Hannibal Rising tt-340 Read online

  Roland balled his fists. “Have a care, brother.”

  “Please,” Charlotte said.

  All of them started to talk at once except for Samantha.

  Fargo had listened to enough. He drew his Colt and thumbed back the hammer.

  5

  The floor was made of maple. Like everything else in the Clyborn mansion, it was a floor only the rich could afford. Fargo didn’t give a damn. He pointed his Colt down and banged off a shot that sent slivers flying.

  Nearly all of them gave a start. Only Roland, the hunter, who was accustomed to guns going off, and Samantha, didn’t jump or flinch.

  All eyes swung toward Fargo and the smoke curling from the end of the Colt’s barrel. “Now that I’ve got your attention,” he said, and twirled the six-shooter into his holster, “someone better tell me why in hell I’m here or I’m fanning the breeze.”

  “You have your nerve,” Tom Junior said.

  “How dare you.” From Charles.

  “I didn’t come all this way to listen to you idiots bicker.” Fargo hefted the Henry and turned toward the hall. “For some of us the sun doesn’t rise and set with you Clyborns.” He took a couple of steps and Samantha’s hand enfolded his arm.

  “Wait. Please. I’m the one who sent for you and I would like nothing better than to explain why but first I need to have words with my brothers and my sister.”

  “So long as you’re not all day at it.”

  “It will take far less time than that.” Samantha smiled and turned and her smile evaporated. “I want all of you to go to your rooms and wait for me to send for you.”

  “Who do you think you are, our mother?” Tom snapped. “We can do as we damn well please.”

  “I agree,” Charles said. “We’re adults, dear sister, not children anymore.”

  “Then act like adults. Mr. Fargo has come a long way to see me. After I’ve concluded my business with him, we’ll all get together.”

  “I don’t know why you sent for a man like him anyway,” Charles said.

  “I do,” Tom angrily declared. “Our older sister wants to trim the odds so she has a better chance.” He wheeled on a shoe heel. “Fine. Let’s humor her. By Monday morning all this will be over and none of us need ever listen to her again.”

  “Unless she wins,” Charlotte said.

  Tom swore. “Over my dead body.”

  Charles and Emmett followed them out. Roland lingered to ask, “I’m curious, Sam. What will you do if you win?”

  “Not now.”

  “Father left it up to each of us. I know what Charlotte will do. She’s too sweet to be selfish. Emmett will probably share, too. Charles, I’m not so sure. As for Tom.” Roland stopped and frowned.

  “You’ll learn my sentiments if and when I claim the prize,” Samantha informed him.

  Roland nodded at Fargo. “Bringing him in might not help you all that much. You could spend a lot of money for nothing.”

  “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  Roland left, and Samantha indicated a divan. “Have a seat, why don’t you, and I’ll explain what this is all about?”

  Fargo sank down, draped his arm across the back, and leaned the Henry against his leg. “I could use a drink.”

  Samantha turned to a pull cord in the corner and gave it a hard yank. Within seconds a maid in a long purple dress appeared and gave another of those bows.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “A glass of whiskey for my guest.”

  “A bottle,” Fargo amended.

  “Which brand? We have Early Times, Monumental, and Sour Mash Copper Whiskey, as I recall.”

  Fargo wasn’t particular so long as it went down smooth, but he was fond of Early Times.

  “A bottle of Early Times,” Samantha told the maid. “You may dispense with a glass.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Samantha sat opposite him and folded her hands in her lap, her posture as perfect as posture could be. “Now, then. Suppose we get down to brass tacks. Are there any questions I can answer right off?”

  Fargo was honest. He had been thinking of one thing and one thing only since he set eyes on her. “What does it take to get you under the sheets?”

  Samantha blinked and her red lips parted. “Mercy me. I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. What do you take me for, sir? A common trollop?”

  “There’s nothing common about you. You’d be the queen of any bawdy house you worked at.”

  Her cheeks blazed red.

  “That body of yours is enough to give a man fits,” Fargo pressed on. “You must have a list of lovers as long as your arm.”

  “I’ll have you know . . .” Samantha began, and caught herself. The red in her cheeks deepened. “Listen here. I don’t know what you are about but it stops this instant. I didn’t bring you here to titillate me. I brought you here to help me acquire a fortune.”

  Fargo put his lust on the back burner of the stove for the time being. “You have my attention.”

  “Finally.” Samantha pointed at the portrait. “My father. A pillar of the community. One of the wealthiest men in all Missouri. He attended church every Sunday without fail.”

  “You make him sound like a saint.”

  “I don’t mean to.” Samantha paused. “The truth is, my father was one of the most coldhearted men to ever draw breath. You can’t tell it to look at that painting but he was mean to his core.”

  Fargo’s interest perked.

  “He wasn’t always that way. Before Charlotte was born, I remember him being just like any other father. He spent most of his time at work but when he was home with us children he was gentle and considerate.”

  “What changed him?”

  “Our mother died giving birth to Charlotte,” Samantha revealed. “The whole week after that, Father shut himself in his bedroom and wouldn’t come out. When he did, he was a changed man. Something inside him had died. The milk of human kindness, some would call it. From then on he treated us as if we were somehow to blame for Mother’s death.”

  “How old is your little sister?”

  “Charlotte is twenty-two. I’m thirty-one. Between us came the four boys. Tom Junior, then Roland, then Charles, and finally Emmett.”

  “Your father treated all of you bad?”

  “Actually, no. He treated Tom even worse. He never said why, but I think it’s because he suspected Tom wasn’t the fruit of his loins.”

  “I noticed he doesn’t look like any of you,” Fargo mentioned.

  “It soured our father on us even more. Our entire lives were spent under his heel. One evening at supper some months ago, he told us that we were vultures waiting around for him to die. He said he was glad none of us had given him grandchildren because they would be vultures, too.”

  “How many of you are married?”

  “None of us.”

  That struck Fargo has peculiar. “There’s six of you and not one has ever had a hankering for a hearth and home?” He didn’t, but then he wasn’t like most people. His wanderlust was too strong. It would be years, if ever, before he was willing to give up the saddle for a rocking chair.

  “I can’t speak for the others but I’ve just never met the right man.” Samantha frowned. “In a way I’m glad. Our father grew to hate children. Not just his own but all children. They reminded him of our mother. They reminded him of his loss. Grandchildren would be more reminders.”

  Fargo regarded the portrait in a whole new light. “From what you’re telling me, your father sure was a son of a bitch.”

  “You have no idea. He did all he could to make our lives miserable. I could recite you a list as long as your arm.” Sam stopped. “One incident should suffice. Roland met a woman once and was thinking about marrying her. Do you know what our father did? He drove a wedge between them. Insulted and belittled the poor woman until she wouldn’t have anything to do with us and broke up with my brother.”

  Fargo’s estimation of Roland rose several notch
es.

  “Then there’s poor Charlotte. She fell in love only a year ago or so. Our father had her beau investigated and one evening had him invited to supper with the rest of us and then proceeded to inform Charlotte that the man she had given her heart to was in fact seeing another woman behind her back. It broke her heart.”

  “He ever do anything to you?”

  “All sorts of things I refuse to talk about. But the worst of his spite was reserved for Tom. He was convinced Mother had slept with someone else even though she had insisted she hadn’t. Father always called Tom his ‘little bastard.’ Father insulted him mercilessly, and always went on about what he saw as Tom’s many flaws. I tell you, it got so bad, many was the time I cringed inside at how terribly Father was treating him.”

  “How did your brother take it?”

  “You saw him. He hates Father for the abuse he suffered and he hates us for not defending him.”

  “What about Charles and Emmett?”

  “Charles avoided Father as much as possible. He spends most of his time at the men’s club in town. He hardly ever associates with women. As for Emmett, he’s young yet, like Charlotte, and just as innocent.”

  “That leaves you.”

  “I’m the oldest. I have a sense of responsibility. I’ve always felt I needed to look after them and protect them. I admit I didn’t do enough to help Tom but there wasn’t much I coulddo given how much Father hated him. I devoted myself to running the household and spent all my nights alone in my room.”

  Fargo had one last question. “Why have you told me all this?”

  Samantha smoothed her dress, which clung enticingly to her thighs. “I want you to fully understand what you are getting yourself into. I want you prepared for what is to come. Which brings us to why I sent for you.”

  At last, Fargo thought.

  Just then an older male servant entered and bowed. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I thought you should know.”

  “What is it, Jarvis? I’d rather not be disturbed right now.”

  “It’s this gentleman’s horse.” Jarvis nodded at Fargo.

  “What about it?”

  “I was outside when he told everyone not to touch it.”

  “And?” Samantha said impatiently.

  “Your brother, Tom, saw it out front and is having it taken to the stable even as I speak.”

  Fargo was off the divan in long strides. Samantha called for him to wait but he shouldered past Jarvis and hurried down the hall to the front door. Throwing it open, he stepped outside. At the bottom of the steps stood Tom Clyborn, watching a servant lead the Ovaro off by the reins.

  Fargo went down the steps three at a bound. His jingling spurs alerted Tom who turned just as he reached him. Without saying a word, without any warning whatsoever, Fargo hit him flush on the jaw.

  Down Tom went. More stunned than hurt, he rubbed his chin and looked up in anger. “What the hell?”

  “Don’t ever touch a man’s horse without his say-so.” Fargo strode past him and bellowed at the servant, “Hold it right there.”

  The servant stopped and looked back.

  “Let go of him.”

  The servant quickly did and retreated. “I was only doing what I was told, mister.”

  “That’s the only reason I don’t bust your skull.” Fargo snatched the reins. West of the Mississippi, taking a man’s horse for any reason was a hanging offense. “Tell the rest that no one goes near my horse but me. Savvy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then make yourself scarce.” Fargo slid the Henry into the saddle scabbard and patted the stallion’s neck. “If I am touchy about anything, I am touchy about you.”

  “How dare you?” Tom Clyborn was livid with wrath. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “No one strikes me with impunity. Do you hear me? No one.”

  “I made it plain my horse wasn’t to be moved.”

  “This is our estate. Wesay what will and won’t be done. If I want to put your damn animal in the stable, I by God will!”

  Fargo placed his hand on his Colt. “Care to bet?”

  “You’re threatening me? On my own land? In front of the servants?” Tom shook with fury. “You miserable lout. You’ve just made the worst mistake of your life.”

  “I’ve tangled with Apaches and Comanches,” Fargo said.

  “What do a bunch of stinking red savages have to do with this?”

  “Compared to them, as threats go, you’re downright puny.”

  Tom’s face twitched and he raised his fist but a jasmine-wreathed vision slipped between them and placed a hand on his chest.

  “That will be enough,” Samantha said.

  “He struck me.”

  “Let it pass.”

  “Like hell.” Tom glowered over her shoulder at Fargo. “Mark my words, plainsman. You have made a mortal enemy this day.” Whirling, he stormed toward the house. Two servants scurried out of his path but one wasn’t fast enough and was shoved aside. Another moment, and Tom slammed the front door behind him.

  “That was unfortunate,” Samantha said.

  “Forget about him,” Fargo said. “I’m not waiting another minute for you to tell me why you’ve sent for me.”

  “Certainly.” Samantha smiled. “I want you to be my partner in a hunt unlike any other. There’s just one catch.” Her smile faded. “I can’t guarantee we’ll live through it.”

  6

  The twenty riders wound along a pockmarked trail that was taking them steadily deeper into the lush green forest. High above, the morning sun blazed bright. Around them, songbirds warbled and squirrels scampered.

  It was as perfect as a day could be, but Skye Fargo didn’t let it lull him into letting his guard down. Not when there had been two attempts on his life.

  A monarch butterfly flitted past. Fargo watched it, envying it its freedom. Arching his back, he stretched and breathed deep of the rich wood scent. He wished he was back in the Rocky Mountains.

  Hooves thudded, and Charles Clyborn came up next to him. “Good morning. We hadn’t had a chance to talk yet and I thought this an excellent opportunity.” As usual, Charles was immaculately dressed, this time in a riding outfit that was the pinnacle of fashion.

  “Did you, now?”

  “I’m sorry. Am I bothering you? I only wanted to make your acquaintance.” Charles smiled. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still here. I understand my sister explained everything.”

  “She’s paying me a thousand dollars a day.”

  “Ah. To you I suppose that’s a lot of money. Even so,”—and Charles’s smile became a frown—“do you have any idea what you have let yourself in for?”

  “A hunt, she called it.”

  “She told you all the rest? How this was our father’s bizarre idea? How he refused to leave each of us an inheritance, as any reasonable person would have done? No, that wasn’t good enough for him. Or I should say it wasn’t vicious enough. So he concocted this ridiculous contest where we must pit ourselves against each another.”

  “It’s mighty unusual,” Fargo conceded. Which was putting it mildly. According to the will, only one of Clyborn’s children could inherit his enormous wealth and vast holdings. It would all go to whoever won a special hunt. “How far is it to this hunting lodge of yours?”

  “As the crow flies, the lodge is about twelve miles from the mansion. Since we left at seven we should be there by noon at the very latest.” Charles sniffed. “I have only ever been there a few times. I am not the hunter Roland is. With him it’s a passion. I’ve never liked the sight of blood or seeing animals suffer.”

  “They don’t if you drop them with one shot.”

  “You sound like Roland. Me, I would much rather enjoy the comforts of my club. A fine dinner with friends, a friendly game of cards or perhaps chess, a glass or three of vintage port, and intelligent conversation.” Charles gazed about with distaste. “The wilds are not to my liking. The sun burns my skin and the pl
ants makes me itch and don’t get me started on the mosquitoes and other bugs.”

  “You’re a city boy at heart.”

  “I freely admit it, yes. My life would be complete if Father had left me a paltry million or two. I could spend the rest of my days doing what I love best. But he hated me as much as he hated the rest and he refused my request.” Charles glanced back. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I shouldn’t leave my partner alone too long. He hates the wilds as much as I do.” Reining around, Charles rode back down the line.

  As Fargo understood the rules, each of them was allowed to have one person help them in the hunt. Samantha had sent for him. Charles had picked a friend from his club. Charlotte chose a female cousin about her age. Emmett had a friend from town. Tom’s partner was a sullen, hulking backwoodsman. Roland was the only one who intended to hunt alone.

  Hooves drummed again, and Samantha took Charles’s place at Fargo’s side. “What were the two of you talking about just now?”

  “How much your brother loves the outdoors.”

  Samantha was wearing a blue riding habit with buttons up the front and a full skirt. The jacket had white at the collar and white at the ends of the sleeves. She had put her hair up in back, and her top hat was tipped forward. She also wore doeskin gloves and had a riding crop in her left hand. “Charles has disliked nature ever since he was seven and he was bitten by a garter snake.”

  “That outfit fits you real nice.”

  “Don’t start. I rebuffed your advances yesterday and I will rebuff them today.” Samantha smiled thinly. “I’m well aware of your reputation, Mr. Fargo. It’s claimed that you have bedded more women than Casanova.”

  “Who?”

  “A great lover. It is alleged that he made love to over a thousand in his lifetime.”

  “That’s all?”

  For the first time since Fargo met her, Samantha Clyborn laughed. “Humility is not one of your traits, I see. But I must admit there are moments when you amuse me.”

  Fargo leaned toward her and raked her body with a hungry stare that left no doubt as to his meaning when he said, “I can do a lot more than that.”

  “Honestly.” Samantha shook her head. “You never give up, do you? What will it take to get it through your head that I’m not the least bit interested?”