Ryan's Hand (5 page)

T
he silence that hung in the senior partner's office of the Dallas law firm representing the vast interests of La Tierra Conquistada was thick with tension. John Baines, the senior partner, along with another of the firm's attorneys, regarded Harold St. Clair and his mystifying client with frowning, tight-lipped censure.

Finally, the senior partner broke the silence with one last appeal. “Miss Martin,
please.
I beg of you to reconsider your decisions. Sign these papers. Mr. Langston wants back only what rightfully belongs to him. He is willing to pay you a more than fair price for the guarantee that once the estate is settled the land becomes his. Since the estate will take at least a year to go through probate, and since he is willing to pay you
now
, you must surely see how generous he is being.”

Cara's reply, her face pale and set, was a negative shake of her honey-blond head.

“Miss Martin—” The frustrated attorney decided to try a different tack and left his chair to sit on the corner of his desk in cozy proximity to Cara. After all, this young woman was the same age as his youngest daughter, and from time to time, he had been able to reason with her. “Miss Martin—” He chose a soft, imploring timbre. “Surely you can imagine what Jeth Langston must think of you?”

Hearing it stated like that, Cara could not prevent the convulsive swallow from moving down her throat. “Yes,” she nodded, lowering her eyes from the penetrating gaze. She had been trying to avoid thinking about that question ever since she had read Ryan's letter. If she had thought about it, she could never have resigned her job, sublet her apartment, shipped to La Tierra the belongings she would need for a year, and flown with Harold St. Clair to Texas, all in less than three weeks' time.

“Well, then.” The smooth tone had an edge of exasperation to it. “Why can you not see that it is sheer madness even to consider taking up residence on La Tierra Conquistada? You will be like the biblical stranger in a strange land. You will have no protectors, no one to see after either your person or your interests—”

Cara raised her gaze to his. Her eyes darkened with some strongly felt emotion that intensified their beauty. The lawyer, nonplussed, drew back from their stunning assault as Cara said, “You paint Mr. Langston as quite a savage, Mr. Baines.”

“Mr. Langston is not a savage, Miss Martin.” The lawyer's patience was strained to the breaking point. “He is a fair man noted for his ruthlessness toward those who would pose any threat to La Tierra Conquistada. You must admit that you are doing that. By insisting on living under his roof, you are rubbing salt in the wounds of a man who has recently and quite unexpectedly lost his dearly loved brother, the only family he had. He believes you used your, ah, relationship with Ryan to persuade him to leave to you half an empire that has belonged to the Langstons for generations.” The lawyer peered at her over his glasses, sensing the nodding agreement of his colleague. “Quite frankly, I would not wish to be in your shoes at the moment. For your own sake, I plead with you to reconsider your decisions.”

Cara heard her even reply as if she were disembodied from it. “I understand what you are saying to me, and I appreciate both your advice and concern. However, my mind is made up. I will not consider any negotiations for the sale of my half of the ranch to Mr. Langston or to anyone else until the estate is settled. During that time, I choose to live at La Tierra. If Mr. Langston wants my cooperation, he will have to abide by that wish.”

In the long silence that followed her little speech, Cara thought shakily that the trio of lawyers, even Harold St. Clair, was staring at her as if she were Joan of Arc just renouncing her last chance to escape the stake.

The hush was broken when the senior partner gave a defeated sigh and straightened his tall, brittle frame from the desk. He stared down at Cara coldly. “I do not know what unseemly charade you are playing here, Miss Martin, but I must make sure you understand one thing: Jeth Langston is not a man to be trifled with. You are too young and inexperienced to engage in a contest of any sort with a man of his enormous power and prerogative. He does not merely defeat his enemies—he destroys them. And you, my dear, as lovely as you are, have given him no reason whatever to make an exception of you.”

The hard conviction of his words held them all enthralled. While he spoke, the color completely drained from Cara's face and her stomach began to churn. For the thousandth time she wondered what in the world had possessed Ryan to force her into such a dangerous and untenable situation.

The sudden sound of a buzzer on the desk startled them all. Leaning around, John Baines jabbed an intercom button and barked, “Yes!”

His secretary's crisp voice announced, “Mr. Langston has arrived, sir.”

The senior partner, with the resignation of Pontius Pilate having washed his hands of the whole matter, spoke into the intercom. “Kindly show Mr. Langston in, Louise.”

Cara was grateful that her back was to the door. Her position gave her time to try to calm her racing heart, which was threatening to burst through its walls. She heard the door open, then close with a quiet, emphatic click. A force flowed into the room, drawing the men at once to their feet. She sensed from their fixed, apprehensive gazes that the man had paused just inside the door, no doubt for dramatic effect.

John Baines did his best to smile. “Come in, Mr. Langston, come in!” he said in the hearty voice of a businessman welcoming a preferred customer. “Allow me to introduce Harold St. Clair of Boston, who was a legal partner of your late brother's, and, uh, Miss Cara Martin, also of Boston.”

Cara found that her legs would not permit her to rise. She could feel the man's presence, strong and hostile. Suddenly angry and resolute, Cara stood and turned to meet the steady gaze of Jeth Langston.

The impact took her breath away. She had expected, of course, an imposing man—similar perhaps to the legendary breed who sailed her great-grandfather's ships and answered to none but the sea. But no knowledge of those long-ago sea lords, and certainly no male of her acquaintance, not even Ryan, could have prepared her for this man. He was easily the most awesome human being she had ever seen. Tall and powerfully built, he stood like a man accustomed to power—strong legs in razor-creased slacks spread imperiously apart—and took her measure from beneath the low brim of a superb fawn Stetson. His presence seemed to flow across the room, almost suffocating her with apprehension.

Looking at him, noting the narrow black band of mourning around the soft crown of the hat, Cara was tempted to speak to him of his sorrow—of their sorrow—but the icy contempt in his eyes froze the words on her tongue. Her hammering heart pounded in her eardrums. Mute and paralyzed, she felt as helpless as a dreamer caught in an inescapable disaster. For the man had begun a slow, deliberate approach toward her, his gray eyes glacial and still. She could not find in his hard, handsome face a single similarity to the brother they both had loved.

John Baines waded into the silence by clearing his throat and saying in a tone of accusation, “Miss Martin refuses to change her mind, Mr. Langston, in spite of our reasoning.”

Jeth, pausing a few feet from Cara, spoke softly. “Perhaps I can change Miss Martin's mind. Gentlemen, would you mind leaving us?”

“Not at all, Mr. Langston,” acquiesced the attorney, who nervously shuffled a few papers on his desk before relinquishing his turf. He and his colleague filed past, but the Boston lawyer went to Cara's side. “If you like, I'll remain, Cara.”

“That won't be necessary, Mr. St. Clair.” Cara spoke for the first time and attempted a weak smile. “I'll be all right.”

Harold's heart moved queerly at the sight of the brave little smile. He touched her shoulder comfortingly. “You've only to call. I'll be just outside the door.” Sidestepping Jeth, he nodded to the rancher and left the two antagonists staring at each other.

As the door closed, Jeth's eyes left hers and went to her hair, his stony expression betraying nothing of his thoughts. It was the color of pure honey and framed a face that could stop the heart of any man. He had experienced many griefs, but he felt a new kind of sorrow as his gaze lowered in a merciless descent down her body. He had thought that he had known them all, had experienced every variety of alluring fortune hunter known to man, but this one was of a singular cast. He could see how Ryan had been taken in; certainly he would have been, too.

Cara drew a sharp breath and resisted the urge to cover herself from Jeth's disturbing eyes. He said slowly, “Yes…now I understand. Who would ever take a girl like you to be what you are?”

Cara could endure no more. “Jeth, I—”

“
Mister
Langston to you, lady!” The words were rapped out like gunshots. “We're going to keep this conversation on a strictly formal footing, do you understand?”

“Very clearly,” Cara said with rigid dignity, determined not to give any ground during this initial, crucial interview.

Jeth regarded her in silence for a few seconds, and Cara thought she saw a flicker of surprise beneath the chilly stillness of the gray eyes. “Well, now that that's settled, let's talk, you and me.” He tossed his hat to a couch and chose for himself a deep armchair to accommodate his tall frame. He had thick, dark hair, Cara noted, the kind with a tendency to curl.

Cara, following his lead, sat down in her original chair and remained waiting for him to speak, outwardly calm. “So you want to live at La Tierra, do you?” he asked conversationally, lifting brows as dark as his hair.

“Yes,” she answered with as much force as her taut throat would allow. It was very difficult to meet his eyes. In all fairness, she could not blame him for thinking of her as he did. What in the world
had
Ryan been thinking to extract such a promise from her?

“Why?” Jeth asked bluntly, watching her face carefully as if he did not trust her words to reveal the truth.

“My reasons are personal.”

“Ah” was Jeth's only reaction before reaching inside the inner pocket of his Western-cut leather jacket for a slim cigar case. Cara could see the same discreet insignia in gold on it that Ryan's wallet had borne, but now she knew it was the brand of La Tierra Conquistada, a
T
crossed with a
C.
Jeth selected a long, slender cigar and returned the case to his pocket.

“Ordinarily,” he said, biting off the tip of the cigar with strong white teeth, “I ask a lady's permission before smoking in her presence. However…” The implication hung in the air along with the tendrils of smoke that fanned from his narrow nostrils. Cara felt a surge of heat on her cheeks. Let him insinuate anything he wished! she thought angrily. Knowing she had no cause to feel ashamed gave her inestimable strength. He could blow as much smoke as he liked!

“You've made your point, Mr. Langston,” Cara stated with a trace of hauteur. “And as a matter of fact, you're not the first…”

“You'd better get used to it, Miss Martin. The kindest name I've heard in reference to you lately is Ryan's whore.”

He had hurt her there, Jeth thought without pleasure, watching the blood drain quickly from her delicate face. She had to look away from him, her eyes apparently seeking refuge in a painting on a far wall. It was a seascape of sand and seagulls and ocean.
Home
, he surmised, wondering if she missed Boston, if she regretted this course upon which she was embarked. Her expression when she turned to him again was completely composed, revealing nothing. Like him, she too had learned the value of concealing her vulnerabilities.

“Now,” he continued in the tone of a father who has just satisfactorily reprimanded a child, “back to my original question. Why do you want to come to La Tierra?”

Suddenly, quite thoroughly, Cara hated him. She fought to keep her body from quivering in cold anger at his overbearing manner. “Back to my original answer, Mr. Langston,” she replied icily. “My reasons are my own.”

“Shall I take a stab at what those reasons may be, Miss Martin?” Jeth suggested amicably, his mouth quirking in a slight smile that held no humor whatever.

You may take a straddling leap at a high fence, Cara silently suggested, but refrained from voicing her thought. “Why ask, Mr. Langston, since you intend to tell me anyway?” She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, exposing the smooth, vulnerable line of her throat. Waiting for him to continue, she willed herself not to be affected by his words, however harsh they were. You're no stranger to pain, she reminded herself. You can bear whatever
he
says!

Jeth drew on his cigar, regarding her narrowly through the smoke. For the first time she noticed the handsome, masculine ring he wore on the ring finger of his left hand. It had been designed with a black face on which was engraved the brand of La Tierra Conquistada, set in pavé diamonds. There seemed to be nothing about the man, she grudgingly admitted, that did not declare his wealth and position. The boots, which matched the tan leather of his jacket, were obviously hand sewn. The sharply creased slacks were of fine wool, the complementing beige tie of the finest silk.

“I can think of three possible reasons for wanting to ensconce yourself at the ranch,” Jeth began, settling comfortably in the chair. “One, you feel that by living there for a year you will better be able to determine the true value of what you've inherited to set your price once the estate is settled. Second, I understand that you've quit your job. Without an income, you need free room and board for a year, so what better place to nip into than La Tierra? A year without having to work for a living will prepare you for the kind of life to which you anticipate becoming accustomed. How am I doing so far?”

Cara could only stare at him, too appalled to answer. She was forced at last to appreciate fully how she must appear in his eyes, in the eyes of all of those who had loved and respected Ryan. They thought her lazy and opportunistic, a fortune hunter who now had the gall to demand living accommodations under the very roof of the man it appeared she had swindled.