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  “What sort of enemies?”

  “There are those who resent when someone else has more wealth than they do—when he is more successful, more intelligent, more powerful. Men like that are troublemakers, and they become the natural adversaries of those who succeed in this world. They’re pests, I’m afraid, every bit as loathsome as locusts and gnats and grasshoppers, and they must be stamped out the same way. But there’s a worse enemy, Miss Montgomery,” he added, “something more painful and awful and irksome than any other.”

  He was watching her with a keen, speculative glance, the glinting topaz eyes gazing directly down into her face. Very well, Mr. Breen, I’ll bite, Juliana thought.

  “And what might that be?” she inquired, suddenly aware that Aunt Katharine was melting away into the crowded room without a word to either of them. Juliana was alone in her corner with John Breen.

  “Lonesomeness,” he answered promptly, and slipped a hand under her elbow. Before Juliana could protest, he was guiding her toward the western windows of the parlour, where French doors opened onto the verandah. “In these parts, Miss Montgomery, life is hard and rough on a man. It can take its toll. A man gets lonely up here near the mountains, all by himself. He finds he has the need for a woman, someone who’ll stand by him, be a helpmate to him. Someone he can love and cherish.”

  They were on the verandah now, isolated from the lights and the crowd, from the noisy company of voices and laughter. Juliana stepped away from him and gripped the smooth porch rail, very aware of John Breen’s tall form following her in the darkness. “If lonesomeness is your enemy, Mr. Breen, I am sure that in your case it is easily vanquished.” She shot him a steady look. “No doubt there are dozens of women in Denver who would be more than happy to give you their company.”

  “True enough, I could have my pick of women—but as you yourself observed, I hold a somewhat special place in this community. A man of my position and standing cannot ally himself with just any woman. I must choose a woman—for my wife, you understand—who will be an asset to me in every way, someone of style, wit, and intelligence—and, of course, beauty.”

  He was staring down at her intently, and as the moonlight touched his lean face, Juliana saw a flush of excitement darken his cheeks. “You know, Juliana”—and the way he said her given name for the first time was almost a physical caress—“there ought to be a law against women being quite as beautiful as you.”

  “You’re very kind, Mr. Breen ...”

  “Kind?” He chuckled as she edged farther away from him, and he advanced upon her with deliberate slowness. “I’m not being kind, Juliana. I’m being honest. Surely you know just how ravishing you are.” He grinned down at her and reaching out, clasped both her slender wrists in his hands. His strength was surprising. He stepped so close, she could smell both the pomade on his smoothly brushed fair hair, and the pungent tobacco scent of the cigar bulging from his shirt pocket. Queasiness washed over her. “After all, I saw all those boys pursuing you in St. Louis that night, making damned fools out of themselves. You can’t bamboozle me into thinking you’re unaware of your charms.”

  “You obviously are not unaware of them, Mr. Breen,” she said breathlessly as she tried unsuccessfully to extricate herself from his grasp. “And I must tell you that I’m not accustomed to such advances from a man I scarcely know. So I insist that you let me go at once. If my uncle only knew ...

  “He would do what? Challenge me to a showdown at high noon? Horsewhip me? Pack his bags and head east without signing the contracts he came here for?” Breen threw back his head and laughed. “Your innocence is as delightful as your beauty. Ah, Juliana, I see I’ve frightened you. Now come on, honey, don’t be scared.” To her relief, he released her suddenly and stepped back with a gallant bow. “I’m sorry if I stepped over the line—but you’re so darned pretty—and I like seeing that angry sparkle that comes into your eyes whenever you think I’m getting presumptuous. Now I promise to take things nice and slow. But just the same, you and I are going to get acquainted during this little visit.”

  “I suppose we shall,” she retorted, dodging past him and starting back toward the house. “As well acquainted as anyone can become in two weeks. My uncle’s stay here will not be lengthy—which in my opinion is a very good thing. Good evening, Mr. Breen!”

  She plunged through the doors into the brightness of the parlour like a fleeing deer, certain he would try to seize her and draw her back. But Breen merely watched her go, delighted with her display of spirit. Leisurely, as the doors slammed shut behind her, he reached into his pocket and removed his cigar.

  “Your uncle will stay put right here in Denver until I say otherwise, honey,” he mused as he lit up, inhaling with great satisfaction.

  Juliana Montgomery didn’t understand that yet. She didn’t recognize one tenth of the power he wielded. But she would, Breen knew, and very soon. She’d take a bit of taming, but there was nothing he liked better than to exercise the power of his own will. He had no doubt of the outcome. His reward would be the loveliest woman this side of the ocean, presiding over his home, raising his son, reaping the benefits of his empire. Not bad for a man who started out fifteen years ago with little more than a horse and saddle to his name. He’d had a fancy education and a bushel of charm, but his purse back then had been as empty as his soul. Now he could have anything he wanted—including Juliana Montgomery.

  Especially Juliana Montgomery. The more he saw of her, the more Breen knew that she must be his next acquisition. Nothing and no one—including that greedy uncle of hers or that upstart cowhand Gil Keedy—had better get in his way.

  Breen blew a smoke ring and watched it sail upward into the night. He smiled to himself in the dark.

  Juliana, meanwhile, holding her skirts in one hand, dashed through the parlour without pausing and hurried straight upstairs to her room. She was mentally reviewing the entire conversation with John Breen while a dreadful icy fear slid over her.

  How could Breen act so smug, so sure of himself, and behave with such odious presumption? It was as if he had no fear whatsoever of censure, as if Uncle Edward had given him carte blanche to do as he wished ...

  But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?

  In an agony of uncertainty she kicked off her satin dancing slippers and threw herself down in the chair before the dressing table. Her fingers plucked ten gold hairpins from her hair and a riot of curls cascaded down, but Juliana ignored the fetchingly tousled image in the mirror, biting her lip instead as she concentrated on the situation facing her.

  She knew Uncle Edward wanted these business contracts very badly. But would he actually make a bargain like the one she was envisioning? John Breen had practically told her he was in the market for a wife—and he had hinted that she was the most eligible candidate—but surely Uncle Edward wouldn’t have arranged a marriage for her to a man she didn’t even know—a man like John Breen.

  Yet, as Juliana sat there facing her reflection, she realized with a creeping horror that Uncle Edward would not share in her opinion of John Breen. To him, Breen represented the perfect husband for his vexatious niece, the perfect solution to a thorny problem. He could secure his business relationship with one of the richest men in the country, and at the same time rid himself of the girl he’d been forced by duty to raise since childhood.

  It wasn’t as if she had any prospects for marriage awaiting her in St. Louis, Juliana reflected tremblingly. Mama’s past as a dance-hall girl had somehow leaked out into polite society—and that, combined with Juliana’s own feisty spirit and sometimes unorthodox ways, had branded her as ineligible marriage material—perfectly acceptable at parties, of course, thanks to Aunt Katharine and Uncle Edward’s sponsorship—but certainly not as a prospective wife for any young man of good background. If word got out about Wade and Tommy’s infamous exploits, Juliana knew, even social engagements might become scarce ...

  She had realized this for sometime, and lived with the hurt of it. But J
uliana would rather die than let anyone see her rage over the way she was deemed “inferior stock.” Pride got her through those parties and teas and balls, pride kept her head high and her smile brilliant while she endured the compliments and attentions of smitten young men too weak-spined to defy their parents by courting her seriously, yet too enamored of her charms to leave her alone. Even though the sting of overheard words and superior glances bit through her tender heart, she never let a trace of pain reveal itself in her face or manner. So far, she hadn’t met a young man she truly cared for, so she hadn’t yet had to suffer because of the stigma attached to her, but she knew that if some day she did meet someone who mattered to her, he had better not come from the ranks of St. Louis society, or she would be doomed to unhappiness.

  It was possible, she reflected with a wrenching of the heart, that Uncle Edward, casting about for a solution to the problem of his unmarriageable niece, might indeed have jumped at John Breen’s offer—if an offer had been made. Sitting before the mirror, with the fiddler’s music just reaching her ears, she began to shiver uncontrollably. Dear Lord, had she been sold to that man down there? Bartered and sold to that tall, handsome John Breen with his strange eyes and a touch that inexplicably made her skin crawl? A wild throbbing born of panic began in her chest and spiraled upward to her temples until she thought her head would burst.

  She jumped up from the chair and paced the room. There was a way out of this, there had to be a way out. She wouldn’t sit idly by and let herself be sold on the marriage block like a piece of livestock. If Uncle Edward had made any deals behind her back, he could just cancel them. She would rather set out into the world on her own and work her fingers to the bone than marry a man she did not love.

  Love. What did she know of love? Not one single thing, Juliana had to admit as she paused before the window and stared out in agitation at the shadowed mountains. Maybe it didn’t exist, except in books and fairy tales. Maybe it didn’t come to girls who laughed at the wrong times or who danced for the sheer pleasure of it or who unbuttoned their blouses on hot, stuffy trains—Aunt Katharine said wickedness was never rewarded. But wicked or not, Juliana knew without a single doubt that she would not find love with John Breen.

  She had better find a way out.

  4

  During the next few days Juliana found herself thwarted in every attempt to speak privately with her uncle. He was either closeted with John Breen discussing “business,” or they were all together: Breen, Aunt Katharine, and Victoria, and it was impossible for her to broach either her fears, or her objections to the situation she suspected was brewing. No matter how many times she tried to waylay her uncle, she never was able to speak to him alone. But she did manage to avoid being alone with John Breen, which was something to be thankful for, and to escape from the ranch every afternoon on horseback. She and Victoria set about exploring the countryside, but her cousin, not nearly as adept a rider as Juliana, after a few days pronounced herself too sore to venture out again. On Friday, Juliana led Columbine, the mare that had been assigned for her use, from the corral and prepared to set out alone.

  She needed a diversion from the confines of the ranch house, which she found oppressive for all its grandness and comfort. And she needed a release for the tension that had been building inside her ever since she had arrived at Twin Oaks. She couldn’t wait to race freely through the wild grasses. Only when she was alone and far from John Breen’s watchful eye did she feel she could breathe easily, and convince herself that she would not be snared into a marriage she didn’t want.

  The cowhands were all out riding the range, but as she stepped from the corral, admiring the cloudless sapphire sky that stretched above, she heard angry voices coming from behind the barn, disturbing the peace of the beautiful spring afternoon. The voices slashed through the lovely crystal air like the scrape of knives against each other, jarring her nerves.

  “Don’t ever show your face in this county again, boy. No cattleman will give you work after this.”

  She recognized Bart Mueller’s voice, even though she had never heard that harsh note in it before. Juliana held perfectly still, listening, as beside her the mare pawed the dust.

  “You’re a liar, Mueller—and Breen, damned if you don’t know it.” There was no mistaking Gil Keedy’s Texas drawl, agitated as it was. “I don’t know what kind of a game the two of you are playing but you know like hell that Mueller’s the one sent me down to the south pasture to check on those calves. He never said a word about riding the north range. Why would I have been busting my back these past few days down by Flat Peak if he hadn’t told me to do it?”

  “I don’t begin to understand why a lazy, good-for-nothing hombre like you does anything, Keedy, but you can get the hell off my ranch.”

  John Breen. The icy smooth, even tones reached Juliana’s ears with unmistakable clarity. Juliana edged closer, moving at an angle where she could glimpse behind the barn as the men continued talking.

  “The boys on the north range were shorthanded because of you and I can’t afford to have my ranch suffer because you can’t follow orders,” Breen continued. “Pick up your wages from Dusty and get out.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Breen,” Gil shot back hotly. “I reckon Twin Oaks has gotten a mite odorous for my taste. Matter of fact, the place stinks like a pig’s innards.” With that he turned on his heel and marched off, and immediately spotted Juliana. He motioned her out of sight in front of the barn, then joined her with quick strides, saying tersely, “Can’t talk now, but I’ve got something to tell you. Meet me over by Durham’s Creek. Know where that is?”

  She shook her head, holding tight to Columbine’s bridle.

  His face was still flushed with anger; his usually merry eyes unnaturally bright and hard in the dazzling sunshine. “Half a mile west of here—there’s a trail leading straight to the creek bank. You’ll find it easy, there’s a stand of willow, and some rocks piled up beside a yucca.” He helped her to mount, glancing quickly over his shoulder. John Breen and Mueller were walking in the opposite direction toward the cookhouse and hadn’t noticed them. “Mount up now and git,” Gil whispered. “I’ll be there directly.” She had no time to ask him any questions even though she was bursting with them. But his grave expression was enough to quell her curiosity for the moment, until she could be sure no one was about.

  “You won’t be long?” was all she said as she gathered up the reins.

  “Quicker’n a snake’s bite,” he replied with a swift smile. He slapped the mare’s rump, and Columbine took off with Juliana leaning low in the saddle. She didn’t look back, didn’t see Gil heading toward his horse in the corral—and didn’t see John Breen and Bart Mueller turn in time to notice her riding away.

  It was hot in the sun when she reached the creek. The water gurgled quietly beside the softly waving grasses of pale green and yellow. High red rocks piled up beside a yucca told her she was in the right place. The mountains rose beyond, towering granite walls that shimmered in amethyst splendor beneath the sun. Juliana dismounted and breathed a sigh of pleasure in the solitude of this lonely, beauteous spot.

  From above came the sweet chirping of birds, but otherwise it was quiet, save for the murmuring water and the rustling of cottonwood leaves. The sky was so bright a blue, it hurt her eyes to look at it, and she immediately unbuttoned the bright red jacket of her riding habit and slipped it off, loosening the gray silk neckerchief about her throat as well. Her white linen blouse stuck damply to her skin, making her glance longingly at the creek, but she had no time to splash water on her face, or even to cup her hands and take a drink, for no sooner had she tethered Columbine to a nearby cottonwood than a horse and rider charged into the clearing. She hurried forward as Gil swung down from his saddle.

  “Breen’s fired me,” he said without preamble. “You heard that?”

  “Yes, I heard, but what I don’t understand, Gil, is why? If there was some kind of mix-up ...”

  “There wa
s no mix-up. He set it up deliberately so I’d get the wrong orders from Mueller, and not show up where I was needed. For some reason, he wants me off the ranch.”

  Gil was looking at her oddly, squinting beneath his hat, and Juliana suddenly remembered the night at the party when Mueller had said something to John Breen and Breen had immediately glanced over at Gil—that had happened right after she and Gil had had a long conversation. The horrible thought that Gil had been fired because of her made her blood turn cold.

  “Something strange has been going on with Breen,” Gil went on with a shake of his head. “I’ve heard a lot of rumors about him maybe gettin’ married. And all of the cowhands have been ordered to stay away from the ranch house—and the visitors.”

  Juliana felt the color draining from her face. “So it’s true,” she whispered. “He’s made some arrangement with my uncle—and he doesn’t want me to hear of it yet—and Gil ...” She felt anger welling up within her. “You were fired merely because we struck up a friendship that night!”

  He took a few turns about the clearing, his head bent in thought. “Maybe—maybe not. There’s a few other reasons he might want to get rid of me, Juliana. I know some things about his way of operating, things that stick in my craw. You could say Mr. Breen and me have differin’ philosophies.”

  Juliana paid no attention to the squirrel that darted through the brush beside her, startling the horses. She was watching Gil’s troubled face. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I reckon we don’t agree on the right way to go about acquiring other people’s land—and businesses. Mr. Breen has his own method of getting people to sell out to him. He plays rough, Juliana. And he always manages to get a real low price for what he wants. By the time he’s through, folks are ready and eager to sell to him and glad to still be alive.”