As soon as the front door closed, Libby released him and glided from the room, leaving him standing alone and feeling very lonely. What’s wrong with me? he wondered, recalling his ire at finding a man in the house. His aunt had every right to entertain. But he was only fooling himself and it wasn’t his aunt he was worried about.
Abby’s eyes had sparkled when she looked at Stanwick, and she had smiled prettily when he invited her to visit his gardens. Gardens, hell. Max snorted. He knew what the man was about. He would have to caution his aunt about letting Abby close to some of the riffraff that thrived in the city, even if they did dress in clothes from Joslin’s and pose like peacocks.
“Sir?” Hickory interrupted his reverie. With a nod, Max walked to the dining room.
He enjoyed the ladies’ chatter as they ate, but eventually grew tired of listening to them praise Stanwick’s qualities. “Would you ladies enjoy attending the theater tonight?”
“You won’t be too busy investing on your own?” Abby teased, but he heard the hurt in her voice from having been excluded.
“Abby, you know I don’t want people to know what I actually do. That’s why I often wear disguises. And we’ve discussed your role in this before.”
She gave a little shrug. “I understand, really I do, but you know I want to help.”
Thinking to appease her, he asked, “Surely you and Libby haven’t shopped all the stores in Denver yet?”
Both women verbally pounced on him at the same time.
“We have more important things to do than shop,” Abby exclaimed.
“That is not even worthy of an answer, Maxwell Jeffery,” his aunt added, the use of his middle name indicating true ire.
He knew when it was time to retreat. “My apologies, ladies.” He inclined his head. Trying to think of a way to regain their good graces, Max recalled his conversation with the police captain. He pulled his wallet from his breast pocket.
“It appears the police have been trying to crack the robbery ring in Kit Carson for some time now. The Kansas Pacific has lost so much freight they had even offered a reward. Now, with the officials in Carson under investigation, they hope to close down what appears to be a town-wide conspiracy.”
“Well, that is certainly good news,” his aunt replied. “Denver will never become a thriving place for business and social acclaim if it isn’t even safe to travel here.”
Max slid a bank draft across the table to Abby. “The Kansas Pacific is properly grateful for your help, Abby, and asked that I give you this.”
Abby’s eyes rounded when she picked up the slip of paper. “Five hundred dollars!” She fanned herself. “My word, I don’t believe it.”
“That is quite a reward, Abby. We’ll have to visit my banker tomorrow and see what we can do to put it to good use,” Libby stated.
Max knew she’d doubled the size of her late husband’s fortune, and he felt comfortable with her to guide Abby. He watched Abby purse her lips and tap the bank draft on the table.
“You know, Libby, this is the second reward I’ve received since leaving Topeka. Perhaps I should consider apprehending felons for a living.”
Chapter Eight
“The hell you say!” Max exploded, not bothering to excuse the profanity in front of his aunt. “If you think for one minute that you are going to run around catching robbers and killers, just think again.”
Abby’s mouth formed a perfect little “o” and her eyes widened in surprise. When his words sank in, her mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowed and one delicate eyebrow lifted.
“I do not believe you are in charge of me, sir.”
“Your father would probably disagree with you,” he answered, recalling the words of assurance he’d inserted into the telegram to Kevin O’Brien.
“My father is not my keeper, either.”
“Someone needs to be, for I swear you are the most stubborn woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
Abby stood abruptly and slapped her napkin onto the table. “I was perfectly independent and able to take care of myself before I met you.”
“Certainly. That’s why you were accosted in Chicago, had to work as a poker dealer in a saloon and found it necessary to leave town in the middle of the night when someone was murdered.”
His aunt sucked in her breath. Abby’s face paled.
“Working in that saloon was a perfectly legitimate job,” she whispered fiercely.
Max stepped around the end of the table to reach for her.
“Abby, I’m sorry.”
She straightened her spine and glared at him. “I want to thank you for teaching me a valuable lesson. I shall refrain in the future from trusting my hea…my person to the care of any man.” She turned on her heel and fled the room. The front door slammed before he had time to react.
He turned to his aunt in frustration. “Libby, do something.”
“She has a key and she knows the address.”
“But—”
“Dear, I know how you feel about Abby, but she’s a grown, independent woman. I would suggest you start treating her as such.”
How could his aunt know how he felt when Max wasn’t sure himself?
“She’s a beautiful woman, alone in a strange place. Even if I trust her, I don’t trust the men in this town. Doesn’t that worry you?”
“No, I’m not worried.”
Max threw his hands up in resignation. His aunt was no help.
“Fine! Now in addition to finding Monty and Jerome Smith’s killer, I have to locate one little spitfire who doesn’t have the good sense to stay put.” He angrily paced toward the door, determined to catch her before someone else did.
“Max.” His aunt’s gentle voice stopped him. He turned.
“I didn’t mean that—about not being worried. That’s why I have Adam, Hickory’s nephew, follow Abby whenever she leaves the house alone. She doesn’t know him and he’s quite capable of taking care of her should the need arise.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Exasperated, he ran his fingers through his hair. He felt slightly better knowing that Abby had a shadow.
Aunt Libby shook her head. “It’s a trait which seems to elude the men in our families.”
He scowled.
She smiled.
Max knew that smile. It was the same one Abby used on him.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s called subtlety. I would suggest you develop some. If you do not, Abby will never learn to listen to you.”
* * *
Abby ran from the house instead of to her room. She had to distance herself from Max or she swore she just might do bodily harm. After hurrying more than a block, she slowed her pace to a brisk walk, not wanting to draw attention to herself.
She flagged a passing horse-drawn trolley and climbed aboard, digging into her pocket for her fare and dropping it in the box. The vehicle was nearly empty at this time of afternoon. Abby chose a seat on the outside, for she loved to look about as she rode. Denver was a thriving city, much like Boston, but from mining rather than shipping. Libby had been quite informative about the turquoise, iron and lead that were mined in the area, as well as the silver.
Today, however, Abby’s thoughts turned to the argument she’d just had with Max. Why did that man keep insisting she needed looking after? Even as she fumed, she recalled the times he’d come to her rescue. She would like to blame him for getting her shot, or not being in the train car when those two robbers had appeared, but in good conscience she could not.
Her anger dissipated. Max was just doing his job. One of the things she liked about him was his noble effort to help those who were in need, so it was illogical to fault him for following his instincts.
She allowed the truth to surface. She wasn’t able to reconcile her feelings for Max with her desire for a career. She thought perhaps she was falling in love with him, and that scared her silly. If she were to sacrifice her independence for a man, she would never fulfill her
dream of a musical career.
The trolley jostled her back and forth as it stopped and then started again, depositing a passenger and picking up several fares. Abby glanced around, realizing she had ridden into the downtown area of Denver. There was a hustle and bustle of humanity on the streets and boardwalks. Ladies shopped in a wide variety of stores and men were doing their fair share of purchasing at such stores as Jensen Bliss & Co. Hardware.
She sympathized with one man, handkerchief wrapped under his chin and knotted atop his head, holding his cheek as he entered a dentist’s office. Though he looked comical, he surely must be in pain.
The horse-drawn trolley turned a corner, and Abby noticed a tall man exiting the doors of the fashionable Charpiot’s Hotel.
“Max!” she shouted, yanking the bell rope to indicate she wanted to get off. When the driver didn’t stop right away, she pulled on the rope again.
“Hold your horses, missy,” he grumbled.
The trolley hadn’t fully stopped when Abby jumped off, hiking up her skirts in an unladylike fashion as she hurried to catch Max.
She lost him momentarily until she stepped onto the boardwalk, hopping up and down to see over the tops of the other shoppers. Once she spied his hat, she hurried along the wooden platform, her booted heels clicking.
“Excuse me,” she said when she nearly ran over a matronly lady with her arms full of parcels.
“Pardon.” She didn’t look at the person she bumped with her elbow. If she took her eyes off the hat in front of her, she would lose sight of him. She was just about upon him when he stepped into the street.
Unrelenting, she hurried across the dusty thoroughfare, dodging more than one horse and buggy in her haste.
“Max!” She touched his arm just as they reached the other side. “Oh, I’m…yes, it is you.” For a moment when he turned, Abby thought she had the wrong man. He wore boots and a wide-brimmed hat, open-collared shirt and had a kerchief tied around his neck. A long coat with a cape about the shoulders completed his disguise. She had seen many men in Denver dressed in a similar fashion. Libby had said most were miners or cattlemen.
“If this is another of your disguises, I must say it’s not very good.”
“I beg your pardon, miss?” Max took her elbow and moved her onto the boardwalk away from the traffic.
“Though you do look quite…uncivilized, I don’t think a change of clothes will be enough to disguise you.”
He gave her quite a strange look before answering. “People usually see what they want to see, so any change of character can be effective, Miss—”
Abby was bumped by the crowd and suddenly realized that Max didn’t want to claim recognition, in case the killer happened to be close by. She gave an anxious glance around them.
“Abigail O’Brien, sir.” She decided to play her role. “I am sorry. I mistook you for a friend of mine.”
“Friend? This Max fellow?”
“Yes, Maxwell Grant,” she whispered his name.
A look of surprise came over him. “Max is—?” he began, then looked quickly about before taking her arm and leading her off the pathway and into an alley.
“Look, you must go back to—”
“—to your aunt’s house?” she finished for him. Max was acting very peculiar, even pretending not to be himself. Though Abby didn’t want to reveal his cover, she hesitated to leave him alone. Something was not exactly right about this.
“Yes, yes, back to Aunt Elizabeth’s. But don’t mention that you’ve seen me here.”
“I don’t understand. You know I want to help.”
He looked at her and his eyes gentled, their blue much lighter than she remembered. “You know, I think you might be exactly what Max…what I need, Abigail O’Brien.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear you finally admit it,” she responded. “Now, what must we do?”
He pursed his lips, not speaking for a moment. Then he took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Keep watch from here. Don’t turn around, but shout at me if you see anything suspicious.” He released her.
Abby felt awkward standing on the edge of the alley facing the street, trying not to look conspicuous. “How will I know if something looks suspicious?”
Silence met her question. She assumed she wasn’t supposed to speak, but wondered what he was doing in the alley behind her. She shifted from foot to foot as several minutes passed.
“Psst.” She signaled over her shoulder, trying not to turn around too far. When no one answered, she tried again. “Max?”
Silence.
Abby turned to peer into the shadowed alley. It was totally empty, save a few wooden crates stacked against one wall.
“Well, drat!” Her anger rekindled. He’d played her for a fool and left her standing alone on a street corner. Just wait until she got her hands on him.
* * *
“Enter,” Max answered the knock on the study door. He’d taken over his uncle’s room as a center for his investigations. He now sat behind the massive oak desk mapping his strategy.
A young boy bowed slightly as he stopped just inside the door.
“Madame said I was to make report to you, sir.”
Max looked up. “You must be Hickory’s nephew.”
“Yes, sir.” The youth pulled off his cap.
“Well, what have you got to report?”
“The lady—Miss O’Brien—she stopped to talk to a man. At first I thought the fella was you, but there was something different.”
“Different? What do you mean?” Max felt his stomach begin to churn.
“Can’t say for sure, sir. Weren’t close enough to hear, either. He was dressed passing strange, with a big hat like them cattlemen wear.”
“Did he have a scar across his face?” Max ran a finger down his own face to indicate what he meant. It would be just like Abby to blithely walk up to Dillon if she spied him and start talking, asking him questions that would give away the game.
Adam rapidly shook his head. “No, sir. Like I said, he looked ’xactly like you, but different.”
“Monty.” No wonder Max had been edgy lately. He subconsciously sensed that his twin was near, but hadn’t paid attention to his intuition. He’d been too intent on tracking Dillon.
“You’ve done well today, Adam. Thank you for your diligence.”
The youth grinned at the praise, white teeth flashing against dark skin.
“Would you please ask your uncle to see me?” Max dismissed the boy with a nod. Hickory had his own network of associates and Max knew once he gave the word, they would be put to work locating Monty. It was about time he discovered what the hell was going on.
* * *
Abby restlessly brushed her hair, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She made a face. Her hair was the bane of her existence, and tonight the firelight seemed to highlight the red more than usual. Normally she didn’t take much stock in appearances and considered a person’s worth measured in how they acted rather than what they looked like.
Which brought her thoughts back to Max, even though she’d tried diligently not to think of him. He’d still been gone when she’d returned to the house, but Libby assured her he was no longer angry. Of course, Abby didn’t mention she’d seen him downtown, for she respected his requests even if she was still mad at him.
The entire afternoon didn’t make any sense. First, Max had behaved rather rudely when he’d seen Mr. Stanwick. Abby thought perhaps he was jealous, but dismissed that as ridiculous. Especially since later, when she’d seen him in front of the hotel, he acted like he didn’t even recognize her, much less want to spend time with her. On top of everything, he’d sneaked off without even saying good-bye. It was very odd, indeed.
She picked up her little medicine horse, gently stroking the smooth side with her thumb in an effort to calm her conflicting emotions. She cupped the talisman between both hands, closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. She really should have finished M
argaret Fuller’s book on transcendentalism. Of course, she hadn’t had conflict until Max entered her life.
Knowing she would never sleep until she’d spoken to him, she took her robe from a nearby chair and slipped her arms into the silk. Tying the belt tightly around her waist, she opened the door to the hallway, the wall lamps illuminating her way. She padded barefoot along the carpeted corridor, worrying her bottom lip. What excuse could she use to visit his room at this hour of the night?
Perhaps he would just kiss her. That would clarify her opposing emotions, and she wouldn’t have to say anything.
* * *
Who the devil was knocking at his door at midnight? Max glanced at his recently discarded clothes. He pulled on a robe to cover his nakedness.
“What can you possibly want—” His voice trailed off. A vision in mint green silk stood on the threshold of his bedroom. Had she known how desperately he wanted to see her when he’d returned from a meeting with Hickory’s associates? He had longed to discuss his findings with her and to seek her advice.
Now, he forgot all that as his body became aware of hers. The soft light from the hall candles made her hair crackle like fire. His gaze swept the length of her. She must not have any idea how little the soft green silk did to conceal the curve of her breasts or the flair of her hips. He became even more aware of his own nakedness beneath his robe and the aching throb of his loins.
“I…I’m sorry about the theater tonight,” she said.
For the life of him, Max had no idea to what she referred. His gaze slowly lifted from the movement of her breasts to her face.
“Theater?”
She waved her hands randomly as though trying to pick the appropriate words out of the air. He thought she looked especially delightful when she was flustered.
“Yes, you know. You asked your aunt and me to attend?”
He took one waving hand and pulled her into the room. He swung the door closed behind her. At the click of the latch, Abby looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.
Song of My Heart Page 14
