Her Dearest Enemy

“Before I agree to help you, I need to be sure there won’t be trouble.”

“You can’t be sure.” She strained against him, setting off heat waves where their bodies touched. Whatever was happening, Brandon could not bring himself to step away and let her go.

“You can’t be sure of…anything.” Her voice was breathy, her words tangled skeins of logic. “You can’t just bend life to your will, Brandon. Things happen, and sometimes you have to let them. You bet and you lose, you love and you get hurt, or you hurt others.”

“Since when did you become so wise, schoolmarm?” His lips brushed the soft hair at her temple as he spoke. “You don’t strike me as a lady who’s done a lot of living.”

Or a lot of loving, he thought. Lord, the lessons he would teach this woman if things were different between them!

Elizabeth Lane has lived and travelled in many parts of the world, including Europe, Latin America and the Far East, but her heart remains in the American West, where she was born and raised. Her idea of heaven is hiking a mountain trail on a clear autumn day. She also enjoys music, animals and dancing. You can learn more about Elizabeth by visiting her website at www.elizabethlaneauthor.com

A recent story by the same author:

ANGELS IN THE SNOW

(in Stay for Christmas anthology)

Elizabeth Lane

Chapter One

Dutchman’s Creek, Colorado, 1884

It was late afternoon on an October day when sunlight pooled like melted butter in the hollows of the land. The children of Dutchman’s Creek savored its warmth as they trooped down the path that led from the one-room schoolhouse to the wagon road. They laughed and chattered, their feet swishing happily through the thick carpet of dry leaves.

In the west, rising from foothills brushed with pine and aspen, the jagged peaks of the Rockies jutted against the indigo sky. The mountains were already white with snow; but here in this high valley the beauty of the day was like a last, lingering kiss, bittersweet, as only Indian summer can be.

A vagrant breeze swept through a clump of big- toothed maples, swirling leaves into the air like flocks of pink-and-crimson butterflies. The schoolhouse door, which the last departing child had left ajar, blew inward, causing Miss Harriet Smith to glance up from the half-graded stack of arithmetic papers on her desk. What she saw through the open doorway made her heart plummet like a mallard shot down in flight.

There was no mistaking the identity of the angry figure striding up the path toward the schoolhouse. Brandon Calhoun, who owned the bank, the hotel and, so it was whispered, the saloon, was the tallest man in town, with shoulders like a blacksmith’s and rough-hewn features that captured the eye of every woman he met.

Under different circumstances Harriet might have been flattered that the most powerful man in Dutchman’s Creek had come to pay her a call. But she knew exactly what was on Brandon Calhoun’s mind. She had been dreading their confrontation all day. Now that it was at hand, she had only one regret— that she hadn’t taken the offensive and bearded the lion in his den. After all, she had her own concerns, her own pride. And, truth be told, she was as worried about her brother Will as he was about his precious daughter Jenny.

Harriet’s nervous fingers tucked a stray lock of dark brown hair behind one ear as she watched his approach. Dressed in the slate-gray suit he often wore at the bank, he walked leaning slightly forward, like a ship battling its way in a storm—no, she thought, more like the storm itself, raging up the path, his elegant black boots plowing through the fallen leaves, creating chaos in their wake. His brow was a thundercloud, his mouth a grim slash in his chiseled, granite face. All he lacked was a fistful of lightning bolts to hurl at her with the fury of Jove.

As if this debacle were her fault!

Harriet’s heart drummed against her ribs as she settled her reading spectacles on her nose, dipped her pen in the inkwell and pretended to write. Her pulse broke into a gallop as he mounted the stoop and crossed the threshold. Fixing her gaze on the scribbling pen nib, she forced herself to ignore him until he spoke.

“I want a word with you, Miss Smith.”

“Oh?” She glanced up to see him looming above her, his face a study in controlled fury. Slowly and deliberately, Harriet removed her spectacles and rose to her feet. She was nearly five feet eight inches tall, but she had to look up to meet his withering blue eyes.

“You know why I’ve come, don’t you?” he said coldly.

“I do. And I’ve spoken with Will. There’ll be no more sneaking out at night to meet your daughter.”

“You’ve spoken to him!” Brandon Calhoun’s voice was contemptuous. “I caught your brother in a tree, last night, talking to Jenny through her open window! If I hadn’t come along, he’d likely have climbed right into her bedroom! If you ask me, the young whelp ought to be horsewhipped!”

Harriet felt the rush of heat to her face. “My brother is eighteen years old,” she said, measuring each word. “I can hardly turn him over my knee and spank him, Mr. Calhoun. But I do agree that he shouldn’t see Jenny alone. We had a long talk last night after he—”

“A long talk!” He muttered a curse under his breath. “You might as well have a long talk with a tomcat! I was his age once and I know what it’s like! There are girls down at Rosy’s who’ll put him out of his misery for a few dollars and others in town who’d likely do it for nothing. But, by heaven, I won’t have him touching my Jenny! Not him or any other boy in this town!”

His frankness deepened the hot color in Harriet’s face. In the eight years since the death of their parents in a diphtheria epidemic, she had devoted all her resources to raising her younger brother. She had done her best to teach Will right from wrong. But there were some things an unmarried sister couldn’t say to a growing boy—things that required the counsel of an experienced man. And there had been no man available.

With a growl of exasperation, Brandon Calhoun wheeled away from her and stalked to the window, where he stood glaring out at the autumn afternoon. Sunlight, slanting through the glass, played on the waves of his thick chestnut hair, brushing the faint streaks of gray at his temples with platinum. How old was he? Old enough to have a seventeen-year-old daughter, but surely no more than forty. There were deepening creases at the corners of his eyes, but his belly was flat and taut, his movements graced with a young man’s vigor.

Harriet had come to teach school in Dutchman’s Creek less than a year ago. Except for the schoolchildren, she was not well acquainted with many of the town’s citizens. But a woman at church had told her that the banker’s wife had died six years ago and, despite the fact that any number of ladies had set their caps for him, he had raised his daughter alone, just as she had raised Will. Maybe that was part of what had drawn the two young people together. Will and Jenny had met last summer and had been close ever since. That they were becoming too close was as much a concern to Harriet as it was to Jenny’s father.

Silence lay cold and heavy in the little classroom as Harriet pushed herself away from the desk and took a step toward him. Her legs quivered beneath her, threatening to give way. She willed herself to stand erect, to thrust out her chin and meet his blistering gaze with her own.

“Believe it or not, I’m no happier about this situation than you are,” she declared. “For years, I’ve been planning for Will to attend college. He’s finishing up his preparatory work by correspondence now, so that he can enter Indiana University in the spring to study engineering. If you think I’d have him jeopardize his future by getting mixed with some girl who doesn’t have the sense to—”

“Jenny isn’t some girl!” he snapped, cutting her off angrily. “And as for sense, she’s every bit as bright as she is pretty! I want nothing but the best for her, and that doesn’t include your calf-eyed, tree-climbing brother! By heaven, she deserves better!”

Harriet felt her anger rising as his words hung in the air between them. So the truth had come out at last. Brandon Calhoun was nothing but a strutting, bombastic snob who placed himself above common folk like Will and herself and judged his daughter worthy of a Vanderbilt heir. Merciful heaven, what grandiose delusions! He was nothing but a big fish in a very small pond! If she weren’t so furious, she could almost feel sorry for him!

“You’ve made your position quite clear, Mr. Calhoun,” she said in a voice that crackled like thin ice. “At least we seem to agree on one thing. I’m as anxious to protect Will’s future as you are to promote your daughter’s.”

Her subtle shift of verbs was not lost on him. His cobalt eyes darkened and she braced herself for another blast of hostility. For a long moment the only sound in the room was the droning buzz of a horsefly trapped against the windowpane. Seconds crawled past. Then, as Harriet held her breath, his rigid shoulders sagged. He exhaled raggedly, thrusting his fists into the pockets of his fine gabardine jacket.

“Jenny’s all I have,” he said. “She’s the only thing in my life that I give a damn about. If you had children of your own, you’d understand how I feel.”

If you had children of your own. Harriet winced as if he had caused her physical pain. She had put aside the hope of having her own family when she’d taken on the task of raising Will. Now, at twenty-nine, she knew that time had passed her by. She had become that most disparaged of creatures—an old maid.

Pressing her lips together, she gazed past him into the blur of sunlight that fell through the uncurtained window. She had always despised self-pity and refused to indulge in it. But the wretched man had known exactly where to jab and he had jabbed with a vengeance. Harriet had no doubt that he’d meant to wound her.

He cleared his throat, breaking the leaden silence between them. “This so-called talk you had with your brother. What did he have to say about his intentions?”

“That he loves your daughter. That he wants to marry her.”

He sucked in his breath as if he’d been gut- punched. “And how did you answer him?”

“How do you expect I would answer?” she retorted. “I told him it was foolish to even think of love at his age, let alone marriage! Getting involved with a girl at this point could ruin his plans for the future— indeed, it could ruin his whole life!”

“And did you resolve anything with him?” Brandon Calhoun’s voice was flat and cold.

“Only that there’ll be no more sneaking out at night to see Jenny. Will tends to be headstrong. As his sister, I’ve learned that if I draw the reins too tightly he’s quite capable of breaking them and going his own way.”

“So the reality is, he’s eighteen years old and the only control you have over the boy is what little he allows you.” He shot her a withering scowl. “I thought as much.”

Harriet fought the urge to fly at him and rip the smug expression off his face with her bare hands. “Whatever you’re implying, Mr. Calhoun, my brother is a decent, responsible young man!” she snapped. “Ask anyone who knows him!”

“I already have. Hezekiah Moon at the feed store says your brother’s the best worker he’s ever hired. He’s always on time, he has every account figured to the penny, and he can load a wagon in the time it takes the customer to have a smoke. But that doesn’t mean I want the young whelp sniffing around my Jenny!”

“So what is it you want?” Harriet demanded, suddenly out of patience with him. “If you’ve only come to grouse and complain, please consider your mission accomplished and let me get back to work!”

He retreated a step as if startled by her sudden vehemence. Then he swiftly recovered and seized the offensive. “I wouldn’t have wasted my time in coming here if I didn’t have something in mind,” he said, shifting his weight uneasily, like a boxer. “Since you don’t keep your money in my bank, I can only judge your financial situation from what I see. You live in a rented, two-bedroom shack next to the cemetery. You don’t own a buggy or even a horse, and as for your clothes—”

“My clothes are clean and modest and in good repair.” Harriet’s fists clenched against the skirt of her faded gingham dress. “If I don’t look like a page from a fashion magazine, that’s none of your concern, nor is the way I live! Aside from the matter of Will and Jenny, you and I have nothing to say to each other, Mr. Calhoun! Now kindly get out of my classroom and leave me in peace!”

He loomed over her, making everything in the room seem small. Blue lightning crackled in his eyes. “For what it’s worth, Miss Smith, I own this building and the land it sits on,” he said. “That would make it my classroom. And I don’t intend to leave you in any kind of peace until you’ve heard me out.”

Harriet willed herself to ignore her liquid knees and slamming pulse. She faced him squarely, her chin up, her features composed, her eyes meeting his in a steady gaze. But when she spoke, her shaking voice betrayed her. “Go on, then. I can hardly throw you out with my bare hands.”

One dark smudge of an eyebrow slid upward in unspoken challenge, as if to imply he’d like to see her try manhandling him; but when he spoke, his manner was cold and formal. “Very well. I’m prepared to make you and your brother an offer. I think you’ll agree that it’s more than generous.”

“I’m listening.” Harriet felt as if the ground had dissolved under her feet, leaving her with no solid place to stand. He was so imposing, so damnably sure of his power to turn her to quivering jelly. She found herself wishing he would give her an excuse to slap his insolent face. Of all the girls in town, why had Will chosen to fall in love with the pampered only child of a man like Brandon Calhoun?

He took a deep breath, the air rushing into his powerful chest. “Here’s my offer,” he said, pulling a folded paper out of his vest. “Leave town within the week, the two of you, and I’ll pay your way to wherever you want to go. If your brother agrees never to contact Jenny again, I’m prepared to pay for his college education. Every penny of it.”

Harriet stared up at him, shocked into silence by his audacity. The offer was more than generous; it was unimaginable.

She struggled to keep her wits about her, but her head had already begun to spin—as he had doubtless known it would. Over the years she had saved her own money for Will’s education, living like a pauper so that she could send every spare cent to the Denver bank where she kept her savings. By now, she calculated, she had enough to pay for three years of college. Somehow, with Will working summers, they would manage the fourth year.

But if Brandon Calhoun were to pay for Will’s education, the money she had saved would be hers. Dear heaven, she would be able to travel—to England, to Italy, to all the places she’d dreamed of seeing. Or she might even be able to buy her own small house, with space for a garden and no landlord to trouble her for the rent. It would be like a dream come true.

All she needed to do was to strike a bargain with the devil.

He was watching her, his steel-blue eyes wary but confident. Harriet could almost read his thoughts. This sorry spinster, so drab in her worn gingham frock, could not possibly be foolish enough to turn him down. Just like anyone else, the woman had her price. For a few thousand dollars he would be rid of her and her troublesome brother once and for all, with no stain on his own conscience or reputation.

Brandon Calhoun thought he could buy them off, as if they were common trash; as if they were so poor and so devoid of pride that they would take his charity—or bribery, to call it by its real name. She was as anxious to keep Will and Jenny apart as he was, but not at such a price. What a smug, self-righteous prig he was!

The wave of outraged pride that welled up in Harriet almost swept her off her feet. “How dare you?” She flung the words at him. “I am not for sale, Mr. Calhoun, and neither is my brother! I have enough money saved to pay for Will’s education myself. And as for our leaving, I have a two-year contract and twenty-three children who will be without a teacher if I desert them. If you’re so anxious to keep your daughter from associating with common folk like us, you might want to consider leaving town yourself!”

He glowered at her, his face burning as if she had slapped him. Harriet fought the impulse to shrink away from him. Even with her heart pounding and her legs buckling beneath her petticoat, she could not let this man intimidate her.

“Very well,” he said in a flat, cold voice. “I made you a fair and generous offer and you rejected it. All I have left to say is, keep your brother in line for his own good, Miss Smith. If he so much as speaks to my daughter, I’ll have the law on him!”

With those words, Brandon Calhoun turned on his heel and stalked out of the schoolroom.

Harriet stood rooted to the floor, gazing after him as he disappeared down the path in a swirl of fallen leaves. Her hands were shaking and the inside of her mouth felt as if she’d swallowed a fistful of dry sawdust.

Stumbling backward, she collapsed onto the cramped seat of a first-grade desk. Outside, the sun was sinking below the peaks. Its fading light cast dingy shadows on the schoolroom walls. The breeze that blew in through the open doorway had turned bitter. Harriet wrapped her arms around her trembling body, too stunned to even get up and close the door.

Had she done the right thing? Heaven help her, should she have swallowed her pride and accepted Brandon Calhoun’s offer?

Her spirit sank deeper as a gust of wind rattled the trees, ripping leaves off the branches and scattering the math papers on her desk. Maybe she should have put the banker off, told him she’d think on the matter and let him know. At least she should have spoken with her brother before making such a rash decision—but no, that would have changed nothing. Will was head over heels in love with the banker’s pretty, shy daughter. Young as he was, he had his own share of family pride. His answer would have been the same as hers.

Now what? How could she keep her brother from pursuing Jenny Calhoun—especially when Jenny seemed as eager as he was?

Harriet’s head throbbed at the thought of what lay ahead. Brandon had spoken truly about one thing. Will was eighteen years old, practically a man, and the only control she had over him was what little he allowed her. Her only hope was that her headstrong brother could be made to listen to reason.

Keep your brother in line for his own good, Miss Smith. If he so much as speaks to my daughter, I’ll have the law on him!

The words rang in Harriet’s ears as she staggered to her feet, shoved the door closed and bent to gather her wind-scattered papers. Could Brandon Calhoun really put her brother in jail? There was no law, surely, against two young people falling in love, but as the most influential man in town, the arrogant banker had the means to accomplish anything he wanted.

Would he carry out his threat, or worse? Either way it was a chance Harriet could ill afford to take. She had no means of knowing what lay in the darkness of Brandon’s heart. The only certainty was that she had made a very dangerous enemy.

Chapter Two

All the way home Harriet struggled with the question of what to tell her brother. Given the power, she would have chosen to wipe out the shattering encounter with Brandon Calhoun, the way she might erase a child’s botched arithmetic problem from the blackboard. That way, Will would never know what she had thrown away out of pride; nor would she need to make it clear that she was still dead set against his courtship of Jenny.

But that kind of denial was useless. One way or another, Will was bound to ferret out the truth. It was best that he hear it from her.

The wind plucked at her thin skirts, raising gooseflesh on her legs as she passed along the weathered picket fence that ringed the cemetery. Blowing leaves danced among the tombstones like ghostly spirits in the twilight.

Harriet pulled her thin wool shawl tighter around her shoulders. She’d been told that winters were long and harsh in this high mountain valley, but she had comforted herself with the thought that Will would be with her through the cold months to shovel the paths, chop wood for the stove and provide companionship on dark, snowbound evenings. Now she found herself wondering if it might not be best to send him to Indiana before the storms set in. He wouldn’t be able to start college until spring term, but maybe he could find work and a place to board until then. It would be a dear price to pay, for she truly wanted his presence over the winter. But at least he would be far away from Jenny Calhoun and her fire-breathing dragon of a father!

Harriet’s resolve began to crumble as she opened the door of the unpainted clapboard house and stepped over the threshold into its dusky interior. The place would be so lonely without Will. Worse, he was only eighteen, little more than a boy! And they had no relatives anywhere who might take him in. Sending him away to school was one thing, but simply putting him on the train was quite another. If he left now, he would be entirely on his own, easy prey for any opportunist who happened along! Merciful heaven, how could she just turn him out into the world, so innocent and untried?

Harriet was still struggling with the dilemma twenty minutes later as she sliced the bread and set the table for supper. The fire in the stove flickered on the rough-cut walls, lending a touch of warmth to the bleak kitchen with its small alcove that served as a parlor. Brandon had been right about the house. It was a shack in every sense of the word. Even the homey touches Harriet had added—the calico curtains, the crocheted afghan draped over the rocker and the framed family photographs on the wall— could not relieve the drabness or stanch the cold draughts that whistled between the boards.

She had rented the cheapest place she could find so that she could save the remainder that was needed for her brother’s education. True, she may have carried frugality too far this time. But there was nothing to be done about it now, except to thank the good Lord that she and Will had a roof over their heads, food on the table and the bright promise of days to come.

She was stirring last night’s leftover beans when she heard the scrape of Will’s boots on the stoop. Harriet could tell from the weary cadence of the sound that he’d put in a long, hard day at the feed store. At an age when many boys were sowing their wild oats, Will did the labor of a man. But he would not always have to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. She would see to that. She owed that much to their parents, who had cherished such hopes for him.

Will stumbled inside as if the wind had blown him through the open doorway. His hair and clothes were coated with dust from loading sacks of feed. His body sagged with weariness, as if he had spent the past nine hours carrying the weight of the world on his young back.