Wildfire Love

by Rue Allyn

  “Some of the story isn’t mine to tell. However, I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Dutch glowered but remained silent.

  He was upset. That much Edith could discern, but he’d been upset before she returned to the house tonight. “Our grandfather is a cruel man of strict and uncompromising standards. His opinion of women in general is that they are instruments of the devil with no brains, intended only to propagate the species and tempt men to sin. He was very bitter that his son, our father, died without a male heir.”

  “Is your grandfather rich?”

  Edith ignored the question, choosing her words carefully. “Grandfather promised Kiera in marriage to a business colleague as a way to cement a business deal.

  “You mentioned that. It’s not unusual.”

  “No, but this man, the colleague, was known to beat his wives. He’d already buried three. Kiera was afraid, and I would not see her placed in such danger. We plotted her escape, and I helped.” Busy watching Dutch for his reactions, Edith allowed her tea to cool. What she saw worried her because the more she talked the less emotion he showed, even though he never took his eyes off her.

  “So instead of a deadly marriage, she ended up in Cerise Duval’s tender care.”

  “Do you blame me? I couldn’t know what Kiera would encounter once she left Boston. All I knew was that she hoped to open a photographer’s shop to sell portraits and such. She’s a great photographer. She didn’t have much money though. I tried to persuade her to go to our cousins in Maine, but she insisted that was too close. No, for her, going to San Francisco under the alias she used to sell her pictures was the best solution. I could not convince her otherwise even though we both understood she risked everything. She never would have left if I didn’t agree it was best. I’ve questioned my decision a thousand times in the past three years, but I always arrive at the conclusion that even a small chance of survival is better than a slow, painful, and certain death.”

  Edith stood and refilled the teapot, adding a few more leaves to steep. Bringing the pot back to the table, she sat and waited.

  Dutch lifted his head. His expression gave nothing away, not a single clue as to what he thought about the dangers she allowed Kiera to face. “I don’t blame you. If anything I blame your grandfather for placing you and Kiera in a situation where you felt forced to take such risks.”

  Relief that he understood washed through her. “Thank you.”

  “I just have one more question. Why not tell me this when we spoke earlier?”

  “Aside from the fact that you asked?”

  One corner of his mouth kicked upward. “Yeah, aside from that.”

  “Because I could tell that my adventure tonight isn’t what’s really bothering you.” She took a sip of tea. “I figured that if I clear up any question about my activities, perhaps you’d share your troubles with me.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “I might be able to help.”

  Dutch snorted then drank his tea.

  “Hear me out,” she continued. “Even if I can’t do anything to help, sometimes simply sharing your troubles lightens the load.” Clearing the air had helped her feel better. She didn’t like deception, though to protect her sisters from their grandfather she’d lied and deceived enough for two lifetimes. And she would again. She’d do whatever was necessary to provide for and keep her sisters safe.

  Dutch set his mug on the table then ran both hands through his hair. “How did someone as naïve and idealistic as you end up in Duval’s bordello?”

  She studied him over the rim of her mug. “I’m not half as naïve as when I first came to San Francisco.”

  Dutch issued another snort of disbelief. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if you get your ideals smashed.”

  “I suspect my ideals are stronger than you’ve guessed.”

  Another of the kittens wandered into the kitchen and leapt into Dutch’s lap. Without even looking, he scratched its chin. A quiet rumble filled the space between him and Edith.

  “Since we’re trading confessions, what’s bothering me is that none of the leads I’ve followed to find Trey have panned out. It seems that my no good, rotten, lying, cheating father is the only one, besides Duval and the Chinaman, who knows anything about Trey’s disappearance. I’ve got a good guess that the Chinaman and Duval have spread word that anyone talking to me will suffer very painful consequences.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  Dutch looked down at his hands and picked at a fingernail. “The reasons have a lot to do with ancient history. When I was very young, about six or seven — Trey was just a baby — my father, who wasn’t a judge at the time, lost everything in a poker game. To pay his debts and get more money to play with, he sent my mother to work for Duval.”

  Shock was the only word that could define the bone deep chill that struck Edith. “Your father made his wife sell herself, so he could gamble?”

  “Pretty much.” As Dutch spoke his voice became flat, toneless, and he kept his gaze focused on his hands. “He started drinking heavily around that time, too.”

  “At first my mother refused, but when Trey got sick because we had no food, she gave in. Mother was very proud, from an old Spanish family who disowned her when she married against their wishes. She was totally dependent on my father, and when he failed to provide for us, she had nothing left to sell but her body.

  “Soon after she started working for Duval, the judge abandoned us. The vigilance committee — the one before Father Conroy’s — ran him out of town. He could have come back, but he didn’t for close to ten years.”

  “That’s horrible. Why wouldn’t anyone help you? Where was the Christian charity of this committee?”

  Dutch shrugged his shoulders. “It gets worse.”

  “How is that possible?” Edith had gone from shock to anger and fear. Anger that anyone would leave a woman in a situation like Mrs. Trahern’s. Fear that she and her sisters could find themselves in a like state if — once she found Kiera — Grandfather’s will could not be changed.

  “Mother died when I was ten. By then I’d stopped believing that the judge would come back, so it was up to me to take care of Trey. Cerise Duval offered to pay me.”

  “I find it difficult to believe that Madame Duval would do such a kindness as to support two orphans.”

  “It wasn’t a kindness. I had to work for my pay, and the pay was never more than enough to use for food and basic necessities.”

  “What work did you do?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  His hands stilled, and Dutch finally raised his head. The empty expression in his eyes gave new meaning to the word bleak.

  “The same kind of work my mother did.”

  “You … you sold yourself?”

  “Yes. I stole, lied, and conned for Duval, too. Anything she wanted, I did, so that Trey wouldn’t have to.”

  “But you were ten, a child, and an innocent.”

  “Not for long. Trey was four. Duval was already eyeing him. Even at ten, I could see that she’d drag him into her net as soon as she could.”

  Edith’s heart pounded. “What did you do?

  “I kept Trey out of sight, mostly by sending him to the mission, which is how I met Father Conroy, but that’s a different story.”

  “And that worked? Duval has tentacles throughout San Francisco — surely she knew where Trey was?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that for six years I kept Trey safe because I was Duval’s plaything.”

  “What happened when you were sixteen?”

  His gaze dropped back to his hands. His shoulders slumped.

  “Dutch?”

  He mumbled some words.

  “Did you say you fell in love?”

 
He nodded.

  Edith studied him. Love was supposed to be a joyful thing. But nothing about Dutch spoke of joy. His demeanor, his expression, the desolation in his eyes all bespoke nearly unbearable sorrow and guilt.

  She reached for his hand and found it icy cold. It lay loose in her grasp. “Tell me. Please,” she whispered, reluctant to stir his black mood into something worse.

  “I met a girl that Duval had kidnapped and was planning to sell, just like she did you. This girl wasn’t like the others who’d come through Duval’s house. She was sweet and innocent, and she didn’t deserve to be there.

  “Megan was Father Conroy’s sister, and Father Conroy was causing trouble for Duval. So Cerise kidnapped Megan for revenge, trying to blacken Father Conroy’s name as well as make a profit. I didn’t care who Megan was related to. I loved her, and I planned an escape. I’d steal horses from the stable where Duval’s clients left their mounts. Then I’d take Megan and Trey and leave California. We’d go to Canada and homestead there. Life would finally be good for all of us. I knew Duval suspected I was up to something, but I didn’t realize how much she knew. Then the judge came back to town.”

  Edith bit back the questions that rose, almost wishing they would go unanswered.

  “Someone laughed at him for being the father of a boy-whore. He was drunk, and like me, he had a temper. He nearly beat the man to death until he told the judge that I was working for Duval. My father came roaring into the bordello, waving his knife and raving about how Duval had debauched his son.

  “I was out stealing those horses, so I wasn’t there to call Duval a liar when she claimed that a conniving hussy named Megan was at fault. I found out later that Cerise egged the judge on, told him where to find Megan, and followed him. She watched as the judge stabbed Megan repeatedly. That’s when I walked into the room.”

  “Oh, Dutch, no.”

  He nodded and kept on talking. “Megan was still alive when I got there. I screamed at Duval to send for a doctor, but all she did was smile. My father tried to run, but Duval stopped him. They both watched as Megan died in my arms. She made me promise that I would leave, get out, become respectable. Live out the dream we’d had together. By dying she made that possible.”

  “How?”

  “I was in shock, and the judge, well he must have realized that Duval had tricked him, but he’d done the killing so he was consumed with fear for his own hide. Duval took the knife from him. She got my shirt from me by claiming that she’d have it washed as it was soaked with Megan’s blood. Duval was about to make us leave the room when I finally snapped out of the daze I was in and told her that she was party to a murder and no longer held any power over me. I was leaving with Trey, and if she or my father said anything about what happened in that room, I would tell everything I knew. I meant everything, not just about Megan’s murder, but about Duval’s clients and her other criminal activities.

  “Duval tried to threaten me the same way. If I exposed her, she’d harm Trey. It was a stand-off. So in exchange for my silence about the murder of the woman I loved, Duval let Trey and me go. The way Duval sees it, I bested her, and that threatens her power over others. She hates me and wants revenge. I don’t think the judge got away quite so easy. He does her dirty work because she’s got that hold over him. By now she probably has more.”

  “Your father is a fool and a coward.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me on that.”

  “Where did you go? How did you survive? Are you still grieving?”

  “No, a part of me will always love Megan, but I’ve made my peace with those feelings. As for shelter, I took Trey and went to the only place I knew of that would be safe. I went to the mission.”

  “You went to Father Conroy?”

  Dutch nodded.

  “And you didn’t tell him about his sister?”

  “How could I? My silence bought Trey’s safety.”

  Edith understood. In a similar situation she would do the same to keep her sisters safe and secure. That need for safety was precisely what had kept her silent when Dutch had asked if Grandfather was rich.

  “Your father never garnered the courage to break free of Duval, not even for his family.”

  Dutch shook his head. “Family feeling never motivated my father. He wants money. Probably so he can leave town and get far away from Duval and the Chinaman. They’d kill him without a second thought, if they knew he betrayed them. I won’t pay him without hard evidence that his information is good. The night you and I met, he was supposed to meet me later with the proof in hand, but he never showed. I’ve been chasing him and a dozen or more false leads ever since. Tonight I was out following one of those leads, a man who claimed to know about Trey and my father.”

  At long last a smile crept over his face.

  Edith blinked. What in the world had he to smile about if his leads were false? “Did the man have the information you wanted?”

  “No, but he had something else. Your trunk.”

  Her eyes went wide then her brow wrinkled. “But? If you have my trunk, then whose trunk did I take from Duval’s house tonight?”

  “Beats me. Maybe we’d better go find out.”

  Edith led the way to the alcove where the Tangs had stored the trunk. Dutch followed with the lamp. She knelt, looking for the lock or a keyhole then noticed that the hasps had been broken. Releasing the latches and lifting the lid, she peered inside.

  She found only a threadbare cloak and some plain women’s underwear. She reached for the cloak, removing it from the trunk as she stood. The limp cloth was stiff in one spot and that spot rustled when pressed.

  “What in the world? There’s something inside the lining?”

  “Let me help.”

  Dutch gave her the lantern, then took a knife and slit the lining of the cloak where the object rested.

  As the cloth came away, Edith saw papers. She gave the lantern back to Dutch, removed the papers from the cloak and took them to the kitchen table.

  Her shoulders shook, and she swiped at silent tears.

  “Edith?”

  She heard the concern in Dutch’s voice.

  “Photographs,” she managed to say around the lump in her throat. “These are Kiera’s photographs. She’s a master at capturing contrasts that enhance the story of a picture. I’d recognize her work anywhere.”

  Dutch’s heat warmed her back as he looked over her shoulder. “Your sister takes dirty pictures?”

  Edith almost laughed. “She must have taken these at Duval’s. Kiera’s always been smart. I’ll bet she sold her photographer’s skills instead of her body. I can also understand why she kept these. She’s proud of her work. The subject matter is much less important to her than the story the picture tells. These images may all be of women in the bordello, but their expressions, postures, even the poses tell how each of them really feels about what they do.

  “You can see all that in a photograph?”

  “All you have to do is look. Look outside your expectations and see what’s really there.”

  “Amazing.”

  Edith turned. Dutch still leaned against her, looking at the pictures. With his head bent, his lips were close enough she could feel each passing breath.

  “Thank you,” eased from her lips as she closed the space and pressed her mouth to his.

  His arms went around her waist. His lips pressed back. His tongue teased the seam of her mouth.

  Edith opened to him and sank into his strength, wishing the kiss would never end and knowing it had to.

  • • •

  Kissing him had been right as she thought it over the next day. The kiss had ended much too quickly. Dutch had stepped back and apologized for his forwardness. She’d wanted to wring his neck. The man was far too conscious of the proprieties.
Given his past she understood why. All the same his care of her as much as that kiss decided her course of action. She definitely had feelings for the man. Tsung was right. Edith would never understand the extent of those feelings if she didn’t seduce Dutch Trahern. Lord knew if she’d ever again meet a man she liked as much as she liked him or have an opportunity to act on her feelings.

  So she worked at finding Kiera by day — making queries at framer’s shops and mercantiles that carried photographic supplies — and seducing Dutch by night. Neither attempt was very successful, but there were a great many shops in San Francisco. With Dutch, however, her failure was due to inexperience and a lack of opportunity, since he spent his days at work and his nights following rumors of his father’s whereabouts.

  Edith could do nothing about her opportunities, but she could do something about her inexperience.

  She voiced her thoughts to Tsung, and between them, they came up with a plan.

  “You’re sure this will work?” Edith whispered to Tsung in the kitchen just before serving dinner one night.

  “Yes, yes. Mista Dutch love chocolate. That cocoa oil make you smell like cake. He try to find chocolate, go crazy for you. You just make sure you close enough for him to smell oil.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard,” she said, picking up a platter of chops. Despite her words, nerves danced in her stomach and heat rose to her cheeks. She pushed through the door and stood poised, just inside the dining room.

  Her nerves danced faster until they beat a rapid tattoo that she felt over her entire body. Dutch Trahern cleaned up very nicely. She’d rarely seen him save in the dark or when he was less than presentable. Now, though he looked tired, he was freshly scrubbed and shaven. Gone was the scruffy beard and the sloppy clothing from the day when he’d rescued the remains of the cat. Tonight he wore a linen shirt that clung to the sleek muscles of his arms and chest. His blond hair curled damply at his neck and across his forehead.

  Edith felt a tightening in her belly and a distinct wobble in her knees. Her head spun. She leaned against the door to gain her balance. Fairly certain that she was aroused she was still uncertain what to do about it? She couldn’t remember everything she’d read, seen and heard at Duval’s nor could she just pounce on the man. She had to wait, entice him, or she’d never learn anything about sexual attraction. In her present state, waiting would be uncomfortable to say the least.