Empire of Dirt, page 1
part #3 of The da Silva Heirs Series
Book Three of The da Silva Heirs
by
Katherine Rhodes
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
EMPIRE OF DIRT
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2017 © Katherine Rhodes
Cover: JRA Stevens for Down Write Nuts
Formatting: Down Write Nuts
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
Two broken hearts, one chance to heal.
___________________
Tate Verhoven was broken by an accident that destroyed his legs and his confidence. After a foolish decision, he also lost the woman he loved--to his brother. Feeling betrayed and broken, Tate hides in darkness. Even Cady McCoy is hard pressed to help.
Marcia came to Texas merely to help her sisters, Fatima and Lucy. The Verhovens also need her help after the devastating events of the past weeks. With a heart of stone and steel wall around it, she's not there to make friends. Designing an expansive plan to help the Verhoven ranch thrive, Marcy is ready to take on the world.
It takes the death of just one head of cattle on a neighboring farm for the accusations of witchcraft and bad juju to start flying. Cady and Lucy are first for the guillotine.
While Tate's fighting mental illness, superstition, and the mysterious death of cattle around Austin, he's desperate to find his place again. Taking on the task of proving Cady and Lucy innocent may be exactly what he needs.
To his surprise, the da Silva girls aren't done with him-- or his heart--yet.
CONTENTS
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
The End
About the Author
Chapter One
A beginning for Marcia
The ballroom glimmered and glittered.
She hadn’t been to many parties like this, but Marcia schooled herself starting at the decorations and the women who outshone the diamonds they were wearing.
“Marcia, darling, you don’t have to do this.”
“Sim, Mama, I do. I want to.”
Sighing into her daughter’s hair, Lizette nodded. “If this is what you really want.”
“Look at this, Mom. It’s beautiful. Look how perfect everything is.”
Adjusting the tiara in Marcia’s hair one last time, Lizette nodded. “It is perfect, menina preciosa. But you outshine them all.”
Grinning, Marcia took a few steps toward the stairs.
Duarte laid a hand on her shoulder. “No, Marcy. Not yet. You have to be announced. This is your party, and it’s your announcement.” He pulled her back and looked at the tiara she was wearing. “I have the same question as your mother, preciosa. Are you sure you want to do this? You’re just sixteen. You don’t have to.”
“No, Dad, I want to. I really do.” She grinned at him and felt a thrill run through her. This was her chance to bring the Braganca family back to the royal circuit, and she wanted to do this. Desperately.
“All right,” Duarte said, and nodded to the herald who was standing there.
He tapped his staff three times and the room fell silent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Their Highnesses the Duke and Duchess Braganca, Prince Duarte-Joao da Silva and the Princess Lizette Lusquinos da Silva.”
Lizette and Duarte walked down the short set of stairs to polite applause. Marcy touched her tiara one more time, making sure that it was real and it was there, and shored up her courage. The herald waited about thirty seconds, and then announced her.
“Our guest of honor, the Princess Marcia Teresa Alisa Saxe Braganca da Silva.”
Marcy stepped out to the top of the stairs and was greeted with polite but enthusiastic applause. She made her way down to the bottom and was met by a young man.
This was going to be her fiancé by the end of the night.
“Princess, you do us much honor,” he said. “I am Prince Carl Saalfeld of the Saxe-Coburg Saalfelds.”
He wasn’t handsome. Not by a long shot. He had the Hapsburg jaw, and the nose his five-times great-uncle was famous for. Somewhat lanky, he seemed unable to really control his six-four frame. A moment after she placed her hand on his offered arm, an older woman appeared next to him.
“Carl, she’s lovely. Such pretty hair and look at these hips! Made for babies!”
Utter mortification raced through her. She wasn’t made for babies. She had a lot of things she wanted to do before there were babies. Still, she put on her smile and nodded her head gracefully to the other woman. This was going to be her mother-in-law in just three years.
Carl took her around the room, introducing her as the princess and his fiancée. He was charming, polite, and kind. He made sure she had a drink if she looked thirsty, he gave her time to collect herself, assured they were both left alone to eat, and in a private moment outside of the public view, gave her a chaste kiss and his phone number.
Before the night was through, he presented her with a very large ring that was clearly a family heirloom to show that he had pledged to marry her. The ring had emeralds instead of a diamond, but there was no question that it was gorgeous. She twisted her hand to watch it sparkle; they had some of their own family jewels, but this was nothing like those.
This was her engagement ring.
* * *
“Get your fucking hands off my daughter!”
Marcy had never heard her mother curse quite like that. Lucia was standing next to her hospital bed in the next moment and had bodily shoved Carl away. Lizette’s glare was one of death and destruction, and she was really glad it wasn’t directed at her.
“She is my wife and I’ll—”
“Desgracado! Nuca mais a toquem! Nunca!”
He tried to push Lucia out of the way, but instead got a face full of her sister’s fist. If she hadn’t been half drugged and unable to move, she would have laughed and high-fived Lucy.
Carl had staggered back to the wall and managed to catch himself before he hit the ground. Slightly disappointed he didn’t hit the ground, Marcy slowly turned her head. It felt like the room was underwater.
Lucy walked right up to him, her finger in his face and her attitude shining. She clearly didn’t care that he had six inches on her. “If you ever, ever come near my sister again, I will personally emasculate you, and shove your dick so far down your throat you’ll be able to pull it back out where I took it from.”
“Carl.”
Everyone in the room turned to the door, where the Duchess Lucretia was standing and staring at her son. Marcia made it there eventually. “What have you done?”
“Nothing, Mother. Nothing. My wife took ill—”
“You damned liar. Damned! Liar! You think that little girl laying there is ill? I can see the black eye and the bruises. Jesu, you burned her with a cigarette?!” Lucretia ran over and ran a hand over the circular injury on Marcia’s upper arm.
The duchess snapped her head up. “The baby!”
Lucy shook her head sadly.
Marcia gasped, and her hand fluttered to her stomach.
She’d lost the baby.
Lucretia had the saddest look in her eyes, a pained, sweet, kind apology for the hell that had led them to the hospital bed Marcia was lying in. She touched her cheek. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry. For all of this.” Glancing back at Lizette, she sighed and continued. “You’ll want a divorce, I suspect.”
“Yes.”
“No!”
The no was Carl, standing up from his lean on the wall. “No, no divorce! She’s my wife and I want her in—”
“Do shut up, child,” Lucretia snapped.
“No! I married her! I am not divorcing her!”
Marcy’s mother-in-law spun around to face her son. “You have lost all respectability. You beat your wife nearly into a coma. You beat her so hard you made her miscarry at five months pregnant. She lost your child, my grandchild. You will sit down, shut up, and grant a peaceable divorce to this woman, you ungrateful piece of shit.”
“I will not!” He picked up the blood pressure machine and threw it into the wall, yanking the finger reader off of Marcy’s finger.
“Carl. Out. Now.”
This time it was the duke, standing in the door with Lizette. He was an imposing man who had not been cursed with the Hapsburgs’ genetics. His dark hair, from his Spanish ancestry, gleamed while his bright green eyes, a gift from his Polish royal blood, burned with anger. After a moment he walked into the room, his personality seeming to fill the cracks of the room as he did. He was intimida ting, but he was also unfailingly kind.
“Carl. Did you hear me?”
“Yes, sir. But this concerns me and it’s…”
“You beat your wife. You killed her child. You are a disgrace to this family. Get out. Go home, and stay there until I decide what needs to be done with you. And whatever is on the divorce decree, you will sign.”
Not daring to argue again, Carl shoved past his father, past Lizette, and out into the hall, only to disappear a moment later.
“Your Highness.” He addressed Lizette. “Whatever you would like in the decree.”
“My lord, just what is her fair share. We don’t wish to prolong this. There is a home waiting for her in New Jersey, and we just wish to be done.”
“She will split the assets of his trust,” the duke answered. “She will have tuition for any school she wishes will come from our coffers. I will have you flown home as soon as the sweet girl is cleared to fly. All hotel bills and hospital incursions are covered. If she needs… help with this…”
“Too generous, my lord.”
“It’s about punishing my son, not spoiling your daughter. You may give the whole decree to charity, but it’s about punishing Carl, as he does not understand that you can’t treat people like this.” He laid his hand on her arm, and Marcy filled with regret, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Sweet girl. Just know that we love you, and we would have loved your child. I had not a clue in the world that my son was such an insufferable piece of shit. I am…sorry.”
Marcia nodded. But all she really wanted was to go home.
Chapter Two
“You lost.”
Tate whipped his head around to look at the woman sitting at the table.
She shrugged and gestured to the door. “You lost.”
“Good riddance.”
She let out a hearty laugh. “You can tell yourself that, Tate, but you went and fucked up the best thing that could have loved you.”
“She picked Caldwell.” Tate wasn’t in the mood for this tyrannical nonsense.
“No,” the black-haired woman said as she stood. “You pushed Fatima away. Your brother would have let you have her. Instead, you tried to kill yourself and shoved her right into his waiting arms.”
“Please. That bitch has been fucking him for weeks. I’m not going to stand here and listen to you. I don’t even know you.”
“You’d better get to know me. That bitch is my sister.”
Tate felt his mouth go dry as he realized the two girls could pass for twins. “Marcia.”
“Marcy is fine,” she said. “And you get to deal with me from now on. I’m not as nice as my sisters. I don’t have time for petty bullshit, like calling people bitches when it’s your fault you’re in this mess.” She crossed the kitchen to him. “Where did you get the scripts, Tate?”
Her black eyes were hot, angry. They almost shimmered as she stared at him. He tried to stare back with the same intense heat, but couldn’t. He didn’t have enough give-a-damn left in him to keep it up.
“I stole the pad.”
“Out of your mother’s drawer, didn’t you?”
“Stepmother.”
She stuck a finger in his face. “Don’t get funny with me, asshole. I’m not here to coddle you and soothe you. I’m here to get your farm working, working well, and keep the books in order. I just happened to be saddled with your sorry ass as well.” She removed the finger and walked to the refrigerator, pulling out the container of sweet tea. “You know, admitting you stole those prescription sheets could get you arrested.”
“What the hell?”
“I’m just saying.” Marcia poured two glasses of the tea. “You’d better not admit that to anyone. I’m sure they all suspect because duh? Your mother’s pad goes missing and two weeks later you’re dying in your bedroom.”
“Stepmother.”
Marcia stared at him. “Semantics, SFB.”
“SFB?”
“Shit for brains.”
“You really are a bitch.”
She pushed the glass of sweet tea at him. “Sit. Drink. You look like you’re about to fall down.”
Reluctantly, Tate sat. He was exhausted. The new cane was hard on him, and the physical therapist didn’t give a shit if he was tired or it hurt. Why should she? She hadn’t been living with rheumatoid arthritis her whole life. She didn’t know what was going on in his body.
He didn’t even know anymore.
Marcia took the seat across from him. “Let me lay down a few rules here. I am here to help with the farm while Deidre deals with her cancer and Caldwell and Fatima stay away from here. I volunteered to keep this funny farm running, which means you are under my purview. That means you do what the doctor told you to do, and take the medicines they have prescribed. I won’t argue. I will remind you on schedule, and that’s it. If you don’t take it, that’s on you. If you fight with me about it, I will put you in your place. I do not care if you don’t want to take a pill or do an exercise. I don’t. It’s all on you. I’m only here to remind you. Not council you, not listen to you bitch.”
Tate stared at her. “Wow. You Jersey girls are something else.”
“You know it.”
She picked up the papers she had been studying, and completely ignored him instantly. He had never seen anyone do it before. It was like he had disappeared from the room right after her last statement.
He’d been ignored before, but not to the level of perfection Marcia achieved. He finished the sweet tea and decided it was time to get out of the icebox that she had created. Carefully, he got out of the chair and headed for the stairs. It was going to take him quite a while to get up them, and he’d probably just pass out.
Which was fine. His father was being an ass about moving his room downstairs since he had bad legs now. Really bad legs. He still wished they had just taken the one leg after the accident. All the drugs in the world didn’t help him. Hell, all the drugs in the world didn’t even kill him.
Couldn’t live well, couldn’t die properly. Life was one giant fuckup.
Nearly half an hour later, he finally sat down on his bed. He scanned the room. Someone had cleaned the room, painted it, hung new curtains, and put on fresh bedsheets. But the room was still a part of the biggest sin he’d ever committed.
Marcia was right—he had stolen a pad of scripts from his mother’s office. He knew where she kept them, and he knew some guys who knew people. For just over $7,000 and the pills, he had handed over the whole damn thing. He didn’t even care about the money, really. He wanted the pills. He wanted to kill himself. The Wellbutrin had stopped working and he didn’t want to take it anymore.
No more pills, no more physical therapy. No pitying looks, no more unkind words.
But he hadn’t even managed that. He’d fucked that up too. So now, instead, he had $7,000 in dirty money that he had to use or get rid of.
The best way to do that was to get the hell out of Dodge. A few coding jobs here and there and he’d have enough to move to Buttfudge Nowhere, Montana. Or Wyoming. Either sounded excellent, and devoid of human contact.
Once he got established there, he’d make sure that the ill-gotten funds were paid back to society in the form of donations to charities. And he’d just make enough to survive. He didn’t need more than that.
He didn’t need anything from anyone. And he didn’t need to be a burden either.
* * *
Marcy waited until Tate was out of her line of sight before she flipped him off.
She didn’t need his self-destructive bullshit. She’d come down to Texas—ugh—to help her sisters get their lives together. Lucy just needed help going over the Miller family estate so she could understand what was going on there. Susan Miller was also happy for the review.
Fatima had needed more help. The Verhoven family was in a tizzy between Tate trying to take his own life and Deirdre battling cancer. Things had started to fall apart because Tate didn’t want to be anywhere near his brother Caldwell, but Caldwell helped run the farm.
Stupid, stupid family arguments.
Fatima had offered her up, with her accounting degree, to clean up and help set up the stud sheets for the bulls, as well as keeping track of the cattle.
