Twin of Ice Read online

  She swept out of the room with more grace than she actually felt and, once in her room, she collapsed onto the bed.

  Marry Kane Taggert? she thought. Marry a man who talked and acted worse than any River Street ruffian? Marry a man who treated her without respect, one who hauled her in and out of carriages as if she were a sack of potatoes? Marry a man who kissed her as if she were a scullery maid?

  She sat upright. “Marry a man who, as Blair says, when he kisses me makes me see red with little sparks of gold and silver?” she said aloud.

  “I just might,” she whispered, leaned back against the bed, and for the first time began to consider becoming Mrs. Kane Taggert.

  Chapter 6

  By morning Houston had convinced herself that she couldn’t possibly, under any circumstances, marry Mr. Taggert. Her mother’d sniffed throughout breakfast and cried repeatedly, “My beautiful daughters, what will become of them?” while Blair and Duncan’d argued about how Blair’d ruined Houston’s life. Houston wasn’t sure it was an argument, since they seemed to be agreeing with one another.

  Houston entered the discussion when it was said that Kane Taggert was her means of punishing herself for losing Leander. But no one seemed to hear what Houston said, and nothing made any difference to Blair’s misery, so Houston stopped listening to them. But being the cause of so much weeping made her decide she couldn’t marry Mr. Taggert.

  Immediately after breakfast, people began “dropping by.”

  “I was just starting to bake an apple pie and knew how much you liked them, Opal, so I baked two and brought you one. How are the twins?”

  By midmorning, the house was full of food and people. Mr. Gates stayed in his brewery office, having one of the maids bring him his lunch, so Houston, Blair and Opal had to fend off the questions by themselves.

  “Did you really fall in love with Mr. Taggert, Houston?”

  “Have another piece of pie, Mrs. Treesdale,” Houston answered.

  At eleven, Blair managed to slip away, leaving Opal and Houston alone to cope, and Blair didn’t return until three o’clock. “Are they still here?” she gasped, looking at the crowd on the lawn.

  At three thirty, a man pulled up in front of the Chandler house driving a beautiful carriage such as no one in Chandler had ever seen. It was painted white, with white wheels, a cream-colored collapsible hood on top with shiny brass detailing. There was a seat in front upholstered in red leather and a smaller seat in back for an attendant.

  The group of people on the lawn, on the deep porch, and spilling into the garden, stopped their questions and gawked.

  A man, crudely dressed, stepped down and walked straight into the midst of the people. “Who’s Miss Houston Chandler?” he asked into the silence.

  “I am,” Houston said, stepping forward.

  The man reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper and began to read. “This here carriage is from the man you’re gonna marry, Mr. Kane Taggert. It’s a lady’s drivin’ carriage, a spider phaeton, and the horse is a good ’un.”

  He folded the paper, put it back into his pocket and turned away. “Oh yeah.” He turned back. “Mr. Taggert sent you this, too.” He tossed a small parcel wrapped in brown paper toward Houston and she caught it.

  The man went down the path, whistling. Everyone watched him until he was out of sight around a corner.

  “Well, Houston,” Tia said, “aren’t you going to open your gift?”

  Houston wasn’t sure she should open the package because she knew what she’d find inside, and if she accepted his ring, it would mean she accepted him.

  Inside the box was the biggest diamond she’d ever seen, an enormous, breathtaking chunk of brilliance surrounded by nine square-cut emeralds.

  The combined intake of breath from the women around her was enough to stir the tree leaves.

  With resolution, Houston snapped the blue velvet box shut, and walked straight down the path toward the carriage. She didn’t hesitate or answer any questions thrown at her but snapped the reins and the lovely brown horse moved briskly.

  She drove straight up Sheldon street, across the Tijeras River that separated the north and south sections of town, and up the steep drive to the Taggert house. Since pounding on the front door brought no answer, she strode inside, took a left and stopped in the doorway of Kane’s office.

  He sat hunched over his desk, puffing away on a vile cigar, making notes and giving quick orders to Edan, who was leaning back in a chair, his feet on the desk, smoking an equally awful cigar.

  Edan saw her first and the big blond man stood at once and punched Kane on the shoulder.

  Kane looked up with a frown.

  “You must be Edan,” Houston said, going forward, her hand outstretched. She wasn’t sure if he was a servant or a friend. “I’m Houston Chandler.”

  “Houston,” he said. He was not a servant, not with that air of confidence.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” Houston said, turning to Kane.

  “If it’s about weddin’ plans, I’m real busy right now. If you need money, tell Edan, he’ll write you a check.”

  Waving smoke away from her face, she went to a window and opened it. “You shouldn’t sit in this smoke. It isn’t good for you.”

  Kane looked up at her with cold eyes. “Who are you to give me orders? Just because you’re gonna be my wife, don’t—.”

  “As far as I can recall, I haven’t yet agreed to be your wife and if you can’t find time to talk to me—in private—I don’t think I will be your wife. Good day, Mr. Taggert, and Edan.”

  “Good day, Houston,” Edan said with a slight smile.

  “Women!” she heard Kane say behind her. “I told you a woman’d take a lot of my time.”

  He caught up with her at the front door. “Maybe I was a little hasty,” he said. “It’s just that when I’m workin’ I don’t like no interruptions. You got to understand that.”

  “I wouldn’t bother you if it weren’t important,” she said coolly.

  “All right,” he said. “We’ll go in here an’ talk.” He pointed to the echoing emptiness of the library. “I’d offer you a chair, but the only ones I got are in my bedroom. You wanta go up there?” He gave her a grinning leer.

  “Definitely not. What I want to talk about, Mr. Taggert, is whether or not you are quite serious about your marriage proposal to me.”

  “You think I got the time to waste doin’ all the courtin’ I been doin’ if I wasn’t serious?”

  “Courting?” she said. “Yes, I guess you could call Sunday morning courting. What I want to ask you, sir, is, well, have you ever killed or hired someone to kill for you?”

  Kane’s mouth dropped open and his eyes grew angry, but then he began to look amused. “No, I ain’t never killed nobody. What else you wanta know about me?”

  “Anything you care to tell me,” she said seriously.

  “Ain’t much. I grew up in Jacob Fenton’s stable”—a muscle twitched in his cheek–“I got tossed out for messin’ with his daughter and I been makin’ money since then. I ain’t killed nobody, robbed nobody, cheated nobody, never beat up no woman and only knocked out an average number of men. Anythin’ else?”

  “Yes. When you proposed, you said you wanted me to furnish your house. What do I get to do with you?”

  “With me?” With a grin, he looped his thumbs in the empty belt loops on his trousers. “I ain’t gonna hold nothin’ back from you if that’s what you mean.”

  “I do not mean whatever you’re implying, I’m sure,” she said stiffly. “Mr. Taggert,” she said, as she began walking around him. “I know men who work in coal mines who are better dressed than you are. And your language is atrocious, as well as your manners. My mother is scared to death of my marrying a barbarian like you. Since I cannot spend my life frightening my own mother, you will have to agree to some instruction from me.”

  “Instruction?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “What can you teach me?”