Authors: Lora Leigh
“Now the wife, strangely enough, had never known her husband’s true surname. He gave
her the name Clavern, promising that she would know everything once he had built their
home and sent for her.
“When the wife and child showed up at the Callahan Ranch, she begged for mercy, claiming
to have no funds and no way of returning to her brother’s house in New York. So Patrick
Callahan, being the kind soul he was, allowed her to stay in the cabin built for her
until she could reach her brother and have funds wired to her.
“Not long afterward, the Indians who hunted those mountains came to the Callahans
with tales of a madwoman and a child with dead eyes whom they called ‘Devil.’
“A few months later, Patrick and his friends found this madwoman in the back of a
cave, her fists bloody from pounding on the hard stone walls, her eyes glowing with
madness as her son looked on with no emotion, no sense of a soul in his gaze.
“It was said the wife had driven herself mad searching for the treasure, and the son
whispered a curse on the Callahans and the Corbins each night as he watched his mother
claw her hands bloody searching for the doorway to the treasure.
“Nothing was ever found, and the rumors of treasure faded into the past, but the pirate’s
bloodline did not. With each generation the tale is retold, the eldest son is taught
the stories and told from the cradle that it’s his fate to find this vast wealth.
At least every other generation, whichever son decides to take on the task of vengeance
changes his last name, moves, sometimes fakes his death, so it was rather hard to
find a few of them.” His lips quirked in amusement and pride.
Crowe rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against
the counter.
“Now, shall we fast-forward to a mere three generations ago? Corinne and Cable Ritchie,
living in San Bernardino, California, received word that their eldest brother had
changed his and his son’s names, and had arrived in Sweetrock to begin the quest to
search for the treasure—a treasure said to be hidden in Raider’s Valley, a vast sweetgrass
valley belonging to JR and Eileen Callahan. And that he had a plan to restore to the
family all that had been stolen from them.” He glanced at each man and woman now listening
intently to his tale. “I have the letters arriving by courier tomorrow, actually,”
he promised them, eager to see such madness and attempt to make sense of it. “Corinne
Ritchie’s brother said he and his son had created bonds with one of the four families,
known then as the Barons, though he did not say which. But his first order of business
was to poison JR Callahan, kill him, then marry his wife before their sons could return
home from the war. That is, if they returned. Many of America’s sons were dying in
Vietnam, and he was certain luck would be on his side. Eileen had just given birth
to an infant boy, a child he was certain would be easy to kill without suspicion.
But then there was word Eileen’s son died of some fever, and within weeks JR was out
of the hospital and well on his road to recovery. JR was also aware he had been poisoned.
He managed, Ritchie wrote to his brother and sister later, to throw suspicion on the
other three families he was now plotting against.
“By now, Joseph was getting on in age, and growing ill himself, and this was when
his son decided he would take this quest and complete it. He had fallen in love with
the daughter of one of the landowners, and an employee heard father and son raging
violently over the son’s decision to halt some quest and to live a life of idyllic,
blissful love by his bride’s side.
“The young woman was headstrong, determined though. He wrote to his sister that he
didn’t believe the daughter of this family would marry his son, as the son believed
she would.
“That was the final letter they had from him. There was no word what he and his son
had changed their names to, and no way of finding out when this occurred. I would
guess they began this quest of vengeance somewhere around the nineteen thirties, give
or take a good five to ten years. The daughter Joseph’s son was wooing would have
been one of your mothers.” Ivan shrugged. “What I do have are records, news clippings,
and a Mulrooney family history that would make your hair turn gray.” He cast an amused
glance at his uncle, who deliberately ignored it. “Suffice to say, you’re looking
at nearly two hundred years of deliberate deaths and attempts to either frame or murder
the Callahans, and to find a way to acquire Raider’s Valley.”
“Wasn’t it around forty years ago that JR and Eileen Callahan lost control of their
truck and went over that cliff?” Archer mused.
“Close enough.” Crowe’s tone was so hard that his cousins looked at him warily.
“The ‘Barons’ said the event someone was attempting to frame them for happened around
forty years ago,” Archer told them. “Joseph Ritchie wrote that he and his son were
attempting to frame others for this attempted poisoning of one of the parties as well?”
“And JR Callahan’s illness was proven to be a poisoning,” Ivan agreed.
“You know,” Anna spoke then. “When I was little, before I went away to school, there
was this guy that came to Grandfather. I was staying the weekend while my parents
were away. I forget who he said he was; I wasn’t paying a lot of attention,” she admitted.
“But I do remember he said he was researching an old pirate rumor written in a captain’s
journal centuries before, that two bloodthirsty pirates had settled in Sweetrock or
nearby. He’d identified some valley on Callahan property as the area they had first
settled. Grandfather gave him permission to search the valley, and they sat and discussed
where that treasure could have been hidden. He was supposed to return a week or so
later, but he never came back. That was probably fourteen, fifteen years ago.”
“His name was Greg Cabot,” Ivan revealed with an approving nod in her direction. “And
for the record, Gregory was a college professor actually researching Raider and Blood,
a father-and-son pirating team who were said to have stolen as booty the actual crown
worn by the king of Spain during the English and Spanish War. The treasures they looted,
not just from other ships but also from private homes along several different coasts,
would be considered priceless now.”
“Hell.” Rafer rubbed at the back of his neck in shock. “There’s no way something like
that is on our property. We were all over that place as kids, and later as teenagers.”
“And there are two hundred years of death and bloodshed that prove otherwise,” Ivan
pointed out. “There’s also a rumor that this family line has a sickness. A sickness
that requires blood to ease the madness. They’re serial killers, my friends. They
often work with someone else, someone they can control or feel they can control. They’re
always in some way close to their victims, and are rarely suspected of being the monsters
they are until they’re caught. They’ve changed their names so many damned times I
doubt many of them even remember their original surname.”
“And that surname is?” Logan demanded.
“Mulrooney,” Ivan stated, his accent giving a lush, broad flavor to the name as he
said it with an air of expectation.
When no one seemed surprised, or seemed to have heard of the name, his face fell with
disappointment. “Ah well.” He shrugged. “I had hoped someone had heard it before.”
A grin curled his lips. “I believe, though, with my excellent help, we shall indeed
solve this mystery, save the damsels in distress, and I shall once again watch them
ride away with their white knights on their white steeds.”
“Always a best man and never a groom, Ivan?” Jack laughed.
“Ah yes, the trials and tribulations of a man such as I,” Ivan bemoaned as he laid
his hand against the white silk shirt covering his heart. “So many women, so much
heartache to mend, and so very little time.”
“Even less time, Dad, if you keep pissing me off. Even less time,” Amara warned him
as she strolled past him, then headed upstairs.
Ivan watched her with a mock glare.
“She threatens to dare to be a prosecutor,” he muttered, and though his expression
was fiercely mutinous, his tone was filled with pride.
Chuckles sounded around the group as it slowly broke up. Jack and Jeanne announced
they had to be going and minutes later, Archer and Anna made their good-byes as well.
As Ivan and Gregor watched the sheriff’s truck disappear down the lane, Antoli sighed
heavily. “She has heard the name,” he murmured to his nephew.
Ivan nodded. “Is there some way we can perhaps aid this memory in returning?”
His uncle had solved harder problems in the past. And it wouldn’t be the first time
Gregor, Sophia, and Ivan had adopted a family or an individual with none other to
stand for them, and fixed whatever tormented their lives.
Sometimes the world was a cruel and dark place, filled with shadows and monsters,
if one had no one to look to for laughter or love.
Gregor narrowed his eyes and gazed into the mountains thoughtfully before he shoved
his hands into the pockets of his slacks and gave a slight nod. “I will work on this,”
he promised Ivan. “Give me a bit of time. I work on this.”
And if it could be done, then Gregor could damned sure do it.
CHAPTER 17
Archer’s arrogance was driving her crazy.
Four days later, four days of miserable, solitary sleeping arrangements and boredom
the likes of which Anna had never experienced before.
She couldn’t leave the house without enough bodyguards to make her crazy. Ivan Resnova
had actually listened to Archer when he requested six men to guard her. And they listened
when he said she wasn’t to leave the house except to go onto the patio.
And that left only one option. If he was going to be all possessive and male, then
the least he could do was give her something to make the confinement seem not so intolerable.
And if he couldn’t stomach going to bed with her and actually touching her, then she
would take the Resnovas and the Callahans up on their offer to move to the ranch.
Because she couldn’t stand living with him without touching him.
Putting the finishing touches on the dinner prep, she heard the front door open and
close, announcing he’d arrived home for the evening.
Moving into the foyer, Anna leaned against the walnut sideboard positioned halfway
to the door, propped one hand on a hip, and watched him coolly.
“I cooked tonight. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I could eat,” he stated, his tone cool.
“Then go ahead and shower.” Straightening, she let her gaze narrow on his face. “Is
everything okay?”
He shook his head slowly. “Everything’s fine, Anna. I’ll shower.”
Moving past her, he headed up the stairs to take his shower.
Limping back to the kitchen, Anna moved to the cabinet, took two more pain pills,
then returned to fixing dinner.
Restraining herself from turning and sticking her tongue out in the direction he had
taken upstairs, Anna instead took a slow, deep breath.
Moving to the other side of the counter, she checked the text she’d sent to Amelia
earlier, her lips pursing at the lack of an answer.
She knew Amelia was pissed, but she hadn’t expected her friend to take it to such
an extreme as to ignore her calls and texts.
She pulled marinated steaks from the fridge, and the lettuce she’d broken up earlier.
The vegetables she’d cut up went into the lettuce; potatoes were in the oven. Once
dinner was done she would find out exactly why Archer felt the need to sleep in the
guest room and what the hell made him think he could ignore her so easily.
Skye had laughed at her when she called earlier, asking her friend’s advice on the
best way to handle the situation. She had asked why Anna was bothering to fix Archer’s
dinner. She should be pissed instead, Skye had drawled. Give him hell. Don’t let him
get away with it.
She wasn’t going to allow him to get away with it any longer, that was for damned
sure.
He stepped out to the patio and Anna glanced at him from her position by the grill
as she laid the steaks on the rack.
His dark blond hair looked darker wet, his jaw harder and freshly shaved, without
the short shadow of a beard and mustache. There was no missing the uncompromising
set of his chin or the rough-hewn lines and angles of his face.
Inherent male stubbornness, determination, dominance, and arrogant pride were now
fully revealed. The challenge in the natural set of his jaw was enough to set a woman’s
nerves on edge.
Or ensure a woman set her own challenge.
There was no mistaking the fact that he was pissed as well, but that was okay. Because,
Anna decided, she might be more pissed.
To reinforce the fact that she was not making the first move, Anna gave him a long,
hard look, then pretended he wasn’t even there and went about finishing the meal.
* * *
Archer recognized the challenge snapping in her gaze, as well as feeling it tug at
the dominance and possessiveness already rising inside him.
She hadn’t even realized he was home early. Early, because Sophia Resnova had called
and informed him that Skye was under the impression Anna would be moving to the ranch,
if not tonight, then tomorrow. And as Anna had called earlier to ask for Skye, she
was giving it great credence.
Like hell she was. He dared her to even mention such a thing to him. Of course, that
would be hard for her to do considering she hadn’t spoken to him since he stepped
out to the patio. He was damned tired of it, too.
Narrowing his gaze on her as she set the meal of steak, potatoes, and salad on the
small table, he waited.
Anna took her seat, and still she didn’t speak. She lifted her fork and knife, and
pretended he wasn’t even there.
As a matter of fact, as his own ire grew, she finished the meal and never once spoke
to him.
“If you’re that pissed, then why bother fixing my dinner?” he asked, jaw flexing as
she moved to rise from her chair and stack the dishes.