combed, uttered a snort of annoyance. “If anyone has an advantage, it’s Roland. He’s hunted in the forest since he was a boy. He knows every creek, every nook.”
“Stay out of this, Charles,” Tom said.
“I will not. I have as much at stake as the rest of you and I think it unfair of Father to choose the method he has. It’s absurd.”
The last of the brothers, the youngest, cleared his throat. “I never did understand him. Father had his own ideas and they were never ideas anyone else would have.”
“He was a tyrant, Emmett,” Tom said. “A petty, mean, miserable, money-pinching goat who—”
Samantha was on him in a long stride. Her hand flashed and the
Tom raised a hand to his red cheek, and glared. “If you ever hit me again, I swear.”
“You swear what?”
“Do I really need to spell it out?”
The last of them, the youngest daughter, who by Fargo’s reckoning had to be in her early twenties, stepped between Samantha and Tom and cried out, “Enough! Please! Why must you always be at each other’s throats? For my sake if for no other reason, try to be nice.”
“Nice?” Tom said in contempt.
“Yes, nice,” the youngest girl said. “There are people who are, you know. They say nice things and do nice things for other people. I would like, just once, for us to be like them.”
“You’re a silly dreamer,” Tom said. “It’s all that reading you do. Readers are always dreamers.”
Roland put a hand on the youngest girl’s shoulder. “Try not to let them get to you, Charlotte. They’ve always been this way and they always will.”
Tom Junior laughed. “Will you listen to him? You would think he was Sir Galahad but he’s no better than the rest of us.”
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
“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.”
