A sound at the doorway made her turn. Clay stood there, the jacket to his single-breasted, square-cut, black cassimere suit pushed aside by his hands shoved deep into the pants pockets. Dara avoided his serious look by staring at the small black and gray checks on his vest. When he didn’t say anything, Dara grew uncomfortable. She began chattering about her need to hurry, her disappointment that Anne would not be accompanying them to the social tonight, and finally, inanely, told him about some of the sales she had made. And he listened until her voice trailed off before he spoke.
“I had a surprise waiting for me when I went to see my sister this afternoon. McQuade was with Jake, at the house.” At her startled doelike look he added, “How many times has he caught you alone in the store?”
She wished she could feign innocence of what he meant, but pretending had never come easy for her. Or so she had thought. Lately she was questioning too much. Before she could frame a reply, Clay continued.
“I don’t think you told me the truth about what happened in the store today. What I can’t figure out is why. If McQuade’s been bothering you, I have a right to know.”
“Why are you insisting that man did something to me?” She couldn’t look at him, nor did she understand why Clay seemed intent on forcing her into an admission that would bring trouble. What was happening? She had never lied to Clay before this. No? a small voice queried. Haven’t you been lying to him right along about your feelings? Dara couldn’t answer herself and refused to think about it. She concentrated on the kettle, urging the water to hurry and boil.
“Dara, I get the feeling that you’re hiding things from me.” Clay moved forward, and Dara, to his shock, backed away from him. Confusion knitted his brows. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s late. You know that. And Papa’s mad because Matt took off right after supper. Pierce will most likely be marching in here wondering what’s taking me so long, since he hasn’t seen Caroline all week. You’re standing here, making accusations that amount to calling me a liar. And you dare ask me what’s wrong?” she finished acidly, her emotions in such a tumult that she barely knew what she was saying. Why was she protecting Eden McQuade? The good Lord knew that man didn’t need her protection. Or anyone’s for that matter. Or was it Clay she hoped to protect? Pacing before the stove, ignoring Clay, Dara felt confusion sweep over her. Somehow she felt tricked into betraying Clay and his love for her. No! She refuted that thought. Eden McQuade’s actions were his own, and she refused to feel guilt for them. She hadn’t invited that man’s kiss or his attentions. She most certainly wasn’t attracted to him. She wasn’t!
“Dara,” Clay said softly, “are you sure you’re not angry with me for yelling at Matt? Or is it what he said? Are you tired of the wait to marry me?”
“Stop badgering me! Oh, please, I’m sorry for snapping at you. I shouldn’t … Clay, please, I’m just … just tired.” But she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I admit I sometimes get impatient, but we both know we have had good reasons to wait. I couldn’t leave Papa to run the store and take care of the house and my brothers. You certainly can’t be held responsible for losing a full season’s crop to storms. And then,” she continued, unaware of the bitter edge to her voice, “the following year it was replacing die leaky roof and clearing new acreage, then Anne’s wedding—”
“… along with my helping them to build their house in town,” Clay finished for her. “You know I’ve plowed ever spare penny back into the land. And I can’t expect you to live in the house until I can equal what you have here. Your family can’t help us after giving everything to Pierce to buy his farm.”
“I am well aware of all the good reasons we have waited, Clay.” Dara grabbed the pot holders and took up the kettle, no longer caring if the water was hot, just wanting to escape. Her smile was intended both as a peace offering and reassurance, but it never reached her eyes as she left the room, pushing aside the angry thoughts of Clay daring to remind her why she was still single.
Stopping at the foot of the stairs, Dara glanced into the front parlor. “Papa, you haven’t changed yet. Better hurry.”
“I’m not coming, Dara.”
Alarmed, she came to stand in the archway. Before she could question her father, Pierce spoke.
“Don’t worry. He’s just tired. But don’t you keep us waiting hours while you primp and fuss. Clay knows what you look like, and if he hasn’t changed his mind about you by now, he’s never going to.”
“You wouldn’t by any chance be in such a hurry because of missing Caroline, would you?” she teased.
Pierce, sitting on the edge of the velvet mahogany settee between two piecrust tables, glared at her. The hand-painted matching banquet lamps lit his rugged features, showing him ill at ease in his brown worsted suit, tugging repeatedly at his starched white linen collar. Then dimples formed on either side of his generously shaped lips when he smiled at her.
Dara couldn’t resist teasing him again. “If you’re that anxious, you could always go on without us.”
“You know Jesse won’t let me see Caroline to the social alone.” He rubbed at the white streak of skin across his forehead, evidence of the long hours he’d spent in the sun with his hat pulled low, then, with a nervous gesture, he smoothed back his dark pomaded hair. “Will you get yourself upstairs to change before I call Clay to take you in hand?”
“Oh, I’m going,” she returned over his laughter, gathering her skirt with one hand just as Clay entered the room. He took the large wing chair opposite of where Cyrus sat reading the newspaper. “Pierce,” she called out, “you really need a hair trim.”
“Dara!” Cyrus admonished, peering around the paper to flash her a grin, “stop teasing him.”
“That’s right. I’m not the boy you had to chase around the house and bribe to hold still, Dara. Watch I don’t come up those stairs and trim yours,” Pierce threatened over her soft laughter.
Dara was halfway up the stairs when she impulsively looked back at the scene in the front parlor. Only Matt’s absence made it seem incomplete. She listened a moment to her father’s voice reading aloud about Henry Flager’s completion of his hotel in St. Augustine and saw his attentiveness to Clay’s comments, nodding his agreement. Dara forgot those few unpleasant minutes in the kitchen and felt once more the absolute rightness of Clay for her choice of husband. Her need for such reassurance did not escape her notice as she entered her room.
Music reached them as Clay guided his horse team to the open field beyond the church hall and one-room schoolhouse. Dara began humming along with the sounds of harmonica, concertina, and fiddle playing a lively tune. Dressed in their Sunday best, people had been arriving since early evening, for this social was an affair for the whole family to enjoy. As Clay helped her down, Dara waved to women with children in tow, grandfathers and spinster aunts, young couples arm in arm, just like Pierce and Caroline Halput behind them, all moving toward the warmth of golden lamplight and music.
With a smile firmly in place, determined that before this night was over she would have a commitment from Clay for a wedding date, Dara banished Eden McQuade to a dark comer of her mind and proudly entered the room at Clay’s side.
It took mere seconds for her to realize that the gaiety within was forced. Pockets of farmers and their families stood muttering against the opposite wall, carefully separated from the townsfolk gathered around the refreshment tables. The low rumble of voices had a decided angry edge that could be heard over the lowering sound of the music.
Bewildered, Dara glanced around but could see no reason for it. Before she could question Clay, he was urging her to cross the room with him. The music faltered, then stopped altogether on a sour, jarring note.
Dara had all her questions answered in the seconds that followed. A path cleared to allow Reverend Speck to lead a contingent toward the small back door. Within its opening stood two miners with more crowded behind them. Tension lay thick in the sudden quiet. Other men
converged behind the reverend, and Clay was one of the first to push himself forward after warning Dara to stay where she was. With a whispered plea, Dara prayed there wouldn’t be a confrontation that ended in violence.
Eden McQuade was sitting with his back toward the wall in his small saloon, one hand cupping a glass on the already scarred table. He was about to have a confrontation of his own, and its outcome was in just as much doubt.
“We need to finish our talk,” Jake Vario repeated, pulling out a chair opposite Eden without waiting for an invitation. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I even stopped by the church social. Never thought you were a coward.”
“Did you decide that before or after you ran out and left me to handle the mess in Hamilton, Jake?”
“You know damn well why I had to leave.” He refused to meet Eden’s cool, steady gaze.
“Ran, Jake. You ran out on me.”
“I would have killed Lucio for what he did if I had stayed. The way he had that town sewed up, they’d have strung me up quicker than a rattler strike. But I didn’t come here to rehash old history.” He looked up then. “Gonna share that bottle with me?”
Eden pushed it toward him, then sipped his own drink, while Jake topped off his glass and took a healthy slug. “Damn fine bourbon. No sourmash for you.” He eyed the bottle devoid of a label and knew it had to come from Eden’s private stock. “But then,” he added, “you always were one for having the best.”
“Only when I could afford it.” Eden had been expecting Jake to come looking for him. After Clay had arrived to visit with his sister, they hadn’t had much of a chance to talk. Neither one of them was going out of his way to confront their past, but Eden sensed Jake was on edge. He guessed it was for the same reason he was. Lucio intended to bring in convict labor to work his claims. Eden had not forgotten there were old scores to settle with Lucio, and if he brought trouble here, it would only compound the debt. But he sat there, sipping his drink, and waited, not sure how Jake would approach him, or what exactly it was that he wanted from him.
Jake didn’t seem to be in any rush. He glanced around, nodded toward a few of the men standing at the bar. “Ain’t fancy.”
“It serves me well enough.” Eden spoke the truth.
The bar was long and sturdy, roomy enough for a man to belly up and stand alone if that’s what he wanted. The lighting fixtures were plain and serviceable, but threw plenty of light for a man to see his cards as well as the eyes of the men he played with. Eden made sure the games were honest ones. No tinny piano music filled the air to meld with smoke from cigars or pipes. No women cajoled a man into buying them drinks of watered-down whiskey or plain tea for triple the usual rate. The saloon was a place for a man who wanted a few drinks, a friendly game, and no trouble. Eden’s place. The place he wanted for the man he had become.
Jake seemed to have reached the same conclusion. “You’ve changed. Didn’t figure the hellraiser I knew would go in for peace and quiet.” If he had hoped to goad Eden into commenting, he was disappointed. He sat across from him, watching and waiting. Jake tossed a crumpled telegram on the table. “Read it.”
Eden skimmed the sparsely worded message. He already knew Satin Mallory would be arriving soon.
“Well?” Jake prodded. “Haven’t you got a damn thing to say?”
“Do you expect me to believe this is some sort of a surprise, Jake? You knew Lucio would send for her.” Jake wasn’t looking at him, but gazing down at the tiny wet half-circles he was making with his glass. “If you think about it,” Eden continued, “it’s almost like the beginning, with the four of us starting out in the same place again.”
“No. This time the odds are different. And nothing could be that good again.” There was a bleak tone to his voice, and his eyes, when they met Eden’s, reflected a bone-weary tiredness. “There’s never a way to go back, like there’s no way to forget some things. Not now and certainly not for me. But I’ve tried to make a new life here for myself and”—he stressed, sitting straight—“nothing is going to happen this time to destroy it.”
For a moment the slight tensing of Eden’s hand around his glass was the only reaction he offered to hearing the threat in Jake’s voice.
“Was this the reason you came looking for me, Jake?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
“No games, Jake. Spell it out so there’s no mistake on my part this time of what it is exactly that you want from me. I don’t like floundering. If you’re looking for revenge against Lucio for what happened in the past, count me out. He’s stepping too close to my private line now, and I don’t need much to start pushing him back.”
“We do things legal here, McQuade. There’ll be no taking of the law into your own hands.”
Eden took a long pull of his drink, savoring the cask-aged flavor of smooth bourbon for a moment before swallowing. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind. But you can’t be in sixty places at once, and from what I’ve seen to date, that’s what you’re trying to do.”
“It’s my town,” Jake returned with a bitter tone.
“The revenge you want is festering inside you, and that makes a man careless, Jake. We both know Lucio is greedy. He doesn’t give a damn about this town or the people in it. He’ll make his money, and when he’s good and ready he’ll sell out and move on. There doesn’t have to be any trouble. You can wait him out or let me take care of him.”
“That’s what you intend doing? Waiting him out?”
“I had to cut my losses before, but it won’t happen again. I’m not out to make a quick killing. This time I’m building something I want—”
Jake’s bitter laugh cut him off. “You expect me to believe that you’re thinking of settling down? And here?”
“I might be.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” Eden’s look became thoughtful. “Lucio isn’t the only reason you wanted to talk to me, or you wouldn’t have left that message with Miss Loretta for me to come to see you at your home. So what’s holding you back from saying what’s on your mind?” For a few minutes Jake glared at him, and Eden didn’t think he would answer him, but then Jake grinned. It was a familiar sight, Jake’s grin reflected in the bright hazel of his eyes. Eden lifted his glass in a silent toast, tossed off the last of his drink, and set the glass down. Jake refilled it.
“Eden, you’re not going to like what I have to say, but that never stopped me before. My wife, Anne, is worried. She’s been hearing gossip. So, take a friendly warning and stay away from Dara. Clay was upset about something that happened in the store today. He’s sure that Dara lied to him to protect you. And you know she’s not your kind of woman.”
Eden tilted his chair back, rocking it slightly, his smile coming slow, but widening.
“It’s not funny,” Jake insisted. “Clay’s not a man to stand aside and watch you or anyone else step into his rightful place. ’Sides, they’ve been promised to each other for almost five years.”
“The man’s a fool and deserves to lose her.”
“Your opinion.”
“My knowledge. My business,” Eden warned, his chair coming down hard on the floor. He leaned over the table, cupping his glass with both hands, his gaze cool and steady upon Jake’s face. “Stay out of it.”
“I can’t,” he answered truthfully. “Clay’s my brother-in-law, and Anne’s expecting our first child. I can’t have her upset. She’s worried about Dara, and what’s more, Clay is hotheaded. Right now he’s good and steamed over the miners ruining his new grove of stock. You continue showing an interest in Dara, which gossip says is without honorable intent, and he’ll use that to light a fuse whose trail he’s been laying for weeks. ’Sides, this is me you’re talking to. You haven’t got it in you to be faithful to one woman. what’s more, you’ve never … Oh, hell, Eden, she’s not for you. What Dara needs—”
“You’ve said enough, Jake.”
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The noise behind them seemed to fade. Nothing Eden could have said would have pushed Jack back in time faster. He’d heard that same warning before, uttered in the exact soft tone. And he knew it was backed by the implicit knowledge that should a man be fool enough to think that Eden McQuade didn’t mean it, violence would follow. Although he’d never been the target of McQuade’s anger, Jake was no fool. They had once been as close as any two men who had managed to survive hell together could be, and still remain friends. It was the flicker of those memories that made Jake’s decision for him. He pushed back his chair and stood up.
“Think about what I said. I won’t ask more of you now. But give some thought to where you’re going to stand when it comes time to choose sides. We were damn good together before we met Lucio.”
Jake turned his back, and Eden, his voice barely rising to carry over the swelling din from a group of men surging to the bar, reminded him, “The blame wasn’t Lucio’s alone, Jake. It was Linda’s, too, and you’re lying to yourself to deny it.”
“You’re a bastard, McQuade.” Jake didn’t turn to face him, but his voice was raw with pain.
“Maybe so,” Eden whispered to himself, watching Jake leave. “But then, it might keep you alive to believe it.”
He was about to pour himself another drink when the first shots rang out. Eden didn’t waste time trying to push his way clear through the miners rushing toward the front doors. He was out the back way and down the narrow alley behind the saloon before most of the men had reached the street.
The excitement was over in minutes. Jake had two inebriated miners by the collar, calling out for the crowd to break up, no one was hurt. He refused Eden’s offer to help to get them over to the temporary jail.
Silver Mist Page 9
