Savage Desire

by Rosemary Rogers

  “But Mrs. Morgan, soon the railroad will make travel so much easier,” Uriah Lott, a guest of the colonel’s, said as he leaned forward to stare at her earnestly. “I have already laid tracks from San Diego down to the Gulf Coast at Corpus Christi in order to transport sheep to market, and will be extending the line even farther.”

  “San Diego?” Ginny’s brow shot up in surprise, and Mr. Lott laughed ruefully.

  “Oh, no, I see I’ve misled you. San Diego is twenty-five miles north of Corpus Christi. But it’s a start. Why, I have investors behind me now, and plans to lay even more tracks across the plains and the border. That’s one of the reasons I’m here in Laredo, you see. It’s the perfect gateway into Mexico. When a permanent bridge is built to link with Nuevo Laredo across the Rio Grande, we will soon be able to travel all the way to Mexico City by rail! I envision tracks laid all the way up into Canada eventually, and it’s not just a dream. It’s the future.”

  “So your railroad is going to compete with the big boys of Union Pacific and Central Pacific?” Steve regarded Lott over the rim of his brandy snifter. “I assume you have all the funding in place for this.”

  “Well…part of it. I do have a major investor who is interested in my plans. I think the Rio Grande Railway could successfully compete in the market. There’s room enough for all. Which is one reason that I’m so pleased you agreed to meet with me, Morgan.”

  “I’m no longer involved with the operations of the Central Pacific or the Union Pacific, Mr. Lott.”

  “But you are a major stockholder.” When Steve said nothing, Uriah Lott sat back in his chair, brows raised. “I was told that you are the man I should talk to about this, for you have influence with men like Jay Gould. Look, I’m a businessman. Railroads cannot continue operating at a loss and taking government subsidies. We both know why this has happened—track was laid too fast, shoddy rails that have had to be pulled up and relaid before the first train could even run it. Builders ignored quality and economy just to get more track laid ahead of the others so they could rake in the most government subsidy money. It’s a fact. I don’t intend to operate the same way. My tracks are going to be made of the new Bessemer steel, not iron. The rails are more durable, will support greater loads, and save money by cutting down on the number of accidents due to broken rails.”

  Cigar smoke wreathed the air; the commanding officer at Fort McIntosh, Colonel Nathan Prime, summoned an enlisted man to bring more wine for Ginny, who had stubbornly refused to be relegated to a parlor with the officers’ wives and boring discussions of children and recipes.

  “I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to the heat yet,” she had said politely but firmly, “and I simply must sit outside where it’s cool.”

  Besides, she thought wryly, it was the only way to stay close to Steve. She was beginning to wish, however, that she had pleaded a headache and returned to their hotel, for she found Colonel Prime annoying. Must he stare at her like that, pretending that he wasn’t when she happened to glance his way?

  The colonel turned back to Steve, cheeks puffed out as he sucked on his cigar, deliberately blowing smoke in her direction, Ginny was certain, to show his disapproval of a woman who did not know her proper place.

  “Ah, so you know Jay Gould, Morgan? He’s quite a robber baron, I’m told. Is that why you’re in Laredo? Planning on laying railroad tracks of your own?”

  “Not exactly.” Steve glanced at Ginny. “Just passing through.”

  Like a dog with a bone, Lott was not to be diverted from his topic. He emphasized his points with the tip of his cigar making a glowing arc in the soft night air. “I met James J. Hill last year, and he has some most intriguing ideas. He has big plans to build a transcontinental railroad across the northern region of America. Oh, I know, they call it Hill’s Folly. But Hill has built several local railroads and he knows what he’s doing. He’s a good businessman. It’s all in the talking stage right now, but I think one day he’ll succeed in doing it.”

  “He’s got stiff competition for very little business, taking it through unsettled territory,” Colonel Prime said with a laugh. “Hell, there’s nothing up there but Indians and goddamn bears! ’Scuse me, Mrs. Morgan.”

  More interested in the intriguing prospect of railroads crisscrossing America and into Mexico than the colonel’s deliberately rough language, Ginny nodded politely.

  “But I think the idea has merit, Colonel. It wasn’t so very long ago that Texas was largely unsettled. Look at it now. In ten or twenty years, there will be towns full of people all over America. And a privately owned railroad would not have to rely on government subsidies to fund the company, but on private investors who are more interested in business dynamics than politics.”

  The colonel looked slightly surprised at a woman having any interest in a business conversation. Steve smiled.

  “My wife owns a considerable amount of railroad stock herself, so you’ll pardon her for having such a keen interest in how her money’s being spent.”

  Lott smiled slightly. “Then, with a woman’s inherent wisdom, I imagine she sees the advantages to a privately owned railroad.”

  Ginny shrugged. “Perhaps. But I have a few questions. How will you compete with the Northern Pacific, the Union Pacific and the Santa Fe? All three of those railroads were financed by the federal government, and as such, have their expenses paid for by the government. Have you considered how long it will take to recoup building and operating costs before you begin to make a profit? Is there a comfortable margin of error in your estimations of construction costs in building a line far enough to pay for itself?”

  Chuckling, Lott shook his head. “I see you have made a study of it, Mrs. Morgan. I read Hill’s proposals in which he concludes that building one extension at a time would keep costs down and pay for expenses. If farmers are moved in from back East to settle the land along the railroad, they would use my trains to ship produce to markets back East. It would take time. Without giving in to government subsidy, each extension would have to build up red-to-black business before another extension could be built. Plus, by utilizing short, direct routes, it minimizes operating costs.”

  “Do you intend to go into a partnership with Hill?” Steve’s eyes were narrowed against the curling smoke of his cigar. “I understood him to prefer the north country to the south.”

  “No, we have different areas of interest. I plan on providing reliable, low-cost farm-to-market rail service in Texas and Mexico, and eventually join with Hill’s planned routes to go up into Canada. Goods will be able to move all over the North American continent by rail. Americans will be more prosperous than ever.”

  Steve asked, “And your investors? Are they aware of the risks? Or do they prefer government subsidy?”

  A slight frown marred his forehead, and he pursed his lips. His dark beard was sprinkled with gray, bushy brows a shelf over deep-set, penetrating eyes. He puffed silently on his cigar a moment, blew out smoke and shook his head.

  “Only one man has suggested it, but he has a vested interest, I believe. Still, he is powerful, and has enough wealth to help finance feeder lines to his mines if we make a deal.”

  “A word of advice, Mr. Lott. If your investor is connected with Congress in any way, look elsewhere for your financing. When politicians run things, a simple business decision can get hung up for months or years before it receives the approval of Congress. And make no mistake, it would be Congress granting approval to build a feeder line even twenty feet from the main line to the stockyard.”

  “You sound as if you speak with experience, Mr. Morgan.”

  Steve shrugged. “I have experience with politicians.”

  “And Mr. Gould? Is your experience with him profitable?”

  “Let’s just say that I found it to be my best interest to get out of the railroad business, Mr. Lott. A man needs a strong stomach to deal with politicians and the labyrinthine workings of railroads.”

  Lott leaned back in his chair, study
ing Steve. The colonel cleared his throat and turned to Ginny.

  “Your husband tells me that you’ve spent some time in Mexico, Mrs. Morgan.”

  “Yes. My home is there.”

  “But—pardon me if I am too bold—you are not Mexican?”

  “No, I was born in France but choose to live in Mexico. It’s a beautiful country.”

  “Yes, it has its beauty, that is true. Do you not fear losing everything in the current rebellion?”

  “A person cannot lose what was not theirs to begin with, Colonel. Mexico is not mine alone.”

  “Nor does it belong to Lerdo or Díaz, yet they fight for it and people lose their lives and property.”

  “Rather like the war between Texas and Mexico, I would think. Or even the more recent war between the Union and Confederate armies.”

  “Or the French and the Juaristas?” Prime smiled. “And some on both sides lost everything. Lerdo is slowly losing his struggle with Díaz. Mexico is in danger of another bloody revolution, and I’m here to see that it doesn’t spill over into Texas.”

  “Yet if Díaz emerges as the victor, Colonel,” Uriah Lott said, “I predict that commerce with Mexico will open up new doors, and the need for railroads will be more vital and profitable than ever before.”

  Lott turned to Steve again, eyes glistening in the light afforded by the glow of lanterns. “Mr. Morgan, while I appreciate your reluctance to commit to anything without more information, a friend of yours suggested I talk with you.”

  It didn’t surprise Ginny to hear him add, “Mr. Bishop was quite certain you would be able to advise me, as you are on good terms with American senators and Mexican officials.”

  “Was he? There are times even the invincible Mr. Bishop can err.”

  Steve sounded so cool, as if he were unaware that Jim Bishop had sent Lott to him. Was there a hidden message in there for her? After all, her father was a Congressman, and had interests in silver mines—though she thought they were all in New Mexico.

  Growing bored, and still weary, Ginny tried to catch Steve’s eye, to signal to him that she was ready to leave the army post. He ignored her, but the colonel did not.

  “I understand you are familiar with Mexican politics, Mrs. Morgan.”

  “Not exactly, Colonel. I am acquainted with Lerdo and Díaz, but not involved in political intrigues.”

  Lerdo had introduced her to Prince Ivan Sahrkanov, “as a translator,” he’d said, since she spoke French and Spanish so fluently and the Russian prince was not at all conversant in Spanish. It had been a mistake from the first, but she hadn’t known that then, had only discovered after it was too late what kind of man he was.

  Steve had come to her rescue then, too, though his methods had been harsh at times. But she could also remember those times he’d taken her on a carriage ride, or out on a ship in the San Francisco harbor, fed her delicacies and expensive champagne, as if he were courting her. It had been the first time he’d ever treated her as a woman worthy of respect—his respect.

  Each day brings us closer together, she thought, and more pieces of our lives fall into place. Soon, we’ll put all this behind us and make new lives together….

  “Of course Mr. Bishop was extremely helpful,” Lott was saying, “and suggested I talk to Richard King from Santa Gertrudis near Corpus Christi. He has a huge spread there, a former Spanish land grant.”

  Steve sat back in his chair. “I’m acquainted with King. He’s a solid businessman, and may better serve your needs than most. Talk to him about investing.”

  Colonel Prime snorted. “Richard King is a former steamboat captain who had a lucky streak.”

  “It wasn’t luck that made him recognize possibilities in a desert, Colonel, it was intelligence and aptitude. A man can do a lot when he works at it.” He stood up. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, it’s been a long day for my wife and she needs her rest.”

  Relief flooded through her, and Ginny murmured a polite farewell as Lott and Prime rose to their feet.

  “Colonel Prime is a bit opinionated,” she said when they were back at the hotel. Steve pushed open the wooden shutters to allow in a soft breeze. It was cooler at night now, the heat of the day evaporating quickly.

  “Typical military officer.” Steve shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the back of a chair. “They’ll name a fort or street after him when he dies, and talk about what a good leader he had been. In a few years, no one will remember who he was.”

  “You’re in a strange mood.” She began to remove the pins from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders and face. Her head ached; too much cigar smoke and stuffy conversation, she thought. She felt so irritable and on edge.

  As she brushed her hair, perched on the edge of the small tufted chair that seemed oddly elegant in a hotel that provided only the minimum of luxuries, she watched Steve at the window. He braced himself on one arm, staring into the street below as if watching for something—or someone.

  “Where’s Paco?” she asked.

  “Probably in a cantina telling some pretty girl how brave and strong he is. He has better sense than to agree to attend supper at a military post.”

  “Yes, why did you accept the colonel’s invitation, Steve? It must be because of Jim Bishop. Oh, I’m right, aren’t I? Did you know when you went there that this Mr. Lott would be waiting to talk to you, to ask your advice about his railroad?”

  “Ginny love, you ask far too many questions. It’s late. Get some sleep.”

  “Are you coming to bed—? Where are you going, Steve! You can’t be going out again! Ever since we arrived in Texas, you’ve been secretive and—and sneaky.” Frustration made her careless, and her vow to hold her tongue was forgotten as he began to buckle on his gun belts. “Just tell me what is going on. I’d like to know why you sent our baggage on with those armed guards who look like bandits. There’s more to it than you’re admitting to me, and I know that, too. Why did you feel you had to meet with Colonel Prime and that Mr. Lott? This is all Bishop’s doing, I know, but do you think I’m so foolish as to tell anyone things that aren’t supposed to be told?”

  “Christ, Ginny, it’s not that and you know it. You know how mysterious Bishop likes to be. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know who was going to be there tonight. I just had a message that I was to accept the colonel’s invitation to join him for supper.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. He looked very tired. She rose from the chair and went to him.

  “Come to bed. Don’t go out again.”

  “I have to meet Paco.” He met her eyes, a faint smile twisting his mouth. “I won’t be out too late.”

  “Will Bishop be there?”

  “He damn well better be. I want some answers myself. Now go to bed, Ginny. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  He grabbed her close, his hands on her shoulders hard and compelling as he held her against him, his mouth pressed close to her ear. “Trust me, Ginny. Just take a chance and trust me.”

  Swallowing the questions that begged for answers, she managed a nod. “All right, Steve. I will. Just—just be careful. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Believe me, sweetheart, I’m like a cactus burr you can’t lose.” He kissed her, swift and hard, his mouth a burn on her lips, the pressure lingering even after the door had closed behind him.

  She sighed. It was the best she could hope for after losing her resolve not to ask questions or make demands on him. She had to trust him.

  But it was so hard at times, when past experiences had made her wary. Yet what choice did she have?

  14

  Thick smoke drifted in hazy layers from the floor to the naked, blackened beams of the ceiling. It was little more than a mud-and-cane hut on the steep, crumbling slopes of the Rio Grande, hidden behind a stand of scraggly mesquite trees that clung precariously to the top bank.

  From this vantage point, Fort McIntosh was within easy sight, just across the sluggish river. Bare woo
den bones of an old steamboat thrust above the waterline where it was too shallow to allow passage above Laredo, glistening in the moonlight. The hills were rocky and full of rapids too dangerous to allow river traffic to flourish this far north.

  “A rather primitive place,” Bishop observed in his usual colorless voice, and sipped from his own flask of aged bourbon, preferring it to the risky fare offered by the cantina.

  “No one asks questions or cares who comes here, as long as they pay for their drinks and don’t bust up the chairs and tables,” Paco commented. He was not as fastidious as Bishop, and drank from a rough wooden cup, though sparingly. “You were right about Lott, it seems.”

  “And Prime. The colonel has a fine disdain for men who have new ideas.” Steve sat with his back to the wall, across from the door. It felt comfortable and familiar to be wearing his guns again; old habits died hard.

  “Yes, well, Colonel Prime is not involved in this. He just happened to be useful in arranging a meeting with Uriah Lott. So what did you think of him?”

  This last was directed at Steve and he shrugged. “He has some innovative ideas that will work if he doesn’t get caught up in politicians’ greed. If Brandon is the senator who has offered to fund his railroad, he’ll end up getting burned.”

  “Yes, well, as you have assumed, that is exactly who has made an offer. A very generous offer, I might add. Poker, gentlemen?”

  Without waiting for agreement, Bishop shuffled a pack of cards and began to deal, his expression bland in the glow of soot-grimed lanterns.

  Steve picked up his cards and studied them idly. “I suggested he go to Richard King. He’s connected with Mifflin Kenedy, and both men are shrewd businessmen. Tough, maybe, but more honest than the senator. Brandon just wants feeder lines to his coal mines, he doesn’t care how he gets them.”

  “Silver.” Bishop glanced up, eyes hooded. “Not just coal mines, silver mines. He’s sitting on a fortune in ore and pretending he’s dealing in coal.”

  Paco whistled softly. “No wonder he’s anxious!”