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“The price is you. I want you to marry met.” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Copyright
“The price is you. I want you to marry me.”
Lucas let his finger skim her earlobe, then move down her neck. “You want something from me. Maybe I want something from you, too.”
Color flushed Julianna’s pale cheeks. “You don’t have to marry me for that. You could just...I mean, I could...”
“Be my mistress?” he finished for her. “Let’s just call this a long-term investment. One that includes children.”
“Children?” she gasped. “You want me to have your child?”
He struggled to contain his anger over the shocked tone in her voice. “I want a family, and their mother will be my wife, not my mistress. Make no mistake, Julianna. You will be mine, and mine alone.”
“And love, Lucas?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “What about love?”
Dear Reader,
The joys of summer are upon us—along with some July fireworks from Silhouette Desire!
The always wonderful Jennifer Greene presents our July MAN OF THE MONTH in Prince Charming’s Child.
A contemporary romance version of Sleeping Beauty, this title also launches the author’s new miniseries. HAPPILY EVER AFTER, inspired by those magical fairy tales we loved in childhood. And ever-talented Anne Marie Winston is back with a highly emotional reunion romance in Lovers’ Reunion. The popular miniseries TEXAS BRIDES by Peggy Moreland continues with the provocative story of That McCloud Woman. Sheiks abound in Judith McWilliams’s The Sheik’s Secret, while a plain Jane is wooed by a millionaire in Jan Hudson’s Plain Jane’s Texan. And Barbara McCauley’s new dramatic miniseries, SECRETS!, debuts this month with Blackhawk’s Sweet Revenge.
We’ve got more excitement for you next month—watch for the premiere of the compelling new Desire miniseries THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB. Some of the sexiest, most powerful men in the Lone Star State are members of this prestigious club, and they all find love when they least expect it! You’ll learn more about THE TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB in our August Dear Reader letter, along with an update on Silhouette’s new continuity. THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS, debuting next month.
And this month, join in the celebrations by treating yourself to all six passionate Silhouette Desire titles.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3
Blackhawk’s Sweet Revenge
Barbara McCauley
www.millsandboon.co.uk
BARBARA McCAULEY was born and raised in California and has spent a good portion of her life exploring the mountains, beaches and deserts so abundant there. The youngest of five children, she grew up in a small house, and her only chance for a moment alone was to sneak into the backyard with a book and quietly hide away.
With two children of her own now and a busy household, she still finds herself slipping away to enjoy a good novel. A daydreamer and incurable romantic, she says writing has fulfilled her most incredible dream of all—breathing life into the people in her mind and making them real. She has one loud and demanding Amazon parrot named Fred and a German shepherd named Max. When she can manage the time, she loves to sink her hands into fresh-turned soil and make things grow.
Prologue
There was a bad moon rising.
Bright and full, it glowed through thick bands of dark, fast-moving clouds, while a crisp breeze, heavy with the scent of fall and freshly turned dirt, shuddered through the sycamores and over the rolling expanse of manicured lawn.
Three boys moved quietly through the darkness, weaving between the rigid pillars of stone until they stood at the farthest edge of Wolf River Cemetery. There were no trees here over the new grave, no picturesque creeks or shrubbery. No headstone, no marker. Just flat, cold ground.
Grim-faced, the boys circled the grave.
Lucas Blackhawk was the first to speak. At thirteen, he was the oldest of the trio by five months. “You get what we need, Santos?”
Nick Santos, the youngest by ten months, reached under his tattered sweatshirt and pulled a hammer from the waistband of his jeans. “I wasn’t fast enough to get the nails. Grunts was coming up the hallway and almost caught me in the tool room.”
Grunts, as the boys affectionately called the night guard at Wolf River County Home for Boys, was nicknamed for his asthmatic breathing. Though the ailment was an unfortunate stroke of luck for the guard, for the boys it served as early detection of his approach.
“Nick Santos not fast enough?” Killian Shawnessy ribbed. Ian had never known his exact birthday, but the priest who’d found him on the steps of St. Matthew’s Seminary estimated late April. That made him five months younger than Lucas. “Ain’t no one faster than you, Nick.”
They all grinned at that.
By all appearances, the boys could have been brothers. Tall, lean frames, dark hair. And their eyes, deep brown, all glinted with the same fierce intensity that even at their young age made other males wary and females sigh.
The breeze picked up, rustling dried leaves around the three boys’ feet. They sobered quickly and stared down at the grave below them.
Lucas flipped on a flashlight and handed it to Ian, then pulled a stake out of his backpack and passed it to Nick. “You hammer the stake in. Ian, shine that light into my backpack. I got some wire here somewhere.”
Nick drove the stake into the ground while Lucas retrieved a roll of wire. Both boys then turned to Ian.
Ian hesitated, then pulled out the wooden plaque he’d been holding under his arm. Lucas took it from him and attached it to the stake with three loops of wire. They all stood back.
THOMAS BLACKHAWK
BELOVED FATHER AND FRIEND
Lucas stared at his father’s name, then blinked back the threatening tears. He hadn’t cried when Mr. Hornsby, the director at the Home, had told him that his father had been killed in a prison riot one week ago, and he wouldn’t cry now. Thomas Blackhawk would want his only son to be strong.
And Lucas needed to be strong. Because somehow, someday, the wrong that had been done to him and his father must be answered for. And the man who would answer, the man who would one day pay for stealing the Blackhawk Circle B Ranch, was Mason Hadley, Wolf River’s wealthiest and most prominent citizen.
“Hey, I almost forgot.” Nick reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “I brought a candle. Snatched it from an emergency kit in the tool room.”
Matches followed and a moment later a plain white candle flared to life. Nick set the candle in front of the marker, and the three boys stood quietly, watching the flame rise.
Lucas was alone now. His mother had died two years earlier and there was no other family. Except for Ian and Nick. They were his family now. And he was theirs.
He reached for the heavy metal chain dangling from one of his belt loops, unclipped the pocketknife hanging there and opened it.
He said nothing, just spread his hand, palm up, then lightly dragged the knife over the inside of his knuckles. A thin line of blood rose. Ian took the knife next, did the same, then Nick.
Without a word, the three young men clasped hands over the flame.
A sudden wind whipped at their hair and circled their feet. Leaves scattered, and the flutter of wings sounded overhead. The flame of the candle never moved.
Eyes wide, they looked to the night sky. But there was nothing. Only the moon, as brilliant as it was round, shining down at them.
At that moment they all knew that no matter what, they would always be there for each other.
Always.
One
The town of Wolf River never expected to see the likes of Lucas Blackhawk again. Bad blood, that’s what everyone whispered, and half-Indian blood, at that. They all knew that the boy would never amount to anything. After all, hadn’t his daddy been a convict, and hadn’t Lucas himself spent almost two years at the Wolf River County Home for Boys? Not much good could come of that now, could it? Lucas Blackhawk had left Wolf River, Texas, more than ten years ago, and as far as the town was concerned, good riddance.
Lucas couldn’t wait to see the faces of the good folks in Wolf River when word spread that he was back. And word would spread, all right, Lucas thought with a slow grin. With all the intensity, and all the welcome, of a winter virus.
“May I help you, sir?”
The maid who’d answered the massive, polished oak door at the Double H Ranch estate was hardly more than a girl. Her mousy brown hair matched her nervous eyes, and her gray-and-white uniform hung loose on her rail-thin body. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d be seeking employment after today.
“I’m here to see Mr. Hadley.”
“Mr. Hadley went into town with his daughter, sir.” Even her voice was small, and Lucas had to lean forward to catch her words. “I’m afraid he won’t be back until three, and he has an appointment at three-thirty. I’ll be happy to take your name and number and have his secretary call you.”
Off to town with the dutiful daughter, was he? Lucas thought dryly. Julianna Hadley, with her pale blond hair and smoke-blue eyes. The untouchable Ice Princess, especially to a half-breed hoodlum like himself. He still remembered the last time he saw her. He’d been twenty-two, working at Hansen’s Feed and Grain. He’d caught her watching him while he’d been loading bales of hay on a truck. She’d turned quickly away, but not before he’d seen the look in her beautiful eyes.
Pity.
He’d quit his job an hour later, packed his meager bag and left Wolf River, carrying that look with him for ten years. It fed his anger, his determination, when he was tired or wanted to give up.
She didn’t know it, but Julianna Hadley had been his inspiration.
Lucas removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the jacket pocket of his Armani suit, then tipped back his black Stetson to give the maid a full view of his eyes. Wolf eyes, as one of his female companions had commented once. Eyes the color of a moonless night. He’d used those eyes to his advantage more than once. To intimidate or to seduce. Or in this case, with the timid young woman, to charm.
Lucas Blackhawk was a man who knew how to get what he wanted.
He smiled at the maid. “Actually, Miss...” He drew the word out, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Grayson.” Her cheeks colored. “Heather Grayson.”
“Heather.” He repeated her name with just the right dash of intimacy to make her entire face flush. “Actually, Heather, I am Mr. Hadley’s three-thirty.”
“Oh, dear.” Frowning, Heather bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, sir. I was expecting a Mr. Cantrell. He was here last week and I just assumed—”
“Mr. Cantrell was called out of town at the last minute.” Lucas had given his top CEO a trip to the Bahamas as a bonus for a job well done. A job very well done.
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” He handed her a business card for First Mutual Financial, one of Blackhawk Enterprises many subsidiaries. Lucas’s name was intentionally absent from the card.
The maid stared at the card, then back at him. Lucas turned up the smile, and the woman’s blush deepened. Flustered, she stuck the card into her pocket and stepped aside. “I’m sorry, sir. Please, come into Mr. Hadley’s office and make yourself comfortable. He shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Lucas had only been in the Hadley mansion once before. He hadn’t been welcome then, either. But his mission had been the same: revenge. He’d only been twelve at the time. Angry, out for blood, furiously waving a knife. Impulsive, with no plan.
It had taken him twenty years, but he’d learned to control his anger. He was no longer impulsive, and this time he definitely had a plan.
Everything about the house was as he’d remembered it. The hunter-green marble floor, the sweeping walnut staircase and high, paneled walls, the gaudy antique entry table and oversize gilded mirror above it. Dark. As cold and as lifeless as a corpse.
There were ghosts here, Lucas knew. He felt them shiver up his spine. They needed to be put to rest.
“This way, sir.”
He could have told the maid that he knew the way to her employer’s office. That he’d been there before, that he’d tried to kill the man in that very room. He wondered if that would distress the young woman. Knowing how Hadley treated his servants, hell, how he treated everyone, the woman would probably be grateful.
It was when he stepped into Mason’s office, when he saw his portrait over the large oak desk, that he felt it. The rage he’d struggled with all these years. It poured through him, threatened to explode, but he forced it back down, corralled it deep inside of him and stepped away from it.
“Are you all right, Mr.—” She hesitated, realized she hadn’t asked his name.
“I’m fine, Heather.” Lucas had no intention of giving her his name. He wanted to see the surprise on Hadley’s face, the shock, when he recognized his visitor.
Every risk, every gamble, every back-breaking hour of every eighteen-hour day for the past ten years had brought him here, to this very moment. He’d imagined it a thousand times: what he’d feel, what he’d think, what he’d say. What Hadley would do.
At the sound of a car door slam from the driveway outside, Lucas realized he was about to find out.
Julianna Hadley had heard all about the stranger who had come into town. All there was to hear, anyway, which hadn’t been much more than a whisper in the dark. At the drugstore she’d been standing in line behind Roberta Brown, who was arguing with the clerk, Millie Woods, about whether the car the man drove was a Porsche or a Ferrari. The one thing the two women had agreed on was that the car was black and had roared down Main Street and into the parking lot of the Four Winds Inn like a shiny bat out of hell.
Noses had been pressed up to every window within sight of the town’s newest and biggest hotel—a whopping twelve stories high with a fancy restaurant and bar inside. But other than hair as black as his car, no one could make out the man’s features as he unfolded his long body out of the sleek foreign frame, whistled, then handed the keys to Bobby John Gibson, a teenage bellboy whose status amongst his peers was about to rise substantially. After all, no teenager in Wolf River had ever stood within spitting distance of a Porsche or Ferrari, let alone driven one. This was horse and cattle country. Trucks and four-wheeldrives were the vehicles of choice, and of necessity, in Wolf River.
But a black Porsche. Now that was something to set tongues wagging faster than a thirsty dog. Lord knew, a little excitement in Wolf River was just what the town needed.
“What the hell—?”
At the sound of her father’s sudden growl, Julianna pulled herself out of her musing and glanced up.
In their driveway, its chrome gleaming brightly in the late-afternoon sun, its long, sleek body black as polished onyx, sat a brand-new sports car.
A Ferrari.
Her breath hitched, then slowly slid over her parted lips. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It’s damned foreign,” her father snapped and slammed out of the truck to head for the house.
That makes it no less beautiful, she thought, but knew better than to argue the issue with him. Anything different, anything Mason Hadley didn’t understand, was useless to him.
Packages in hand, Julianna followed her father into the house. Heather stood in the entryway, arms laden with a silver coffee server. The cups rattled from her nervous shaking as Mason hotly berated her for letting a stranger into the house.
“He’s your three-thirty, sir. Said Mr. Cantrell was called out of town.” Eyes downcast, the young woman struggled to steady her hands. “I was bringing him some coffee while he waited.”
“Damn it all to hell,” Mason hissed through his teeth. “That Cantrell fella might have been an idiot when it came to business, but at least I had his number. Smooth brandy and a Cuban cigar and that boy was eating out of my hand. Makes no difference now, I suppose. It’s a done deal. This must be some errand boy, delivering the papers I signed last week.”
An errand boy in a Ferrari? Julianna glanced at the closed office door. Highly unlikely.
“What the hell you standing around for, girl?” Mason shrugged out of his denim jacket. “Go take the boy some coffee.”
“Let me have that, Heather.” Julianna set her packages down and took the tray. “Why don’t you take my things and put them away?”
Thankful for the opportunity to be anywhere but around her employer in a foul mood, Heather smiled at Julianna. “Thank you, ma‘am.”
Julianna sighed at Heather’s formal address. At twenty-nine, Julianna didn’t want to be a ma‘am. It made her feel so old. But then, a lot of things were making her feel old these days. A couple walking hand in hand, pictures of brides and babies, the sound of cheers from the Little League field at the edge of town.
All the things she would never have.
Shrugging off the thought, she followed her father to his office. He’d been negotiating with First Mutual Financial for the past two months and had been gloating ever since he’d finally signed the papers, puffed up with self-admiration that he’d finagled such a low interest rate. What First Mutual hadn’t known was that he’d been so anxious for the deal to go through he would have signed anything. After the drop in value of some stocks, and the rise in price of grain and the fall in beef, he’d desperately needed the loan to cover losses and raise operating capital. She knew that he’d also been quite full of himself at his successful manipulation of figures and falsified statements, had even laughed that Adam Cantrell, the loan representative, was too stupid to find his way out of a corral, let alone find a discrepancy in a profit-andloss.
Which was strange, because she hadn’t thought the man stupid at all, even though she’d only spoken with him a few minutes once or twice. If anything, he’d seemed extremely sharp.
It made no difference to her either way. The only thing that mattered, that had ever mattered, was her own five acres of land and house on the south edge of the Double H property. That was the one thing, the only thing, her mother had left to her when she’d died that her father hadn’t gotten his hands on. It had been almost a year since the funeral, and he’d managed to stonewall her from repairing and moving into the old house, but he hadn’t gained title. And she would do anything to ensure he never would.
Mason turned sharply at the door of his office and looked at Julianna. “Just serve the damn coffee, then leave us alone. Last thing I need is a woman underfoot when I’m trying to do business.”
Jaw tightly clenched, Julianna followed her father into his office. A man stood in front of the double French doors that led to the redwood deck stretching across the back of the house. He was tall, very tall, with broad shoulders. His black neatly trimmed hair touched the collar of his expensive tailored suit.
This was no errand boy.
She had no idea why she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She felt an energy in the room; so strong it nearly hummed. Frozen, she simply stared at the man, but she couldn’t see his face.
“Julianna.” Her father’s voice was low and sharp. Shaken, she turned away, moved to the bar in the far corner of the office to set down the tray... to remind herself to breathe.
She forced her attention to the coffee as her father boomed a cheerful, good-old-boy greeting and strode heavily across the shiny hardwood floor to shake the man’s hand.
“Sit, sit.” Mason gestured across the massive oak desk to a smaller version of his own burgundy leather chair, and the man settled across from him.
“So what can I do for you, young man?” With a creak of leather, Mason leaned back. “By the way, that fool maid of mine didn’t get your name.”
“Actually, Mr. Hadley, it’s what I’m going to do for you.”
His voice. Julianna’s hand tightened on the coffeepot. Once again, she couldn’t breathe. Not because she’d forgotten, but because she couldn’t That voice. Deep, rough, edged with deadly calm. Familiar, so familiar. The hum in the room increased with the tension.
“How’s that, son?” Mason, delighted at the prospect of a new offer, grinned.
“You have forty-eight hours to repay your loan to First Financial or vacate the property.”
Julianna, with the coffeepot still in her hand and the cup in midair, turned abruptly. The man sat comfortably, one elbow resting casually over the arm of the chair. To look at him, she’d have thought he’d been discussing a football game.
Had he actually said what she thought he’d said? First Financial was calling the loan?
Her father’s grin froze. His gray eyes narrowed in his coarsely lined face. “What the hell kind of a joke is this?”
“No joke at all. The loan is being called. The land, the house and contents, the cattle. Quite literally, Mr. Hadley, every single asset you own will be sold as collateral.”
“You’re insane.” Fists clenched, Mason rose slowly. “On what grounds would they call a loan where the ink hasn’t even dried on the damn paper?”
“I’ll start with fraud, based on the fact that the information supplied by you to obtain the loan was intentionally falsified. It not only invalidates the loan, it also happens to be illegal.”
That voice. She knew that voice. But her legs wouldn’t move, couldn’t walk the few feet across the room to see the man’s face clearly. She stood frozen, with the silver coffeepot in one hand, a white bone china coffee cup in the other.
“Just who the hell are you?” Mason roared, his face red with fury.
“You remember Thomas Blackhawk, don’t you?” The man stood, looked directly down at her father. “You stole the Circle B from him, all ten thousand acres, then had him falsely sent to prison. I’m Lucas, Mr. Hadley. Lucas Blackhawk.”
In the second before the coffee cup slipped from her hand, the second before the coffeepot followed, tune stood still....
She was nine years old. Standing in this very room, behind the drapes, terrified, watching her father and Thomas Blackhawk. The nightmare had been with her for twenty years. The loud voices... the gun... the explosion...
“Are you all right?”
She felt his hand on her arm, realized that he’d moved beside her. How had he done that, so quickly, so quietly? Breath held, she raised her gaze to his. Those eyes, eyes that could see not through a person, but into them, into the darkness, into the truth.
She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t find the words to answer him. They stood there, eyes locked, her heart pounding so fiercely she knew he could hear it.
Lucas Blackhawk. Here. In Wolf River.
“Get the hell away from my daughter.”
Her father’s shout brought her back. Spilled coffee, still steaming, pooled around her feet, stained her khaki pants and leather pumps. She bent down, reached for a piece of broken china. His hand was still on her arm as he bent down, as well, and righted the coffeepot.
“I said get the hell away from her, you half-breed bastard,” Mason continued to rant. “Your kind ain’t fit to be in the same room with civilized people.”