Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (26 page)

Chapter Twelve

Pamela waited until Jedediah had ridden away before head
ing for the Randolph ranch to warn Garrett. Unfortunately,
Daisy had been killed, which forced her to make the
twelve-mile walk on foot. It was not something she looked forward to. The prairie was filled with dangers during day
light, even more at night.

But what choice did she have? She couldn’t consider doing anything else until she had warned Garrett of the possibility of being Jedediah’s prey.

If she kept up a brisk pace, she could arrive at the Ran
dolph ranch in three to four hours. With a large canteen of fresh water slung over her shoulder, Pamela headed out, Richard’s words and the threat in them playing over and over in her mind.

* * * *

“What do you mean he’s not here? He’s
got
to be here!”
Pamela said to Juan, the butler, who flatly refused to allow her through the gargantuan front doors of the Randolph ranch house.

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance,” a male voice said from inside.

The butler stepped away, after giving Pamela one last dis
dainful look. Apparently, he was unaccustomed to women
who wore Levi’s arriving at the ranch long after sundown
and requesting a private meeting with Señor Randolph, the younger. The butler’s incredulity only served to
heighten Pamela’s awareness of the differences between her
world and the one Garrett lived in.

Paul Randolph, Garrett’s older brother, opened the door wide and stepped aside for Pamela to enter. “I’m sure what
ever the problem is, it isn’t nearly as bad as it now seems.”

His smile was polite and politic—not friendly, to be sure, but at least polite—and that was about as much as Pamela could expect.

“Thank you for letting me in. I’ve got to speak with
Garrett immediately. It’s terribly, terribly, terribly important
that I do.”

“Three terriblys in one problem?” Paul’s eyebrows did
a little dance of amusement. “Let’s step into the library
and we can discuss this terrible problem. You look ex
hausted, if I may be so bold as to say so.”

“I had to walk here.”

Her answer brought Paul up short. “From your house?” he asked, knowing how far away it was. Pamela nodded, and
suddenly Paul Randolph was taking this “terrible” prob
lem much more seriously. “You can take your gun belt off.
You won’t need your pistol while you’re here, I can assure
you.”

Pamela had never before given up her guns for anyone.
However, now it seemed the proper thing to do. Though wealthy, the Randolphs were entirely different from the
Darwells. After a second or two of doubt, she removed her gun belt and handed it
to Juan, who took the weapon
, his only visible response the faintest wrinkling of
his nose.

In the library, Paul chased out the maid, Gretchen, who
was busy dusting the books. Then, alone with Pamela, he
poured a glass of wine for her and a small glass of brandy
for himself.
Garrett was the height of propriety—from
all that training as a lawyer, Paul suspected—and Pamela was
not considered “proper” by those deemed fashionable in Whitetail Creek. Besides, her anger toward wealthy people was something
many in and around Whitetail Creek were familiar with.

“Now why exactly must you see my brother immedi
ately?” Paul asked.

It occurred to him that Garrett might have gotten Pamela
pregnant. Such an event would cause more than just a
ripple in his brother’s political plans. Though Garrett’s ca
reer wouldn’t get completely derailed by such a scandal,
it was something to worry about.

Pamela looked at Paul, wondering exactly how much she
could tell him, fighting her own prejudices against men
from his world. Until she’d met Garrett, Pamela had never had
any respect for a wealthy, highly educated man. Paul, as patriarch of the Randolph cattle empire, was wealthy, but
he did not have the advanced formal education Garrett did.

Could she trust him? Had Garrett confided to his brother
that he was the Midnight Phantom?

“I’m waiting for some kind of answer,” Paul said, his
patience wearing thin even though politeness was
in order.

“I’m sorry. It’s really nothing that critical, I suppose. Just
something between my brother and your brother.” This was
partly true, partly a lie, and though Pamela didn’t like deceiv
ing Paul, she realized that for now it was necessary.

“Jedediah and Garrett? I thought that problem with the
reward money from Cold Ridge was straightened out,” Paul said.

“Apparently not,” she said, not at all certain where her
story was headed. She felt she was being sucked into a whirlpool, unable to stop her own destruction.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Paul asked. Some
thing was not as it should be, though what that something was
he couldn’t say. His brother had been acting strangely
lately, and he hadn’t found out what had been bothering him.

“You’re sure Garrett’s not here?” Pamela asked softly, a plaintive quality to her voice that she barely recognized.
She didn’t really believe Garrett was simply trying to avoid
her.

“I’m afraid not. A problem came up, and he had to leave for Fort Richmond. We sell some of our cattle directly to the government through Fort Richmond.”

“Yes, I know.” Everyone had heard of the magnificent
contract Garrett had negotiated for his family with the U.S.
Government for the sale of cattle to feed the cavalrymen.

“Some general or captain in charge of purchasing sent a frantic telegram, and Garrett left as soon as he read it.
It’s not a big problem. Sometimes these men just want to
rattle their sabers to make us Randolphs jump. I think it makes them feel important.”

Pamela found it odd that the powerful Randolphs
could be inconvenienced by anyone or anything.
She was just beginning to understand that she didn’t know
nearly as much about the world of the wealthy as she thought she did.

“Why are you on foot?” Paul asked.

Pamela shrugged. What could she tell him? That her horse
had been shot out from under her while she was riding away from Darwell’s men after stealing the payroll money?

“Miss Bragg, I’m willing to help you if I can, but in order for me to do that, you’re going to have to be more
honest with me than you have been. Now please, why are
you here, what involvement has my brother with your considerable anxiety, and what has happened to your horse?”

“I had to put her down,” Pamela said. “She tripped in a badger hole and broke her leg.”

“Listen, whatever it is you have to say to my brother is clearly important enough to march through the night. We have a guest bedroom here that you can have for the night.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s no inconvenience.” He tugged at an embroidered pull cord near his chair. “Gretchen can help you.”

“But…
”

“Please, allow me to be a gracious host. You’re tired and I’m sure you’d appreciate cleaning up some. Gretchen can provide whatever you require.”

* * * *

Pamela awoke the next morning, first in panic, then with
a wonderful sense of well being.

When she opened her eyes, she did not recognize the room she was in or the bed. Then she remembered the
events of the previous evening—the long walk, the con
versation with Paul Randolph, and Gretchen’s loving, ma
ternal attention.

Though the problem of Jedediah’s considering hunting
the Midnight Phantom still existed, Pamela realized that as long
as Garrett was at Fort Richmond, he was safe.

Sitting up in bed, she stretched, raising her hands high
above her head. The bed was huge, magnificently com
fortable. The nightgown she had been given was also huge,
made of cotton. It was, she suspected, Gretchen’s. It hung
on Pamela in flowing waves of cotton. Pamela had learned that
Gretchen would never serve any food she hadn’t tasted
herself, and since the kind woman was nearly always cooking, she was also nearly always eating, and it
showed on her in a grandmotherly, loving way.

A soft knock on the bedroom door was followed by
Gretchen entering with a large silver serving
tray covered with an assortment of breakfast foods giving
off mouthwatering aromas. Pamela tried to rise—she’d never
before been served breakfast in bed, a decidedly decadent
thing—but Gretchen would have none of it.

“You just stay there ’til that’s all gone, and I’ll come back later to see to you,” she said as she left the room.

Alone again, Pamela smiled. She’d hardly been able to say
a word to the fast-talking older woman. Gretchen had
proved again that she was an independent force at the
Randolph ranch.

Pamela ate scrambled eggs, fresh-baked bread
sliced thick, toasted with care and slathered liberally with
butter, two peach halves in sauce, and four strips of bacon. With this, she drank a small glass of to
mato juice and a cup of coffee. And all before she’d gotten
out of bed.

I could get used to living like this,
she absently thought
as she rose and walked to a large bay window facing west.

The thought surprised her. Live like a pampered debu
tante and like it? Unthinkable. Only it
wasn’t.

Pamela sensed that she would have to be very careful or
she might get swallowed up by this world. She might enjoy
living in luxury so much that she would sacrifice her principles to attain them.

In her mind’s eye, she saw the Darwells waking up and receiving exactly the same type of treatment from the hired help. Pamela tried to cling to this thought, but it was
virtually impossible. She simply couldn’t imagine anyone
like Gretchen working for Jonathon Darwell for any length of time, just as she couldn’t envision the Darwells treating their servants with respect.

Sipping her coffee, looking out to the west, Pamela sur
veyed the Randolph range, a vast spread. At one time she’d
heard the Randolphs had about a hundred cowboys on
their payroll, and when driving a herd from one range to
another, or to the stockyards or northward to Fort Rich
mond, that figure could nearly double. She tried to imag
ine the responsibility entailed in employing so many men,
but she couldn’t.