by Avery, Joan
“So you chose to see him behind my back?”
“I didn’t intend it that way.”
“How else could you have intended it? You knew I would be at the attorney’s office. I expected you to be there as well.”
“I felt it was more important to see my son.”
“Give me the boy. You’ve frightened him.”
Andy had started to whimper with the shouting.
Reluctantly, Stephen handed the child over. “I think it is you who has frightened him, not I.”
The truth of it irked her.
“I want you to have the courtesy to leave my home now.”
“And if I choose to see my son again?”
“I expect you will be very busy making plans. I told your attorney we will be able to leave by week’s end. I trust that will be soon enough for you?”
“Yes.” There was anger in his dark eyes. “Both you and I know the reality of our agreement. What it is on paper and what it may become in the face of its actual execution are two very different things, don’t you agree?”
What did he mean? Was it a veiled threat? Perhaps it was merely an acknowledgement of the volatility of the relationship. That thought was just as disturbing.
“I keep my word, Mr. Worth. I will keep mine to you. It is the value of your word that is to be determined, it would seem.”
“I assure you, Miss Barker, my word is as good as yours.”
“So we shall see, Mr. Worth. So we shall see. Good afternoon.”
Chapter Six
The day was quite cool for late October. Steam from the trains created great whirling masses of knee-high clouds along the station platform at Twelfth and Poplar. Occasionally, the sounds of a goodbye rose above the hissing of the train engine. Everywhere people embraced and laughed and cried.
Kate merely tapped her foot impatiently, afraid to be caught up in the emotions.
“Where is he?”
“He offered to accompany you to the station, Mary Katherine. It was you who declined.”
“Yes, yes, I know, but it is still no excuse for his not being here to meet us. And if he expects us to ride sitting up in second class, he is sadly mistaken. I should have made the arrangements myself.”
“I know you are upset, but for the boy’s sake, try to calm yourself.”
“I am not upset, Uncle, I am angry. The man’s rudeness is unconscionable.”
“Mary Katherine.” It was a reprimand.
She met her uncle’s eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just...” She paused to collect herself before she went on. “Tell me I am doing the right thing.”
“No one can tell you that, my dear. You are doing what you think is best. That is all anyone can do.”
“But I am hurting you.”
“If someone is to be hurt, it is much better me than you or the child. I’m an old man. I’ve lived my life. I am needed here to run the business. You will do fine on your own. I have a great deal of faith in your tenacity. You will find out the truth about this man, and when you do, you will do what is right for Andy. Ah, perhaps this is him now.”
Stephen Worth materialized out of a cloud of steam as if conjured by an evil genie. An involuntary shiver traced her spine. Worth was once more the menacing stranger who had appeared on her doorstep a week ago.
Dressed roughly again, there were none of the trappings of a gentleman. No cravat, no fine linen, no carefully cut broadcloth. Close-fitting canvas pants defined his long legs and hung low at his tapered waist. His shirt was heavy cotton and collarless. He had tucked it casually into his pants. Two of the four buttons lay open at his neck.
He wore a leather vest as a concession to the morning chill. It was well worn. All of his clothes showed signs of wear. They clung to his body effortlessly, finding muscle and sinew familiar to them. He was more at ease than she had ever seen him, more in control—and more of a threat than ever.
He showed no reaction at all to her. It was only when he saw Andy, who steadfastly held Kate’s hand, that his face softened. When he looked back up, the softness was gone.
“Are these your things?” He nodded to the cart and porter.
“Yes. You got my message about the boy’s nursemaid?” Kate inquired.
“Yes.”
“Fiona, this is Mr. Worth.”
“Fiona.” He nodded his acknowledgement.
Fiona blushed with the handsome stranger’s attention.
“This is my Uncle, George Barker.”
“Mr. Barker.”
“Mr. Worth, I hope you know what you are about. Mary Katherine and I love the boy beyond words. We have tried to make up for his mother’s absence. And, I suppose, for your absence as well.”
“I am grateful to you for that. You will always be welcome in Denver.” Worth extended his hand. “You have my word that they will be safe and protected.”
Uncle George accepted the younger man’s handshake. “I will hold you to that, sir, as a gentleman. If any harm befalls my niece or the child, I will hold you personally responsible.”
“I understand.”
Uncle George’s words did little to diminish the queasiness that had arisen in Kate’s stomach. Today, Stephen Worth looked nothing like a gentleman.
Stephen Worth crouched down in front of Andy. “Well, Andy, are you ready for a great adventure? Would you like to get on the train?”
“Train, Papa?”
Papa? Andy’s hand slipped from hers. She watched in pain as the laughing child was scooped up by his father and carried off toward the rear of the train. She was frozen in place as father and son disappeared back into the cloud of steam. She fought the urge to cry or scream—she wasn’t sure which.
Finally, she forced herself to move. She laid a hand on the rough wool of her uncle’s jacket. Uncle George was bent forward in sorrow. For a moment, she was tempted to renege on her promise. But it would gain them nothing. Only the knowledge of where Stephen Worth had been the last two years offered any hope, and only in Denver could she find that out.
“Please don’t worry, Uncle George, I will take care. We will be back before long.”
“Of course you will, my dear, of course.”
Her heart was breaking. She embraced her uncle’s lean figure. “I will find a way. You’ll see,” she whispered in her uncle’s ear. It brought a tired smile to his face.
He pressed a tender goodbye kiss to her cheek.
…
Two steps into the breathtakingly beautiful Pullman car, Kate was stopped by the most beautiful European furniture she had ever seen. The pieces were richly upholstered in antique brocades. An Oriental rug carpeted the floor; its vibrant reds and blues warmed the car’s handsomely carved mahogany paneling. The ceiling was of intricately hammered tin. Gaslights were ready for evening, their Waterford globes dangling prisms that tinkled with the gentle sway of the train. The heavy silk drapes at the windows were corded back gracefully.
In the brightness outside, the station platform slid slowly further and further away. She was leaving everything she had ever known. All her ties were being cut. She fought the urge to bolt. The elegant train car only added to her unease. Nothing was as she expected.
She had been prepared to be angry—prepared to argue that the accommodations were inadequate. She had feared, or secretly hoped, they would end up in third-class.
But this elegant car—these private accommodations—would cost one hundred and fifty dollars a day per person. Even she had never felt extravagant enough to travel by private car.
On the rear platform, Fiona and Andy were laughing as the city of St. Louis fled past them, faster and faster. She was within a few feet of joining them when Stephen Worth appeared in the doorway.
“Do you approve?”
He must have been on the rear platform as well. Now, he stood quite literally between her and her son. Between her and everything she knew—everything she loved.
He expected an answer, leaving her no time and no place to withdraw an
d recover her equilibrium.
“Of course, it’s lovely.”
“And a surprise?”
Why did she feel as if he could read her mind?
“It seems extravagant, that’s all.”
“And, no doubt, extravagance is not a desirable quality in your puritan mind.” He was smiling. It was as if he was teasing her.
“I was thinking that perhaps it was beyond your means.”
“Ah, I understand. You wonder if my remittance checks cover such excesses.”
She could feel the heat in her cheeks. He took a step closer. Too close now. She couldn’t look at him any longer. She pretended to study the brocade upholstery of the chair back beside her. She ran her hand over its roughness and prayed he would leave.
The touch of his finger beneath her chin sent a jolt through her already tense body. The gentle pressure that lifted her face was a force that drew every fiber of her being toward him despite her efforts to prevent it.
“I assure you the train-car does not threaten my financial well-being. It belongs to a friend who offered it to me for the trip.”
“You have very loyal friends.” She meant it to sound sarcastic. But the warmth of his fingertip on her flesh distracted her.
“You have yet to find out my strengths, Katherine.” Her name had always seemed plain and unexciting, but on his lips, it sounded exotic, full of mystery and promise.
“What you may consider strengths, I may not, Mr. Worth.” She forced an edge back into her voice. It succeeded in getting him to remove his finger.
“Mr. Worth? I believe we are past formalities. I am, if nothing else, your brother-in-law. I think people might question our relationship if you insist on calling me Mr. Worth.”
What would they question? Certainly there was no impropriety. She had insisted on Fiona for just that reason. Certainly people wouldn’t think…the possibilities caused her to blush deeply.
“Perhaps you are right.” Still, she couldn’t say his given name.
“Perhaps you are right…?” He forced her hand, repeating her phrase like a parent with a difficult child.
How dare he toy with her? The fact that he momentarily had the upper hand angered her. She whispered his name hoping to diminish its impact. “Stephen.” It had just the opposite effect.
…
Later that evening, Kate was on the back platform of the train. The air was cool and refreshing, the sky clear and overflowing with stars. The moon was a slender crescent, low in the night sky. It looked as if it had been placed by an artist on a canvas.
Andy was safely tucked into bed in the adjoining car. Fiona was sharing a sleeping compartment with him. Kate was in no hurry to retire. She was still too warm from the dining car and the glass of wine she had had at dinner.
She had dreaded dinner. Dreaded being with him. But surprisingly, he had said little. He had asked about the iron ore business and she had found herself caught up in an explanation of the troubles she had faced since her father’s death. He had listened attentively, only stopping her occasionally to ask a question. For a while she had forgotten the threat he posed.
It was only when she had exhausted her business discussion that she felt the awkwardness return. She had excused herself then to say goodnight to Andy.
Now, as she enjoyed the beautiful night sky, she questioned the wisdom of her decision.
She let her shawl fall loosely from her shoulders, baring them to the welcome coolness of the night. She stepped back against the rear of the car and rested her head on the swaying wall.
The door opened, hiding her in its shadow. Stephen stepped out, oblivious to her presence.
He lit a cheroot. The smell of it drifted to her behind the door, before being caught by the breeze and carried off. He appeared different than earlier in the day.
All day with Andy, he had been patient and ingenious, managing effortlessly to keep Andy from getting too restless. He had taken the boy to see the engine and Andy had come back in his father’s arms flushed with excitement.
Now, he stared at the same stars she had just admired. A day’s growth of beard had darkened his features. His hair in the thin silver moonlight was like velvet once more. Did it smell of bay rum and cheroot?
She tried to read his thoughts. It was impossible. He remained an enigma. Every moment she spent with him left her with doubts—doubts not so much about him, as about herself. Was he thinking of Lizzie? Of his son? Did he ever think of her in a way unrelated to Lizzie, unrelated to Andy?
He had said to call him Stephen. She repeated the name again in her head, trying to make it fit comfortably. Stephen.
She thought she had spoken it too softly for him to hear, but his body tensed slightly. He turned slowly, exhaling the smoke of the cheroot in a tiny wisp that found her hiding place.
“I’m sorry.” Her apology barely rose above the sound of the train.
“For what?” The hint of a smile softened his features.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.” She was embarrassed not to have acknowledged her presence when he first came outside. She stepped forward and steadied herself with the iron railing. “It’s beautiful here tonight.”
“Yes, it is. It’s even more beautiful in Colorado.”
She didn’t want to look at him, not standing this close. She didn’t know why exactly. She only knew that it was dangerous. She looked up at the stars.
She sought a safe avenue of conversation. “How long did you say you’ve been here? I mean in the States?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized that her bluntness might not be appreciated, but he did not flinch. “I’ve been in the States over ten years now. Most of that time in Colorado.”
“Do you ever think you’ll go back to England?”
His soft laughter surprised her. “Since my father’s death, my brother has offered it. But in truth, I don’t think my brother would be at all pleased to see me on his doorstep. His remittance checks assure me of it.”
Her heart sank. A Remittance Man. How could she keep forgetting that he was paid to stay away from his family?
He must have seen something in her face, for he frowned. “You need not worry about losing Andy to England. I have no desire to return there. I have made my life here.”
“A life paid for by an older brother to keep you away?”
His features grew hard and cold.
“My life is paid for by me and my work, as my son’s will be.”
“I didn’t mean to imply...”
“Don’t lie, Katherine, it is most unbecoming.”
It was she who was angry now. “Why did you leave England?”
“Ah, the questions become thornier. You want to know what I did that got me expelled by my family and country? Exiled to the wilds of America?”
“Yes. You want me to give you Andy. I have a right to know.” She was exasperated by his verbal sparring. She wanted answers—needed answers.
He didn’t speak immediately. He studied her and she felt awash in his dark eyes. Half of her wanted to turn away from their penetrating intensity, and the other half wished to drown in them.
“Do you really care what happened in England?” he asked.
“Yes.” And suddenly she did.
He studied the moonlight as it caught the ever-lengthening tracks.
“My father once beat a horse to death. I was fourteen at the time. It horrified me. He was an old world aristocrat who treated his possessions with equal disdain. It was all too apparent that he saw his wife, my mother, as another possession.
“I was twenty, fresh out of university. A good job in London awaited me. It was spring. There was a gentle rain. I remember how the earth smelled. So full of potential life and growth. I had gone to a ball and returned late. The house was quiet. I had made a habit of checking on my mother in her room every night to make sure my father hadn’t beaten her that day. My father knew this and his beatings had become
less frequent. But he had already broken her. Broken her body and her gentle spirit. God, how I despised him.”
He ran an elegant hand through his black hair and shook his head as if the memory was causing him physical pain. The muscles in his jaw tensed.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. She waited.
“My mother lay in a pool of blood. Her skin, drained of life, was so pale she looked like a ghost asleep on the bloodstained bed. Only the bruises he had inflicted marred her beauty and her serenity—the bruises and the gashes on her wrists that had allowed her to finally escape him.
“I was stunned, sickened, outraged. I could think of nothing else but killing him. He had fled to the city to his club. And I found him there. I didn’t care who else was there. I pulled him out of his chair. He was drunk, and I started to beat him. I couldn’t stop myself. I would have beaten him to death if my older brother, Hugh, hadn’t arrived to stop me. I had done the unthinkable, the unforgivable. There was little doubt my father would report me to the authorities. He would even find a sick delight in seeing me imprisoned. Hugh dragged me to the docks. He handed me what money he had on him and found me passage on a ship leaving for America within the hour. Her funeral was several days later, I heard. Thankfully, my father was still too beaten to attend. At least I had prevented him from that farce. I had saved her that. But I never said goodbye. Never told her how much guilt I felt at not being able to prevent his brutality.”
They remained in silence, the click of the ties singing out in the night, repeating his agony over and over in Kate’s head.
She had been right—he had left his family and homeland in disgrace—but she couldn’t gloat. She found only pain in his story, pain and a new understanding of the man.
He never looked at her. He simply stared at the rails. Finally he spoke into the darkness. “I am going to look in on Andy.”
Tonight, she couldn’t begrudge him that intimacy.
Chapter Seven
The mind-numbing screech of metal against metal pierced Kate’s eardrums. Cutlery, glasswear—anything not fastened securely in the dining car—flew precariously past the remaining passengers with the wrenching jolt of the brakes. The women in the car screamed in terror as the men shouted and tried to rise from their tables.
