Hawk's Prize Read online

  RAVE REVIEWS FOR AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR ELAINE BARBIERI!

  TEXAS TRIUMPH

  “Barbieri brings the Texas Star trilogy to a powerful close, leading readers through a maze of deception, dishonesty, magic, hatred and justice’s ultimate triumph.”

  —RT BOOKreviews

  “For those who enjoy a good Western, Texas Triumph is an easy read that will hold their interest.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  TEXAS GLORY

  “No one writes a Western saga better than Elaine Barbieri! The action, adventure, and passion of this volatile family continue at galloping speed with Texas Glory.”

  —A Romance Review

  “This well-drawn portrait of the Texas frontier, its strong characters and tangled plot twists will keep readers hooked.”

  —RT BOOKreviews

  “Ms. Barbieri knows how to draw you into a story and keep you there.”

  —Romance Roundtable

  TEXAS STAR

  “Exciting . . . Fans will enjoy this complex tale of revenge and love in postwar Texas.”

  —The Midwest Book Review

  “Barbieri gives readers a complex story with subplots, passion, and a love that satisfies from start to end.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Plenty of tension, passion and a good solid ending, Texas Star is a romantic Western to hitch your wagon to.”

  —Roundtable Reviews

  MORE PRAISE FOR

  ELAINE BARBIERI!

  HALF-MOON RANCH: RENEGADE MOON

  Elaine Barbieri is “a mistress of the complex plot and wild Western. This is the final installment of a not-to-be-missed quartet!”

  —Romantic Times

  TO MEET AGAIN

  “Elaine Barbieri certainly knows how to capture the reader’s attention. Utterly delightful characters, tender romance, and plenty of harrowing adventures make for a splendid Western.”

  —Romantic Times

  NIGHT RAVEN

  “A fast-paced page-turner, Night Raven will keep you up all night until you get to the satisfying end.”

  —Romantic Times

  HAWK

  “Ms. Barbieri never disappoints, and readers will treasure Hawk as another in a long line of memorable reads from a grande dame of the genre.”

  —Romantic Times

  EAGLE

  “The situation is explosive! Ms. Barbieri knows how to pull you through an emotional knothole.”

  —The Belles & Beaux of Romance

  WISHES ON THE WIND

  “. . . Skillful . . . vivifying . . . !”

  —Publishers Weekly

  WINGS OF A DOVE

  “. . . Will bring out eve ry hope and dream you could have . . . run to the nearest bookstore and find this five-star book!”

  —Bell, Book and Candle

  A PROMISE TO KEEP

  “Stay out of my things!”

  Tricia took a breath. He was obviously still not himself. Holding her temper, she responded, “What is your name? If you’d tell me now, I could—”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  The fellow’s light eyes closed as he winced with pain. Regretting her brief annoyance, Tricia moved back to the bed and whispered, “I’m so sorry that you hurt yourself again. I should’ve prevented it but I—”

  Startled when he grasped her arm unexpectedly and pulled her down so close to him that she could feel his sweet breath against her lips, Tricia was unable to protest. Her voice caught in her throat when he stared into her eyes and said with a heat totally unrelated to his fever, “You’re available to anybody here who has the right price. That confused me at first, but it doesn’t anymore. I may not be in a position to take advantage of what you have to offer right now—but I will be.” Drawing her infinitesimally closer, he said in a voice that was more warning than promise, “You can depend on it—angel.”

  Other books in the Hawk Crest series:

  HAWK’S PURSUIT by Constance O’Banyon

  HAWK’S PASSION by Elaine Barbieri

  HAWK’S PLEDGE by Constance O’Banyon

  Other books by Elaine Barbieri:

  TEXAS TRIUMPH TEXAS GLORY

  TEXAS STAR

  HALF-MOON RANCH: RENEGADE MOON

  TO MEET AGAIN

  THE WILD ONE (SECRET FIRES) LOVE’S FIERY JEWEL

  NIGHT RAVEN

  AMBER TREASURE

  HAWK

  WISHES ON THE WIND WINGS OF A DOVE EAGLE AMBER FIRE

  TARNISHED ANGEL

  CAPTIVE ECSTASY

  DANCE OF THE FLAME

  The Dangerous Virtues series:

  HONESTY

  PURITY

  CHASTITY

  HAWK’S PRIZE

  Elaine Barbieri

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  To my dear friend, Constance O’Banyon, it was great fun working with you, solving the puzzles of our intricate plotline for the Hawk series on an almost daily basis, and for sharing. You’re the greatest!

  DORCHESTER PUBLISHING

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  200 Madison Avenue

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © 2006 by Elaine Barbieri

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Trade ISBN: 978-1-4285-1738-7

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-4285-0260-4

  First Dorchester Publishing, Co., Inc. edition: November 2006

  The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Visit us online at www.dorchesterpub.com.

  HAWK’S PRIZE

  Chapter One

  Galveston, Texas—1866

  The brilliant afternoon sun dropped slowly from its zenith as Tricia Lee Shepherd walked, silent and unseen, through the familiar wooded copse. Her suitcase in hand, she pushed back a strand of silky blond hair that had slipped onto her forehead from underneath the brim of her modest gray hat, then brushed away the perspiration that beaded her forehead and upper lip. Her suitcase seemed to grow heavier with each step.

  She paused to catch her breath and her bearings, her green eyes narrowing with concern as she looked around her. Despite the foliage shielding her from the rays of the relentless sun, the moist air had heated to an uncomfortable degree. Perspiration trailed down between her breasts, staining her equally modest gray traveling dress as she silently reasoned that it couldn’t be much farther.

  She had arrived at the Galveston train depot more than an hour earlier. She was aware that Galveston had been abandoned by the Confederacy, had bee
n occupied by the Union Army, and had then been rescued by Confederate troops—only to have the Yankee forces blockade the port for the remainder of the war. Yet the changes that the resulting hard times had wrought had startled her as her carriage moved along the streets. The Yankee bombardment had left scars that were still visible on the city. Buildings and roads were pockmarked from the barrage; stately old homes were crumbling beyond repair; profuse foliage and lush gardens lay withered and dying underneath gnarled old trees that had been uprooted by the shelling and could never be replaced. Yet alongside the devastation were the sights and sounds of rebuilding and repair that seemed to be progressing almost routinely, while Yankees in uniform walked freely on streets where they had previously been scorned.

  The past heavy on her mind, Tricia had instructed her driver to drop her off so she might walk the rest of the way. She had been startled when she turned a corner to see that other areas of the city seemed almost unaffected by the Yankee assault; they appeared to have suffered so little as to challenge comprehension.

  She had entered the familiar wooded area at that point and had continued on unseen. She had forgotten how heavy the salt-laden ocean air could be, and how overgrown and difficult untended trails could become.

  No, it could not be much farther.

  A smile broke across Tricia’s face when at last she came up behind the house she sought. Her smile faded into a frown of concentration as she assessed the rear staircase that led to the second floor. The alleyway was empty, but she wasn’t surprised at that. The hidden walkway and high privacy wall that shielded it from prying eyes on the street discouraged entry by the average person.

  But she was not the average person.

  Tricia took a breath, scanned the yard to make sure it was deserted, and then moved toward the staircase. Her heart pounded as she pushed open the door to the second floor and glanced inside. Grateful that the hallway was empty, she ignored the sounds of laughter and lively conversation echoing up from the lower portion of the house.

  Tricia was moving silently down the shadowed hallway when a plain young maid turned a corner. Obviously recognizing her, the young woman stopped in her tracks, and then scurried away without saying a word. Tricia mumbled angrily as she pushed open the door of the bedroom a few feet away. Once inside, she closed it quietly behind her. She had only to recall the look on the young maid’s face to know what would soon follow.

  Tricia raised her chin. It didn’t matter. She was an adult. She had made a difficult decision, and had then followed through.

  She had done the right thing.

  So . . . why did that thought bring her so little consolation?

  Drew Hawk stopped short in the doorway of Madame Chantalle Beauchamp’s bordello, but not soon enough to avoid bumping into the back of his friend and fellow former Confederate soldier, Willie Childers. Drew’s broad-brimmed trail hat pulled down on his brow, his casual cotton shirt and bandanna, and the gunbelt low on his hips would not have set him apart from other nameless wranglers walking Galveston’s streets if not for the Confederate gray trousers and worn military boots that were all that remained of the uniform he had worn so proudly.

  Drew stifled a pained groan as he shifted his weight to his stronger leg. He frowned as Willie continued gawking almost comically at the interior elegance of Galveston’s most infamous brothel.

  Drew silently acknowledged that he too had been impressed at first sight of the graceful, two-story brick mansion that sat back some fifty feet from the road. The path leading to the front door was lined with great live oaks and curtained with Spanish moss that fostered an aura of anonymity for any patrons who might desire it. The great pink oleander bushes dotting the manicured lawn lightly scented the air, adding to the building’s understated gracefulness. He had been even more impressed, however, when Willie and he had dismounted and were greeted by servants who took their horses to the stable as if they were gentry, instead of down-and-out Confederates making their way home.

  Drew revised that thought. Actually, it was Willie who was making his way home to the backcountry nearby; Drew had just come along for the ride. Galveston wasn’t his home anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time, and although the period he had spent there with his family had been one of the happiest of his life, it was also painful to recall.

  So many years had passed, and so much had happened in the time between. The luxurious life he had lived in Galveston as a boy had come to an abrupt end when his father’s gambling left the family destitute and his mother deserted them for another man.

  Years in an El Paso orphanage followed while his older brother Whit and he held out hope that their father would return for their sisters and them. It didn’t happen.

  Whit left the orphanage as soon as he came of age, promising to return, but that didn’t happen, either.

  Determined to find his brother, Drew left the orphanage a year later, but his search proved futile. He returned to El Paso for his sisters shortly afterwards, only to discover that they had been killed in a fire that had destroyed the manor house and everything in it.

  He still cursed the day he had left them behind.

  Drew’s expression grew taut. He had felt strongly about the Confederate cause when the war began and had joined the boys in gray. His fellow soldiers had been like family; but that had finished badly, too, with Yankee bullets ending many of their lives before the war and their cause was lost.

  He supposed it was for that reason that he had accepted Willie’s invitation to go home with him to meet his kin; but he was only too aware that he must maintain his anonymity in a city where Yankees kept a prominent force. Having led a secret Confederate raid on a Federal gold shipment forwarded by rail during the war, he had accomplished his mission, only to be wounded for the second time. He had delivered the gold to his superiors but was immediately hospitalized. He learned when the war ended shortly afterward that the Yankees never recovered the gold. He also learned that the Yankees were searching for him because of his role in the theft.

  One of thousands of defeated Confederates ostensibly heading home, he had become a wanted man.

  Drew’s leg began throbbing painfully, and he tensed. He had not expected that the wound in his leg—which had never fully healed—would start acting up again. Nor had he expected that Willie would be determined to stop off in Galveston on the way so he might “visit a woman of quality,” unlike the camp followers he had become accustomed to during the war.

  Willie was still gawking, and Drew unconsciously shook his head. Willie was of medium height, slight, snub-nosed, blond, and freckled. He looked younger than his twenty-four years, an appearance that contrasted vividly with Drew’s dark hair, strong features, penetrating hazel-eyed gaze, and the broad, muscular physique he had earned the hard way after leaving the orphanage eight years earlier. Drew knew the differences in their personalities were even greater than the physical contrasts. Willie was instinctively trusting and optimistic, almost naive despite his war experiences and the sober, intensely loyal part of his personality that most people did not have occasion to see. Drew was cautious and deliberate, a man who was realistic almost to a fault, impatient with deceit, and dangerous to cross. Yet despite the differences between them, the friendship struck between Willie and him had been spontaneous and true. Drew valued it.

  Valuing their friendship, however, did not make Drew patient with the time Willie wasted gaping at the flamboyance of the mansion’s interior. To his mind, the gilded mirrors and red velvet draperies and furniture bespoke the house’s function clearly, as did the magnificent, prominently displayed stained-glass image of Aphrodite resplendent in a transparent toga. The great oak bar and unpretentious gaming parlor that he glimpsed through a doorway were unexpected, but the curved staircase rising from the parquet floor to the second story—where he assumed the true business of the establishment was conducted—was not.

  He glanced at the relaxed, laughing patrons of the establishment, unconsciously noting that
business appeared to be in full sway—a surprise since it was barely past noon. That thought coincided with another twinge in his leg, and Drew caught his breath. He and Willie had taken time after breakfast to stop off at the baths, to get their hair trimmed, and to change into clean shirts, but their attire still made them a little too obvious for his comfort in this setting.

  Drew steeled himself as a middle-aged woman with outlandishly bright hair turned the corner into view and started toward the staircase. Her red hair was upswept in complicated swirls; her red velvet gown was obviously expensive and cut deeply enough in the bodice to reveal the curves of an ample, matronly figure; her makeup was artfully but heavily applied. She was a handsome woman who Drew reasoned had probably been a beauty in her earlier years. She stopped short when she saw them at the door. The look in her eyes made Drew suspect that their stay might be limited.

  Smiling unexpectedly, the woman walked toward them and said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Chantalle Beauchamp, and this is my establishment. You appear to have recently arrived in Galveston . . . perhaps from the war.” Her smile faltered as she added more softly, “If so, I’m glad you have returned safely. It pains me that so many young men did not. You are welcome in my house.”

  Her distraction obvious, Chantalle turned gratefully toward two young women approaching them. Without allowing Drew or Willie to respond, she said, “Let me introduce you to Angie and Mavis. I’m sure they will do their best to entertain you.”

  Chantalle started up the staircase without another word, and Willie winked in Drew’s direction when the young blond woman named Mavis took his arm with a flirting glance and drew him toward the inner room. Drew did not smile when the dark-haired woman moved to his side and purred, “Like Chantalle said, my name’s Angie.” She swept him with a heated glance before pressing herself closer. “You sure are a handsome fella. It’s going to be fun getting acquainted with you. But even before you tell me your name, I want you to know that I’m up to anything you have in mind, because just looking at you puts me in a real playful mood.”