Wildfire in His Arms (44 page)

The butler led them to a formal dining room. It was early enough that the family might still be having breakfast, but only two people were seated at the dining table, Allison Montgomery and a young man who looked so much like Degan that Max knew he had to be Flint Grant. He was casually dressed in trousers and a brocade robe with no shirt under it.

Allison, elegantly attired as usual, was peering at Max and said cattily, “You clean up nicely—for an outlaw.”

“I left my gun at the hotel.” Max replied. “Should I have brought it?”

Allison actually laughed before turning her attention to Degan. “Excellent timing, Degan. You've managed to catch him before he has a drink in hand.”

“My father?”

“No, your brother.”

“Degan,” Flint said stiffly, then saw the gun holster Degan was wearing. “Come to shoot me in the back again?”

Degan ignored that and, with a nod toward Allison, demanded, “What's
she
doing here?”

“Where else would my wife be? Though I frequently damn her to Hades, she just won't go.”

Degan's gaze swung toward Allison. Max's swung toward Degan. He didn't like surprises. While some of the old friends and acquaintances Degan had run into since he'd returned to Chicago had told his family that he was in town, none of them had bothered to mention to him that his brother had married his ex-fiancée. Max figured those people had assumed he knew about it.

But his tone was only a little terse when he said to Allison, “You could have said you were my sister-in-law instead of implying otherwise.”

“So I lied a little. I was willing to try or say anything to get you to return to your responsibilities here—and telling you that I had married your brother would have been rubbing salt in the wound.”

“That wound has healed.”

She huffed, “That wasn't the impression you gave when we were in that awful stable in Helena and you looked like you wanted to kill me.”

“She does inspire that emotion in a man, doesn't she, brother?” Flint sneered.

Allison tsked. “What happened that night wasn't planned, Degan. Flint and I had too much to drink while waiting for
you
. But if you want the truth, I'm glad now that it happened because you and I never would have gotten along. You would have been like your father
and
mine, all business, rarely home, never available for the social functions I need to attend. I was drawn to you or I wouldn't have said yes to your proposal, but as soon as I did agree to marry you, I began to have doubts. Flint was the one I needed, not just to make me happy but to keep me happy. I realized that soon after we married. But then everything went from bad to worse because
he
started doubting that I love him.”

Flint snorted at that declaration. Degan didn't appear impressed by it either. Max decided to pretend she wasn't avidly listening to the conversation and helped herself to a plate on the sideboard, which held enough food to feed an army. She didn't sit down, though. Taking food that was going to go to waste wasn't as rude as sitting at their table when she hadn't been invited to.

“Where is father?” Degan asked.

Flint shrugged. “He's rarely home anymore.”

“
Why
didn't you put a stop to this, Flint?”

“Tell
him
what to do? Is that a joke, brother?”

“No. He needs help, not tolerance. I shouldn't have had to come home to see to it.”

“That isn't fair,” Allison said, defending her husband. “Flint has been overwhelmed trying to fill your shoes when they don't fit him!”

“It wasn't necessary for him to try,” Degan replied.

“Of course it was,” Flint mumbled. “But I wasn't raised to take over, I was raised to marry well and sire children.”

“You have children?”

“No, that would require two people who actually
like
each other.”

Allison flinched. “Flint!”

The younger brother ignored his wife. “Father forced me to marry her, you know. Claimed we'd wronged her. Blamed me for seducing her when it was a mutual damned thing. And now her family isn't doing so well, which is why she's fighting so hard for this one.”

“I fight for this one because I
love
you,” Allison insisted. “If you'd stop feeling so guilty for driving your brother away, maybe you'd figure that out.”

“If you loved me, you'd
listen
to me,” Flint said angrily. “I forbade you to locate Degan, but you did it anyway.”

“You were just too riddled with guilt to face him. But it's not as bad as you thought it would be, is it? I was trying to help, for
you
, so you'd stop tormenting yourself, because you're not alone, Flint. Whether Degan straightens this mess out or not, you are not alone.”

“For what it's worth, Flint, I believe her,” Degan said. “And I forgive you—both of you. So don't use me as an excuse not to mend your fences. As for Father, he can either be restrained here until his addiction passes or—”

Flint cut in, “What addiction?”

Degan looked directly at Allison. She gave him a look of exasperation rather than contrition. “I
told
you I lied a little.”

“A little?”

“It got you here, didn't it?”

“So he's not a drunkard?”

Flint started laughing.

Allison tsked. “He might as well be for all the attention he pays this family. He is obsessed with his silly new venture to the exclusion of everything else. And it's not even profitable! All his old businesses have suffered because of it, because he simply has no interest in anything else.
That
wasn't a lie.”

Degan looked at his brother again. “What about you?”

“What about me? Oh, did she claim I'm a drunkard, too? I'm not surprised since I tend to head for a bottle as soon as she enters the room. But, no, I might drink a tad more than I used to, but with good reason. I suppose you were looking forward to having me restrained as well?”

“You should know better than to say that.”

Flint sighed and even offered a conciliatory half smile. “I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I still seem to be defensive, a habit I've acquired that I truly deplore.”

That was the first indication Max had seen that Flint might be the charming man Degan had described to her. Then Flint rose and went over to his brother to give him a hug. That seemed to remove the last of the tension from the room. Max thought it would stay that way if Allison kept her mouth shut. For the moment, she seemed content that the Grant brothers were on better terms.

“I've missed you, Degan,” Flint admitted.

“We'll see if you still feel that way after I give you a quick education in dealing with the rest of Father's empire, in case he really has retired for good to pursue other interests. He was always hands-on. He expected me to be hands-on. But, in fact, his empire can run itself with the right managers in place. Responsibility can be delegated, Flint. You and I don't
need
to be hands-on.”

“You aren't staying, are you?” Flint guessed.

“What I just said applies whether I do or don't.”

Max was quick to note that a perfect opportunity to learn what Degan's plans were had just flown by. He wouldn't even tell his family? That made her realize the only reason he could be keeping those plans such a guarded secret was because she wasn't going to like them. He was going to just ride off into the sunset without her or send her packing down the trail. Like hell he was.

She knew what she had to do, but not while he was having this reunion with his family. He closeted himself with his brother for a couple of hours, and they came out of the room laughing. While the men were in the study talking business, Max got to have lunch with Allison. That was quite uncomfortable. Although they were sisters-in-law for the moment, they had absolutely nothing in common other than the men they were married to.

Max had to stew a little longer about her own future since Degan had to make one more stop after they left the Grant home. Flint had given Degan the address of their father's new business venture. When they got out of the carriage in front of it, she was surprised.

“
This
is what Allison disdains?” Max said with a laugh as she read the writing painted on the window advertising the publisher's latest western novel.

“She obviously assumes dime novels can't possibly turn a profit.”

“Then she doesn't know how popular these little books are. Or maybe she's just not good with math.”

“Dime novels have been around for a while. What surprises me is that my father is devoted to publishing only those set in the American West.”

“Did Flint tell you that?”

Degan nodded. “And that Father knows where I've been these past five years. I would have thought he would despise anything to do with my new life, including where I'm living it.”

Max frowned, feeling nervous and not knowing what to expect as they entered the publishing offices. She'd never met a publisher or a financier before, let alone a man who was both. And this was Degan's father! Would he be as intimidating as his elder son? Or even more so?

A young man neatly dressed in business attire was seated at a desk in the front room. “May I help . . .” His eyes widened.

“I'd like to see Robert Grant,” Degan said.

The young man scrambled around the desk. “Yes, sir. Of course, Mr. Grant. Please follow me.”

They were shown to a back room, where Robert Grant's name was tastefully painted in gold on the door. When the young man opened it, a deep male voice barked, “New submissions go on the fifth pile, not on my desk!”

The young man gestured for Degan and Max to enter, then left, closing the door behind him.

The older man didn't even look up from the pages he was reading. Thin, brown-paper packages littered his desk, with more arranged in piles all over the floor. With mussed black hair turning silver at the temples, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and spectacles perched on his nose, Robert Grant didn't look the way Max expected a wealthy banker to look.

“I can count at least fifteen piles in here,” Degan remarked drily, “but I can't tell, which is the fifth?”

Robert looked up, amazement spreading across his face, and slowly rose to his feet. He removed his spectacles. “Degan! Degan Grant, the most infamous gunfighter of all,” he said proudly. “Welcome home, son.”

Degan was obviously disconcerted, especially when his father came around the desk to hug him. Max stepped back to give the two big men space.

“You know how I've been living, not just where?”

“Of course I do. I've wrestled with my pride many times,” Robert said in a softer voice, “and, sadly, my pride always won. I didn't think you'd listen to me if I contacted you myself and asked you to come home after the way we parted.”

“You were furious.”

“I know, and I am truly sorry for that. I never should have tried to force you to marry Allison or take over at the banks for me when you obviously wanted a different sort of life. I sent detectives to find you that first year after you left, and several times more since then to keep me informed of your welfare. I can't tell you how proud I am of you for striking out on your own, becoming a man of adventure, and thriving in such a tough, dangerous environment. You're quite famous now.”

“Not here I'm not.” Max couldn't believe her eyes. Was Degan actually ­blushing?

“You would be if you let me publish you.” Robert grinned.

Degan snorted. “I'm not a writer.”

“I've had twelve submissions about you since I started this business three years ago. There
are
people already writing about you, Degan, fascinating, exciting stories of danger and daring, heroism and courage, on the frontier. I don't know if they are all based on actual events, since writers do tend to embellish, especially the author of this latest one that arrived yesterday that depicts you marrying a female outlaw. But while I would love to publish every one of them, fact or fiction, I wouldn't do that without receiving your permission first.”

“I did marry an outlaw.”

Max grinned and stepped forward. “That would be me, recently wanted for murder and bank robbery, erroneously, of course.”

Robert's eyes lit up. “This is delightful! And I thought Calamity Jane was the only woman having adventures out West.”

“Who?” Max asked.

“Martha Jane Canary?” But when Max still looked blank, he said, “Never mind, you're going to have to tell me all about yourself!”

Max enjoyed the visit with Degan's father much more than she did the one with his brother. Allison had certainly exaggerated about Robert Grant. He might be overzealous about his publishing business and spend all of his time reading submissions for it, but he obviously loved what he was now doing.

But by the time Max and Degan returned to the hotel later that day, she hadn't changed her mind about what she was going to do about her marriage. It was far too important to wait any longer.

In their room she immediately removed her jacket to get rid of the bustle so her gun belt would fit. Degan raised a brow at her as she buckled it on.

“What are you doing?”

“We're having another showdown.”

“I thought you agreed that wasn't a good idea.”

“It is now. And there are stakes on the table. If you win, we go find a lawyer and end this. If I win, we stay married for good. Are you ready?”

“No.”

She heard the humor in his tone. He expected her to back down again, but she wouldn't this time. This time was too important.

“Then get ready,” she warned. “Wait a moment.”

She paused to empty the bullets from her gun. She wasn't going to let a sweaty finger shoot him by accident. He wouldn't have that trouble.
He
didn't get nervous.