Her Dearest Enemy

Her Dearest Enemy
Elizabeth Lane

Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesThe schoolmarm’s last stand! Brandon Calhoun kept his life ordered, clean and tidy. But new schoolmarm Harriet Smith had her own ideas about living, and they were throwing him wildly off balance. Suddenly Brandon wanted much more than his old routine! Harriet was a woman to be reckoned with. She would defend her brother, even if it meant standing up to the most powerful man in Dutchman’s Creek.But making an enemy of ruthless, compelling Brandon Calhoun had consequences. Soon Harriet had to face the truth – the thorn in her side was the only man she could ever desire!

“Before I agree to help you, I need to be sure there won’t be trouble.”

“You can’t be sure.” She strained against him, setting off heat waves where their bodies touched. Whatever was happening, Brandon could not bring himself to step away and let her go.

“You can’t be sure of…anything.” Her voice was breathy, her words tangled skeins of logic. “You can’t just bend life to your will, Brandon. Things happen, and sometimes you have to let them. You bet and you lose, you love and you get hurt, or you hurt others.”

“Since when did you become so wise, schoolmarm?” His lips brushed the soft hair at her temple as he spoke. “You don’t strike me as a lady who’s done a lot of living.”

Or a lot of loving, he thought. Lord, the lessons he would teach this woman if things were different between them!

Elizabeth Lane has lived and travelled in many parts of the world, including Europe, Latin America and the Far East, but her heart remains in the American West, where she was born and raised. Her idea of heaven is hiking a mountain trail on a clear autumn day. She also enjoys music, animals and dancing. You can learn more about Elizabeth by visiting her website at www.elizabethlaneauthor.com

A recent story by the same author:

ANGELS IN THE SNOW

(in Stay for Christmas anthology)

HER DEAREST ENEMY

Elizabeth Lane

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

HER DEAREST ENEMY

Chapter One

Dutchman’s Creek, Colorado, 1884

It was late afternoon on an October day when sunlight pooled like melted butter in the hollows of the land. The children of Dutchman’s Creek savored its warmth as they trooped down the path that led from the one-room schoolhouse to the wagon road. They laughed and chattered, their feet swishing happily through the thick carpet of dry leaves.

In the west, rising from foothills brushed with pine and aspen, the jagged peaks of the Rockies jutted against the indigo sky. The mountains were already white with snow; but here in this high valley the beauty of the day was like a last, lingering kiss, bittersweet, as only Indian summer can be.

A vagrant breeze swept through a clump of big- toothed maples, swirling leaves into the air like flocks of pink-and-crimson butterflies. The schoolhouse door, which the last departing child had left ajar, blew inward, causing Miss Harriet Smith to glance up from the half-graded stack of arithmetic papers on her desk. What she saw through the open doorway made her heart plummet like a mallard shot down in flight.

There was no mistaking the identity of the angry figure striding up the path toward the schoolhouse. Brandon Calhoun, who owned the bank, the hotel and, so it was whispered, the saloon, was the tallest man in town, with shoulders like a blacksmith’s and rough-hewn features that captured the eye of every woman he met.

Under different circumstances Harriet might have been flattered that the most powerful man in Dutchman’s Creek had come to pay her a call. But she knew exactly what was on Brandon Calhoun’s mind. She had been dreading their confrontation all day. Now that it was at hand, she had only one regret— that she hadn’t taken the offensive and bearded the lion in his den. After all, she had her own concerns, her own pride. And, truth be told, she was as worried about her brother Will as he was about his precious daughter Jenny.

Harriet’s nervous fingers tucked a stray lock of dark brown hair behind one ear as she watched his approach. Dressed in the slate-gray suit he often wore at the bank, he walked leaning slightly forward, like a ship battling its way in a storm—no, she thought, more like the storm itself, raging up the path, his elegant black boots plowing through the fallen leaves, creating chaos in their wake. His brow was a thundercloud, his mouth a grim slash in his chiseled, granite face. All he lacked was a fistful of lightning bolts to hurl at her with the fury of Jove.

As if this debacle were her fault!

Harriet’s heart drummed against her ribs as she settled her reading spectacles on her nose, dipped her pen in the inkwell and pretended to write. Her pulse broke into a gallop as he mounted the stoop and crossed the threshold. Fixing her gaze on the scribbling pen nib, she forced herself to ignore him until he spoke.

“I want a word with you, Miss Smith.”

“Oh?” She glanced up to see him looming above her, his face a study in controlled fury. Slowly and deliberately, Harriet removed her spectacles and rose to her feet. She was nearly five feet eight inches tall, but she had to look up to meet his withering blue eyes.

“You know why I’ve come, don’t you?” he said coldly.

“I do. And I’ve spoken with Will. There’ll be no more sneaking out at night to meet your daughter.”

“You’ve spoken to him!” Brandon Calhoun’s voice was contemptuous. “I caught your brother in a tree, last night, talking to Jenny through her open window! If I hadn’t come along, he’d likely have climbed right into her bedroom! If you ask me, the young whelp ought to be horsewhipped!”

Harriet felt the rush of heat to her face. “My brother is eighteen years old,” she said, measuring each word. “I can hardly turn him over my knee and spank him, Mr. Calhoun. But I do agree that he shouldn’t see Jenny alone. We had a long talk last night after he—”

“A long talk!” He muttered a curse under his breath. “You might as well have a long talk with a tomcat! I was his age once and I know what it’s like! There are girls down at Rosy’s who’ll put him out of his misery for a few dollars and others in town who’d likely do it for nothing. But, by heaven, I won’t have him touching my Jenny! Not him or any other boy in this town!”

His frankness deepened the hot color in Harriet’s face. In the eight years since the death of their parents in a diphtheria epidemic, she had devoted all her resources to raising her younger brother. She had done her best to teach Will right from wrong. But there were some things an unmarried sister couldn’t say to a growing boy—things that required the counsel of an experienced man. And there had been no man available.

With a growl of exasperation, Brandon Calhoun wheeled away from her and stalked to the window, where he stood glaring out at the autumn afternoon. Sunlight, slanting through the glass, played on the waves of his thick chestnut hair, brushing the faint streaks of gray at his temples with platinum. How old was he? Old enough to have a seventeen-year-old daughter, but surely no more than forty. There were deepening creases at the corners of his eyes, but his belly was flat and taut, his movements graced with a young man’s vigor.

Harriet had come to teach school in Dutchman’s Creek less than a year ago. Except for the schoolchildren, she was not well acquainted with many of the town’s citizens. But a woman at church had told her that the banker’s wife had died six years ago and, despite the fact that any number of ladies had set their caps for him, he had raised his daughter alone, just as she had raised Will. Maybe that was part of what had drawn the two young people together. Will and Jenny had met last summer and had been close ever since. That they were becoming too close was as much a concern to Harriet as it was to Jenny’s father.

Silence lay cold and heavy in the little classroom as Harriet pushed herself away from the desk and took a step toward him. Her legs quivered beneath her, threatening to give way. She willed herself to stand erect, to thrust out her chin and meet his blistering gaze with her own.

“Believe it or not, I’m no happier about this situation than you are,” she declared. “For years, I’ve been planning for Will to attend college. He’s finishing up his preparatory work by correspondence now, so that he can enter Indiana University in the spring to study engineering. If you think I’d have him jeopardize his future by getting mixed with some girl who doesn’t have the sense to—”

“Jenny isn’t some girl!” he snapped, cutting her off angrily. “And as for sense, she’s every bit as bright as she is pretty! I want nothing but the best for her, and that doesn’t include your calf-eyed, tree-climbing brother! By heaven, she deserves better!”

Harriet felt her anger rising as his words hung in the air between them. So the truth had come out at last. Brandon Calhoun was nothing but a strutting, bombastic snob who placed himself above common folk like Will and herself and judged his daughter worthy of a Vanderbilt heir. Merciful heaven, what grandiose delusions! He was nothing but a big fish in a very small pond! If she weren’t so furious, she could almost feel sorry for him!

“You’ve made your position quite clear, Mr. Calhoun,” she said in a voice that crackled like thin ice. “At least we seem to agree on one thing. I’m as anxious to protect Will’s future as you are to promote your daughter’s.”

Her subtle shift of verbs was not lost on him. His cobalt eyes darkened and she braced herself for another blast of hostility. For a long moment the only sound in the room was the droning buzz of a horsefly trapped against the windowpane. Seconds crawled past. Then, as Harriet held her breath, his rigid shoulders sagged. He exhaled raggedly, thrusting his fists into the pockets of his fine gabardine jacket.

“Jenny’s all I have,” he said. “She’s the only thing in my life that I give a damn about. If you had children of your own, you’d understand how I feel.”

If you had children of your own. Harriet winced as if he had caused her physical pain. She had put aside the hope of having her own family when she’d taken on the task of raising Will. Now, at twenty-nine, she knew that time had passed her by. She had become that most disparaged of creatures—an old maid.

Pressing her lips together, she gazed past him into the blur of sunlight that fell through the uncurtained window. She had always despised self-pity and refused to indulge in it. But the wretched man had known exactly where to jab and he had jabbed with a vengeance. Harriet had no doubt that he’d meant to wound her.

He cleared his throat, breaking the leaden silence between them. “This so-called talk you had with your brother. What did he have to say about his intentions?”

“That he loves your daughter. That he wants to marry her.”

He sucked in his breath as if he’d been gut- punched. “And how did you answer him?”

“How do you expect I would answer?” she retorted. “I told him it was foolish to even think of love at his age, let alone marriage! Getting involved with a girl at this point could ruin his plans for the future— indeed, it could ruin his whole life!”

“And did you resolve anything with him?” Brandon Calhoun’s voice was flat and cold.

“Only that there’ll be no more sneaking out at night to see Jenny. Will tends to be headstrong. As his sister, I’ve learned that if I draw the reins too tightly he’s quite capable of breaking them and going his own way.”