The Wyoming Heir

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But none of that changed the two most important things. She was still his sister and... “Did you say you were going to the banquet, the one I’m attending?”

He opened his mouth to add she was too young, then stopped and attempted to blow out his frustration in one giant breath.

It worked great—until his shoulders tightened into knots.

Sam frowned. “No. I’m wearing satin to a banquet in the town park. Yes, the banquet you’re attending. I gave Jackson my word. Now, if you would please step away from the door so Stevens can let Jackson inside. He came all the way from Albany just to pick me up.” Her dress swished, catching the light from the chandelier as she waved toward the door.

Luke raked his hand through his hair. Mourning indeed. Why couldn’t the gown be some other color? A bright childlike yellow or pink. Not shades of lavender and silver that shimmered in the lighting and caused her skin to look as creamy as warm milk. He wanted his old sister back. The one that skinned her knees trying to climb trees and didn’t cry when she fell off a horse.

Again, the knock.

Luke gritted his teeth and looked between his sister, the butler and the door. He’d give his grandfather’s estate away in a second, if he could be instantly back in Wyoming, Sam by his side. But since that wasn’t an option, what else could he do? Keep the slick-looking man outside, and haul Sam upstairs to hog-tie her to her bed for a day or two?

She’d never speak to him again. “Stevens, please show Mr. Wells into the...” He snapped his fingers, the name of the room escaping him.

The butler raised his eyebrows. “The gentlemen’s reception room, sir? Or would you prefer the drawing room since the lady is present?”

Wasn’t one room the same as another?

“The drawing room will do nicely.” Samantha moved toward the double doors on the right.

Luke followed her into the room and nearly had to step back out. The carpet. The molding. The drapes. The furniture. Gold gleamed at him from every direction, and the few things that weren’t gold were white. Someone had painted the walls a blindingly pure shade, and the white cushions on the furniture looked so bright they’d likely never been sat on. A large marble fireplace, also white, dominated the far wall, while floor-to-ceiling windows sent shafts of sunlight into the room.

He narrowed his eyes at his sister, who stepped daintily across the room. “Hang it all, Sam. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to this banquet earlier?”

Samantha sat on a small fancy sofa thing with perfect cushions, her chin quivering slightly. “I didn’t feel like being yelled at.”

“I’m not...” Yelling. Though he was close. He pressed his lips together to keep from saying more.

“Mr. Hayes.” Stevens stood in the open doorway. “Miss Hayes. May I present Mr. Jackson Wells.”

Wells cast Luke that too-polished smile but walked straight to Sam. “Ah, Samantha, your beauty this evening is riveting.” The man settled onto the dainty couch, somehow confident the fragile furniture would hold two people.

Luke eyed the chair beside them. Those spindly gold legs would likely collapse if he sat down, and if the chair didn’t break, his filthy clothes would ruin the cushions.

“Thank you, Jackson. It’s lovely to see you, as well.” Samantha sent the dandy a smile despite her still trembling lips and extended her hand, palm down, which Wells kissed.

Kissed.

He should burn the man’s lips off.

“Luke, allow me to make introductions.” Samantha sniffed, her nose tilted into the air, but something wet glinted in her eyes.

Certainly he wasn’t being a big enough fool to make her cry, was he?

“This is Jackson Wells, son of our esteemed local assemblyman, Thomas Wells. He also works for you, as manager of Great Northern Accounting and Insurance’s office in Albany.”

“I know he works for me.” And the knowledge didn’t curb his urge to chase away the scoundrel with his Colt.

“Jackson.” Samantha’s smile seemed more genuine as she glanced at her suitor. “This is my brother, Luke Hayes.”

Wells’s gaze, sickeningly friendly, rested on Luke. “We’ve spoken.”

“Mr. Wells.” Luke nodded, his voice vibrating like a dog’s low growl. Probably wouldn’t do to fire the man just for being sweet on his sister, but it was tempting.

Wells leaned forward and whispered something in Sam’s ear, and she laughed softly.

Luke flexed his fingers. “Don’t eastern folk ask permission from the man of the family before they start courting a lady?”

Samantha stopped midwhisper, and Wells stood. “I spoke with the late Mr. Hayes before he passed. He was thrilled when I requested to call on Samantha. He and my father are acquainted, of course, and—”

Luke cut the boy off with a wave of his hand. “And you expect to take her to the banquet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Plans have changed. Samantha is accompanying me. You can meet her there.”

Sam sprang from her seat. “Luke, you can’t—”

“Perhaps you’re concerned about a chaperone?” Wells interjected. “My sister is awaiting us in the carriage. She’s a spinster and a perfectly acceptable chaperone.”

“Miss Wells, Luke.” Sam held her chin at a determined angle, but she blinked against the tears in her eyes. “The mathematics teacher you met at the academy yesterday.”

So Miss Wells and the dandy were related after all. And that also made her the daughter of the local assemblyman. No one had bothered to tell him that, either.

What was the daughter of a politician doing teaching mathematics like some spinster?

Not that it mattered. Nope. Certainly not. Whatever Miss Wells chose to do or not do, whoever she happened to be related to or not related to, was no concern of his.

Luke rubbed his hand over his forehead and glanced back at his sister, only to find more tears glistening in her eyes. Confound it. Why did she cry at everything he did? Made him feel like an ogre—which he most definitely was not.

Or so he hoped. Maybe he had some questions for Sam, and needed to have a long chat with her suitor, but now was hardly the time to go into all that. Clearly Sam and Wells had arranged to attend the banquet, and it hardly seemed fair to stop them just because he’d arrived in town and hadn’t known about their plans.

But he still didn’t cotton to the idea of Sam going off without him. “How about this. Sam and I will go to the banquet together. Sam, if your friend and the mathematics teacher want to tag along, so be it.”

Sam bit her bottom lip and sent him an uncertain glance. “Does that mean you’re going to change clothes?”

Chapter Six

Elizabeth scooted toward the far side of the carriage, giving the rancher—not cowboy—more room as he sat beside her. She hadn’t considered that he and his sister would attend the banquet together, or that he would insist they take his carriage, not Jackson’s. She didn’t want to share a carriage with the man after offending him earlier that afternoon.

Though she still wasn’t sure how she’d offended him. Surely the man couldn’t be upset because she’d asked for a donation, could he?

She clasped her gloved hands together on her lap. What had Jonah been thinking, anyway, to leave the estate to his grandson? It would have been much simpler had Jonah divided up his legacy before his death and donated everything to charity. Then again, maybe he’d planned to do that in a few more years. No one had been expecting that sudden heart attack.

“Good evening, Miss Wells.” Mr. Hayes’s voice rumbled from beside her.

She glanced his way, then down at her lap. My, but he did look dashing in a tuxedo, all the wild strength of the West, thinly veiled in dark evening attire. Now if only he would trade in that cowboy hat for a proper top hat.

But cowboy hat or not, he’d still be the most sought-after man at the banquet. He had too much money and too-fine looks for people to ignore him. Not that she cared in the least.

And she’d best find something productive to talk about, lest she sit here contemplating his appearance for an hour. “Jackson, about our previous discussion, have you—”

“Not now, Elizabeth.” Jackson flicked his hand as though getting rid of a fly. “I’m sure Mr. Hayes has more pressing things to discuss than your preoccupation with food costs at the academy.”

“I’m not—”

“Mr. Hayes.” Jackson nodded at the rancher. “Please accept my sincere condolences about your grandfather.”

Mr. Hayes’s hands gripped the edge of the seat, and his body tensed as though he would vault from their bench and squeeze between the courting couple across the carriage. The man was quite good at issuing threats with his eyes, and this one read: Jackson Wells, touch my sister, and you’ll regret it.

“Jonah Hayes was a great businessman,” her brother continued. Whether oblivious to Mr. Hayes’s disapproval or purposely ignoring it, she couldn’t tell. “Not to mention one of my father’s most faithful and generous supporters.”

“Yes.” Mr. Hayes’s eyes glinted with studied coolness. “I understand my grandfather was a faithful supporter of a great many things.”

Jackson laughed, the overly loud sound bouncing off the carriage walls. “Have you considered following in your grandfather’s footsteps and donating funds to one of New York’s longest sitting and most popular assemblymen? My father has personally passed legislation that...”

The sun cast its fading orange rays inside the carriage while the familiar discussion about politics and campaigning swirled around her. Elizabeth shifted in the seat and made herself comfortable as the carriage wheels rumbled over the road.

If they were exactly 5.2 miles from Albany and they reached Albany in 56 minutes, that meant they traveled at a rate of 5.474 miles per hour. So say the wheels on the carriage were twenty-four inches in diameter, what would be the wheels’ rate of rotation? She closed her eyes, letting the numbers and equations dance before her.

But even with her eyes shut, the scents of grass and sun and musk emanated from the person beside her, and the seat dipped ever so slightly in Mr. Hayes’s direction, making him rather unforgettable—even with her equations.

It was going to be a long ride.

* * *

As the carriage threaded through the crowded streets of Albany, Mr. Hayes and Jackson continued to discuss Father’s politics. Jackson talking about Father’s campaign and funding for an hour wasn’t unusual, but Mr. Hayes not agreeing to give away a penny?