I've raised the reward on him to five thousand dollars like you asked. Unless someone comes forward with some information, there isn't much I can do."
"Then look harder, damn it!" Owen growled. Then remembering his manners, he turned quickly to Amber with an apologetic expression to add, "I'm sorry, princess, I forgot myself for a moment. Please forgive my language."
Amber smiled briefly and took a sip of wine while she studied the two men. There was an uneasiness in her uncle she had never seen before and it concerned her to see him upset.
"Who is Morgan Devereaux?" she asked.
Owen and Riker exchanged glances before Owen reached to pat her hand. "Nobody for you to be concerned about, princess. Steven and I should wait to discuss this matter privately."
"I'd rather know about it, Uncle Owen," she insisted. "If it concerns you, then it concerns me, as well."
"Morgan Devereaux is an outlaw, Miss McCandless," Steven Riker explained slowly, ignoring the displeasure on Owen's face. "He's a gunslinger, a renegade that's been seen in this area. Your uncle believes he's responsible for several attacks on McCandless property during the past few weeks."
"It's nothing, really," Owen interjected. "Nobody has been seriously injured and no real damage has been done except for the money it's cost me. The man's more of an irritation that anything else."
"Why would this man do such things?" Amber inquired.
Owen shook his head wearily and shrugged his shoulders with a sigh. "That's the thing that puzzles me, princess. I don't know. I don't have an explanation for any of it. I don't know Devereaux. Yet he's singled me out for some reason."
"I've heard that he could be working for Welch Mandell," the sheriff offered casually.
Amber watched with growing alarm as her uncle's hand shook when he set down his wine glass. Owen's face had paled beneath the tan and he touched his tongue to his lips and swallowed before acknowledging the sheriff's remark.
"Welch Mandell! Are you certain of that, Steven?"
Riker nodded and sipped at his wine. "Sure enough. You know Mandell?"
"No, I only know who he is," Owen replied in a harsh voice. He pushed his plate away and snapped his fingers impatiently. A moment later Quincy appeared with a cigar case and a lighted match. Owen quickly selected a cigar and lit it, drawing deeply and exhaling while he nodded briskly. "Everybody in Texas knows Mandell. He's a murdering, black-hearted renegade."
Riker nodded in agreement. "I understand he's one of the fastest men alive with a gun. Could be he's the one who taught Devereaux. At least, that's what I hear."
"What else do you hear, Steven?" Owen asked gruffly, his cold blue eyes studying the sheriff intently.
Riker shrugged and swirled the glass of wine once more. "I hear Devereaux and Mandell go back quite a way. Rumor has it Mandell raised him. If they're around here, it would certainly explain the rash of robberies in the area lately."
"But does it explain why this man is harassing my uncle?" Amber asked.
"No, Miss McCandless, it doesn't. It's not like Mandell to bother with cutting fence and killing cattle. He's usually more interested in stealing them."
"Amber, if you will please excuse us, dear, I would like to discuss this matter with the sheriff in private," Owen said stiffly.
Amber started to protest, but something in her uncle's eyes stopped her. Owen looked decidedly uncomfortable, so she nodded as she rose to her feet. "Of course, Uncle Owen. If you will excuse me then, gentlemen, I shall go to my room," she said in a soft, puzzled voice.
Both men rose to their feet and Owen leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Steven took one of her hands in his and kissed it lightly, his eyes remaining locked with hers.
"Miss McCandless, if you would do me the honor of accepting my invitation to a barn dance this Friday night, I should be very flattered," he said in a smooth, friendly tone.
A faint blush stained Amber's cheeks as she smiled. She looked at her uncle expectantly. "May I, Uncle Owen?"
Owen's heavy brows were pulled into a frown but he reluctantly nodded.
"Thank you, Mr. Riker, I shall be pleased to accept your invitation," Amber replied to Steven with a smile.
"Then I shall pick you up around six o'clock Friday evening."
"I shall be ready, Mr. Riker," Amber replied with a dazzling smile. She paused to place an affectionate kiss on her uncle's cheek before leaving the room. After her footsteps had died away on the carpeted staircase, Owen turned to the sheriff with a scowl darkening his features.
"Who the hell do you think you are, Riker, to just waltz in here and ask my niece out without checking with me first?" he demanded angrily.
Steven again took his seat and reached to fill his wine glass from the crystal decanter on the table. He took a leisurely drink from the glass, all the while observing the older man's glowering face.
"I'm the man who's going to take care of Devereaux for you, Mr. McCandless. Besides, your niece is not a child. I hardly think she needs your permission before accepting my invitation to a perfectly innocent dance," he replied easily.
Owen leaned forward until his face was only an inch from the young sheriff's, the cold blue eyes blazing with anger. "Now you listen to me, you young whelp!" he said in a cold tone. "Whatever ideas you have about Amber, you just put right out of your head. She's off limits to you, do you understand me? She's not like the whores that occupy your saloon in town. She's a lady. She knows nothing about men like you."
Steven chuckled softly as his eyes met Owen's in a level, unwavering gaze of confidence. "Take it easy, Mr. McCandless. I have only the most honorable intentions toward your lovely niece. I should think you would rather Amber be attracted to me than some twenty dollar a month cowhand. I have a great deal to offer her."
"Like what?" Owen growled as he settled back in his chair and drew on the cigar.
"Like ambition for one thing. I'm not unlike you in that respect, Mr. McCandless. I'm an ambitious man. Someday I intend to own a good portion of this state."
"Not through my niece, you won't," Owen assured him scornfully. "I see what you're up to, Riker, and it won't work. My niece is too damned good for you, or anyone like you, and don't you ever forget it."
"I think we should let Amber use her own judgment."
"Amber will do what I tell her," Owen snarled. "I'll pick a husband for her when the time comes and it won't be you."
Steven merely sipped at his wine and smiled confidently in a manner that made Owen's blood boil with anger. The young sheriff was much too cocky to suit him.
"Don't be so sure of that, Mr. McCandless. I think you underestimate me. I think I am exactly the kind of man you want her to marry. I'm ambitious. I'm smart, and I'm greedy; three sterling qualities for the husband of a young woman who will someday own most of West Texas," Steven told him smugly.
Owen snorted in contempt and drew on the cigar again, exhaling a plume of gray smoke toward the ceiling. "I made you the sheriff of my town, Riker, and I can just as quickly replace you. I'd keep that in mind, if I were you."
"So you did," Steven agreed. "But perhaps I should remind you just how much money I've made for you since you put me in this office. The saloons are bringing in hundreds every week from the railroad people, not to mention the miners. When you analyze it, those men are working for nothing. The wages you pay them for working in your sulfur mines, I'm making back with the games and the whores in my saloon. I think you'd have to look pretty far to find another man with my abilities."
"It's not your abilities at making money for me that I find objectionable," Owen pointed out sourly. "It's the abilities you use upstairs with the whores that worries me. I'm warning you, Steven; if you lay so much as one finger on my niece, I'll kill you. You've got my word on it."
The men stared at one another in strained silence for a long moment before Steven laughed softly and raised his glass in a toast. "I think we understand each other perfectly, Mr. McCandless. Shall we drink to our partnership?"
After a moment the frown eased from Owen's face and he lifted his glass to touch Steven's with a crystal tinkle. "Just so you remember who's working for whom, Steven."
"You're the boss, Mr. McCandless," the sheriff assured him with an easy smile. "I'm not likely to forget that."
"Good, see that you don't. Now, let's get down to business about that goddamned gunslinger. I want Devereaux's hide, Steven, and I want it now. Do whatever is necessary to find him. Pay off as many people as you need, but I want that son-of-a-bitch!"
"And if he is working for Welch Mandell?"
"So much the better," Owen growled. "Get Devereaux and you may flush out Mandell in the process. That should put a real feather in your cap. How would you like to be the man who killed both Devereaux and Mandell? You'd be the most famous lawman in the United States."
Riker laughed again softly, his eyes narrowing with anticipation at that prospect. "A man who managed to rid Texas of those two might even be considered worthy of becoming the husband of its wealthiest young woman. Wouldn't you say, Mr. McCandless?"
"Perhaps, Steven, perhaps," Owen replied with a sly smile. "Just perhaps my opinion of you would improve if you were able to pull that off."Riker again lifted his glass to touch Owen's in a cold clink of questionable alliance. All that stood between him and becoming one of the most wealthy and powerful men in the nation was one man...Morgan Devereaux.
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