“You might not have much time.” With that warning, Blake Dollarhide mounted his horse and turned to go.
“Wait!” Alvar said. “If we don’t fight those men, how can we stop them?”
“Find out who’s paying them and stop the money. That’s what I’ll be working on. If you learn anything useful, get word to me at the mill.”
As Hanna watched Blake Dollarhide ride off into the twilight, the second saddle horse, a handsome grulla tied to a post, caught her attention. As she turned, a man stepped out of the shadows next to the house. Clad in a white shirt and gray waistcoat, he was short, with thinning hair, a slight double chin and a belly that overhung his belt by a couple of inches. In Hanna’s eyes, he was neither handsome nor ugly, neither bright nor stupid. Just ordinary. As ordinary as a potato.
“Hello, Hanna, my dear.” Ulli Swenson’s smile showed a discolored front tooth. “You look surprised. Didn’t your parents tell you that they’d invited me to dinner?”
* * *
Mason Dollarhide paused to check the mirror before leaving his room to go downstairs. Ordinarily he didn’t take such pains with his appearance. But today was a special opening of the Blue Moon Bank, in which he was a partner with his friend Doyle Petit and a fat, oily-tongued easterner named Wessel who’d arranged the original sale of land to the homesteaders. The other two partners had put up most of the money, but by virtue of his mother’s owning the property where the bank was to be built, Mason had been included in the business.
He’d never been that keen on wearing a suit and sitting behind a desk, but as both Doyle’s and Mason’s mothers had pointed out, there was a lot of money to be made, especially by offering high-interest loans to the drylanders for seed, equipment, animals, and improvements to their homesteads. Mason couldn’t argue with that.
Today, three weeks after the July 4 dance and the prairie fire, there would be another celebration. This one, sponsored by the bank and designed to lure the drylanders into town, featured fiddle music, free barbecue, and a welcome speech by Doyle, extolling the services a bank could provide for its customers.
Mason’s job would be to mix with the crowd, handing out brochures, making friends, and answering questions, something he did well enough. But what he was hoping for was to see that pretty little blonde he’d met at the dance. What was her name? Hanna, that was it. Hanna Anderson. With luck, he might even get her alone long enough to collect that kiss he’d been about to claim before Blake had interrupted them.
Just imagining the taste of those innocent lips and the feel of that curvy little body pressed against his was enough to heat his blood and strain the buttons on his trousers. Mason considered himself a gentleman. He would never force a woman. But there were other, more enjoyable means of persuasion. The right words and a few kisses, and he would have sweet Hanna right where he wanted her.
He came downstairs to find his mother waiting in the parlor. Now in her mid-forties, Amelia Hollister Dollarhide was still a stunning woman, her flame-colored hair untouched by gray and her waist as slim as a girl’s. She was dressed in an airy mint-green summer gown that matched the color of her eyes.
Looking him up and down, she smiled. “You look like a right proper businessman,” she said.
“I’m glad you approve. Why don’t you come to town with me and join the celebration?”
She laughed, a brittle sound, like the tinkle of the glass wind chime that hung over the porch. “Please, don’t even ask.”
“Whatever you say. I know you don’t mingle with the peasants. But I wanted you to know that you’d be welcome.”
Amelia smiled. “I understand. But my answer is still no.”
Mason wasn’t surprised. When Amelia wanted to shop, dine, or do business, she went to Miles City or took the train to St. Louis, where she had friends and family. If she had no social life in Blue Moon, that was by choice.
His invitation had been nothing more than a gesture. Amelia understood that as well as he did.
“Before you leave, Mason,” she said, “I’ve been meaning to have a little chat with you.”
“I really need to go.” Mason had already guessed what his mother had in mind. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d raised the subject of his finding a suitable wife. And by suitable, she meant upper-class and wealthy. Mainly wealthy.
“You’ve got time.” She glanced out the front window. “Hank hasn’t even brought your buggy around yet. Sit down.”
Mason lowered himself to the arm of an overstuffed chair. “How many times must we have this conversation, Mother?”
“As many times as it takes. I’m not just building a legacy for myself. I’m doing it for your family, your children, their children, and on down the line.”
“In other words, what you want is your own dynasty.”
“Well, yes, if you want to put it that way. And as my only child—the only one I presume I’ll ever have—you have a responsibility to carry on the family line.”
“You know there are other Dollarhides in the county.” Mason wasn’t above needling his mother.
“Of course. But they don’t count. Your brother was a bastard, born out of wedlock—you know that story. He’ll probably marry some husky farm girl who can plow a field and pop out babies like a brood sow. But it’s quality we’re going for here. When I want to breed a prize stallion, I look for a mare with a champion pedigree.”
“I’m hardly a prize stallion, Mother.”
“Of course not.” She laughed again, that same sharp-edged sound. “In any case, I’ve written my cousins to expect the two of us in St. Louis for Christmas week. They’ll be introducing you to some suitable girls. I’ll be returning home after New Year’s Day. You can stay on for as long as it takes to find a proper girl and come back married—or at least engaged.”
“All in good time.” Mason sighed with relief as the one-horse chaise drew up in front of the house, drawn by a sharp-looking bay mare. He stood, brushing a crease from his tailored gabardine trousers. “Time to go. I mustn’t miss the ribbon-cutting.”
“Think about what I said,” his mother called after him as he strode out the door. “I know you like the local girls. Fine. Do what you must with them. But don’t you dare bring one home. Our future family deserves better.”
By the time Mason had reached the main road to town, his thoughts were flying ahead. The winter season in St. Louis, with its fine restaurants, theater, and socializing, would be one grand, endless party. Of course, he had no intention of finding a wife to tie him down and spoil his fun. But his mother didn’t need to know that. After all, he was her only heir. How angry at him could she get?
Meanwhile, there was the delicious challenge of finding sweet Hanna and getting himself between her virginal legs.
* * *
Blake wandered among the farm families and townspeople who’d shown up to celebrate the opening of the bank—or maybe just to get a helping of free food. Part of the street had been cordoned off in front of the bank and set up with a plank table, where a couple of ranch cooks, hired for the event, cut slabs of pit barbecued beef to lay on thick slices of bread. One serving was big enough for a meal, and the meat-hungry drylanders were taking full advantage.