I wish I could change it all for you, he was thinking. I have never stopped loving you, mi querida. He sighed. “I am sorry, Irene, for the way it happened. I would not ever deliberately hurt you. I just…I realized our worlds are too different. If I had tried to tell you in person, it would have been too difficult for both of us to do the right thing. So I left, hoping you would learn to hate me for it so that it would be easier for you.”
She dropped her eyes, blinking rapidly, desperately afraid a tear would slip out of her eye and betray her deeper emotions. “I understand,” she answered. “It did hurt…at first. But I never hated you…and I never could.” She swallowed. “It’s all right now. Time takes care of a lot of things.”
“Sí.”
Someone called out to Ramon then, and he turned to see Elena approaching, carrying their son, Juan, on one arm, and a basket on the other. She was bringing his lunch. He looked at Irene almost apologetically. “I did not know it was so close to lunch time. It is my wife. We live in a little frame house not far from here. Luckily it survived the fire. Elena brings me lunch every day. I am sorry, Irene.”
Irene swallowed, feeling almost wet with perspiration from being so nervous in his presence. “It’s all right,” she told him. “I’d better take the mail inside.”
“Wait,” he asked, reaching out and grabbing her arm. The touch sent fire through her blood. “Perhaps you should meet her. Maybe it will help. She is a good person, Irene. She is of my religion, my people. You will see I did the right thing.”
Irene waited awkwardly, wanting to run, to die. Elena came closer. She was dark and beautiful, slender, shapely. Thoughts of the woman sharing Ramon’s bed ripped cruelly at Irene’s heart. The woman smiled, a brilliant, genuine, friendly smile. “Buenos días,” she said to Irene when she reached Ramon’s side.
“Hello,” Irene answered. “I’m Irene Kirkland. Your husband…did some work for my parents about a year ago. We were just…saying hello.”
“It is nice to meet you,” Elena answered. “This is our son, Juan.”
Irene smiled at the child, a handsome, round-faced, brown-skinned child who anyone could tell would probably be even more handsome than his father one day. “He’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes on Ramon’s face. Like you, she wanted to say.
Elena watched them, noticed the look they exchanged. It was impossible not to notice tears in Irene Kirkland’s eyes.
“I had better take this mail inside,” Irene was saying. “You have work to do, and a family to tend to.” She took a deep breath. “Good-bye, Ramon.”
The remark had an unmistakable finality to it.
“Good-bye, Irene. It was good seeing you again. Say hello to John for me.”
She nodded. “I will.” She glanced at Elena again. “Take good care of him. He’s a fine man,” she told the woman. She turned away then, hurrying into the post office.
Elena looked up at Ramon, sadness shadowing her eyes. “So,” she said quietly, “she is the one, isn’t she?”
Ramon looked at her, surprised. “What?”
Elena met his gaze. “Did you think I did not suspect the reason you came home and wanted to marry me so quickly, mi querido? A woman knows, Ramon. There are times when you make love to only me, and times when you touch me, but you are making love to someone else in your heart. I always wondered who it was that made you run to me.”
He looked away, and she had caught the sorrow in his eyes. “I love you, Elena.”
“I know that. I understand, Ramon, and I do not love you less for it. I only wish you would have shared it with me.”
He met her eyes. “It is over. It was just…so quick…like the wind. One kiss…one hopeless kiss. We both knew it could never really be. A few years from now, we will probably both smile at our youthful foolishness.” He reached out and touched little Juan’s cheek. “This is my future. I have a special love for you, Elena, that I could never have for another. You are my woman, the mother of my son. I do not want to speak of this again, and I do not want you to let it spoil what we have.”
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. Irene glanced out a window and saw the kiss, and she felt as though someone were shoving a sword into her heart. She was anxious to get away from here, anxious to get back to Chad, to convince herself she was doing the right thing, remind herself where she belonged now.
She thanked Mr. Drake for the mail, then left, relieved Ramon had taken Elena around behind the building. She did not have to see him again, did not have to suffer a second good-bye. She hurried away, deciding she would find someone else to deliver and pick up the mail after today.
The intense pain of seeing Ramon again overwhelmed her, and she knew she could not go back to Kirkland Enterprises just yet. She ducked around the side of a building and let the tears come then. Ramon! At least they had finally been able to tell each other good-bye, but she felt so much had been left unsaid; and in this moment of remembering, she understood more clearly why Susan Stanner had ended her life.
Kirk laid a rose on Mary O’Day’s grave, kneeling beside it then. “I’ll miss you, Mary,” he said, his voice choking. It had been a whole month since the fire, and things were slowly getting back to normal. This was the first chance he had had to be alone at the grave of the woman who had loved him the way a woman ought to love a man.
“I should have been with you,” he said then, his chest aching. “Maybe I could have saved you.” He touched the headstone. “I had just gotten back, Mary, from the mountains. I figured I ought to be with my family, with Bea. I’m so damn sorry. We never even got to say good-bye.”
Women like Mary came along only once in a man’s life. If he had not already been married, Kirk imagined he would have had no reservations about marrying Denver’s infamous madam, in spite of the fact that half the men of Denver had shared her bed. Things like that didn’t much matter to Kirk. Mary had a good heart. She had loved him. If he had married her, he had no doubt she would have been true to him.
Their love had been quick and hard and deep, starting not long after Kirk arrived in Denver and first met the woman. That had been four years ago. He sighed, wiping at his eyes. “I’m going back to the mountains,” he said quietly. “That’s the only thing that’s going to help me get over you.”
He rose, staring at the headstone a moment longer, unaware that someone had walked up behind him. “Kirk?”
He turned in surprise to find Bea standing a few feet away. “Where did you come from?”
“I—” she glanced at the headstone and knew her hunch had been right, “I was visiting Susan Stanner’s grave. And I thought I’d put some flowers on Eva West’s grave. She worked hard for Kirkland Enterprises.” She shifted nervously. “I thought I recognized you standing over here.” She glanced at the headstone again. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”
He looked back at the grave, saying nothing for several long, quiet seconds. Somewhere nearby a bird chirped, and the grassy cemetery hill was alive with wildflowers. “Yes,” he finally answered Bea. He sighed deeply. “I know what you think of her kind of women, but they aren’t all bad, Bea. Some of them have reason to do what they do.”
How she wished she could have learned to love him the right way. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her throat aching. “I can’t help wondering…if you’ll feel near as much grief over me…when my time comes.”
Kirk looked at her, seeing tears in her eyes. The woman always surprised him in these rare moments of open emotion. He came closer, touching her arm. “A person loves different people different ways, Bea. Mary understood me in ways you never will; but she’s not the one who married me so my child would have a mother. You are. You’ve always known what that means to me.”
The words comforted her burning heart. She embraced him, resting her head against his chest. Kirk wrapped his arms around her, and they stood there quietly beside the grave.
In town, in a saloon Mary O’Day had frequented, men held up beer mugs in a salute to a huge
painting of a pretty red-haired woman, whose breasts billowed over the lacy trim of her bright pink dress. The miners of Denver would not soon forget their favorite lady of the night, and they dreaded the day when Denver just might outlaw prostitution. As far as they were concerned, it would be a great loss.
Chapter Eighteen
Estner Sanchez led Red McKinley into Kirk’s smoking and billiards room, where, to Red’s surprise, Bea Kirkland waited for him. She sat behind Kirk’s magnificent oak desk, giving Esther a look that told her she was dismissed. The maid quickly left, always glad to leave Bea’s presence. She closed the door behind her, and Red approached the desk, watching Bea Kirkland’s dark eyes warily.
“I came here to see Kirk,” he told her. “Your maid led me in here as though he was home.”
“I asked her to show you in,” Bea told him. “There is some trouble with possible strikes at some of the mines. Kirk has gone back to the mountains to see about it. Sit down, Mr. McKinley. I can handle anything you might have wanted to talk to Kirk about.”
Red felt his defenses rising. He hardly knew this woman, but he hated her. It rankled him the way she still called him Mr. McKinley, with that grating sneer. Knowing what good friends he was with her husband, any other woman would be calling him Red by now and would certainly be friendlier. “I’d rather stand,” he answered.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “As you wish. What can I do for you?”
Red fingered his felt hat. He was proud of what he had accomplished so far, felt like a real businessman now, thanks to Kirk. He dressed better, and he even contemplated finding a wife. Everyone respected him, and he felt good about himself, except when he was around this woman, who had a way of looking down on everyone scathingly, as though hardly worthy to be in her presence. He held his chin proudly when he answered her.
“Actually, I came to see if I could get one more temporary loan.”
Her dark eyes bore into him. “You can see I am not surprised,” she answered. “I expected this.” She leaned back in the leather chair. “Have you paid back one cent of the original loan, Mr. McKinley?”
He swallowed. “Five hundred dollars.”
She snickered. “Five hundred dollars…out of fifteen thousand. And you want more?”
He reddened slightly, wishing very much that she was not Kirk’s wife so that he could tell her what he really thought of her. How sad Kirk had picked this woman to marry, how sad that the man felt so indebted to her.
“The fire destroyed a good deal of my supply of raw lumber, Mrs. Kirkland,” he answered. “I’ve been at this close to a year now, and things were just beginning to turn over into the black for me. I was prepared to start making regular payments to Kirk, like I promised, and I can still do it. All I need is a temporary loan to have a new supply of lumber shipped in. You know good and well that there is a building boom going on. I can make up the money in no time. I’ve got a whole list of backorders right now. All I need is the lumber. If I hadn’t lost what I had in the fire, I could keep up.”
Bea’s eyes moved over him as if he were a bum off the street. “I know your kind, Mr. McKinley. You can pull the wool over Kirk’s eyes. The man is too good-hearted and easily fooled for his own good. But you don’t fool me. You came here because you heard about your old friend’s good fortune, and you thought maybe you would cash in on it. For sixteen years you never bothered to find Kirk, then suddenly you appear out of nowhere, and the next thing I know my husband is lending you fifteen thousand dollars. Did you really think I couldn’t see what you were doing?”
Red nearly trembled with seething anger. “That isn’t true, but I can see you don’t want to believe it. And I have every intention of paying Kirk back.”
“Then I suggest you do it. Until then, I have no intention of loaning you one more dime. We suffered our own losses in that fire, Mr. McKinley—a warehouse and all its contents, a brand new hotel, a bank, our offices—and you dare to stand there and ask us for more money? We’ll be a long time recovering from this. I can’t be loaning money to a worthless drifter who doesn’t know how to run a business properly. You should have kept a better inventory.” She rose from the chair. “I never run low on anything, Mr. McKinley. Even with the fire, I had enough merchandise in our other two warehouses to help get us by. Always plan for the worst and stay one step ahead, Mr. McKinley. That’s how a business should be run.”
Oh, how he hated her! He felt like a damn fool, this woman standing there telling him how to run his business! What a bitch! He considered asking once more, pleading. Without the lumber he would lose a good deal of orders to another lumber company, for people were in a hurry to get back into their houses and offices.
“With that lumber I could have a bonanza in sales, Mrs. Kirkland,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.
“Good-bye, Mr. McKinley.”
His jaw flexed in anger. “I’ll talk to Kirk myself.”
“No, you won’t,” she said sternly. “If you talk to Kirk and get more money out of him, I’ll make sure you don’t get any business at all. I can do it, Mr. McKinley. And don’t try getting a loan through one of the other banks. I suspected you might try, and I have already told them what a high risk you are.”
He eyed her narrowly. “I should think it would be in your own best interest to have me succeed,” he said, his voice a near hiss. “If I don’t, it’s more your loss than mine.”
“Perhaps. But then you would be a failure, wouldn’t you, Mr. McKinley? And I would be left with a lumber mill to operate, which I am sure I could probably do better than you. It wouldn’t be such a great loss after all. And Kirk will have learned a good lesson about loaning money to friends on a handshake. Good-bye again, Mr. McKinley.”
Red just stared at her as he slowly put on his hat. For the first time in his life he considered blackmail. He could threaten to tell all of Denver that Irene Kirkland was half Indian, knew how that would devastate and humiliate this woman. Oh, how he would love to throw that in her face! She must not realize that he knew, or she would never treat him this way. But much as he hated Bea Kirkland, he could not bring himself to hurt Irene, who was innocent in all of this. He did not doubt that if he could go to Irene for a loan, she would give it to him without hesitation.
Still, he reasoned, even if he was low enough to stoop to blackmail and hurting innocent people, he wouldn’t use it as a tool just to get money. To him it was just another form of crawling and begging. He stepped closer, his blue eyes icy with hate. “One day you’ll regret this,” he told Bea. “A man has his pride.” He headed for the door, then turned. “You’ve already destroyed Kirk’s pride,” he added. “I feel damn sorry for him, Mrs. Kirkland. He deserves better. You’re the fool! You have all that money, a house full of valuables, but you hurt and destroy the things that are most valuable.”
The man walked out, slamming the door, and Bea stood there trembling with the glowing victory she always felt when she had a chance to wield her power. Red McKinley represented everything she did not want Kirk to be. It still upset her that Kirk had been foolish enough to loan the man so much money. Red McKinley was a threat. When he was around, she did not have the same control over Kirk as she usually enjoyed. Somehow she had to get rid of the man. McKinley was a fighter, she granted him that. But so was she, and she had the Kirkland money and power. One way or another, she was determined to run him out of business…and out of Denver.
Irene sat playing the piano in the library, enjoying a rare day to herself. Kirk had gone to the mines again, and Elly was being tutored, while John and Bea were, as always, at the offices with Chad. After weeks of long hours that had left everyone near collapse, things had finally begun to get back to normal. New offices were finished at Blake and Fifteenth streets, and the Denver Inn was on its way to being completely rebuilt. More supplies from San Francisco were due any day, and everyone was beginning to work regular hours. Bea had insisted Irene stop “slaving away like a commoner” a
nd begin staying home again.
“I want you to rest, and I want you and Chad to have some time together,” the woman had told her just this morning. “This afternoon I will come home early, and we’ll talk about school and what you learned, what Chicago is like.”
Her mother had been in excellent spirits since the fire, and Irene realized the challenge of her losses actually gave the woman new energy. Bea Kirkland thrived on hard work. The Kirkland empire was her baby, something she nurtured and loved, something to which she had given much more attention than any of her own children.
Irene was sure it could never be that way for her. She would let Chad take care of those things. She would tend to home and children, except for helping out in times of disaster, such as the fire. She didn’t mind learning the business, didn’t mind the work, but she did not want to be another Bea Kirkland.
She played a sad tune, and unwillingly her thoughts again drifted to Ramon, and the day she had seen him at the post office. She could not forget how wonderful he looked, could not forget what she knew without a doubt had been love in those dark eyes. Yes, he still loved her. Nothing could ever come of it now, but just to know it, to know in her heart he had not just used her and made light of it, was all she needed to soothe the hurt. What they had shared would remain a bittersweet memory, a cherished secret she would carry with her to the grave.
She sighed, looking at a picture of Chad that sat on the piano. Bea had insisted he sit for his portrait so she could add it to her collection of family pictures. The woman seemed already to think of Chad as part of the family, and sometimes it seemed she treated the man better than her own son. One thing was certain—if Irene married Chad Jacobs, there would certainly be no in-law problems. Bea all but worshipped the man. Chad could do no wrong. In Bea’s opinion, her first-born daughter could do no better than to marry Attorney Chad Jacobs, and hardly a day went by that Bea did not remind Irene of that very fact.
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