Rising Fire. William W. Johnstone

have to handle that problem yourself, some other way. But it won’t be with my family’s money.” She paused. “Maybe you can talk to your grandfather’s emissary again.”

      His eyes widened. She had said too much, she realized. She turned away quickly, motioned Louis toward the gondola.

      “Let’s go.”

      “Wait!” Giovanni grabbed her arm. “Cara mia, please! Whatever you think, you are wrong, mistaken—”

      “What I think is that you’d better get your hand off me, mister,” Denny ground out.

      With only inches separating their faces, Giovanni looked into her eyes for a couple of seconds and then released her arm. He stepped back, his face stricken.

      “You do not know what you’re doing to me,” he said.

      “I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Denny said, “and I still don’t care.”

      With that, she held out a gloved hand to Louis, who took it and helped her into the waiting gondola. He stepped in after her and they both sat down on the padded seat. Louis nodded to the gondolier, who pushed the boat away from the landing and poled it farther out into the canal.

      Giovanni Malatesta stood there on the landing, staring after them.

      Quietly, Louis said, “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t haul out that hogleg of yours and shoot the varmint, as folks in Colorado would say.”

      “How did you know I was considering it?” Denny asked without looking over at her brother.

      “Because I felt like doing the same thing,” Louis replied. “If I’d had a gun, I just might have.”

      For the first time in awhile, Denny smiled. It wasn’t much of one, but it was still a smile.

      “I seriously doubt you would have done that.”

      “Don’t be so sure,” Louis said. “And just for the record, I have no doubt at all you would have, if he hadn’t let go of you when he did.”

      “Well,” Denny said, “you’re right about that.”

      CHAPTER 11

      The Sugarloaf, 1902

      Denny never told Louis all the details of what had happened, and he didn’t press her for them. She knew how smart he was, so she didn’t speculate on how much he might have figured out. She wanted to put the whole thing behind her, to never think about Count Giovanni Malatesta or that trip to Venice again, and for the most part she had succeeded.

      But deep down, she knew the experience had hardened her, made her less likely to trust anyone again—especially handsome, glib-tongued strangers. Maybe that was why she kept Brice Rogers at arm’s length some of the time, even though both of them knew they were attracted to each other. Brice wasn’t glib or arrogant—far from it, in fact, more like humble and down-to-earth—but even so, Denny was leery of opening her heart again. She figured she would get over that someday . . .

      But she had never expected to see Giovanni Malatesta step off the train in Big Rock, as handsome as ever and evidently doing quite well for himself, with his fancy clothes and his manservant and his tour across the American West. He must have found some other way to settle up with Salvatore Tomasi.

      “You been about a million miles away the whole trip out from Big Rock,” Pearlie commented from the wagon seat beside her. They were almost back to the ranch headquarters.

      “I’m sorry. I guess the way it turned out, I wasn’t very good company after all.”

      “This have somethin’ to do with that ruckus at the train station?” Pearlie squinted over at her. “I know you’ve been in a heap of gun trouble for a gal, especially a gal your age . . . No, a heap for any gal. You’ve been as cool-headed as any child of Smoke Jensen ought to be, but still, it’s got to bother you a mite when you have to kill a man, like you did back there.”

      “You think when we get home, I’m going to take to my fainting couch?” Denny asked, forcing a note of dry humor into her voice.

      “No, not hardly. I’m just sayin’ that if anything’s ever botherin’ you, you ought to talk to your pa. Smoke’s done a heap of shootin’ over the years, but I know for a fact he never killed nobody who didn’t have it comin’. I don’t reckon he’s ever lost a minute of sleep over it.”

      “Neither have I,” Denny said, “and I don’t intend to start now.”

      Pearlie nodded slowly and said, “Well, all right. I won’t pester you about it no more. But you can always talk to me, too. I know how close you and your brother are, and with Louis gone, if you ever need a sympathetic ear . . .”

      She patted him on the knee and said, “Thank you, Pearlie. I’ll keep that in mind.”

      The big main house, the bunkhouse, the barns and corrals, and the other buildings of the ranch headquarters were visible up ahead now. As Pearlie kept the wagon rolling toward the main house, Denny told herself to put all thoughts of Giovanni Malatesta out of her head.

      As far as she knew, her parents had no idea anything unusual had happened in Venice two years earlier. Louis had promised not to say anything to Smoke and Sally, and Denny believed him. She had persuaded her grandparents not to mention the money she had arranged to have wired to Venice, then backed out of the deal before the transfer could be made. Denny didn’t know if they had kept that promise or not, but her mother had never brought up the subject, so she believed there was a strong possibility they had honored their word.

      So there was a good chance the subject was dead and buried. She wanted it to stay that way.

      Unfortunately, Monte Carson had seen her slap Malatesta, there on the train station platform. The sheriff might say something to Smoke, and Smoke would know there had to be a good reason for what she had done. His daughter didn’t go around just slapping random strangers.

      Brice had witnessed the unexpected encounter, too, she reminded herself, but Brice wasn’t one of her father’s best friends and wouldn’t have any reason to mention it to Smoke. Monte Carson was the weak spot in the wall Denny had built to keep all those bad memories at bay. All she could do was hope that it wouldn’t crack.

      “There you go, wanderin’ off in the hinterlands again,” Pearlie said as he brought the wagon to a halt in front of the house. “You must have a whole heap of things on your mind today.”

      More than the ex-foreman knew, Denny thought as she jumped gracefully down from the driver’s box. “I’m going for a ride,” she announced. She started toward the barn, taking long strides. That would puzzle Pearlie even more, and she figured he would probably say something to Smoke and Sally about it. But it couldn’t be helped. Denny wanted to be alone right now. She had a lot of thinking to do.

      And she wished she knew if there was some hidden reason Giovanni Malatesta had shown up in Big Rock like that.

      * * *

      The sharp, precise rap of knuckles sounded three times on the bedroom door, followed by Arturo calling, “Count?”

      Knowing that Arturo would repeat that twice more in his usual annoying pattern if he received no response, Malatesta stopped pacing and stepped to the door to jerk it open.

      “What is it?” he demanded as he looked past Arturo into the sitting room of the suite in the Big Rock Hotel. It was the hotel’s finest accommodation, and paying for it would take just about all the money Malatesta had left. If he paid for it, of course. Such things were always open to question and a matter of the circumstances in which he found himself.

      “The sheriff is at the door and wishes to speak with you,” Arturo reported.

      Normally, that was the sort of news Malatesta never wanted to hear. A visit from the law always brought unpleasantness with it. But since he had just arrived in Big Rock