Page 78 of West Wind

“Well, he’s always been harder on himself than on anyone else.” Bart frowned. “He went after the bank robbers, and he caught them. I’ll never forget the afternoon he walked back into this house. He tossed a wad of money on the table in the foyer. There was blood, so much blood on his shirt and his hands, dried and forgotten.”

She could see it, too well.

“Dorothea was here, waiting for him to return. He’d been gone four days, and she waited from sunup to sundown each and every day. When he did finally arrive, he terrified her. He tossed the money on the table and growled, That’s what four lives are worth, Bart. Sarah and those three outlaws. Eight hundred dollars.”

“His first bounty,” she whispered.

Bart nodded. “Dorothea ran from the house, broke the engagement, and married someone else. She said Travis had changed too much, that he wasn’t the man she’d agreed to marry. Travis went to Mexico for a year, came back for a few weeks, disappeared again. He reappeared for a couple of weeks five years ago. I haven’t seen or heard from him since then, until he showed up with you.”

She wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek. “Poor Shelley.”

“Don’t ever let him hear you say that,” Bart said quickly. “It was a long time ago,” he added.

“But… but that Dorothea. Didn’t she realize what he was going through? Did she think that he could fight in a bloody war for four years and not come back a changed man? What a heartless… cold…”

“Bitch,” Bart finished for her. “I don’t know what Travis saw in her in the first place.”

She searched Bart’s face. It was a good face, much like Shelley’s. These memories obviously pained him. After all, Sarah had been his sister, too. He’d lost her and his only brother. One dead, the other running away.

“Miss St. Clair…” he began.

“Annie, or Annabelle, please.”

“Annabelle. I might be sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but it won’t be the first time.” He leaned forward. “Travis told me he’s leaving as soon as you’re well.”

“Leaving?”

He nodded. “Maybe you should lean back on those pillows and take it easy for a few more days. I don’t suppose you could manage to look a bit paler?”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Where is he, Bartholomew?” The haughty blonde, striking in an impeccable blue day dress, swept into the library with the air of supreme confidence she’d carried well since she’d turned fourteen.

Bart looked up from his desk, happy for any diversion that freed him from the endless paperwork involved in the family business he’d managed since his father’s death. Finance was dull compared to his brother’s wayward life. A wicked smile crossed his face. There hadn’t been this much excitement in the house for years. “Dorothea.” He rose and crossed the room to take her hand and kiss it gallantly. “Whatever do you mean?”

She pushed his hand away and scowled. “I know Travis is back. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bart led the tall blonde to an overstuffed chair. After she sat he lowered himself into the matching chair beside her. He offered up a pitiful expression, complete with insincere frown. “I’ve felt so guilty. He made me promise not to tell anyone. However did you find out?”

“Servants talk, Bartholomew. You know that,” she snapped.

“Then you know…” He leaned forward and whispered, “Travis didn’t come home alone.”

Dorothea’s face reddened. “The opera singer. Yes, I heard.”

“Have you told…”

“Not a soul,” she said before he could finish the question. “I’ve not even told Herbert.”

Herbert, Dorothea’s sour brother, was all business to a fault. He was no fun at all, had no sense of adventure. If he knew their secret, San Francisco would know.

“I’m glad you understand why the details of Travis’s return must be kept under wraps.”

The blonde regained her composure, straightening her spine and smiling. It was a small smile, one that would not add wrinkles to her perfect face. “I saw Miss St. Clair the last time she sang in San Francisco. She’s talented, I suppose, but I don’t know what Travis could possibly see in that chubby little girl. Does he know I’m a widow?”

Bart leaned back in his chair. She might as well have asked, Does he know I’m available?

“I told him.” He wanted to tell her that Travis didn’t care, and in truth he didn’t seem to, but no one knew better than Bart that his brother had a weakness for Dorothea. A weakness he’d never understood. She was beautiful, possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. She was also cold and calculating.