His sisters had tried to tell him so.
But all those insights aside, if Anne Rutherford were as sincere as a nun, Sloan still wouldn’t have married her feeling as he did about Samantha, and he must tell Anne so.
He was coming upon the Windy Bluff area. Sloan scanned the range across the fence for a pair of red horn tips but saw instead a saddled horse tethered to a fence post. For a second, his heart leaped, but the spiritless horse wasn’t Pony. Its rider must have heard his approach. Sloan had reined in his cutting horse for only a minute before a man appeared from behind the towering boulders misnamed for a bluff. “Todd Baker!” Sloan said in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here? And what is that thing you’ve got in your hand?”
Chapter Forty-One
Sloan could hear the distant ringing from the lone belfry bell of the area’s small Catholic church when he set off down the road to Fort Worth early the next morning. Vaya con Dios—“Go with God”—it said to him, and he hoped it would be so. He had made the decision last night to break it off with Anne today. He would catch her at an awkward time. The family would likely be still at breakfast, but there was no other slot in the Rutherfords’ typical Sunday schedule to speak to her. After attending church services, Anne and her family would dine at the Worth (Sloan had declined an invitation to join them), and afterward, she would meet with a ladies’ group to discuss plans for an upcoming charity ball. Sunday evenings the Rutherfords gathered for supper at the home of the matriarch of the family, the mother of Noble Rutherford, Anne’s father and the president of the bank that held Sloan’s loan and where he served as chairman of the board. For the last few Sundays, Sloan had declined those invitations as well. He could have waited for a more appropriate time, but he wanted his business with Anne Rutherford over and done with before another sunrise. Then at least he could breathe more fully even if his heart was no easier.
It was heavier than ever this morning after his encounter with Todd Baker yesterday afternoon. Todd had never been a favorite of his. His superior attitude rankled, and Sloan had tolerated the geologist for Samantha’s sake. He had known the little weasel was up to no good when he flushed him out from behind the boulders at Windy Bluff. The geologist’s Adam’s apple had bobbed like a puck in a fairground’s ring-the-bell attraction when he’d caught him with Samantha’s archeological relic. He’d gaped up at Sloan on his horse and couldn’t talk fast enough in telling him how he came to be there. He’d told him about Sam’s request to take a look at what she suspected might be the fossilized head of a dinosaur, the ride on Saved, and the toss into the dirt where his nose had picked up the scent of oil. He’d admitted to doubling back after Sam had let him off at the train depot to collect further soil samples for analysis. If lab tests indicated petroleum was present, it was his notion that Windy Bluff could be the site of a productive oil field. He’d not told Samantha what he suspected, because he knew how she’d feel about drilling for oil near what she believed could be a possible burial ground of prehistoric creatures. Sloan understood that, didn’t he?
Sloan had ignored the question. “Then what?”
Why, then, Todd had said, he’d take his report to his boss at Waverling Tools, who’d then approach Neal Gordon for the right to drill where his nose had been.
“And that skeleton head you’re holding is part of the oil samples?” Sloan had asked.
Todd had peered down at the fossil as if he did not know how it got into his hand. He’d swallowed hard, obviously caught empty of an explanation.
“You came out here to dig it up, didn’t you?” Sloan said. “That’s the real reason you sneaked back—to steal Sam’s discovery so she’d have no proof to present as an argument against drilling.”
“No—no! I—I—thought that while I was out here, I’d take it to—to keep it safe.”
“Uh-huh,” Sloan had said. It was plain that Todd was lying. Sloan had gotten down from his horse and gone to the fence and held out his palm. “Give it to me.”
Todd had drawn back, cradling the skull to his chest. “What?”
“You heard me. Give it to me.”
Slowly, Todd had handed over the skull. “What do you intend to do with it?”
“Give it to Samantha for safekeeping.”
Todd’s face screwed up in protest, but somehow his backbone stiffened. His voice was stronger when he spoke. “I beg you to reconsider that, Sloan. There’s oil over here, and that could mean the field spreads across the fence line to the Triple S, but we won’t know how big or how much unless we drill. Just imagine… no more money worries because of drought, cattle disease, falling beef prices, high rail rates. No more concerns about losing your ranch because of failure to meet loan or mortgage payments. The discovery of oil would make you too rich to worry about the future of the Triple S.”
Sloan had returned to his horse, and Todd had thrown out one last plea. “All I’m asking is that you think twice before handing over that skull to Samantha,” he’d begged. “Without it, there’s no evidence to support claim of her finding.”
“There’s her word.”
“But no physical finding to present to the scientific community. Without it, an archeological team will never set foot on Las Tres Lomas. But no matter,” Todd had said, defiantly squaring his shoulders. “If my samples prove me right, I’m taking my report to my boss, and he’ll be calling upon Neal Gordon. I think we both know which side he’ll favor in the matter.”
“You do know you’re betraying Samantha’s trust, don’t you?” Sloan said. He had taken off his shirt to serve as a sack for the skull that he could tie to his saddle horn. Todd’s brief mettle melted as quickly as butter in a hot pan.
“Yes, I do. Much to my regret,” he admitted.
Sloan had left Todd at the fence, looking as crestfallen as he’d ever seen a man, but Sloan felt as dispirited. If Todd’s soil samples proved his suspicions right, Sloan saw another serious conflict widening the gulf between Neal and Samantha. Neal would want to drill. Samantha would not. Neal would see no value in forgoing a fortune that might be under his land to preserve a burial ground of extinct animals that may or may not be. Whatever the cause of the first one, another situation of loyalty would be at stake. When it came right down to it, would Samantha argue for preservation of an archeological site over securing the financial welfare of Las Tres Lomas?
Sloan was aware that he presented a strange sight to whoever was looking when he rode back to the ranch naked to the waist. Billie June came into the kitchen just as he’d finished buttoning into his shirt, and he’d hurriedly secured the fossil under his arm and didn’t stop to hear what she had to discuss with him. “Later,” he’d said. No point in involving anybody else in Todd’s trickery until he’d spoken to Samantha. He’d carried the skull up to his room with the plan of stopping by Estelle’s the next day after he’d seen Anne to tell Samantha what had happened. Because the skull looked fragile, he’d leave it in his wardrobe and maybe they would ride back together for her to collect it.
A familiar figure bounced along on a mule about thirty yards ahead, and Sloan recognized the portly shape of Grizzly on the back of his long-eared mule, Delilah. Sloan recalled Samantha’s lament: I should have listened to Grizzly and Wayne’s advice and never started down this road… Delilah was moving at the speed of molasses poured cold. Sloan considered whether to slow down for a chat with the cook and risk appearing at the Rutherfords’ too late and at Estelle’s after Samantha left for Las Tres Lomas. Maybe he could get Grizzly to open up about the rift between Sam and her father, though Sloan doubted it. Grizzly was not one to tell tales out of school.
“Morning, Grizzly,” Sloan said, drawing abreast.
“Mornin’, Sloan.”
“On your way to church?”
“Yep. You on your way to see Miss Rutherford?”
“You could say that.”
Sloan thought he heard a soft humph from the cook. “Everything going all right at Las Tres Lomas?” he asked.
“Well, now, that’d be a question you wouldn’t have to ask if you came around more often.”
“Ah, Grizzly.” Sloan pitched his voice sorrowfully. “These days I have to be invited.”
Grizzly cocked an eye at him. “By who?”
“Samantha.”
“Since when?”
“Since she sort of kicked me out of the house two months ago, about the time she and Neal had a falling-out. At least, that’s what I call it.”
Grizzly eyed him in surprise. “You know about that?”
Sloan shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I don’t know about it, but things haven’t seemed the same between them since the day Neal shot the mountain lion.” He lifted an eyebrow at the cook. “You know anything to shed light on the situation?”
Grizzly turned his head aside to spit into the grass. “Not for me to tell. You’d have to ask Mornin’ Glory.”
“She’s not speaking to me much these days. She’s cut me loose from her confidence. That’s why I haven’t been around much. A couple of months ago, Sam told me clear as a bell that I’m to stay out of her business. Fact is, I don’t feel so welcome at Las Tres Lomas anymore.”
Grizzly said in an explosion of temper, “Well, whose fault is that?”
“Not mine!” Sloan said in surprise.
“It damn sure is!” Grizzly said.
Sloan pulled his horse to a sudden stop. “How do you figure?”
“Whoa up, Delilah babe,” Grizzly said and shifted his weight in the saddle to face Sloan. “Don’t you see that Samantha is protecting her pride by cuttin’ you loose, as you say?”
Dumbfounded, Sloan said, “Protecting her pride! What the hell for?”
Grizzly threw his eyes heavenward and uttered a deep sigh. “God almighty, how did you get me into this conversation, Sloan Singleton? I guess I’m goin’ to have to cut out my tongue to keep myself from blabbin’ so much.”
Sloan kneed his Thoroughbred to block Delilah’s path. “Grizzly, if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about, I’ll cut out your tongue myself.”
“Samantha is in love with you, you numbskull, but do you think she’d show it when you’ve gone and taken up with Miss Rutherford! Not on your life! Not our Mornin’ Glory. Miss Rutherford is no more right for you than gravy on cake,” Grizzly said. “There! I’ve got that burr out from under my saddle. Now get out of my way, or you’ll make me late for church!”
Sloan drew his horse aside. “How do you know Sam’s in love with me?”
“Ask her!” Grizzly said, pumping his knees to hurry Delilah along.
“I will!” Sloan cried and slapped his reins across his horse’s neck to spur him to a full gallop.
Chapter Forty-Two
As he entered the residential area of Fort Worth that was home to the wealthy, Sloan was torn between riding first to Estelle’s town house five streets over from the Rutherford mansion before meeting with Anne, but wisdom curbed his impatience. He must remove the obstacle of Anne to clear a path for Samantha. Hope beat frantically in his chest that Grizzly was not imagining Samantha’s feelings for him, but then the Gordons’ faithful old cook knew her better in some ways than anybody else in her life.
In the courtyard of the Rutherfords’ palatial home, Sloan found a couple of grooms harnessing a pair of matching white stallions to the carriage that would take Anne and her parents to the Broadway Presbyterian Church. Noble Rutherford had financed the awe-inspiring brick structure and served as an elder on its governing board. The grooms were accustomed to seeing Sloan on the premises and exchanged nods with him as he ascended the broad splay of steps to push the modish buzzer that had replaced the traditional door knocker.
A maid responded to the loud, irritating bzzzz he could hear from within the house. “Mr. Singleton!” she said in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you, sir.”
“My apologies for coming unannounced, Bella, but I must see Miss Rutherford,” Sloan said. “Would you let her know I’m here?”
Anne Rutherford came tearing out of the dining room, silken robe and undressed hair flying. She had obviously seen him ride up from her place at the table facing the courtyard windows. “That won’t be necessary, Bella,” she said, rushing to greet him with extended hands, delight at his appearance sparkling in her eyes. “I’m here, Sloan,” she said, as if his search for her was finally over.
Her beauty could stop a man’s heart, Sloan conceded, but he felt no twinge of sorrow at what he must do. Her hands were warm and soft when she took his. “Forgive me for not telephoning first,” he said.
Her father had come out into the hall, wearing a silk smoking jacket, the corner of a napkin tucked into his collar. His lowering countenance, dominated by a pair of dark, bristly eyebrows, was considerably less welcoming than Anne’s when he greeted Sloan and shook his hand. Noble Rutherford was not unaware of the grief the chairman of his board of directors had lately caused his daughter.
“Well, never mind,” Anne said airily, taking his arm. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters. Just in time for breakfast, too. Daddy, will you have Bella set another place at table?”
Sloan laid a hand over the clasp of his arm. “I’m sorry, Anne, but I’m not staying,” he said gently. “May we go somewhere to talk?”
Anne slowly withdrew her hand. “Of course,” she said, her smile tensing around small, white teeth.
Sloan ignored the suspicious draw of Noble Rutherford’s ominous eyebrows as he followed the banker’s daughter into the morning room. In a quarter of an hour, it was over. Sloan had explained his reason for coming and had watched the shock of it drain the luminosity from Anne’s face. Yet she took the news that he would no longer be calling upon her better than he’d expected and dreaded. She did not even ask who or what was responsible for the change in his affections. He gathered from the set of her shoulders and lifted chin that to do so would be beneath her dignity, and Sloan was grateful for that particular streak of pride in Anne. He even sensed that before he concluded the purpose of his visit, she’d already begun to work out how best to turn this humiliating alteration of her expectations to her public advantage.
But as he left the morning room, he felt the blaze of her bitterness warm his back like heat from a flow of lava.
Departing the house in which his welcome would forever be withdrawn, Sloan suspected that he had made an enemy of Noble Rutherford, whose hostility would last the rest of the banker’s life. Noble was not a forgiving man. Sloan must make sure never to miss a loan payment and would, of course, resign from the board of directors of the Rutherford City Bank. Sloan was leaving with no regrets but for his loneliness and blindness that had led to this unfortunate situation, but that misguided spell was behind him now and in the past. Now he had to see to his future, and he had to hurry.
Sloan’s heart beat like a pendulum gone awry as he bounded up the steps of the town house and made zealous use of the brass lion’s head on the front door. Estelle attended the First Methodist Church on Fourth and Jones Streets, and she might have enticed Samantha to services since she never missed an opportunity to show her off. On the other hand, Estelle might elect to stay home this Sunday to enjoy her daughter’s company without sharing it with the congregation. Sloan expected Mildred to answer the knocking and demand if he believed the residents to be deaf, but it was Samantha who opened the door.
“Sloan!” she said, gray eyes rounding in surprise. “What are you doing here?” She was dressed in a morning robe, her hair unfettered, falling in thick golden ropes over her shoulders to the curve of her breasts, and Sloan was stunned by a thought so shattering his eyes misted over. What if Grizzly was wrong? What if Samantha did not love him?
Samantha gave a soft “Oh!” of concern. Automatically, she reached out and laid a hand on his face, as she’d done when his father had died. “Sloan, what’s the matter? It’s not one of your sisters, is it?”
He folded his hand around hers. “No,” he said and blurted out,
“Samantha, I have a question to ask you. An important one.”
She stepped back into the hall, a blend of relief and curiosity in her eyes, and he followed, her hand still in his clutch. “Ask me what?”
Mildred had come down the hall to answer the door and Estelle to the open doorway of her parlor, curious as to who had called. Sloan was suddenly dry-tongued. Before either woman could speak, Samantha repeated, “Ask me what, Sloan?”
“Samantha, are you in love with me?”
Estelle clapped her hand to her cheek. “Oh, my goodness!”
Mildred drew to a stop and muttered something in the Comanche language.
Over her shoulder, Samantha said, “Mother, Mildred, will you please leave us?”
Estelle backed into the parlor; Mildred headed down to the kitchen.
Samantha turned back to Sloan. “What was the question again?”
“I thought I made it pretty clear. Are you in love with me?”
Samantha jerked away her hand and stepped back as if floodwaters were lapping at her feet. “That’s what I thought you said. What kind of joke is this?”
Sloan shortened the distance between them. “A simple one with a simple answer. Yes or no. Are you in love with me?” He could see her mind working with the question. She had never lied to him. She frowned and shook her head, but only from the obvious effort of trying to figure out what this was all about. He could have made it easier for her, but he had his pride, too.
“Why are you asking?” she said. “What has gotten into you?”
They could play this hedging game all day, and he hadn’t the time or heart for it. The mist gone from his eyes, Sloan took another step and drew her to him. She fit into the mold of his arm and body like a custom-made glove, and he kissed her long and hard, and after a startled second’s struggle, she kissed him back, looping her arms around his neck. “My God, you do love me!” he declared when she broke free of his hold.