Page 29 of The Bastard Heir (The Gilded West #2)

Chapter Thirteen

I t was nearing midnight by the time Castillo and Hunter made their way to the salon where piano music was being played by the deft hands of Mrs. Bonham.

They’d only just returned, and Castillo was in no mood for socializing, but it couldn’t be helped.

They were late, their plans to return by supper waylaid by the shootout.

Hunter had said his mother and Carolina’s mother were due to arrive today along with another family, so it would be suspicious if he was absent.

Emmy could put them off with the lie of an unexpected business meeting in Helena for only so long.

Castillo had been awake for almost twenty-four hours, and nearly all of those had been spent in the saddle.

He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten anything aside from that hasty breakfast before taking watch before dawn, but his hunger had long since turned into an empty ache that had moved up to settle in his chest. Four more men, including Bennett, were dead today because of his quest for vengeance.

In the past he’d consoled himself with the knowledge that the dead were bad men and his vengeance had saved them from wreaking havoc on the world.

Somehow that reasoning wasn’t working tonight.

Tonight he simply felt angry, frustrated and uncertain, when he’d been so damn sure for so long that the path he walked was the righteous one.

Even thinking of the hacienda, eventually rebuilt in all its splendor, didn’t help alleviate the doubt creeping up on him.

Would it be worth the cost? The cost to his soul?

His pulse galloped when he thought of Carolina, but he forced himself to stay calm.

She was a hope that was out of reach. That life wasn’t for him.

Despite their giving chase, the lone rider had disappeared, or so it seemed. Castillo and Hunter had come back to the ranch to figure out what Bennett’s cryptic words meant.

Hunter pushed the double doors to the salon open, and Castillo instinctively reached out to push the left one, but grimaced when the movement tugged at his bullet wound.

He’d taken a look at it during his hasty bath, but hadn’t been able to dress it.

And he was pretty certain he’d opened it up when he’d shrugged into his coat, but hadn’t had time to see to it with Hunter knocking on his door.

It didn’t matter. He’d stay downstairs for half an hour, long enough to meet everyone, and then he’d head upstairs to bed.

Warm, wet blood trickled down his arm beneath his coat and he modified the timeline.

Perhaps a quarter hour would be enough time to say hello.

The music kept playing, but Tanner saw them as soon as they entered and called out to them.

Emmy rose from the chair at his side, “Hunter! Castillo!” She hurried over to greet them, her face a beacon of relief and happiness as she tried to hug Hunter as if he’d just come back from a business meeting and not a brush with death.

Her fingers tightened around him, though, in a white-knuckled grip.

Castillo murmured a greeting, but his gaze sought one person.

He found her perched on a settee near the piano holding a glass of wine and talking with one of the newcomers.

Carolina. She was perfect in a dark blue gown with her golden hair done up in soft curls.

She belonged here in a room just like this, with soft music and fine things.

Not back at his hacienda surrounded by decay and failure.

Their eyes met. She didn’t smile or offer a greeting, but her direct gaze nearly leveled him.

Her brow furrowed as she looked him over, as if she knew the hell that had been his day.

It seemed as if she could see so much more than everyone else.

A part of him wanted to go to her and confess everything that had happened, to bring her into his world. But he couldn’t put her in danger.

Tanner drew his attention and introduced him to his wife, Isabelle.

She gave him a cold, blue stare, barely managing to utter a greeting or give a tilt of her head.

Castillo could only imagine how awkward the encounter was for her, but the way she looked at him reminded him that he didn’t belong here.

Not really. He wasn’t one of them. No matter how he dressed, his life would set him apart.

Kathleen Hartford was next, Carolina’s mother.

The woman was shorter than her daughter, with a pleasantly plump face, and she smiled at him warmly.

Castillo looked carefully, but he didn’t see anything of Carolina in her features.

He couldn’t help but remember the breakfast conversation from the day before, and only barely managed to restrain himself from asking her why she was being so unreasonable when it came to Carolina’s profession.

Next were a Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham, some distant relatives on the Hartford side, and their two adult sons, one of whom had brought a wife—the woman Carolina was talking to.

He said hello to them all, and social custom dictated that he greet Carolina as well.

“Good to see you again, Miss Hartford. How are you this evening?”

He wanted to drag her out to the porch and ask her, while he smoothed out the worried furrow between her brows with his lips, How are you? Did I take too much last night? Can I hold you and pretend that things are different?

“Good to see you again, Mr. Jameson.” She offered him a small smile, a social smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m doing well. How are you?” Her gaze flicked down to the still noticeable cut under his eye from where Johnson had punched him.

Thankfully, it hadn’t bruised too much. Then she took in the rest of his body in a glance that was so fast no one seemed to notice.

But she didn’t look reassured when she met his gaze again.

Castillo wouldn’t lie to her, not anymore, but he couldn’t tell her everything that had happened. “Well enough,” he said, instead.

Come with me, Carolina. Come and let me hold you.

Did she regret her decision to call off their plan?

Had she missed him today? Damn. He was tired if he was wondering if she’d missed him.

It didn’t matter. She was too sensible to become besotted with him, while he, apparently, wasn’t sensible enough.

He wondered if she’d mentioned anything to Prudence, and his gaze shifted to the older woman who sat in the chair adjacent to the settee.

She didn’t bother to smile at him and just raised a disapproving brow.

Apparently, her niece had explained that he wouldn’t be a suitor to her anymore.

He’d probably hear an earful once Prudence could get him into a corner alone.

With a final nod, he moved to the table next to the open double doors that led out to the porch and poured himself a whiskey.

Now that exhaustion was setting in, his shoulder was starting to throb.

It had pained him the entire ride, but the movement had kept him distracted.

The liquid warmed his belly as it went down, so he went ahead and poured himself another, hoping the next one would dull the edges of the pain.

“Are you hurt?”

He whirled at the sound of Carolina’s soft voice coming from so close behind him.

She stood with her back to the room, her eyes wide with concern.

A quick glance behind her confirmed that no one was paying them any attention as Hunter and Emmy spoke about the wedding. “I’m fine,” he said, meeting her gaze.

She frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Did you find out anything?”

“What do you mean?” He hated this deception, when all he really wanted to do was talk to her.

“Castillo—” She bit her lip and looked around to make sure no one had heard her. Then she continued in a softer voice, “I know you weren’t in town on business. You don’t have to tell me what happened, I just want to know if you found what you were looking for.”

For some inexplicable reason, an ache welled in his throat. He had to swallow several times to make it ease, and glanced down to the amber liquid in the tumbler he held so that he wouldn’t focus on her eyes. Those eyes saw too much. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That abrasion on your cheek under your eye. What happened?”

He didn’t want to lie to her, he’d already done that enough in their brief time together, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. “One of the horses got too anxious. Ran me into a post in the stall.”

“That’s a new one.” She gave him a rueful smile and looked back toward the people in the room, trying to appear as if they were having a normal conversation. “I’ve heard it caused by walking into a door, falling against a table, but never once has it been caused by a horse.”

“What are you talking about?”

“An abrasion left by a fist, Castillo. I see many women at my father’s practice, and a few have husbands with unfortunate tempers. I know what it looks like when a fist hits flesh.”

“I don’t have a husband with an unfortunate temper. And any man who hits a woman is a coward who doesn’t deserve his balls.”