by Jo Goodman
"I think they're wrong. I want to put it before Mr. Tompkins again and try to convince him."
Jarret looked away from the map and studied Rennie's face. "Not Jay Mac?"
She shook her head. "It's not the proper order of things. I have to get Mr. Tompkins's approval first."
"I see." Jarret pointed to the valley again. "The reason this valley appears to shift over time is because that's exactly what it does. Gully washers rip through here every other spring or so. That kind of waterpower moves most everything in its path. No rhyme or reason for it. Just nature. Supposing the trestle and track were laid in a dry year, the work would be gone in the next thaw."
"You know this for a fact?"
"Me and every other person who's traveled up and around Queen's Point. It's not exactly a secret." His smile was derisive. "Except, I suppose, from rail men like your father with more money than sense. If he'd sent out a competent group of men to survey the land properly, ask the locals, he'd know all this."
Rennie bristled at Jarret's indictment of her father. "Fifteen years ago no one was thinking of a line in this wilderness. Placer gold had just been discovered in the Rockies, and there were rumblings of war here. Plenty of track needed to be laid this side of the Mississippi and north of the Mason-Dixon line. Not all of these maps were completed by Northeast employees," she said. "But the most recent two were, and Hollis Banks was part of the surveying team."
Jarret absently rubbed the bridge of his nose as he considered that information. "You've told him about your conclusions?" he asked.
"I've told him. He says I'm wrong."
Jarret snorted. "The man's either stupid or a liar. I've made up my mind on the matter. What's your conclusion?"
"I don't think I like where this is leading."
He held up his hands, indicating surrender. "I didn't come here to pick a fight with you. I'm just telling you you're right about Queen's Point. Now, you can take satisfaction from that and realize Banks is either foolin' you or a fool himself, or you can believe he's right, in which case you've been working on this trunk line problem for the sheer hell of it."
The truth was that Rennie had thought all along that Hollis and the surveyors had made some incorrect judgments, but it seemed negligent to her rather than purposeful. Jarret, with his contemptuous smile, appeared to be hinting at just the opposite. "There may have been some inattention to detail," she said slowly, considering the ramifications of what she was saying, "but to suggest that there's been deliberate deception..."
Jarret shrugged, refusing to be drawn in again. "You know him better than I do."
Rennie was silent a moment, thinking. Suddenly she nodded emphatically. "That's right. I do. Surveying has never been Hollis's forte, nor of special interest to him. He was merely accompanying the team, not supervising their efforts. He's neither stupid nor a liar, but perhaps in this case he was a little careless or a tad too trusting of others."
Jarret realized it was all the admission she was prepared to make. A larger revelation would have left her unbalanced and uncertain. She was still intending, after all, to marry the man. He nodded, accepting it.
"Thank you for telling me about the floods. I'll insist on the changes."
She would insist, he thought, but there was no telling if anyone would listen. "Anything less than your route would be a disaster, financially and in every other way."
Rennie was on the point of thanking him again when Mrs. Cavanaugh came to the door and announced dinner. "Sure, and the two of you are talkin' again," the cook said, beaming. "Wasn't natural t'other way. Well, come on with you. I'm not servin' meals in here."
Rennie and Jarret exchanged amused and conspiratorial glances. Jarret extended his hand to Rennie and drew her to her feet. She accepted his arm and allowed him to escort her to the dining room.
That evening, when she bid him good night, it was sheer force of will that kept him from kissing her breathless.
He lay awake a long time thinking about it. The attraction he felt toward her didn't make any kind of normal sense. She was snippety most times, down right caustic others. In spite of her best intentions she was easily riled, rising so quickly to his bait that Jarret felt a vague sense of guilt for targeting her as often as he did. On the one hand she was enormously intelligent, and on the other she was curiously naive. It was as if she didn't know quite what to make of herself, uncomfortable with her femininity and, for all her modern thinking, just as uncomfortable demanding equal footing with men.
She dressed plainly, though not with the severity that Ethan had described of Michael. In spite of current fashion, Rennie's gowns were rarely embellished with ribbon or lace. Except for tiny pearls on her earlobes, she wore no jewelry. She was self-conscious of her reading spectacles, embarrassed by her habit of hiding pencils in her hair, and more than a little uncertain of her looks. For some reason, which escaped Jarret entirely, Rennie Dennehy seemed to think she was nondescript. It was not so much that she did anything in particular to hide her beauty, but that she did nothing to accentuate it. It was as if she simply did not recognize it.
Her hair, which easily could have been the focus of some vanity, was kept simply coiled at the back of her head. Untamed and curly, sometimes it stayed in its anchoring pins and sometimes it didn't. It appeared to be a matter of complete indifference on Rennie's part. In repose her features were very nearly serene, even angelic. Awake, Rennie was constantly animated. Her nose crinkled, her eyes rolled, her mouth flattened. She worried the inside of her lip when she was thinking; she flushed when a wayward thought crossed her mind. Her fists clenched when she was angry; her fingers tapped when she was nervous. Composure was a state she had to force upon herself. As a poker player she would invariably lose her shirt.
Jarret tortured himself with the thought of breaking out the cards. He had a good idea what she was hiding beneath the unbecoming gowns she wore. Her slender shoulders supported breasts that were just fractionally too full for her frame. Her narrow back had the most beguiling curve as it tapered at her waist and rounded gently at her hips. She was no more than average height, but most of it was leg. Jarret had tussled with her enough to glimpse pale skin and delicate bones. Her strength was feisty in nature, not physical. She made him think of a banty rooster rather than a lioness.
Not that she would have appreciated either comparison. And not that any of his thinking made the slightest bit of difference. It was just that returning to Colorado would have been a lot easier if he had never heard her laugh. Easier still if she'd never smiled.
* * *
Rennie came downstairs late the next morning. Jarret had already finished eating and was stepping inside the front door as she reached the first-floor landing. She had the impression he had just finished talking to someone, and when she peered through one of the long, narrow windows on either side of the door, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman getting into a carriage. Rennie got herself a cup of coffee from the kitchen and cornered Jarret in the library. He was standing at the window, staring out onto the side street.
"A tryst?" she asked lightly. She was surprised to see that he actually jumped. He really hadn't heard her enter. "Oh, dear, your thoughts are a thousand miles away. This doesn't bode well for my protection."
"Sit down, Rennie."
There was no humor in his voice. None. Rennie sat as if pushed. "What's happened?" Then, because she couldn't help herself, "It's Michael, isn't it? Something's happened to Michael."
Jarret turned away from the window. "It's not Michael. That was Susan Turner. You know her?"
Rennie nodded. She was worrying her lower lip. Her skin was devoid of color. "Dr. Turner's wife. Scott's taking care of Michael for the baby." It was suddenly difficult to breathe, and every one of her fears showed clearly in her eyes. "Oh, God," she said almost soundlessly.
Jarret shook his head quickly as he realized the tenor of her thoughts. "It's not the baby, Rennie. Michael and the baby are fine. It's Ethan. He's very sick
."
"Ethan's sick?" She frowned. "How can that be? Is it serious?"
"Susan says her husband doesn't know, but he's not encouraging. He's prescribed some medicine, and they're going to see if it helps. It looks like the influenza, she says, but Turner thinks it's something more serious than that."
"But he doesn't say?"
"He doesn't know."
A little color returned to Rennie's face. She folded both hands around her cup of coffee and raised it to her lips. "This means you'll be leaving," she said.
"No. Not yet."
"You have to go to Michael. If Ethan can't protect her, then you have to."
"When Ethan wants me, I'll go. He only asked Dr. Turner to deliver the message that he's ill. He's not asking for help."
"But—"
"But nothing," Jarret snapped. His hand sliced the air for emphasis. "You may find this difficult to understand, but there are some of us who do what we're told. I respect Ethan's judgment. If he doesn't want me there, then I'm not going." Yet, he thought.
"Then let me go. I could help Michael nurse him. She doesn't need the extra work now."
"Susan says Michael's not in any danger... from the illness. Your sister's quite able to care for Ethan, and nothing's changed as far as you're concerned."
"I'm not spending another minute here." She set her cup on an end table and stood.
"Don't you dare try leaving this house."
"Or what?"
Jarret took a step forward. "I'm not of a mind to fence with you, Rennie. Do it and find out."
It was meant as a warning. Rennie heard it as a challenge. Ignoring him, she walked out of the room and went straight for the coat closet. She found a light wrap and put it around her shoulders. "Mr. Cavanaugh!" she called. When the cook's husband appeared, she asked him to ready a carriage for her. It infuriated her when the man looked to Jarret for permission.
"Then, I'll walk," Rennie said.
Mrs. Cavanaugh came up behind her husband. Her eyes darted anxiously between Jarret and Rennie. "What's the row about this time?"
"She's set herself on leavin'," said Mr. Cavanaugh. "Sure, and she wanted me to get the carriage for her."
The cook shook her head and dried her damp hands on her apron. "You're not going to do it, are you?"
Mr. Cavanaugh scratched his salt-and-pepper beard. "Do I look like such a fool, wife?"
Rennie knew their discussion was for her benefit and she could expect no help from that quarter. She glared at Jarret accusingly, blaming him for the rift in loyalties. She didn't even know if the Cavanaughs would be reliable witnesses anymore.
Jarret didn't move past the threshold of the parlor. He had no intention of blocking her path or lifting a finger to stop her until she was ready to walk out the door. He was going to give her every opportunity to change her mind.
"I need to see my sister," she said. Her voice actually trembled. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. "You don't know what it's like to be separated from her. When she was gone for months out West, there were people who thought she was dead. I knew she wasn't. I knew. But it hasn't been the same since she's been back. She's drifting away from me."
"She has Ethan," said Jarret. "She's carrying a baby."
"It doesn't matter. I want her to have both, but this is about my need. Michael will understand, even if you don't."
Jarret said nothing. He simply waited.
His silence encouraged Rennie to think he had changed his mind. In retrospect she knew she had only believed what served her purpose. She walked past him and opened the front door. Her feet never touched the stoop.
Jarret grabbed her from behind and hauled her back inside, kicking the door closed with the heel of his boot. She fought with him. Her wrap fell from her shoulders. Her hair fell out of its anchoring pins. She felt a shoulder seam in her dress give way. Rennie's frenzied, frantic movements made Jarret's grip precarious. He managed to hold on, but only just.
Mrs. Cavanaugh's hand drying became more of a hand wringing. "I've never seen her like this. She's not usin' the sense God gave her."
"He needs to turn her over his knee and that's a fact," said Mr. Cavanaugh.
Their comments only made Rennie angrier and Jarret's job more difficult. Since the Cavanaughs showed no sign of leaving the hallway, Jarret knew he had to. Hefting Rennie in his arms, he pitched her over his shoulder, secured her legs against his chest, and let her flail away at his back. The staircase in front of him loomed as large as Pike's Peak. He began to climb.
Rennie stopped struggling as soon as she realized what he was about. "Don't you dare drop me," she said breathlessly.
"Don't give me any ideas."
"Put me down and I'll walk up the stairs myself."
Jarret's breath was coming a little short as he reached the halfway mark. "Now, why don't I believe you?"
Rennie raised her head. Through the curtain of her curly, tangled hair she could see the distraught faces of the Cavanaughs in the hallway below. "Traitors." There wasn't any menace in her voice. She dropped her head as they retreated to the kitchen. "You've lost your audience," she told Jarret.
He merely grunted.
At the door to Rennie's room Jarret paused long enough to catch his breath. Once inside, he unceremoniously dropped Rennie on the bed. He sat down on the edge, grabbing her by the ankle when she would have rolled away. "You need a bridle," he said, hauling her closer.
Sprawled as she was across the bed, her gown rucked up to her knees, her body being pulled inexorably closer to Jarret's, the assumption that crossed her mind was a natural one. She became absolutely wild at the thought of being spanked.
"Rennie! For God's sake!" Jarret dodged her right fist as she came at him, but he lost his breath when she hammered him in the midriff with her left. "What the hell's wrong with you?" She tried to sink her teeth into the back of his hand as he caught her wrists. Jarret had to use one of his legs to trap her lower body.
They rolled once, then again. Jarret held her wrists on either side of her head and eased himself off dead center so that she wasn't taking his full weight. She was breathing hard, sucking in large draughts of air. His head momentarily rested against her shoulder while he caught his breath. Both her legs were secured under one of his. Her movements now were not so much struggles as they were spasms of complete fatigue.
Jarret raised his head. A fringe of dark blond hair fell over his brow. "What was that about?" he asked huskily. "Did you think I was going for my gun? I don't even wear it around you anymore."
She turned her head away from him, her eyes closed. "I thought you were going to hit me."
"Hit you?"
Color suffused her cheeks. She opened her eyes but couldn't look at him. "Spank me."
"I see," Jarret said. He began to understand her reaction. It would have been humiliating for her. "I have no desire to rob you of your pride, Rennie. That's not my way. I'd be more inclined to cuff you on the chin." He saw the faintest smile touch her mouth. Her eyes welled with tears. "But it's a nice chin and I'll let it go for now."
She looked at him. "I punched you."
He nodded. "Several times."
"I've never done that before to anyone. I've never even wanted to."
His sapphire eyes were patently skeptical.
"Well, maybe once or twice I've wanted to." Her eyes drifted to his mouth. She realized how terribly close he was, how his body was pressing against the length of hers. His hands were closed over her wrists loosely, the position of his leg more intimate than anchoring. There was something in his darkening eyes now that lent her a different sort of breathlessness.
She raised her head the merest fraction and touched her mouth to his.
Jarret's mouth followed her down. His lips nudged hers, tasting her sweetness, her tentative touch, as a hint of honey. Her mouth was warm and pliant, exploring. She slipped her hands out from under his grip and looped her arms around his neck. Jarret groaned as she opened her mouth under his.
Her response to the entry of his tongue was hesitant, surprised at first, then curious, and finally eager. She mimicked his exploration, the foray along the ridge of her teeth, the teasing of her sensitive upper lip. He was made to feel those things in turn, and when the gentle thrusting gave way to something with more carnal intent, it was Jarret who drew back.
He rolled away and sat up. His fingers threaded through his hair. His sigh was audible. "I think I better go."
Rennie pushed herself upright. She leaned against the headboard and hugged a pillow to her chest. Her expression was watchful, her eyes wary. "I made you break your promise, didn't I?" she said quietly.
He shrugged. "You kissed me first. Did you release me or did I break?"
"Is it so important to you?"
"I've never mistaken business for anything but business. Nathaniel Houston is my business. Dee Kelly is my business." He turned his head to look at her. "You're my business."
"What if I don't want to be?" she asked boldly. "What if I want to be—"
"My pleasure?"
Her face flamed, but she didn't look away. "Yes," she said. "Your pleasure."
He shook his head and said coldly, "You don't have enough experience."
Rennie recoiled as if struck.
Jarret explained. "You wouldn't know how to walk away at the end, and it's not like I can pay you. Your heart would get all tangled in your expectations. You don't really want to be my pleasure anyway. You want me to make my business teaching you about it. I thought I might like that, but now I don't think so. If I gentle a filly, it's because I mean to ride her. I'm not breaking you in for Hollis Banks."
His crudity shocked her. Wounded, she raised her hand, not to slap him, but to stifle a sob. "Get out," she whispered.
Jarret stood. He walked to the door, took the key out of his pocket, and turned, showing it to her. "Just so you know, Rennie, in spite of what I just said, I'm locking this door as much to keep me out as keep you in."
Rennie watched him step into the hallway. She heard the key turn in the new lock he had installed on the outside of the door and then saw it being pushed under the door. He couldn't get in any more than she could get out. She leaped off the bed and ran to the door, pounding on it. "Who do you think you are anyway?" she yelled. "I wouldn't have you as a gift! You don't have enough money to pay me, you bastard! Do you hear me? You don't know anything about what I want! Not a thing!" She didn't know if he was standing on the other side of the door or not. It didn't matter. She raged until she was exhausted, and then she simply melted against the door, collapsing in the pool of her gown and her tears.
