The Gunslinger and the Heiress

He squeezed her tentatively, in awe of her changed form. “Hi, sis. Yes, I left my things there.”

“Oh, it’s been too long this time.” She sniffled, and he saw the start of tears forming in her eyes.

Uncomfortable with the display of emotion, he turned to his brother-in-law, reading the dark bent of his expression. Tread carefully, it said. Rachel didn’t need any worries, and an argument between him and Dorian wouldn’t do her any good.

“Don’t mind me. Really,” Rachel said, blinking away her tears. “It’s just something to do with being in a family way. I seem to cry at the drop of a hat.”

He grinned at that. Seemed women could always muster up a good cry—sometimes in honest feeling and sometimes only to manipulate. He’d experienced both. “Guess I interrupted quite a party. I’ll head to the house and you come on back when you’re good and ready.” Turning to Hannah, he resettled his hat on his head and tugged the brim down. “Your grandfather is right. Your guests are waiting.”

Hannah pouted but moved her hands gracefully in answer. Thank you for the gift. You’ll come by tomorrow?

Caleb caught the smoldering anger in Dorian’s eye. “Sure. Tomorrow evening.”

She smiled, reassured, and turned down the stone path to the house.

The moment she was out of earshot, Dorian faced him squarely. “Please don’t make contact with Hannah again.”

“I’d say that’s up to Hannah, Mr. Lansing.”

Rachel’s face blanched.

“You will honor my wishes with my granddaughter.” Dorian didn’t raise his voice, but Caleb heard—no, he felt—the underlying steel. This was a man who got his way. “Hannah is young and impressionable, and she has been brought up to a finer style than one to which you are accustomed. I believe you would agree with me when I say that she deserves better.”

Caleb nearly choked. The man was anything but tactful. “Our friendship goes back way before Hannah came here to live with you. Money doesn’t figure into it.”

Dorian raised his brows. “You’ll find, Mr. Houston, that money has everything to do with her life now, the merchant business and her future.”

Rachel gasped—a strangled, half-swallowed sound—and the corners of her mouth tightened, pale and drawn. Her hand clutched her bulging abdomen. “I...I believe I really must start home.”

The way she said it, more than the words she used, had Caleb moving toward her to catch her by the arm. Stuart did the same, clutching her opposite arm in support. “Rach?”

Her attempt at a reassuring smile faltered. “We should be going.”

“The midwife?” Stuart asked, looking at Caleb over her bowed head.

She shook her head. “It will pass. I need to lie down for a bit. Just overdid things today. That’s all.”

Stuart quirked his head. The look was subtle, but Caleb understood. He was to take Rachel home. Stuart would go for the midwife. It didn’t matter that Rachel thought it unnecessary.

“Thank you for having us, Dorian,” Rachel said. “Give Hannah our love.”

Dorian stood aside to let them pass. Caleb could almost hear the thoughts swirling as the man assessed him one last time. “Mr. Houston. You’d be smart to remember what I said.”

The challenge rang in the damp evening air. Caleb ignored it, but as he stepped away, flanking Rachel’s side, he felt the man’s gaze sear his shoulders. Dorian Lansing was not someone to turn his back on. He’d best remember that.

* * *

The guests were gone, the servants abed, the house quiet. Yet in one room, Hannah’s sitting room, the gas lamp burned steadily. Hannah sat at her writing desk watching Grandfather stride the length of the apartment, his bow tie hanging loose at his collar and his face tight with controlled anger.

“I cannot believe that you left your guests, friends who had traveled considerable distances, to consort with that ne’er-do-well. Have you no pride in yourself? No sense of decency?”

Caleb is a good friend, too— Grandfather turned away before she could finish signing. She dropped her hands into her lap. She wasn’t surprised. He had little patience for the way she communicated. Since the day she’d arrived ten years ago, unable to speak, she had been a disappointment. Each doctor she had seen, each professional opinion, each unsuccessful visit had frustrated him further. Yet she had no control over this wretched solitude. If only she could be the same as everyone else, if only she could force the words out, then everything would be righted. Grandfather would have to listen.

He stopped pacing. “Tonight’s inappropriate behavior must be addressed. In view of what has occurred, I feel I must contain you to your room for the time being.”

But she was supposed to see Caleb! Thoughts of his kiss came back full force. What a flood of sensations had come over her with that kiss. Was that what it was supposed to be like? One thing was certain. She wanted to talk to him about it. And she wanted another one.

But of that, Grandfather would not approve. She did, however, need to keep her appointment with the hypnotist. Opening her secretary, she withdrew a sheet of paper and dashed off the words Appointment. Hypnotist. Ten o’clock.

Grandfather frowned. “I haven’t forgotten, but I regret now giving you leave to go. That man is not a physician. I find it distasteful to visit his establishment, to be seen in his part of town.”

No! Grandfather mustn’t change his mind! She had to see the hypnotist! Quickly she wrote Edward’s name.

“It’s not a matter of who will accompany you. This person is no more than a carnival charlatan—a waste of time. With further consideration, I cannot allow you to keep your appointment.”

The thought flitted through her mind that he sounded much like Caleb had in his assessment of the hypnotist—a similarity she refused to dwell on at the moment. She had to go, had to try, no matter how slight the chance it would work.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow, after you have time to consider your actions and how they’ve disgraced the family.”

Grandfather was nearly to the door. She tugged at his arm.

He looked down at her, his mouth a firm line of disapproval. She’d seen that expression a number of times over the years since coming to live with him and Grandmother Rose. Nothing she did would change his mind.

Then, as she watched, the resolve on his face shifted.

She stepped back, unsure what this might mean.

“Your mother was the same, you know,” he said. “Impulsive. Headstrong. I had hoped you would not take after her in that regard.”

Her mother? He never spoke of her. That he said anything emphasized how upset she’d made him. She’d been three years old when Mother drowned—and she had stopped speaking. At least that was what Stuart had told her when she was old enough to understand. As much as she would have liked to remember her mother, she couldn’t. Her memories started at the lighthouse with Stuart taking care of her.

Grandfather sighed and patted her arm. “I don’t wish to do this, you know—punish you like a young schoolgirl. Not at your age.” He moved back to the window seat and sat, hands on his knees, and stared at the floor—a sign he was deep in thought.

The quiet between them filled with impending heaviness. Her breathing grew shallow, until the air in her lungs ceased entering or leaving. She dared not move. This was too important. Everything seemed to hang in the balance of what he would say next.

Finally, he looked up and narrowed his gaze on her. “Therefore, I have a proposition.”

* * *

Three days later, Caleb knocked on the door of the estate and asked for Hannah.

“Wait here,” the butler instructed. He didn’t bother inviting Caleb inside but shut the door in his face.

Caleb blew out a long breath. Guess he’d worn out his welcome in one fell swoop. Could be that the whales would start their trip south before he’d see Hannah now.

He paced along the top of the marble steps. Twice, he thought about leaving, despite the fact he’d thought of little else but Hannah for the past three days. It was that kiss. Whether he liked it or not, kissin’ her had changed things between them. He felt—different now. A surprise, considering he’d known her all his life. Concerning, too. And he didn’t want to think any further along those lines until he spoke with her.

He viewed the rose garden and lawn twenty feet below the low ornamental railing and resigned himself to waiting as long as it would take. He’d meant to come by sooner—two days ago to be exact—but it couldn’t be helped. Babies come on their own timetable without any consideration for the knots they might tangle in everyone else’s schedules. His nephew, Lawrence, had squalled his way out and demanded every minute of his time while Stuart and the midwife tended Rachel. She’d had a rough go of it. Even now, thinking on it made his stomach clench.

The door hinge creaked and immediately he turned. “Hannah—” She wasn’t alone. Her grandfather stood beside her, creating a chill in the air just by his presence. “Mr. Lansing.”

Dorian didn’t bother to acknowledge him.

“I couldn’t come sooner. Rachel had a boy. She’s fine—they’re both fine.” He stopped talking. Hannah looked as if she might be ill—or exhausted. There was a bruised, fragile look to her eyes, and she had trouble meeting his gaze. His breath left him in a whoosh of disappointment. She wasn’t speaking. That was what the problem was. She’d had her hopes up so high. Too high.

He started toward her—not quite sure what to do, what to say. He wasn’t exactly the “cry on my shoulder” type, but he had to do something.

She stiffened, clearly erecting an invisible barrier between them.

He stopped, curling his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her, whether to hug her or shake her, he wasn’t sure. Hadn’t he told her it was a long shot? Hadn’t he warned her not to get her hopes up? “It didn’t work,” he said flatly.

She looked down to the slab of white marble at her feet.

He’d bet two shiploads of gold that she’d done this because of Dorian. The man steadfastly refused to learn the sign language. Over and over, Hannah put herself through agony because she wanted to communicate with him, and all the while Dorian didn’t even try to understand.

A body couldn’t keep warding off disappointment time after time without growing bitter.

Finally, she met his gaze. I can’t see you anymore, Caleb.

That wasn’t what he expected. “What’s going on?”

She shook her head, a pained expression on her face.

Suddenly worried, he stepped toward her. “Did something happen at the hypnotist? Did he hurt you?”

She moved away until her back flattened against the great oak door. No. I’m fine.

Well, that was a lie. He waited for her to go on.

Things have changed since I saw you last.

It had to be that kiss. He darted a look at Dorian, a few feet away. It wasn’t hard to figure that the ocean would turn red before that man would give them a sliver of privacy.

She twisted a handkerchief in her hand.

“I’ll come back in a few days—when you are feeling better.”

No. Don’t come. I can’t see you anymore, Caleb. Not ever.

He tightened his jaw. “You’re not makin’ sense. If it’s the kiss that’s botherin’ you...”

You shouldn’t have done that.

A slow burn started in his gut. “As I recall, you were the one doing most of the asking.”

No. I’m sure you are wrong.

So that was how things stood. She couldn’t own up to her actions. She was embarrassed about being forward, and instead of admitting it or dealing with it, she was trying to put the blame firmly in his lap.

He glanced at Dorian, wishing the man would disappear so he could talk easier with Hannah. Now, that was a fantasy. He swallowed. “This is how you want it?”

She nodded, not quite meeting his gaze.

He took one last considering look. They both knew she was twisting the facts, but she’d made her choice. He should have been ready for it. People he cared about had been leavin’ him his entire life—first his mother, then his father, and then Rachel. This was just one more time.

“Have it your way, then.” Slow and deliberate, he turned and strode down the front steps. Behind him, he heard the door quietly click shut.

Chapter One

Five years later

“I’m sorry, miss. I’ll need payment up front for that.”

Hannah stared at the thin, pimply-faced boy behind the counter for a full ten seconds. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking at any corner of the Cigar Emporium rather than back at her. He was new and hopelessly awkward in his new position. “You must be mistaken,” she said, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“No mistake. I’ll lose my job if I extend more credit.”

She stiffened, at the same time glancing over her shoulder to make sure no customers had heard. Across the room two men stood before a display of chewing tobacco and debated the merits of the three different brands. They appeared unaware of her situation, and she’d like to keep it that way. Only moments before she’d been thinking how she enjoyed the fragrance of the cherrywood tobacco that permeated the small shop as a respite from the brine-laden air outside. Now she could barely think through her embarrassment.

Forcing a calm demeanor, she asked, “Is this a new policy? If so, I’m sure it doesn’t pertain to my family.” She pushed the hand-carved ivory pipe across the counter. “Please. I’d like it wrapped.”

Still the boy hesitated, wiping his hands on his white apron.

“You do know who I am?”

He gulped audibly and fidgeted with the corners of the massive account book in front of him. “Yes, Miss Lansing. Your family has done business here for years.”

“And half of the items in this shop arrived here by way of my grandfather’s ships.” She softened her voice. “This pipe is for his birthday. You wouldn’t deny him his present, would you?”

“I...I... Your total has reached the limit.”

“My grandfather pays the bill monthly. There must be a mistake.” The ledger would prove her point. She reached for it to see for herself when a beefy hand splayed over the page, blocking her view.

“I’ll take it from here, Toby. Go see to the other customers.” The shop’s owner, Mr. O’Connell, a heavyset Irish man with a handlebar mustache, turned the book back toward himself as the new clerk scurried away with a look of relief on his young face. “Can’t have my other customers’ tabs becoming general knowledge, now, can I? I’m sure, given your family’s business, you understand, Miss Lansing.”

What he implied stung. She wasn’t one to manipulate such knowledge to her own advantage, though she knew those who would. She was only interested in the accounting of the Lansing total.

The two customers had stopped their discussion and listened intently now. Good gracious, but this was getting uncomfortable! Her cheeks heated. She never carried much money on her. According to Grandfather, it was unladylike. There had never been any problems in the past with putting items on a tab. Her gloved hands shook slightly as she loosened the blue ribbon cinching her purse and counted out enough money to cover a deposit on the pipe. “In the first place, I hadn’t planned to have my grandfather pay for his own present, but it quite takes me by surprise that you won’t extend credit to me. I shall return tomorrow with the rest. Good day, Mr. O’Connell.” She made a stiff-backed, dignified exit—a Lansing exit. Grandfather would be proud—she hoped.

Once outside she stopped and took a deep breath, allowing a moment for her cheeks to cool and to put up her umbrella against the light rain. Down the wet street, her carriage waited. She had planned to stop at the milliners to check the designs for a new spring bonnet, but now she was uncertain. Would she run into the same predicament there as she had at the tobacco shop? Perhaps it would be best to first speak with Grandfather.

“Please, take me home,” she instructed her driver when she arrived at the carriage. He jumped down from his seat and assisted her inside the conveyance. Only then, obscured by the dark velvet curtains from the curious stares of the few people who had ventured out in this weather, did she sink back into the plush cushions and consider what had just occurred.

It had to be a mistake. Grandfather was always punctual in paying his bills to the point of being regimental. For as long as she could remember, there had been plenty of funds from the shipping enterprise to cover incidentals whenever she’d wanted anything. Perhaps, with Stuart away, Grandfather needed a hand with the business. It couldn’t be easy keeping track of everything with all that he had to do.

The carriage jolted into motion, but she paid no attention to the tree-lined city parading by. Absently she tugged on the pendant at her breast. Ever since Grandmother Rose had passed on, Grandfather had been happy to have her run the household. Although she was now proficient at throwing dinner parties and carrying on the conversation with business associates, Grandfather had maintained that the shipping business was a man’s task. In the past five years he’d expanded it—adding two more ships. Had it become too much for him to oversee without an assistant?

The trip from the shopping district to the Lansing estate on Nob Hill took a matter of minutes. Once there, she hurried up the wide marble stairs and through the massive front door. The faint scent of lemon polish reached her as she deposited her cloak and umbrella into Edward’s waiting arms. “Grandfather?”

“In his study, miss.”

She headed down the hallway, untying her bonnet as she walked. The sound of her footsteps on the tiles echoed off the high ceiling and walls.

“Grandfather? We need to talk—”

His room was empty.

She sighed in frustration, spun around to search farther down the hall and then stopped herself. Something wasn’t right. She turned back to the study. Papers and notes were scattered askew over Grandfather’s massive desk. Totally unlike him. Neatness and order ruled Dorian Lansing and everything around him. He controlled his estate in the same manner he had once, as a young man of twenty-two, controlled his first ship—or so she’d been informed.

She hesitated in the doorway. Slowly, eerily, a moan issued, the sound coming from behind the dark Victorian desk. Her breath hitched in her chest. She ran to the far side of the furniture and found him lying prostrate on the parquet floor, his face pasty white.

“Grandfather!” she cried out, kneeling beside him. In the next breath she screamed, “Edward! Come, quick!”

* * *

A significant stroke, the doctor said. Upon hearing it, Hannah’s heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. Grandfather would need constant care and rest if he was to recover. After seeing the family’s personal physician out, Hannah called the house staff together in the kitchen.

“Where is Tan Ling?” she asked. “She should hear this, too.”

“Mr. Lansing discharged her last week, miss,” Edward explained.

“Oh,” she said, confused. Grandfather had neglected to tell her. Then she grew irritated. She should have been informed. After all, she was in charge of the household staff. It was her job to do the hiring and discharging. Tan Ling had been with the Lansings for the past three years. What of the letters of recommendation the young woman would need to find new employment? Had Grandfather considered them? Besides, more than any paperwork, she would have liked to have said goodbye.

She looked over the expectant loyal faces of those before her. “Mr. Lansing has taken ill and will require special care. A nurse will be attending him over the next few weeks while he recovers.” If he recovers, she thought to herself, and then quickly pushed the traitorous idea from her mind. He had to get well. He just had to. “Please make her welcome when she arrives.”

A burning sensation threatened behind her eyes. “This illness will be especially hard on Grandfather. He’s...he’s weak on his right side and unable to get out of bed. I’m sure you know how independent he has been.”

Looks passed between the staff.

Hannah understood their trepidation. Dorian wasn’t known for his patience or temperate disposition when he was in good health. What would the household be like now?

“That is all. Except, Edward? A word, please.”

Hannah waited for the others to take their leave, and then turned to the butler. He had been a sailor on one of Grandfather’s ships before coming to work at the estate. He’d been with Grandfather the longest and was a man she knew would answer honestly.

“What happened with Tan Ling? Was there an infraction of the rules?”

“No, miss.”

“What, then?”

He paused, a discomfited look passing over his usually austere face.

“I have known you many years, Edward. Please, speak freely. I know you are cognizant of a great many things within the household and keep them to yourself.”

“Very well, then.” His brow furrowed as he chose his words. “I believe Mr. Lansing was concerned with conserving costs. The loss of his ships—”

Ships lost? She schooled her face to remain impassive. “Obviously it is worse than he confided to me.”

Edward exhaled, believing her ruse that she was in her grandfather’s confidence. “I believe so.”

* * *

For the next three days, Hannah studied the Lansing Enterprises ledgers until numbers and cargo listings were leaking from her ears. Foul weather had claimed two of their largest cargos, not to mention the two ships, sinking both to the bottom of the sea. They had but one ship left—an older one that was in dry dock for repairs.

No matter how hard she stared at the figures, she couldn’t come up with additional income. The majority of the balances had a minus before them. She longed to discuss it with Grandfather, but the doctor had said that any added stress might cause him to suffer a relapse. He was to be kept as calm as possible. She mustn’t burden him with business.

Shuffling through the layers of letters and bills, she categorized them from most pressing to least—the most being a legal document from San Diego regarding the shipment of furniture and supplies to the Hotel Del Coronado, an establishment that was to rival the Palace in San Francisco. Apparently upon hearing of the downed ships, the owners had sent an immediate claim demanding compensation. She frowned. How considerate of them when Grandfather’s health hung in the balance. Some things were more important than their gold-rimmed tea sets. She dropped the offending papers on the desk and then checked the time on the cabinet clock. Nearly noon. Perhaps his tray was ready. She rose to her feet and found Nina in the kitchen assembling Grandfather’s lunch. “I’ll take it to him,” she said, picking up the tray laden with warm, mashed apples and cinnamon, a thin slice of cheese and clam chowder soup. “I’d welcome a respite.”

“You’ll be sick yourself if you don’t rest a bit, Miss Lansing. You must take care. You can’t solve everything in a day as much as you try.”

“Thank you, Nina.” She scooted out of the room. Nina would talk forever if given the chance. Her conversation was at times comforting, but right now Hannah needed solutions, not chatter.

She climbed the stairs and entered Grandfather’s room. Upon seeing him sitting up in bed, surrounded by plumped pillows, she stopped short, nearly dropping the tray. “You’re sitting up!”

A gruff “Harrumph” punctuated the expectant pause following her words. He had no patience for people who stated the obvious. Quickly she handed the tray off to the nurse and hurried to his bedside.

“Are you well enough to do this?” she asked, worried that the strain might be more than he could handle.

He held his left hand out to her, and she moved to take it, letting him draw her to his side. She sat on the edge of the mattress and expelled a shaky breath. “You...you are stronger today?”