The Family Jensen

by William W. Johnstone

  When the door opened, Virginia Barry stood there, a smile of welcome on her lovely face. Her hair was down, in two shining blond wings, and she had traded the more sedate dark blue gown with its long sleeves and high neck for a pale pink dress that left her arms bare except for short, puffy white sleeves. Her shoulders were uncovered, and the dress’s neckline dipped low enough to reveal the twin swells of creamy breasts.

  “Right on time, Mr. Jensen,” she said. “Won’t you come in?”

  It was an invitation most men wouldn’t be able to resist. Matt could have, if it were necessary, but after hearing so much about Cyrus Longacre—all of it bad—he wanted to meet the man for himself.

  That introduction was imminent. As Matt stepped into the room, a man strode toward him, thrust out a hand, and said in a hearty voice, “Mr. Jensen! It’s good to meet you. I’m Cyrus Longacre.”

  Chapter 5

  The railroad man was a solid six-footer, with shoulders broad enough to indicate he had done some physical labor in his life. His strong grip as he shook Matt’s hand was more evidence of that. His face was broad and beefy, with a large nose and a slab of a jaw. Graying sandy hair topped his features. He wore a brown tweed suit, a snowy white shirt, and a silk cravat with a diamond stickpin in it. The pin was probably worth ten times what Matt’s belongings were worth, including his horse and his guns.

  Matt gave him a polite nod. “Hello, Mr. Longacre.”

  “Come in and have a seat. Virginia, if you’d be kind enough to pour us some brandy . . . ?”

  “Of course,” she murmured. “Mr. Jensen, won’t you give me your hat?”

  Matt handed over the Stetson. He was glad she didn’t ask him for his gunbelt. He wouldn’t have given it to her.

  Longacre waved him into a thickly upholstered armchair. Matt looked around as he sat down. They were in a spacious sitting room furnished with several comfortable chairs, a divan, and a dining table covered with a white linen cloth and already set for dinner with crystal, silver, and fine china. A mahogany sideboard sat against one wall. The floor had a thick rug on it, and dark red velvet drapes with gold-tasseled pull cords hung over the windows. Like most fancy hotel rooms, the place had an air of elegance about it, which was the main thing separating it from a sitting room in a high-class whorehouse.

  Longacre sat in a similar armchair on the other side of a spindly-legged table. He reached for a box made of some gleaming dark wood. “Cigar?” He grinned. “I’m told they’re rolled on the thighs of Cuban virgins.”

  “No thanks,” Matt told him. “I’m not much of a smoker.”

  “Your loss.” Longacre took one of the fat cheroots from the box, clipped its end, and struck a match to set it on fire. He blew out a cloud of smoke. “Ah, thank you, my dear,” he said as Virginia brought over a tray with two snifters of brandy on it. She handed one of them to Matt, and as she did so, he thought her fingers pressed warmly against his for a moment longer than they had to.

  “To your health, Mr. Jensen,” Longacre said as he raised his glass. Matt raised his in return and nodded, but he didn’t say anything.

  Longacre took a sip of the brandy and sighed in satisfaction. “Excellent. Much better than what you’d think you could get in a town like this, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’m sure you had it brought in special for you,” Matt said.

  Longacre chuckled. “That’s true. I knew the creature comforts to which a man such as myself is accustomed probably would be sorely lacking here, so I brought my own brandy, my own cigars”—he glanced at Virginia, who stood nearby with a smile on her face—“and other things I would need.”

  “I’ll go down and see about dinner while you gentlemen talk,” she murmured. She set the tray back on the sideboard and left the room.

  Cradling the snifter in his left hand, Longacre leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Shall we speak frankly, Mr. Jensen?”

  “I’d rather you did,” Matt replied honestly.

  “I know you had a run-in with my man Talley earlier today.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And it almost came to gunplay.”

  “Seemed like it might,” Matt allowed.

  “I’m very glad it didn’t. I don’t like it when my employees are forced to kill people.”

  “You’re assuming he would have beaten me to the draw.”

  Longacre smiled. “Judd’s fast with a gun. Very fast.”

  Matt returned the smile and asked, “Fast enough? We can’t really say, can we?”

  Longacre stared coldly at him for a few seconds, then laughed abruptly. “By God, I like you, Jensen! You’ve got the sort of confidence that reminds me of myself when I was a younger man. You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job, would you?”

  “I don’t think Talley would appreciate it too much if you were to hire me,” Matt pointed out.

  Longacre’s rugged face hardened again. “Judd appreciates what I pay him to appreciate. Trust me, if you sign on with me, there won’t be any trouble with him.”

  “What sort of work are we talking about?” Matt asked, even though he knew exactly what Longacre meant.

  Longacre swallowed the rest of his brandy and set the empty snifter on the table next to the cigar box. “You’ve probably heard that I’m bringing the railroad to Halltown. I plan to extend it farther north and west, all the way to the mountains. That’s prime land up there, Jensen . . . cattle, timber, mining. There are fortunes waiting to be made, fortunes, I tell you!”

  Matt nodded. “I believe it.”

  “But whether it’s cattle or lumber or gold and silver ore, it’ll all need to be shipped, and that’s where my railroad comes in.”

  “I don’t know anything about building a railroad,” Matt said. “I can swing a sledgehammer, but that’s about it.”

  “I thought we were going to speak frankly,” Longacre shot back with a frown. “You know good and well what I need. I can get hundreds, thousands, of men to swing sledgehammers and carry rails. I need men to cut through all the problems that rise up and get in my way.”

  “That’s what you have Talley and those other men for.”

  Longacre shrugged. “There are always losses in any campaign, and that’s what building a railroad is like, a military campaign. The railroad advances, and the enemy tries to stop it. You can never have too many good men when you’re going into battle.”

  Longacre put the cigar in his mouth, puffed on it, and leaned back in his chair again, clearly satisfied that he’d had his say.

  There was no chance in hell Matt would ever work for a man like Longacre. He was debating whether or not to tell that to the railroad baron when Virginia Barry came back into the suite, followed by a couple waiters carrying big silver trays.

  “Dinner is served, gentlemen,” Virginia announced, allowing Matt to postpone his next move.

  In fact, Longacre grinned and said, “We can finish our talk later, Jensen. Never allow business to interfere with a good meal, eh?”

  “Sounds like words to live by,” Matt agreed with a nod.

  The waiters set the food on the table, filled the glasses with wine, and then withdrew. Longacre held one of the chairs for Virginia, then took the one at the head of the table so she was seated to his right. Matt was at the other end of the table.

  The food was fairly simple, thick steaks, potatoes, greens, but very good and excellently prepared. “Not the sort of meal you’d get in New Orleans or San Francisco,” Longacre commented, “but probably the best you can expect in a place like this.”

  “Better than beans, bacon, and biscuits out on the trail,” Matt said. “That’s what I’ve been eating.”

  To tell the truth, he would have preferred one of those rough meals to sharing a table with Cyrus Longacre. Virginia Barry was a mighty pretty dinner companion, though, so he supposed he could put up with Longacre for a while.

  The wine was good, too, but Matt just sipped it. He’d already had that drink with Colin Ferg
uson and the brandy before the meal. He didn’t want his brain to get muddled. He didn’t trust Longacre and knew he needed to remain alert for some sort of trick.

  Longacre appeared to have been sincere with that offer of a job, Matt mused as he ate. It was one way men like Longacre operated. Figure out who might provide some opposition and get those men on your side to start with. Longacre had probably pulled that off plenty of times in the past.

  He hadn’t been dealing with Matt Jensen then. Matt wasn’t going to be fooled, and he wasn’t going to be bought off.

  But it woudn’t hurt to pretend to play along, until he was sure just how much of a threat Longacre really represented.

  When they were finished with the meal, Longacre leaned back in his chair and fired up another cigar. “Now that you’ve had some time to think about it, what do you say, Matt? How would you like to throw in with me? You won’t regret it, I promise you.”

  Matt knew better. If he ever allied himself with a man like Longacre, he would never know another peaceful night’s sleep. His dreams would be haunted by the way he had sullied himself.

  But he put a smile on his face and said, “I’d like to ponder it a little more, if that’s all right with you, Mr. Longacre.”

  Matt saw the quick flash of anger in the railroad baron’s eyes, but Longacre controlled the reaction almost instantly and managed to smile in return. “Of course,” he said with an expansive wave of his hand. “I don’t want to rush you”—his voice hardened slightly—“but don’t take too long to make up your mind. You know how opportunities are . . . they present themselves, and then they move on.”

  Matt nodded. “I’ll let you know by tomorrow evening.”

  “That’s fine.” Longacre got to his feet. He clamped the cigar between his teeth and said around it, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some work I really need to tend to. I have one of the rooms in this suite set up as an office. Building a railroad is a complicated business, you know.”

  “Sure, I understand.” Matt started to get up, too.

  Longacre motioned him back into his chair. “No, no, there’s still some wine in the bottle. Why don’t you and Virginia finish it off at your leisure?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jensen,” Virginia put in with a smile. “Once Cyrus starts working, he’s not very good company for the rest of the evening.”

  Curious as to what they were trying to do, Matt settled back in his chair. “All right. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m positive.” Longacre went over and stood behind Virginia’s chair, leaning down to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, my dear.”

  “Good night, Cyrus,” she said, but her blue eyes were still on Matt.

  Longacre turned to Matt and held out his hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Matt.”

  “Likewise,” Matt lied as he shook with the man.

  Longacre went through one of the doors that opened off the sitting room and closed it firmly behind him, leaving Matt and Virginia alone.

  She reached for the bottle of wine. “Let me refill your glass.”

  Matt nodded his thanks, but took only a small sip.

  Cradling her own glass in her hands, Virginia said, “So Cyrus offered you a job.”

  Matt nodded. “That’s right.”

  “I thought he might. He was impressed when he heard about the way you stood up to Judd Talley.”

  “I’d think that would make him mad, since Talley works for him.”

  “That’s because you don’t know Cyrus. He appreciates daring and resolve. When he looks at a man who’s determined, it reminds him of himself.”

  “He said pretty much the same thing to me,” Matt told her. “I’m not sure it would work out. I reckon Talley wouldn’t be happy about it.”

  “Judd Talley is an uncultured brute,” Virginia said without hesitation. “He’s a blunt instrument, nothing more. You don’t have to worry about him.”

  “And I’m just a drifter, what most folks would call a saddle tramp.” Matt smiled. “I’m not all that cultured myself.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. I find you quite intriguing.” Virginia looked directly at him. “I hope you take that job.”

  “Why?”

  She looked down at the table when Matt asked her that blunt question, and a faint rosy tinge crept over her face and neck. “Because it would mean that I’d have a chance to see a lot more of you,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Matt stood up and came around the table toward her. She stood up to meet him, and when she raised her eyes to his, they had that bold fire in them again. He reached up and rested his hands on her shoulders, feeling the smooth warmth of her bare flesh under his fingers.

  She didn’t resist at all when he drew her toward him, leaned down, and kissed her.

  All the passionate urgency he could have asked for was there as she sagged against him and her hands clutched at his broad chest. Her lips were warm and alive and compelled him to continue kissing her. She was so pliant he had no doubt that he could have done anything he wanted with her.

  And it was all a lie. He knew that as well as he knew his own name.

  Virginia was just one more payoff from Cyrus Longacre, one more incentive not to take the opposing side in any trouble. If Longacre was that desperate, Matt thought, he must have plans looming that he believed might cause open warfare to break out across that part of Nevada. Matt was more convinced than ever that Longacre needed to be stopped.

  He broke the kiss. “I really ought to go.”

  “You don’t have to,” Virginia replied in a voice husky with passion.

  Maybe it wasn’t completely feigned after all, Matt told himself . . . but it didn’t really matter either way. “I’ll be seeing you again,” he promised as he slipped out of her embrace. “After all, I promised Mr. Longacre I’d give him a decision by tomorrow night.”

  “I hope it’s the right one.”

  It would be, Matt thought . . . but it wouldn’t be the one she and Longacre wanted.

  Leaving the rest of the wine where it was, he got his hat from the little table where she had placed it earlier. Virginia stood beside the table, the fingertips of her left hand resting on the snowy cloth and her right hand pressed lightly to the valley between her breasts. Matt had to admit that she made a lovely picture. Most men wouldn’t be able to walk away from her.

  It wasn’t easy for him, but he managed to smile. “Good night. Please pass along my thanks to Mr. Longacre for his hospitality.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Good night, Matt.”

  He got out of there while he could, easing the door closed behind him. He paused in the corridor and took a deep breath that he blew back out in a long sigh. He could still taste the hot sweetness of Virginia’s lips on his.

  By the time he reached the street, the more pragmatic side of his nature had taken over. He chuckled. Longacre had wined and dined him, then played a trump card by practically throwing Virginia at him. It wasn’t going to work, but you had to give the man credit for trying, Matt thought. He grunted and started walking toward the Ferguson Hotel.

  He had reached the hotel porch when he paused to look across the street toward the mercantile, which was closed for the night. The building was dark and locked up.

  Matt immediately tensed and thought something was wrong when he saw a brief, sudden flare of light through the window in one of the doors.

  Someone had struck a match inside the mercantile.

  Chapter 6

  Matt didn’t hesitate. His instincts told him something was wrong, and he had learned—Smoke had taught him—to trust his instincts. He loped quickly across the street toward the darkened mercantile.

  He didn’t head for the front door, which he was sure would be locked. If somebody was in there who wasn’t supposed to be, as seemed likely, that person had probably gone in through the back. Matt hurried toward the alley that ran alongside the building.

  As he ran, he saw a flare of light from the corner of his
eye and paused for a second. He watched as a tongue of flame suddenly licked upward in the darkened store. That was all the evidence he needed to know what was going on. He palmed his Colt from its holster as he bellowed, “Fire! Fire!”

  Then, gun in hand, he plunged into the shadowchoked passage beside the mercantile.

  He was lucky he didn’t run into anything or trip on some trash as he dashed toward the rear of the building. He reached the corner just as several dark figures spilled from an open back door. One of them looked big enough to be Judd Talley, but there wasn’t enough light for Matt to be sure. He brought up the .44 and shouted, “Hold it!”

  A couple of the figures twisted toward him. Colt flame bloomed in the darkness, and Matt felt the wind-rip of a bullet’s passage close beside his ear. His own revolver roared and bucked in his hand as he triggered a pair of swift shots. One of the men yelled and crumpled, but the other stayed on his feet and fired again. A bullet tugged at the side of Matt’s shirt.

  Matt squeezed off another shot and saw the second gunman go over backward like he’d been slapped down by a giant hand. That left the biggest of the trio, but he wasn’t putting up a fight. He was running away. Matt was about to squeeze off a shot when the man abruptly disappeared around the far corner of the building. Matt grimaced and held his fire. No point in wasting a bullet.

  He had a more pressing problem. Those men had set a fire inside the mercantile, and it had already had a minute or so to catch hold. He ran to the door, hurdling the body of one of the men he had shot, and raced inside.

  The smell of smoke was already thick in the air. Garish, flickering light from the flames spilled through an open doorway, revealing that he was in some sort of storeroom. He hurried through the door and found himself behind the counter. The floor in front of the counter was on fire. The reek of coal oil mingled with the choking, eye-stinging smoke. Without slowing down, Matt pouched his iron, put a hand on the counter, and vaulted over it to land beside the flames, which jumped at him hungrily and assaulted him with heat.

  A stack of blankets sat on a shelf nearby. Matt grabbed one of them, shook it out, and started slapping at the burning floor with it. The men must have poured a pool of coal oil in front of the counter, so fiercely was it burning, and they had scattered more of the stuff around the store, but the flames hadn’t reached the rest of the oil yet. If Matt could put out the fire, the mercantile might be saved.