Nora Roberts: Lawless

Stable that horse, damn you,” he shouted at Jim. “Then come inside. You’ve a great deal to answer for.”

It stunned her, left her limp, when Jim merely shrugged and led his horse away. It must be a joke, a bizarre joke, she thought, bringing her trembling hands to her lips. But it wasn’t. She knew it was much too deadly to be a joke.

“Samuel-”

“My dear, I don’t know what to say.” He slipped a supporting arm around her waist. “I can’t begin to apologize for my brother’s outrageous behavior. Are you hurt? Dear Lord, your dress is torn.” He had her by the shoulders then, and the look in his eyes froze her blood. “Did he touch you, molest you?”

She managed to shake her head, once, then twice.

Then the words came. “Samuel, he killed my father. It was for the gold. There’s gold in the mine. He must have found out and he-he murdered my father.”

She was breathless now, her hands clinging to his trim black vest. He only stared at her, stared until she wanted to scream. “Samuel, you must believe me.”

“You’re overwrought,” he said stiffly. “And no wonder. Come in out of the heat.”

“But he-”

“You needn’t worry about Jim.” He led her inside the thick adobe walls. “He won’t bother you again. You have my word. I want you to wait in my office.” His voice was quiet, soothing, as he led her past his mother’s portrait and into a room. “Try to relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Samuel, please be careful. He might-he could hurt you.”

“No.” He patted her hand as he eased her into a chair. “He’ll do exactly what I tell him.”

When the door shut, she covered her face with her hands. For a moment she let the hysteria she’d fought off take control. He’d intended to kill her. She was certain of it, from the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d smiled at her. Why in God’s name had he brought her here, where she would be protected by Samuel?

Protected. After letting out a shaky breath, she waited until her heartbeat leveled and the need to scream passed. She was safe now. But it wasn’t over.

She closed her eyes briefly. It was far from over. It was madness. Jim Carlson was as mad as his poor mother had been, but instead of killing himself he had killed her father. She wanted to weep, to let the new, aching grief come. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t weep, and she couldn’t sit.

Rising, she began to pace. The room was small but beautifully furnished. There were delicate porcelain figurines and a painting in fragile pastels. It reflected Samuel’s elegant taste and eye for beauty. How un-alike the brothers were, she thought.

Cain and Abel.

With a hand on her heart, she rushed to the door. She could never have borne the guilt if one brother killed another over her.

But the door was locked. For a moment she thought it was only her nerves making her fumble. After a deep breath she tried the knob again. It resisted.

Whirling around, she stared at the room. Locked in? But why? For her own protection? Samuel must have thought she would be safer behind a locked door until he came back for her.

And if it was Jim who came back with the key? Her heart thudding in her throat, she began a frantic search for a weapon.

She pulled out desk drawers, pushing ruthlessly through papers. If not a pistol, she thought, then a knife, even a letter opener. She would not be defenseless.

Not again. She tugged open the middle drawer, and the brass pulls knocked against the glossy mahogany. Her hand froze when she saw the miniature. Her miniature.

Like a sleepwalker, she reached for it, staring blindly.

It was the self-portrait that she had painted the year before, the one she had shipped to her father for Christmas. The one, Sarah realized as her fingers closed over it, that he had shown with pride to his friends in town. The one that had been missing from his possessions. Missing because it had been taken by his murderer.

When the key turned in the lock, she didn’t bother to close the drawer or to hide what she held in her hand. Instead, she rose and faced him.

“It was you,” she murmured as Samuel Carlson closed and locked the door behind him. “You killed my father.”

Carlson crossed the room until only the desk was between them. “Sarah.” His voice was almost a sigh, a sigh touched with patience. In his hand he carried a delicate cup filled with fragrant tea. But she noted that he had strapped on his gun. “I realize how upset you must be after Jim’s inexcusable behavior. Now, why don’t you sit down, compose yourself?”

“You killed my father,” she repeated. It was rage she felt now, waves of it.

“That’s ridiculous.” The words were said gently. “I haven’t killed anyone. Here, my dear. I’ve brought you some tea. It should help calm you.”

The quiet sincerity in his eyes caused her to falter. He must have sensed it, because he smiled and stepped forward. Instantly she backed away. “Why was this in your desk?”

Carlson looked at the miniature in her hand. “A woman should never intrude on a man’s personal belongings.” His voice became indulgent as he set the cup on the desk. “But since you have, I’ll confess. I can be faulted for being overly romantic, I suppose.

The moment I saw it, I fell in love with you. The moment I saw your face, I wanted you.” He held out a hand, palm up, as if he were asking for a dance. “Come, Sarah, you can’t condemn me for that.”

Confused, she shook her head. “Tell me how this came to be in your drawer when it belonged to my father.”

Impatience clouded his face, and he dropped his hand to his side. “Isn’t baring my soul enough for you? You knew, right from the beginning, you knew the way I felt about you. You deceived me.” There was more than impatience in his face now. Something else was building in him. Something that had the bright, hot taste of fear clogging her throat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Samuel.” She spaced her words carefully and kept her eyes on his. “But you’re right. I’m upset, and I’m not myself. I’d prefer to go home now and discuss all of this later.” With the miniature still clutched in her hand, she stepped around the desk and toward the door. The violence with which he grabbed her and shoved her back against the wall had her head reeling.

“It’s too late. Jim’s interference has changed everything. His interference, and your prying. I was patient with you, Sarah. Now it’s too late.”

His face was close to hers-close enough for her to see clearly what was in his eyes. She wondered, as the blood drained slowly from her face, how it was that she’d never seen it before. The madness was bright and deadly. She tried to speak and found she had to swallow first.

“Samuel, you’re hurting me.”

“I would have made you a queen.” He took one hand and brought it up to stroke her face. She cringed, but his eyes warned her not to move. “I would have given you everything a woman could want. Silk.” He traced a finger over her cheekbone. “Diamonds.” Then he ran it lightly down her throat. “Gold.” His hand tightened abruptly around her windpipe. Before she could begin to struggle, it was loosened again. “Gold, Sarah. It belonged to me, truly to me. My grandfather had no right to lose that part of my heritage.

And your father…he had no right to deny me what was already mine.”

“He did it for me.” Perhaps she could calm him, if only she could remain calm herself, before it was too late. “He only wanted to see that I was taken care of.”

“Of course.” He nodded, as if he were pleased that she understood. “Of course he did. As I do. It would have been yours as much as mine. I would never have let you suffer because I had taken it back. As my wife, you would have had every luxury. We would have gone back east together. That was always my plan. I was going to follow you back east and court you. But you stayed. You should never have stayed, Sarah. This isn’t the place for you. I knew it the moment I saw your picture. It was there, in that miserable little cabin, beside the cot. I found it while I was looking for the deed to the mine.”