by Pam Crooks
“He’s worried for you. Worries why you’re staying in town, too, and blames Crane for it.”
Eleanora glanced away. She should have made more of an effort to assure Cuddy she was all right, but how could she have gotten word to him? How could she find him in the hills when she was strapped to this hotel and so much time had passed since the explosion?
“Do you understand what blackmail is, Eleanora?” Reed asked quietly.
Her glance darted sharply toward him. “Of course, I do.”
“It’s a crime.”
“But difficult to prove, I imagine.”
“Impossible to prove, if the person being blackmailed refuses to speak of it.”
Her spine stiffened. “And what of the scandal if I had? What could the widows do if I’d complained of it? Or the marshal? Mortimer Crane would make sure I was ruined. He quite plainly threatened to throw me and Tessa out in the street. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have a husband, or that I’d be destitute and homeless with a child to protect. He didn’t care about anything but his stupid gold, and it’d be Crane’s word against mine. My reputation would be ruined, and I refused to have Tessa live with the shame.” Her bosom heaved. “Refused.”
Reed didn’t move, didn’t speak, for long moments, as if his thoughts consumed him. Finally, he unfurled his arms and leaned forward, so close she could breathe in his maleness.
“Greed is a powerful motivator, Eleanora, but so is revenge.”
He drew his knuckle over her cheek and along her chin, leaving a trail of tenderness that made her want to close her eyes and memorize the sensation, so that when he was gone, when she would never see him again, she would remember.
“Revenge?” Her voice sounded hushed, a little quivery. “I don’t think I’m capable of it.”
“Oh, but I am.” His mouth curved, as if he relished the prospect of exacting it, but on his own terms, of course. He drew nearer, just enough to make her wonder if she’d imagined he had. “Revenge is a game I love to win.”
His head angled, his lips so close to hers that her lashes drifted closed of their own accord.
“Please, Reed. Don’t make me hope for something that might not be,” she whispered.
“Hope, my sweet?” His breath mingled with hers. “No, I give you something far stronger. My promise.”
Then, as if to seal the vow, he kissed her.
Chapter 11
The next morning, Reed left his room, descended the stairs and headed straight for the kitchen to talk to Eleanora. It was where she’d be, judging by the smell of coffee. He owed her an apology. He wanted it said and done.
Sure enough, she stood at the stove making what looked like oatmeal for Tessa, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a piece of toast. Jelly smeared her chin and the tip of one finger, and the way she went after the toast showed she had an appetite, for sure.
Eleanora glanced up, seeing him, and her mouth softened into a slow smile. “Good morning.”
Her greeting was hushed, like he was the only one in the room. Her gaze lingered on him, as if she liked seeing him first thing in the morning, and was she thinking about what he was thinking?
That kiss they shared?
He shouldn’t have done it. As pleasurable as it was—no matter how feeling her lips against his had kept him up half the night, tossing and turning from a torturous mix of want and guilt—he didn’t have the right to kiss her. It was too soon and served no purpose besides. Hell, he was leaving tomorrow, and he’d likely never see her again, and that, too, was tearing him up inside.
“Hi.” Tessa grinned a jelly-grin at him.
He halted, his mind shifting. She looked tousled and endearing with her hair unbraided and a little wild. That jelly on her face charmed him, too, clear through his blood.
“Mornin’, peanut.” He winked.
She cocked her head back and giggled. “I’m not a peanut.”
“Well, you’re cute as one,” he said and tweaked her nose, avoiding the sticky preserves.
“Tessa Cavender, how many times have I told you not to play with your jelly?” Sighing in exasperation, Eleanora scooped up a damp cloth and gave her daughter’s face a good wiping. “You must eat like a lady, not a piggy in a barn.”
“But I’m not a lady yet, Mama. I’m still little.”
“You’ll be a lady sooner than you think, and when you are, you have to know how to act like one.”
“I want to act like a peanut.” She giggled again, her legs swinging happily.
“Silly girl,” Eleanora said, blue eyes twinkling, and dropped a kiss on the top of Tessa’s head before going back to the stove.
If Reed wasn’t very careful, he’d fall head over heels in love with this child.
Maybe he already had.
He hunkered down beside her. “I have something for you, young lady.”
Her giggles stopped. “What do you have?”
“You’ll see.” In all seriousness, he delved into his shirt pocket, taking his time, making her wait, and finally pulled out a carved animal.
Her eyes widened. “My horsey!”
“Thought so. I have another one, too.” He produced the second carving with a grand flourish and made a show of studying it. “But you’ll have to tell me what this one is. A cow?”
“No, Mr. Shannon.” Her expression serious, she took that one into her other hand. “It’s a tiger.”
“A tiger?” Reed contemplated that. “Didn’t know there were tigers in Wildcat Ridge.”
“Cuddy maked me whatever I wanted, and I wanted a tiger.”
“I see.” Reed made a show of studying the figurine. “You know, now that you mention it, he’s a tiger, all right. Does he snarl or bite?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He’s a nice tiger.”
“That’s good. I wouldn’t want to be afraid of him.”
Eleanora stepped to the table holding the pot of oatmeal. “Let’s set them aside for now, Tessa. You can play with them after you finish your breakfast.”
“I don’t want no oatmeal no more,” Tessa said, a pout gearing up. “I want to play with my am-inals ’cuz I haven’t seed them in a long time.”
“Your mama’s right. You have to eat your breakfast first.” Reed took the two carvings and set them in front of her, far enough away so she couldn’t reach but positioned so they’d face her. “Your horse and tiger will wait right here for you. They’re going to watch to make sure you eat every bite of your oatmeal so you can play with them the rest of the morning.”
“’kay.” Tessa picked up her spoon and took the first bite.
“Go ahead and sit, Reed,” Eleanora said, her expression revealing her amused appreciation for manipulating her daughter. “Do you like cinnamon in your oatmeal?”
She filled a bowl and placed a small pitcher of cream and a sugar crock in front of him, along with a spoon. After dishing herself up a portion, too, she returned the pot to the stove and pulled out a tin of cinnamon from a cabinet.
In no time, the three of them were filling their bellies, the mood comfortable, their conversation easy and far from important. Reed basked in the pleasure of their company. He’d cooked plenty of meals for himself, but what was it about a woman who fussed over a man, taking care that he had plenty to eat?
He couldn’t get used to it, but it sure was happening.
With her mother’s permission, Tessa scooted off her chair, carved animals in hand, and skipped into the lobby to play. Eleanora refilled Reed’s coffee, then her own and returned to her seat across from him.
“You look as if you have something on your mind, Reed,” she said, lifting her cup to her lips to take a careful sip.
He’d have to work on his poker face. He never expected her ability to read his thoughts.
“It’s about last night,” he said.
She set the cup down on its saucer. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
Their gazes met. And held.
�
�That obvious?” A corner of his mouth lifted.
“If I gave you the impression I was offended—”
“You didn’t.”
“Because I wasn’t.”
“I know,” he said.
Their kiss had lingered, in fact, long enough for him to help himself to some lazy nibbling on her lower lip. To feel her sigh against his skin and her breath mingle with his. But when the enjoyment began to build, when the need to hold her tighter and longer ran strong within him, he had to stop.
While he still could.
She’d stepped back, and so had he, and after their whispered goodnights, they both turned in opposite directions and headed to their rooms.
To their own beds.
Where the tossing and turning in his soon began.
“It was special to me, and I won’t soon forget it,” she said, her voice quiet but clear. “Even though I’m well aware you’re leaving.” She drew in a breath, let it out again. “I’m from Denver, too, you know.”
The quick turn in her conversation saved him from dwelling on the loss he’d soon feel without her in his life. Gave him something easier to talk about, too. This coincidence they shared.
“I didn’t know.” If she was willing to move on from their kiss, then so was he. “Any family still there?”
“Yes, my parents. I have an older sister, too. Her name is Grace.”
“Maybe you should make the trip to visit them.”
“Easier said than done, I’m afraid.” Taking the cup again, she held it between both hands but didn’t sip. “Crane wouldn’t allow me to leave, and I don’t have the money, besides. More importantly, I don’t want my family to worry about me. As far as they know, I’m getting along famously in my widowhood.”
Her pretty mouth formed a rueful moue, and she stood, ending their conversation abruptly. Might be she got a pang of loneliness for her family. Or a need for things to be different in her life. Or worse, a sense of hopelessness that things would never get better.
Which is where he came in. To make her life better. Tessa’s, too. The rest of the widows... and damned if he’d get that done sitting here enjoying her company over breakfast.
He gathered his dishes and set them next to the basin for washing. “Going to ride out to the King 2 Mine today. Have a look around.”
She glanced up at him. “Crane spends most of his time there or in his new town, Cranesville. When he’s not in Wildcat Ridge, that is.”
“I’ll find him. Make him listen to what I have to say.”
“It won’t be easy. He’ll probably avoid you, and if he doesn’t, he won’t listen. And even if he does listen, he’ll lie outright to fool you. Terrible man.” She headed to the icebox and withdrew a muslin bag.
“Well, that gives me something to look forward to,” he said, amused.
“It’s true. You’ll have a time of it with him. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She held out the bag. “Here. I’ve made you lunch. Two beef sandwiches, some raisin cookies and an apple. It’s a long ride out to the mine.”
“You knew I’d go, didn’t you?”
“I was going to insist on it.” Her chin lifted. “You’ve only got one day left.”
He sobered. He didn’t need reminding. He wanted to accomplish more than common sense said he could, and she was right. Time was ticking, and a sudden urgency to get started gripped him. He thanked her for the lunch and headed out of the kitchen.
“Reed.”
He turned back, his brow lifted.
“He has a bodyguard. Randall Dare. You’ll have to go through him first to get to Crane.” She hesitated. “Be careful.”
Reed expelled a breath. Hell. That didn’t sound good. Or easy.
But who said winning a tough fight was?
“I’ve learned a few tricks over the years,” he said roughly. “I won’t fail.”
But he could.
And had.
With Myrna.
Hating the possibility he might with Eleanora, too, he left.
The sun had risen high in the sky by the time Reed pulled up at the King 2 Mine. At least, that’s what the sign on the edge of the road said. He couldn’t see the place, but it had to be there, farther down the narrow path and beyond a low hill.
He urged his mount past the sign and toward a stand of willows. He would’ve kept going except for the sound of a horse blowing somewhere in those trees. The cock of a rifle, too.
His muscles coiled, and he reined in. No sense going any farther until he knew what he was up against. Who was watching him, especially.
A horse moseyed out of the trees, its rider cradling his weapon in the crook of an elbow. He kept coming, until their horses stood together in the road, facing one another, nose to nose.
The man was as big as a bear. Hairy and sullen as one, too. He looked too unpleasant for Reed’s comfort. Like he’d been forced out of hibernation and wasn’t happy about it.
Reed crossed his wrists on the saddle horn. He did his best to look relaxed and friendly.
“Howdy,” he drawled. “Name’s Reed Shannon.”
The dark eyes remained steady. Hooded with suspicion. He sat there so long, watching, he got Reed’s imagination going about what he might do.
“Just here to pay a visit to Mortimer Crane,” Reed said.
“He’s not expecting you.”
“You’re right, he’s not.” Reed straightened. “Mind if I reach in my coat for a smoke?”
The rifle shifted, as if the man was preparing to shoot if he had to, but he nodded.
Reed delved into an inside pocket for a match and a cheroot. He took his time striking a flame then drawing in once, twice. He narrowed an eye through a billow of smoke.
“You’re Randall Dare, aren’t you?” he asked.
Surprise replaced the sullenness. “How’d you know that?”
“I know lots of things.” And Reed knew if Dare was here, then Mortimer Crane was, too. “Give a message to your boss for me. Tell him an attorney from the Miners Association wants to talk to him.”
Dare jerked. “Yeah?”
“If he refuses, I can make him regret it.” Reed took another pull from the cheroot. “Don’t bother asking me how.”
Dare shoved his rifle into its scabbard. “I’ll tell him.”
“I’ll wait by the creek.” Reed took the reins. “But don’t make me wait too long.”
Hoping Crane wouldn’t call his bluff, he turned his horse and cantered off.
Only the apple was left from the lunch Eleanora packed for Reed when two riders appeared. Dare’s hulk made him easy to identify. Beside him, another man, shorter in stature and wearing a plaid suit and bowler, had to be Mortimer Crane.
Reed remained sitting on a large rock jutting from the bank of Clear Creek. Made for comfortable observation while the men rode closer, halting a half-dozen yards from where he sat. Neither spoke. Both waited for Reed to go first.
He took all the time he needed to size Crane up. The reputed mine owner with ice in his veins and greed in his heart, who cared little for the men that once toiled for him, day in and day out, making him rich. The tyrant who wanted to turn their widows out into the cold, who threatened to dismantle their town board by board if they didn’t find ways to help themselves survive.
The devious bully who thought nothing of blackmailing Eleanora.
Mortimer Crane was all those things, and he had to be stopped.
Mostly, he needed to get his just due.
Relishing the opportunity to see it done, Reed took a big bite of his shiny, red apple.
“Say what you came to say, Shannon. I don’t have all day,” Crane snapped.
Reed chewed and swallowed. “I don’t have to spell it out for you. You already know why I’m here.”
“You can’t blame those explosions on me.”
Reed narrowed both eyes. “The hell I can’t.”
“You got no proof. No one does.”
“I’ve talked to the men and wom
en left behind in Wildcat Ridge. They all say the same thing. That you didn’t provide for the safety of the men who worked for you.”
He smirked. “Well, they got to blame someone, don’t they?”
“Seems to me a judge will believe an entire town over a man with a reputation as despised as yours is.”
“Despised!”
“Would you prefer ‘hated’?”
Crane stiffened. “I didn’t ride all the way out here to listen to your insults.”
“There’s not a judge around these parts who wouldn’t be willing to hear a case brought against you by the Miners Association.”
“I’ve got my own lawyers, you know. I’ll appeal any case you bring against me. I’ll win, too.” He yanked on the reins and gestured to his bodyguard. “Come on, Dare. Let’s get out of here.”
“Not so fast,” Reed said, his tone sharp.
Crane turned his horse and glowered. “I’m done talking.”
“I’m not.”
Took some effort for Reed to get control of his temper, but if he was going to play his best hand, he had to be able to keep his head clear. He tossed aside the apple core, flipped open his saddle bag and pulled out several newspapers, folded so their headlines were easily read.
“You ever see what kind of damage a riot can do?” Reed asked, his tone easy again.
A savage pull on his mount’s leathers turned Crane back around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Reed tossed one of the newspapers onto the grass, then he added a second and a third. Each of them rested side by side, emblazoned with dramatic stories about the rise of the union movement throughout the country and their fight against mine owners.
“That’s what some folks do for a living. Incite riots,” he said.
Crane’s gaze dropped to the newspapers. He swore under his breath. Even Dare’s complexion paled.
“Activists, they’re called,” Reed went on. “They can torch buildings, round up laborers and convince them to strike, and they can destroy supplies, too. They can hold up trains, and...” Reed paused. “Shall I continue?”
“Don’t talk down to me, Shannon!” Crane snarled. “I know what they can do. I’m not stupid.”
