“Del,” Samuel said, “doesn’t he have a pardon coming?”
“Yes, of course. It’s right here in my pocket.” It took him some minutes before he could get it out to hand it to Tynan.
“Thank you, sir. I hope I did a satisfactory job for you.”
“The money, Del,” Samuel prompted.
Chris sat on her horse rigidly. With each passing moment, she expected Ty to say that he couldn’t leave her, that she meant more to him than all the money in the world and that he’d risk jail if it meant he could have her. But he never even looked at her. Del took a long time opening his saddle bag and withdrawing a leather pouch.
“There’s ten thousand dollars in there. That’s what we agreed on, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” Tynan put out his hand to shake Del’s. “If you have anymore need of me, I’ll be around. Mr. Dysan.” He tipped his hat to the older man.
Chris didn’t breathe as he turned toward her—but he didn’t look at her, just nodded in her direction, gave one of his infuriating hat tippings, mumbled, “Good-bye, Miss Mathison,” then turned away, Pilar beside him.
Chris sat there for a moment, barely aware of Pilar waving to her, then she leaned across her horse and grabbed her father’s pistol from his holster and aimed it at the back of Tynan’s head.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Del shouted as he knocked her hand skyward.
The pistol rang out, the bullet flying a foot over Tynan’s head, but he still didn’t turn around.
Del took his pistol from his daughter. “Of all the fool things—”
He stopped because Chris had buried her face in her hands and began to cry. She had been only a job to him, a job to make money and, in the end, he hadn’t cared anything at all about her.
As always, Del was at a loss as to what to do when a female cried, but Sam moved his horse closer to her and pulled her into his arms.
Chris recovered herself quickly, then moved away from Samuel and, with clear eyes, looked back at her father. “Forgive me. I’m ready to go now.” She was very aware of the men around her, all of them embarrassed.
“Look, if you want to stay here…” Del was awkward in trying to comfort her.
“She’s fine now, aren’t you?” Sam said. “I think we ought to go.”
Chris looked at him with gratitude and minutes later they were on their way toward home.
Chapter Twenty-six
Chris put down her book and leaned back against the tree that grew behind the little stone bench. She’d been in her father’s house for three weeks now and she knew that she wasn’t going to leave it again. She wasn’t going back to New York, wasn’t going to write any more stories about what was wrong in the world. Instead, she was going to marry Asher Prescott and live in her father’s house forever.
With a sigh, she closed the book. She’d already told Asher and now all that was left was to tell her father. For some reason, she hated telling him. Of course he’d be utterly delighted that she’d at last done something that he wanted her to do, but still, Chris hesitated.
“Might as well get it over with,” she murmured to herself as she stood. “A lifetime of being Mrs. Prescott and I think this will ‘get it over with,’ ” she muttered.
She straightened her shoulders and started walking back to the house, passing Samuel Dysan on the way. The man had stayed on after the rescue and had become part of the family. Twice, Chris had considered telling him her problems, but each time, something held her back.
She knocked on the door to her father’s study.
“Come in,” he called and, as usual, he sounded angry. Since they’d returned, he always seemed to be angry, sometimes not talking to Chris—as if he were furious with her about something.
He looked up at her. “What is it?” he asked coolly.
“I have something to tell you. Something that will please you, I’m sure.”
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her with one eyebrow raised.
“I have accepted Asher Prescott’s marriage proposal. We’re to be married one week from today.”
She expected a burst of happiness from her father, but his face blackened. Wasn’t she doing what he wanted?