It is Friday
Samantha says, "I'm here to see Mister Quintan." She looks, well, put-off, to
say the least. Green eyes are flashing.
Consuela knows better then to try and run interference when a woman has _that_
look in her eyes. She steps back admitting Samantha, "Senior Quintan is in his
study."
Samantha hustles in, her skirts swirling around in her a violent vortex.
Samantha walks off towards front door of the large ranch house. Consuela opens
the Study door, announces you, then steps aside. Samantha waltzes into the study
in a flurry of skirts, and the sound of boots, her face flushed with feeling and
eyes flashing like diamonds, "-Mister- Quintan!"
Karl is seated in his chair smoking a cigar, he stands as Samantha enters. Karl
raises an eyebrow, "Mrs. Brandt" Samantha says, "Your 'hands are taking my
horses." She's all afire, she is, and she even stomps her foot. I'm miss four as
of this morning. And I suppose I don't have to tell you there are hoof marks
around -your- fence." Silence. Damn women and their volatile tempers. He stomps
his cigar out in a dish on the desk then clears his throat, "I assure you Mrs.
Brandt, whatever game you are up to will not work with me. I am fully aware of
the missing stock. MY missing stock. Such accusations won't turn my eye from
your borderline."
Samantha starts shaking her finger at Karl, "If you think I forgot that threat
you made when I bought the land for my ranch out from under your nose, you've
got another thing coming. And I will no be distracted. I want the horses back.
Now."
Karl still maintains his calmness in spite of the temper that's flaring on the
other side of the room, in fact he even chuckles a little, "Horse Thieving is a
hanging offense, Mrs. Brandt." He pauses, "Am I to understand you are accusing
me of Horse Thieving?" Just so we can be crystal clear. Samantha says carefully,
"Well, I don't know that it's YOU stealing my horses, but it might be your
'hands. And I want you to do something about it." Little Mrs. Brandt sure has a
temper, doesn't she?
Karl crosses his arms across his chest in a manor that is blatantly
condescending. "So. I am to discipline my men for horse thieving based upon the
shrill accusations of a woman?" An eyebrow goes up. "Surely, even you can
understand that I need proof. And trust me, I am searching for it. The Bargold
Ranch will not succeed in pilfering my cattle much longer." His angry tone
defies the calm outer expression.
Samantha walks around that desk to glare up at Karl with dislike in those bright
green eyes. "Don't patronize me. You've run this town so long you think you can
do anything you want. But you can't. If I catch your hands at their work, I'll
prosecute them to the letter of the law and see them hanged." And she pushes one
of her gloved fingers at his upper chest, punctuating each word *see* *them*
*hanged*.
Karl steps closes to Samantha making a quick grab for her extended wrist, "My
men are *MY* business, Mrs. Bargold. Don't you ever, -ever-, come into my home
and threaten what is mine, Mrs. Bargold." The second pronunciation is more drawn
out, almost cursed. "Woman or no, I won't stand for it." Samantha finds her
wrist grasped tightly, but she is not afraid, though no doubt her husband would
be quite unhappy to see her threatening this man, which she does anyway... "My
horses are MY business, _Mister_ Quintan, and I don't give a damn what you think
of my sex. I'll threaten you if I choose to, and I do choose to." She stops her
foot as hard as she can on his toes. As she does, her voice lowers, "And let go
of my arm."
Startled by the sudden slight pain in his toes, Karl does let go of Samantha's
wrist. Stunned, he raises his hand to slap her, looking quite capable of
accomplishing it for the brief moment until he composes himself. The hand drops
to his side. "Bitch."
In the meantime, Samantha steps back, looking quite nasty. Not that she's
capable of the things HE is, but still, she's more than just a little wife of
the local protestant minister. Eyes narrowing she says, "I hate to even say what
you are. But I don't have to. Sooner or later you will be caught and justice
will be at hand." She swirls around, fists on her neat little waist to walk
toward the door and out.
She's leaving? He hasn't dismissed her yet! He follows after Samantha,
determined to have the last word. "You may think you can threaten my men, Mrs.
Bargold, but its going to take more then words. And a hell of a lot more then
you are capable of dishing out!" Could doubt be creeping into those words?
Samantha turns at the door, chin up. She's a Bargold by God and capable of
things you couldn't possibly guess. Or maybe you could. And she reminds him of
that, "I have considerable resources at my disposal Mr. Quintan. You may have
forgotten my father and uncle and their sizable estates. You may have forgotten
my father's contacts in the Senate." Her voice gets cool and confident, "I can
and will do as I please and I have more to offer than words as you will find
out." She leaves then, trying to shut the door in his face. She isn't the type
to curse, but if she was she'd say, "See you in Hell, Quintan." Could this be
the start of the war between the Quintan's and the Bargold's that Greg Brandt
was always afraid of?