Thea Devine (27 page)

But why would anyone want to “get” Maggie Colleran?

Or was someone after something else and she just got in the way?

She went again, as if she were drawn to it by some invisible rope, to the
Morning Call
building site. Ten thousand dollars …

From the opposite direction, she saw another figure walking along briskly toward the same destination and her step faltered. Melinda Sable. She had never said a word to Melinda Sable in all these years. She knew what the woman was, and what she had been to Frank, and she had never been able to forgive it.

She watched curiously as Melinda stepped across the street and stared at the vacant building site, almost as if she were trying to make up her mind about something.

She walked slowly toward the woman, loath to turn away, feeling as possessive of the land as she had about the building, not wanting Melinda Sable to go near it, to even look at it, and she needed to know why Melinda
was there.

“Hello, Maggie.” Melinda was the bold one, with her soft voice and golden curls and knowing eyes. She knew a secret that Maggie did not.

“Melinda.” She could hardly bring herself to say the woman’s name. She couldn’t believe she was standing side by side with her looking at the end of Frank’s ambition.

“The thought occurred to me,” Melinda said suddenly, “that this would make a much better location for me than where I am building now.”

“That’s nice,” Maggie said. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

It was rude, but she knew nothing would faze Melinda; it was one of the reasons for her success. That and her voluptuous body and her little-girl voice.

“Sell it to me,” she suggested huskily.

Maggie laughed. It was outrageous that this woman could have enough money to make an offer. “I’d rather pitch a tent and live here myself,” she said finally.

“Oh, Maggie. Don’t waste time over fruitless emotions. Don’t you think Frank would have loved the irony of me winding up on the ruins of his biggest enterprise and worst failure.”

Maggie’s eyes flickered at the latent hostility in Melinda’s words.

“Frank didn’t love anything,” she said carefully, “not even you. He loved power and he gave it all to me, Melinda. I think he would have adored the fact that you must come begging to me, and that you still get into bed with whoever pays the highest price, man or corporation.”

“Ooooh, little cat. How forthright you are, Maggie. I hope you understand after all this time that it was the one thing that Frank could not stand about you.”

“I know it; he had to buy submissiveness, didn’t he, Melinda. He bought me and then he bought you.”

“Yes, and which one of us do you think was the better bargain? Which do you think he needed more—the newspaper or a soft, pliant woman?”

Maggie’s whole body went hot, as though Melinda had suggested something that had lurked deep within her for years and defined it. She felt a hazy comprehension and wanted to strike out at Melinda because she had known what Maggie had not: that Frank had married her to get control of the newspaper.

“Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,” Melinda said chidingly in her soft girlish voice. “You never did understand that a man adores a woman who enjoys his sensual favors, but the one thing he doesn’t adore is for her to tell him what she wants. He wants to discover it, he wants to persuade her, he wants to coax her to do things that seem forbidden. And if he can do that, Maggie, he comes back—again and again and again, to see if he can beg her to go a little further and little further yet.”

Her heart was pounding painfully. So that was the secret: Maggie was the whore and Melinda was the good girl. Nothing else had mattered except his utter possession of the one and his total power over the other. And they could have gone on that way for years, she thought, but someone had killed him and they never knew who.

Like A.J., she thought, suddenly, blindingly.

“A man wants to be the only one to initiate a woman into those sexual secrets, Maggie. He gets very upset when he sees all that passion coming from within, without his tutelage. You would have been so much smarter to lay back and make him show you what to do. But you were so young then, and he did need a woman who knew how to be feminine and pliant all at once.”

“Yes,” Maggie said, “he was just like that.”

“So it would be delicious revenge if you would consider selling me the land, Maggie. Or we could be
business partners. You do have a talent for it. And you have a nature, by the way, that a certain kind of man would pay dearly to explore and test over and over again. Wouldn’t Frank love the idea of that? You could get everything you ever needed from such an arrangement, and you would never have to commit to anything but a certain amount of time per day. You could be so exclusive, Maggie. And you would be wealthy and free. Just like me, Maggie. Think about it. We never were enemies, you know. We both knew exactly what Frank was like, and we both gave him precisely what he needed.”

Oh yes, Maggie thought, she had it exactly right. They had both known. She pulled him one way and Melinda the other, and he had loved it. That was Frank. He had loved denying her, and he had reveled in giving it to the baby-voiced Melinda, who knew just how to manipulate him. The bastard had never known it either, she thought. Melinda was the smart one and she was the fool. She even felt a moment’s temptation at what Melinda was offering her: all the sensual gratification she could handle—and autonomy.

The proposition had a certain delicious appeal, she thought; she could even understand why Annie Mapes might succumb to it. She even felt a momentary gratification then at the thought of striking back at the men who were even now trying to cage her. They could just pay their way and take only what she offered and nothing more. She would have the power then to give or deny, and when she was tired, she could just walk away.

It was a heady, seductive proposal, and she stood a long time staring at the building site thinking about it.

Chapter Sixteen

She had absolutely nothing to do, that was her problem, that and the terrible decision of whether to sell her property. Then there were all the things caving in on her: Logan’s defection, Melinda Sable’s revelations, the sheriff’s covert surveillance of her, the feeling she was being pressured, pushed, manipulated, the notion that Frank was laughing at her.

And what was Reese doing?

“I’m waiting for you to come to your senses, Maggie. I could make you happy. I know you weren’t happy with Frank.”

“I’m not happy now either.”

“Give me my chance then, Maggie.”

She shook her head, but the errant thought occurred to her that if he had come to her at Melinda’s house, she could not have refused him and would have had to do whatever he had paid her for. He was so much like Frank in so many ways, she wondered if he were like him that way too.

“Let me help you rebuild.”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“Then let me take you away.”

“I want to stay here.”

Reese’s frustration with her was intense. Anything he proposed she would negate. He pushed his mother out of the way and pursued her intently.

“Let’s walk, Maggie.”

“I’m tired.”

“There’s an architect newly arrived in town. He could draw up plans for a new office building.”

“He’s probably a Denver North employee, and he’d make them so grandiose I would have to sell up to afford to build.”

“Maggie, you are being intractable.”

“I am being pushed and pressured and I don’t like it.”

“Then let me love you.”

“But you do already, Reese.”

He drew in his breath at the precision of her perception. “But you won’t let me touch you or kiss you.”

“I don’t love you.”

The bitch
. “Maggie, if you could just make up your mind about the ranch. If you sold it… Sean Mapes sold up, didn’t he? If you sold it, think of what you could do.”

“I don’t know what I want to do.”

“We could go to San Francisco. I would love to show you San Francisco. You could leave all of this behind, everything, including all the bad memories of Frank.”

“That,” she said, “does have some appeal. I can’t, Reese. I don’t know why. If I could find out why, maybe I could decide.”

“Let me help you do that at least.”

“I don’t know where to begin,” she said. “I just don’t.”

That last refusal almost sent him over the edge, and she knew it, and that, to him, was the worst.

He began watching her again. She had already discovered that the
Clarion
was being published out of Harold Danforth’s office in town, and she scrupulously avoided going near that part of town.

New construction crews arrived every day. They had begun framing what was to be the railroad station down at the southern end of town, near where Melinda Sable’s house was being built.

The thought of Melinda Sable tantalized Reese. He hadn’t gone near her, but he knew she was aware of him, because everyone knew Frank’s brother was in town. But every day, with Maggie’s aloofness, he began to think about Melinda Sable and all the delights he could demand for the purchase price.

He had made it a point, however, to cultivate everyone. Frank’s brother had a reputation to maintain. He had already heard all the gossip there was to know about Maggie, who had led a very chaste life. But Melinda was another story altogether. Everyone whispered about her, but never did he hear a word about her liaison with Frank.

It was most peculiar to him and inordinately discreet of Frank. But if Maggie had treated Frank with anywhere near the standoffishness that she did him, he could understand perfectly why he had preferred to pay for unbridled adoration. It was so much easier, so much less an emotional investment. But then Frank, he surmised, had never seen Maggie with the cowdog…. Everytime Reese thought about it he went crazy.

Somehow in the course of his conversations with the locals he heard exactly how and where to approach Melinda Sable.

And now, after Maggie’s latest refusal, the thought of having a willing body desire
him
, someone’s luscious breasts tempting
him
, a woman’s throaty voice begging
him
aroused him ferociously.

She was the kind of woman who noticed it immediately. Her eyes rested knowingly on his before she even greeted him. She looked up at him and smiled archly, murmuring in her sweet little-girl voice, “Hello, Frank’s brother. I’ve
been waiting for you.”

It felt good to have someone wanting to see him. She settled him on a sofa with his feet up and a drink in his hand. Her coaxing little hands brushed with seeming innocence all over his lower torso as she leaned forward to grant him her lips, once, twice, and then again. Sweet doelike kisses, he thought, wanting to prolong them and spread her beneath him at the same time. He loved the way she played with him, advancing and retreating girlishly, scared and bold.

She was dressed for an evening at home. She hadn’t really expected visitors. And she hadn’t expected him so soon. So she had donned the kind of gown she would wear for an intimate evening at home. Over it she wore a robe of silk that covered her nakedness but still enticed the hand to stroke the material and feel the body pulsating beneath. It draped invitingly over the curves of her body, displaying the thrust of her taut breasts beneath the sleek material.

It invited his touch as he convinced her how excited her kisses made him. He took her hand and rested it on his lap and loved how she whispered in an awed voice how hard he was. He wanted her to do more, and she protested that she couldn’t, even though he knew she wanted to. He thrust his tongue in her mouth again and felt her respond to his hot kisses.

He told her he couldn’t keep his eyes off her voluptuous breasts. And then she said “you can touch if you want to,” in a husky little voice that was utterly beguiling, exactly the way he had hoped another woman would invite his caresses. He reached over and cupped one breast. He moved his thumb over her seductive nipple until she moaned breathlessly.

She shifted away from him with a sweetly knowing smile and slowly began removing the silken robe, a tantalizing little ritual that excited him still more. And
when she lowered just one side of her transparent gown to reveal one delectable breast she knew she had incited him beyond provocation. He crushed her to him and devoured the lushness of her breast in one hungry groan, before she could even make a movement to invite his caresses.

He needed her, he needed
that
, and he lapped at her exposed breast voraciously, ignoring the uncomfortable squirming of her body as she tried, because she was so unprepared for it, to get away from his wet possession.

“It’s too much, it’s too much,” she moaned. He had already undressed the whole of her upper torso and was fastening his greedy mouth to her other breast.

In the heat of his ardor he heard her coy protestations as he uncovered his own lunging sex and then felt for the lush heat of hers.

“Oh not yet, not yet,” she whispered.

“Now,” he growled, and she crooned, “tell me what you want” and he told her, and her reaction was just what he expected, which heightened his urgency still more.

“I can’t do that,” she protested huskily, in a tone of voice that told him otherwise.

“We’ll do it together,” he muttered thickly in her ear.

“Show me how to do that,” she murmured with a hot sensuous note as she pretended to give in to him.

Her capitulation thrilled him. He would be allowed to explore the deepest of his fantasies with her, the things he was dreaming and imagining that another woman was experiencing with that cowdog, and it seemed to him that his manhood responded accordingly.

Her pliant body responded perfectly to the command of his shaking hands as he positioned her properly, raised her to her knees, pushed away her gown so he had a clear view of her delicious nakedness, and began his heated exploration of her secret center.

Her reaction was everything he could have wanted,
everything he had imagined with another woman: the gasps of pleasure, the moans and sighs as he touched those secret places that produced the most sensation, and her begging words:
more, more more; give me more, give me everything
.

With one forceful push he took her, heard her groan of pure animal lust, and began the ascent to ecstasy. It didn’t matter who was beneath him tonight; the replication of his fantasy with a hot, willing woman was his whole desire. And this woman wanted
him
, and sought the most of his powerful thrust. She let him know with her squeals and moans that she had experienced something special with
him
tonight, and that at the end, she was deliciously sated.

She covered his mouth with sweet little kisses and whispered suggestive things to tell him the depth of her enjoyment. She had provided the ending to his sensual dream and he was the one who was grateful. He wished Maggie could have seen how a woman should act, how a woman should respond to a man’s overtures.

And he knew he would come back to her again and again just for that.

What he didn’t know was, she did too.

“Well, Maggie Colleran.”

And here was Mr. Brown again, jovial, she thought, because he had almost taken over the town. “Mr. Brown.”

“I’ve been expecting to hear from you,” he said.

“I thought there was not to be another offer on my ranch land.”

“Oh no, Mrs. Colleran, I wouldn’t insult you by making you another offer. However, you never know; things can happen. You might regret that you didn’t sell at such a high price when you had the chance.”

“I beg your pardon? Was that a threat?” She couldn’t believe her ears. What could possibly happen to several thousand acres of rank grazing land?

“Mrs. Colleran, I am really offended. No, I am referring to your town property. You must admit the offer Mr. Coutts tendered is extremely generous.”

“I’m not in a mood to be extremely generous,” Maggie said. “I can’t possibly make a decision about it so quickly.”

“My dear, you must. You know, have you read this week’s
Clarion?
The sheriff has been making noises about how quickly the rubble was cleared away. It seems he never got a chance to shift through it…” He patted her shoulder patronizingly. “Well, Mrs. Colleran, it is your decision, after all, and, as Mr. Coutts probably pointed out, there are other properties. It’s just it would be so nice not to have to tear down a building in order to construct one to our specifications.”

“I do see your point,” she said quietly.

“I thought you would. Have Mr. Coutts get in touch with me soon, one way or the other, will you Mrs. Colleran?”

She watched him walk away with a stormy expression in her eyes. Pressure. A.J., Frank, the mysterious unsolved murders … A threat, ingratiatingly issued, but a threat just the same. And the prod of that damned rag that Arch Warfield and Harold Danforth were publishing. It had been two weeks since the fire, and it felt like two years.

She charged into Dennis’s office. “That man just threatened me.”

“What man?” Dennis asked mildly.

“That Brown. That monster. He actually suggested I might regret not selling him the Colleran ranch land, Dennis.”

“You call that a threat? Really, Maggie, you know what I think your problem is? Indecision. The absolutely
right thing for you to do is sell the land and the town property and marry me and settle down. And if you were waiting for someone to
tell
you, there it is.”

“I did
not
come here to hear another proposal, Dennis.”

“Well, you have it anyway, Maggie. You are uncontrollable. I even wonder why I think I want to marry you so much. You wouldn’t be still for an instant. I wonder if you could ever be happy with anyone.”

That sent her out to the street, fuming with rage. That pompous lackey. And whoever said he had to be her lawyer anyway? Surely there was something in those damned provisions that gave her the power to remove him if necessary.

Hadn’t she had the passing thought she ought to reread the whole thing? Could Dennis bypass her wishes altogether? Could he make the final decision about whether to sell the land? Oh Lord, she had put that off way too long, especially in light of the way he had been insidiously pushing for it.

She cut across the street to the squat building that housed the Mercantile Bank, where she kept her strongbox and her copy of the will. She knew Dennis had a box here too, and she had a most officious urge to know what it contained.

The bankers knew her; they were always happy to oblige. They even provided a private little room where she could be alone, and she wondered silently, with grim humor, if it were available for other occasions. It had a high window and a lockable door and a large square table to spread things out.

She dumped the contents of the strongbox out on its commodious surface and began a quick inventory. Everything was here that she had saved pertaining to her father’s ownership and subsequent sale of the newspaper to Frank. There were bills of sale for the equipment
Frank had brought in before their marriage. There were marriage certificates, both her parents’ and her own. She found her birth registration and the bill of sale for the Lynch ranch. She found the Consummation of Agreement that her father and Frank had signed just before her marriage, in which her father had turned over the running of the paper to Frank.

She put it aside.

She found a cancelled bankbook and letters from her father to her mother, whom she barely remembered. It was like sifting through selected moments of her life to find the turning points. And she was absolutely sure that Frank’s will was one of them.

She held the thick pages of the document in her shaking hands.

The words jumped out at her: “… bequeath to my wife, Maggie Lynch Colleran …”

Why
had he never changed the terms of the will?

… bequeathed her all the interest in all of his investments, with the principal to be kept intact, and sole unquestioned use of the interest to go to her wholly and at her demand;