my half brother,” he replied. “My mother was the daughter of a Shoshone medicine man. Ryan’s mother was a pretty blond schoolteacher our father brought home from Saint Louis. She died nine years later, trying to give Ryan a baby sister. Women don’t seem to last long out here. Not white women at least.”
“I’m…sorry.”
“I take it you and Ryan didn’t spend much time talking.”
The edge in his voice made Cassandra want to slap him. “Whatever you’re thinking, you can stop right now,” she retorted hotly. “I didn’t come here to be insulted like—like—”
“Like what?” he demanded when she failed to finish her sentence. “Like a tramp? Like a whore, even? Is that how you came to know about the scar on Ryan’s leg, Miss Cassandra Riley?”
Cassandra’s fingers froze in midstitch. The shirt dropped unheeded to the quilt as she glared at him, masking her shame with fury. She was not what Morgan had just called her. But under the circumstances, she was certainly no better. At least whores were honest about who they were and what they did.
“I loved Ryan,” she said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “And he loved me—at least I thought he did. He was the only one—the only one ever. As for you—” She caught up the shirt and flung it at his exposed chest. “You can sew on your own damned button!”
Morgan did not stir. He let the shirt slide to his lap, his impassive granite features concealing his thoughts. An eternity seemed to pass before he so much as breathed—a weary exhalation that drained away the tension in his body.
“Do you want to stay, Cassandra?” he asked in a low voice. “Do you want shelter here, for yourself and your baby?”
Cassandra felt her jaw go slack. She stared at him. “Of course I do,” she whispered. “Why else would I have come all this way?”
“Then listen to me,” he said, placing the shirt on the bed, at a neutral distance between them. “There are some things you must understand—and some promises you must make.”
“Promises?”
“If you stay, it’s going to be on my terms,” he said. “Otherwise, first thing tomorrow, I’ll get a wagon with a couple of drivers to haul you back to Cheyenne, or wherever it is you came from. Do you agree?”
“I’ll hold my answer until I’ve heard your terms, if you don’t mind.” Cassandra brushed back the damp tangle of her hair, her heart thundering. “You said there were things I needed to understand.”
He leaned forward in the chair, his Shoshone eyes impaling her like flint-tipped arrows. “First of all, I don’t trust you any farther than I can throw a full-grown buffalo. Is that understood?”
She nodded, struggling to hold her tongue.
“Until I have proof to the contrary, I’ve no choice except to assume you’re lying—about Ryan, about everything.”
“And if I’m telling the truth?” Cassandra met his gaze straight on even though she was jelly inside. “You’ve no proof either way, you know. Not until the baby comes, and perhaps not even then.” Deliberately she picked up the shirt, located the dangling needle and resumed the task of sewing on the loose button. The shirt was slightly warm, its weathered folds releasing the subtle aromas of trail dust, horses and strong lye soap.
“That,” he said, watching her, “is why I’m prepared to make a bargain with you.”
“What sort of bargain?” She cocked a cynical eyebrow, knowing she could not let him see how desperate she was.
Morgan shifted in the chair, leaning toward her now. Through the half-open shutter, the late afternoon sun cast harsh, slanting lines across his face. It was not a gentle face, Cassandra thought, or even a particularly handsome face. Sharp bones jutted beneath his wind-burnished skin, hooding his eyes in deep shadow. He sat lightly, the open locket dangling from his fingers.
“Downstairs on the porch, there’s an old man who’s the heart and soul of this ranch,” he said. “Jacob Tolliver came to this place as a trapper while the country was still wild. He married into the Shoshone tribe, bought land while it was cheap, and went on to build everything you’ll see here. You were likely driving your wagon across the Tolliver Ranch all morning.
“Six years ago, out on the range, my father was struck by lightning. We found him in a gully the next morning, pinned under his dead horse with his back broken in three places. Since then he’s been in a wheelchair, and hated every minute of it.”
Morgan had turned toward the window, his profile craggy against the slanting light. “The one bright spot in my father’s life has been Ryan. Now, with every day that passes, the old man’s growing more frail. If Ryan doesn’t come back, I fear he’ll have nothing left to live for.”
He’ll have you! The words sprang to Cassandra’s lips, but she bit them back without speaking. She had no business meddling in family relationships, she reminded herself.
But then, hadn’t she done that already?
“I won’t have him hurt again.” Morgan had turned back to face her, his eyes challenging everything she’d told him. “If that baby you’re carrying is really Ryan’s, the promise of a grandchild could make my father’s life worth hanging on to. But if you’re lying—if you’re nothing but a cheap little opportunist who’s come to take advantage of a family tragedy—”
He swallowed the surging anger in his voice. “If that’s the case, and my father learns the truth, the disappointment could kill him as surely as a bullet through the heart.”
Cassandra forced herself not to cringe under the blazing scrutiny of his eyes. She forced her fingers to move, plying the needle with a steadiness that belied her galloping pulse. It was already too late for the truth. She had come too far, said too much. Nothing mattered now except providing a secure future for her baby.
“Ask yourself this,” she said quietly. “If this baby weren’t Ryan’s, would I have come all this way, at such risk? Would I have traveled alone, for six long, miserable days in that rickety old wagon, just to find your family?”
“You’re not the one asking questions here,” he said. “I am.”
Cassandra returned his stony gaze, her mind groping for some point of safety. Morgan would check out her story, that much was certain. But she had already laid a false trail to Cheyenne. As for the rest, she and Jake had married in Nebraska, arriving in Laramie only a few months before his death. Even as Cassandra Logan, her past would not be easy to trace. Barring the unforeseen, Morgan would find nothing to disprove her claim.
Unless Ryan Tolliver turned up alive.
But that was a gamble she had already resolved to take.
“You said you were prepared to bargain,” she reminded him.
Morgan nodded grimly. “I’m giving you one last chance to come clean,” he said. “Tell me the baby isn’t my brother’s. I’ll see you safely back to Cheyenne, give you three hundred dollars toward a new start, and forget I ever laid eyes on you. No questions asked. Under the circumstances, I’d say that’s a generous offer.”
