Nevada Nights (5 page)

Moving quietly across the room, she let herself out. On a bench, Harold Sturgiss sat waiting for her. He looked up as she approached.

"My father’s asleep," she said. "We’ll have a nice long visit tomorrow."

The lawyer nodded and said, "Now we’d better face your reception below. Are you ready?"

Cameron squared her shoulders and unconsciously lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance. "Yes. I’m ready."

Very formally, Harold Sturgiss tucked her small hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her down the stairs and once more into the parlor. The sound of voices stopped abruptly, and all heads swiveled to study the slim girl standing hesitantly in the doorway.

The man who had confronted them earlier now rose and stormed toward them. His imposing figure cut off Cameron’s view of the others. He made no effort to conceal his hostility. With hands on hips, he stared down at the girl who was the object of his anger.

"Cameron McCormick," the lawyer said, "this is your stepbrother, Alex Bannion."

"A stepsister!" The words were spit from between clenched teeth. "Just what this family needed." He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her coldly. "And what did you think of Big John McCormick?" he asked sarcastically.

"I found him very tired," she replied. "We’ll have a nice long visit tomorrow."

He spat out a cruel laugh and turned toward the others in the room. "Well, don’t just sit there. Come and meet Big John’s latest surprise."

Cameron surreptitiously studied the burly, black-tempered Alex. His hands were big, work-roughened. His eyes, as black as his hair, as black as his mood, were narrowed in contempt. His lips were thin, cruel, curled in a sneer. He looked to Cameron like every picture she had ever seen of the devil himself. He frightened her. She made a mental note to keep far away from Alex.

The lawyer led her across the room. "Miss McCormick, this is Alex’s brother, Jarret."

Brothers. Cameron stared at the smaller, paler version of Alex. Jarret was staring at her with wide, almost colorless eyes beneath light hair. His features were bland, registering no emotion. Suddenly he offered his hand, and his mouth split into an imitation of a smile. Cameron expelled the breath she had been unconsciously holding. At least he was being civil, maybe even friendly. Returning the smile, she accepted his handshake.

"Jarret. How nice to meet you."

"Alex, she’s beautiful," Jarret said over her head in a burst of almost childish enthusiasm.

Cameron felt herself blushing. She removed her hand from his and turned away, but not before Alex gave a chilling, calculated smile. His brother’s comment gave him an idea for some fun with this intruder. He’d find the proper time for it.

Sturgiss led Cameron to a long sofa, where a young girl sat covered with a velvet lap robe.

"Miss McCormick, this is your half-sister, Miriam McCormick."

Cameron stared at the pale, blond girl whose eyes were the same deep blue as the man upstairs. Yes. This was John McCormick’s daughter. But a half- sister. That meant that they had different mothers.

Cameron extended her hand, smiling brightly. "Miriam. It’s so nice to discover I have a sister. I’m eighteen. How old are you?"

The hand she took was as cold as ice. The girl said nothing, but Cameron noted the narrowing of her eyes, the hard line of her mouth. She wasn’t even trying to disguise her dislike of Cameron.

A cruel laugh from Alex startled her. "Eighteen. Why she’s the same age as you, Miriam. Big John certainly spread himself around. What a sly old tomcat."

Cameron winced at the remark and started to turn away from Miriam’s accusing eyes.

A foreign-looking man said solemnly, "Miss McCormick, my name is Ti. I am the brother of Nina." He indicated an unsmiling, darkly beautiful woman seated across the room. There was a musical lilt to his carefully cultured English voice. Though he, too, was unsmiling, there was a softness about his mouth and eyes.

In a tall wing chair sat the exotic Nina. She looked alien, with coffee-colored skin gleaming in the sunlight and huge dark eyes staring thoughtfully at the newcomer. Jet black hair was pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. Large gold hoops dangled through her ear lobes. She was dressed in a black gown with a heavy black shawl draped tightly about her shoulders.

Cameron approached her, extending her hand. "Nina."

"Cameron. Welcome." Her tone of voice, the expression on her face, said otherwise.

A servant entered the room leading a small, dark- haired, dark-eyed little boy. Cameron turned and studied him, knowing that he had to be the son of this mysterious woman. He could belong to no one else. The eyes were the same. The same thick, black hair.

He moved solemnly to Alex, whose eyes were still fixed on Cameron with a look of pure hatred.

"Good afternoon, Father. Anna says I have to take a nap."

The man turned, becoming aware for the first time of the arrival of his child. Alex shook his hand formally. No loving kiss for him, thought Cameron.

"Alexander, meet Cameron McCormick," Harold Sturgiss said. "Cameron, this is Alexander Bannion."

The child crossed the room and formally extended his hand. "You have the same last name as Grandfather."

"Yes, I’m his daughter. And I’m very happy to meet you," Cameron said smiling. "How old are you?"

"Four and a half." He returned the smile, then ran to the dark woman seated by the window.

"Will you come up and read to me, Mama?"

She took his hand in hers. Nodding at Cameron, she glanced around the room and said to all, "Excuse me." The voice had the same musical lilt as Ti’s. It was an accent Cameron had never heard. With the most graceful walk Cameron had ever seen, her hips swaying sensually, she moved fluidly across the floor.

Before his wife and child could leave the room, Alex boomed, "And just where did Big John keep you hidden all these years?"

The others in the room watched Cameron’s face. They all shared Alex’s curiosity about this young mysterious woman.

"I was raised in the Convent of the Sisters of Divine Charity, in Canada," Cameron replied.

"A convent!" With a grunt of derisive laughter, Alex added, "Now, that’s perfect. Who would have ever looked for a daughter of that old thief in a convent?"

Cameron drew herself up to her full height and faced his scorn. Around the room she could feel the heightened interest. From their attentive expressions she knew they were secretly enjoying this confrontation.

Alex crossed to a cabinet and lifted a crystal decanter. "Would you care for a glass of sherry?" Smiling mirthlessly, he added, "Since you are my little sister"—and he made a mocking bow—"I’ll forget the formality and call you Cameron."

The sunlight cast its glow on the ruby liquid held aloft in Alex’s hand.

"No, thank you."

Mr. Sturgiss interrupted. "I think some tea might revive you, Miss McCormick."

"Tea is for Englishmen and nuns," scoffed Alex.

Cameron turned to a servant girl. "Please bring me some tea." It gave her a small sense of satisfaction to duel with this arrogant man.

She kept her hands steady as she accepted the cup. Tipping the scalding liquid to her lips, she felt its warmth seep through her veins, renewing her determination. She used this time to pull her thoughts together.

Mr. Sturgiss sat in a comfortable chair, sipping his sherry and observing the scene.
Good girl
, he thought. She was doing just fine. If she showed the least bit of reluctance to face up to Alex, he would back her into a corner like an attacking dog. But this girl had spunk. Even after the tedious trip, she wasn’t whimpering.

"I wish to go to my room." Miriam’s high-pitched wail arrested Cameron’s attention.

Almost instantly, Ti hurried to the hall, then returned with a wooden chair mounted on wheels. With great care for her comfort, he lifted Miriam from the sofa and settled her gently in the chair, careful to replace the lap robe and drape it over the length of her thin legs.

Cameron’s shock registered on her face.

Miriam laughed contemptuously. "What’s wrong? Haven’t you ever seen a cripple before?"

"I’m—sorry." There was nothing more she could think to say.

"Excuse me," Ti said formally, before pushing the wheeled chair from the room.

Miriam never looked back.

Alex obviously thought of himself as the person in charge here. Cameron addressed herself to him. She was determined to keep her voice calm. After all, she had every right to be here. This was her father’s house. He had summoned her. And for his sake she would not back down.

"It has been an exhausting journey. If you don’t mind," Cameron said firmly, "I should like to go to my room now."

Taking a long gulp of the wine, Mr. Sturgiss stood and offered her his arm.

"Where is Miss McCormick’s room?" he asked the servant.

The woman looked questioningly at Alex.

Scowling, he said, "Give her the room at the far end of the hall." A smile suddenly turned up the corners of his lips. "Since we weren’t expecting anyone, it may be a bit musty. I’m sure you’ll forgive us, won’t you, Cameron?"

Nodding stiffly, Cameron took the lawyer’s proffered arm. Keeping her back erect, she moved slowly from the room and up the stairs. At the end of a long hall, at the opposite end from her father’s room, the servant opened the door to a large suite of rooms. Cameron stood just inside the doorway and surveyed the scene. Mr. Sturgiss wrinkled his nose at the dust, which had settled on everything. Even the huge bed looked moldy, as though the linens hadn’t been changed for a year.

With a wan smile, Cameron squeezed his arm. "It’s quite all right, Mr. Sturgiss. I’m so exhausted I could sleep anywhere. Later I’ll set about cleaning this."

She walked back downstairs with him. At the front door, he paused. "I must remind you, Miss McCormick. You are not back at the convent now. You are the daughter of a wealthy man. You are not expected to clean your own room. That work is for the servants."

At her look of protest, he said firmly, "In the parlor, you handled yourself admirably. You must keep reminding yourself that you are in control of your own life. Never let them think that you will take orders from any of them. And the servants must be expected to do your bidding. If you lose their respect, you will lose valuable allies. Do you understand me?"

Cameron nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Mr. Sturgiss. Will you be back tomorrow?"

"I’ll be back when your father summons me," he said, smiling gently at her downcast eyes. Quietly, so as not to be overheard by the others, he added, "I know you need a friend, Miss McCormick. But take your time sorting things out. Then you will discover who is your friend and who is not."

Cameron thought about the people she had met. Could any one of them truly be her friend?

"Thank you, Mr. Sturgiss, for everything. Good day."

He accepted her handshake and smiled. "Good day, Miss McCormick. Stay well."

She stood alone on the porch and waved as his carriage moved away. Shielding the sun from her eyes, she blinked at the figure on horseback watching from a nearby hill. Something about the horse and rider made her heart turn over. Clutching the railing, she stared harder, willing herself to make out the face from so great a distance. The figure remained unmoving for long moments, then wheeled and disappeared below the crest.

Cameron chided herself, recalling all the times she thought she had seen Michael on her island. She must stop this foolish nonsense. It was time to grow up. When would she stop seeing him in every stranger? Picking up her skirts, she hurried to the privacy of her room, where she could be free to relive again every moment of the brief but precious time she had spent on her island with Michael Gray. Those wonderful memories would help her forget, for a little while at least, the unexpected hostility she had encountered in her new home.

Cameron surveyed the dismal room, then sighed in resignation and began methodically removing her clothes. Now that the journey had come to an end and she had met the father she had dreamed of, along with an assortment of family members who seemed to run together in one long, unrelenting, unforgiving blur, she felt exhausted beyond belief.

Despite the moldy bedclothes, she would rest awhile before facing that hostile band below. She would need all her wits about her to deal with them.

Drawing the dusty drapes tightly over the windows, she pulled down the coverlet and crawled between the sheets. In an hour or two she would be ready to face what was to come.

Her last conscious thought was of her father, tall and handsome, astride a white horse, drawing nearer and nearer, holding out his arms in welcome. The figure became younger; the horse, a black stallion. Caught up in a fierce embrace, she felt warm, and safe, and loved.

*  *  *

Something disturbed the still figure in the bed. Something, some sound perhaps, had roused her. She opened her eyes in the darkened room and tried to recall where she was. Her father’s house. The musty room, smelling of years of neglect. The hostile family who hated her just for being alive.

A door slammed somewhere down the hall. She heard raised voices. From somewhere below a shrill laugh sounded. The bedroom door was abruptly thrown open and Ti hurried across the room.

Cameron sat up, tucking the quilts discreetly about her chin.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I’m going to try to find the doctor. He could be anywhere. Your father is dead," he announced without emotion.

"My father—" She blinked once, twice. Her eyes grew round, trying to take in what he had said. Her father couldn’t be dead. She had just met him—was it an hour ago? He had said they would have a long talk. He would tell her about her mother, about herself. They would have a lifetime together. A lifetime.

Pushing the quilts aside, Cameron forgot about modesty and swung her legs to the floor. As she stood, everything seemed to go black. She would have fallen, but Ti caught her in his arms and shook her roughly.

"Get hold of yourself. Stand still and it will pass."

"Yes. I—I’m fine now," she said, pushing herself free of his grasp.

He handed her a shawl from the foot of the bed. "If you’d like to see him before the doctor gets here," he said softly, "the room is empty of servants now."

"Thank you." She draped the shawl about herself and moved numbly toward the door. With her hand on the knob she turned and said, "Please send for a priest as well."

"A priest?" Ti looked puzzled. "No priest will come to this house."

"I said a priest, Ti." She spoke each word deliberately, then walked away without waiting for further argument.

The hallway was empty, as was her father’s room. Empty, except for the figure of her father in the huge bed. She moved closer and stared at him, trying to memorize his face.

You were going to tell me about my mother. You said I look like her. Was her hair red? Were her eyes green? Why didn’t you marry her?
Hesitantly, she moved closer and reached out to touch his face. She expected him to open his eyes and smile at her. She stared at his chest, anticipating the rise and fall of steady breathing.
How could you die now? You had no right, do you hear me? No right to send for me, holding out all that sweet promise of hope, and then snatching it from me.
Taking his large hand in hers, she knelt beside the bed.
Please, Father, wake up. Please open your eyes and talk to me. There was so much you were going to tell me.

Dry-eyed, she studied his face, then automatically began to whisper the words of the Act of Contrition, in case he had forgotten his childhood lessons. "Oh my God, I am sorry for having offended Thee. . . ." When the words were said, she bent to kiss his forehead. One last goodbye, although they had barely said hello.

She paused, bent over the lifeless form. There was an odor, strange yet familiar. She moved closer. Yes. A bittersweet smell. She couldn’t place it, but she had smelled it before. Perhaps some medicinal herb used at the convent.

Cameron started at the single knock on the door. Nina stood just outside the doorway, as though afraid to enter a room touched by death.

"The servants will not attend—the body—until they have orders from Alex," she said without expression.

"Then I’ll speak to Alex."

"He isn’t here. He and Jarret are in town."

Exasperated, Cameron said briskly, "Then I’ll go to town."

As she brushed past the woman, Nina looked startled. Trailing Cameron to her room, she paused in the doorway, watching as Cameron began pulling on a prim cotton gown.

"Are you aware that it is dark outside?"

Cameron glanced at the heavily draped window. She had thought it was still afternoon. Had she slept away the entire day? She shrugged. "It doesn’t matter. I’ll still go."

"There is no one here to hitch a horse to a rig." Nina twisted her hands nervously.

Why was this woman giving her silly, useless arguments now, when her father lay dead in the other room?

Impatiently, Cameron turned and met her troubled gaze. "Nina, I can sit a horse. Now tell me where I can find Alex."

The woman paused, undecided. Then, "In the Delta Saloon. He and Jarret play cards there almost every night."

Gritting her teeth, Cameron rushed headlong down the stairs and out into the blackness of the night.

In the stable, she swung a saddle across the back of a gray gelding. She would be eternally grateful to Sister Leona for the years she had forced Cameron to see to her own needs. She scorned these helpless women who wrung their hands and waited for their men to return to take care of things.

As she headed the horse for the lights of town, she seethed. Alex Bannion. Would he now assume her father’s position as head of the McCormick house?

As Cameron tied her horse, the tinny sounds of a piano filtered through the night air. She stood for a moment outside the doors of the saloon, bracing herself for the unknown. She had never been inside a place like this before. She had no idea what to expect.

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed the swinging doors and strode inside, then halted abruptly at the burst of raucous laughter from a table in the corner. For one brief moment, no one noticed her. Then, as if a signal had been given, all eyes turned to the slim woman standing just inside the doors. The rumble of voices grew silent. Even the piano player turned toward the object of everyone’s interest, then abruptly stopped, his hands still poised above the keys. From the table in the center of the room, a voice intoned a vulgar comment, then laughter erupted.

Her cheeks flaming, Cameron stared about the room until she located Alex and Jarret seated at a corner table. Lifting her skirts, she moved toward them, trying not to meet the eyes of the leering men around her. The room reeked of sweat and stale tobacco and cheap whiskey. Cameron fought down the panic rising inside her, aware that she was dangerously out of her element in this place.

As she approached, Alex scraped back his chair and, scowling, turned to face her.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"You’re needed at home, Alex. My father—"

Swaying, he caught her shoulders in a painful grip. "Hellfire, boys, isn’t this sweet? My little sister’s come to join the party."

She flinched. "You’re drunk."

"Not nearly as drunk as I intend to be." With his hand digging into the flesh of her shoulder, he turned her toward the group. "You haven’t met the newest addition to our family, have you? This is Big John’s best-kept secret, his daughter, Cameron McCormick."

A man at the table stood and gripped the back of his chair, gaping at her as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Little sister, that’s Quenton Lampton. He’s the neighbor whose house faces ours across the hill. And don’t you mind the way he’s weaving and staring at you. Quenton’s the town drunk. He always looks like this by nightfall."

Cameron couldn’t tear her gaze from the man’s face. It had gone chalk white. Rusty hair, liberally sprinkled with gray, added to his pallor. With jerking movements he stumbled toward the bar, drank down two tumblers of whiskey, then leaned heavily against the bar and studied her again before lurching across the room and out the door.

The others involved in the card game had remained seated, staring with detached interest at the scene. As Alex continued the introductions Cameron became aware of one man at the table who hadn’t moved a muscle since her arrival. Now she turned to study him, noting the obviously expensive shirt beneath a perfectly tailored black coat. One hand holding the cards rested casually on the table. The other hand was out of sight beneath the table, and she sensed, rather than saw, that it was holding a gun. Her gaze traveled slowly upward to a wide-brimmed hat that tilted rakishly low over his forehead, casting his face in shadows. But even though his features were obscured she knew him. His image was indelibly imprinted on her mind. Her heart leaped into her throat. Her mouth rounded in surprise. Although no words came out, her lips clearly formed his name. Michael. But even as she was mouthing the word, Alex was introducing him. She noted the respect in his tone.

"And this is Colt. He’s been known to do deadly things with that widow maker he carries."

Cameron stared helplessly at the one man whose memory she had carried in her heart for so long.

With the tips of his cards he pushed the hat back, allowing the lamp hanging above the table to illuminate his face. His gaze raked her insolently, and then, as if dismissing her, he asked, "Mind if we finish the hand now?"

She went deathly still. It was as if he had taken a whip to her. For long moments she stood transfixed.

"Please, Alex," Cameron finally managed to whisper, tearing her gaze from Michael’s face. "You have to come home with me. My father has died."

His hands gripped her upper arms so tightly she thought she would cry out from the pain.

"He’s dead? You’re sure?"

She nodded, feeling her throat tighten. "Ti has gone for the doctor. The servants won’t touch—his body—until you give the word. Please come home."

She watched his eyes narrow. Slowly, a sinister smile played on his lips. He released her, throwing back his head in a roar of laughter.

"Another bottle for this table. In fact, drinks all around. We’re going to drink one for Big John McCormick."

One of the saloon girls sidled up to Alex and brought her arms around his waist. He seemed about to ignore her, then seeing Cameron’s look of disgust, he grinned wickedly and drew her closer to him. Planting a wet kiss on the girl’s painted mouth, he leered at Cameron.

"My little sister spent a lifetime locked away in a convent. She’s probably never had a man kiss her. Or"—and he grunted in delight—"had any kind of fun, if you know what I mean. Take a look at her face, boys. The little lady’s scandalized." He stared meaningfully at his brother. "What a waste. Don’t you agree, Jarret?"

Giving him a hateful look, Cameron whirled, intent on running from this evil place. In one swift motion, Jarret snaked out a hand and held her fast. She was stunned by the strength he possessed, despite his slight appearance. His bland face, so like a child’s, broke into an artless smile.

"She’s so pretty, Alex. It doesn’t seem fair that Cameron’s never had any fun. Can I have fun with her, Alex? Can I?"

The faces of the men around the table grew grim, watching Alex Bannion. Cameron’s heart seemed to stop for a full minute before beginning a painful hammering in her breast. He couldn’t mean this. Jarret was her stepbrother. They were family. He wouldn’t, couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. Then she stared closely at his eyes, those gray, nearly colorless eyes, and realized they were vacant. Jarret had the simple-mindedness of a child. One word from Alex, one nod of approval, and Jarret would believe he had every right to do with Cameron as he pleased. He wouldn’t even see the wrong of it. Like any child, he was selfishly interested only in his own gratification.

The sound of Alex’s laughter brought ice to her veins. This wicked, hateful man was thoroughly enjoying her terror. And he intended to use his power over his weak-minded brother to torment her.

Alex shrugged, then spread his hands expansively, as if he were a monarch, granting a very special favor.

"I don’t see why not, Jarret. Might as well keep it all in the family. Cameron will probably enjoy it and be most grateful."

Jarret’s grip on her arm tightened. With his free hand, he caught at the pins that held her hair in a neat chignon. Waves of amber cornsilk drifted about her face and shoulders. Several men at the table caught their breath at the sight of her. With his fingers entwined in the thick mass of hair, Jarret pulled her head back with a rough jerk.

"So pretty," he muttered. "Cameron, you’re so pretty."

She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Swallowing, she whispered, "Please, Jarret. Don’t do this. Let me go home."

"It’ll be fun, little sister. You’ll see. I know all about men and women. Alex takes me to Rose’s every week or so. I know all kinds of things to show you."

Shame washed over her, and she fought down a rising panic as his fingers fumbled with the pearl buttons which ran from her throat to her waist.

"Stop this, Jarret." Through clenched teeth, she appealed to the others. "Won’t any of you stop him?"

One of the men, a big, burly miner, squirmed in agitation. "I stay out of family fights, ma’am. It just ain’t my concern."

Feeling Michael’s dark gaze riveted on her, she flushed and hung her head as the bodice of her dress was pulled open by work-roughened hands to reveal the swell of her breasts.

Laughing, Alex sat down at the table, yanking the saloon girl to his lap. With his face buried in her hair, he said, "If you’d like a little privacy, Jarret, Charley can give you a room upstairs."

"Good." Dragging Cameron along by the wrist, Jarret began walking toward the bar.

Before he had taken three steps, Michael’s voice stopped him in his tracks. His tone was so cold, Cameron barely recognized it.