by Sara Orwig
“You’re going with me.”
“You would have me tell him no after saying yes?”
“I would.”
She flashed him a smile. “Perhaps this once, Reuben!”
He studied her, burning desire plain in his expression. “Good, Louisa,” he whispered, running his finger down her throat and letting his hand slide along the plunging neckline of her dress. His fingers were warm, tantalizing, and she wanted to close her eyes and let him fondle her, aching for more, but she knew she shouldn’t. For an instant she yielded to the sensations his caress stirred; then she caught his wrist and looked up at him.
“This is scandalous, Reuben!” she exclaimed, and flounced past him into the hall, turning for the front parlor. He was at her side in seconds.
“There’s no need to run,” he drawled. “Calm yourself or they will take one look at you and know what you’ve been doing.”
She slowed her walk to a sedate pace, regaining her composure and smiling up at him. “They’ll think I’ve been showing you a rifle.”
He laughed and tucked her arm in his as they rejoined the party. Within minutes she stood in a cluster of men again, Reuben at her side as they talked.
She moved where she could cast surreptitious glances at Dan Castle, but she couldn’t ever catch him looking her way. Exasperated, she turned her back, and before long guests were taking their leave. The next time she glimpsed Dan Castle, he was at the door with his coat in hand, bidding good night to her parents. She gazed at him, and his head turned. He winked and was gone.
It was so swift, she almost wondered if she had imagined the wink—and, if it was real, had it been intended as a silent message to her?
When the last guest was gone, she stood beside her parents in the hallway.
“Did you like my new customer, Mr. Castle?” her father asked.
“Mr. Castle?” Louisa tried to sound unconcerned. “Oh, yes. He was nice.”
“I think he found you nice too,” her father said dryly. “He asked if he could call on you tomorrow.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I said yes, of course. Every other eligible young man in Denver calls on you.”
“Charles, is that wise?” his wife asked. “From what I understand, he’s quite new in town. How well do you know him?”
“I know him many thousand dollars well. The man has a fortune in the bank.”
“And how did he earn it?” Hortense Shumacher asked, her pale brow furrowing. Louisa studied herself in the hall mirror, smoothing her braids, waiting to hear her father’s answer.
“In gold. He found a vein in Montana Territory. And he’s got a career ahead of him. He’s a builder, and they say he’s good. He’s building his own house on Sherman, and they say it will be something to see, one of the best in Denver.”
“He’s seems terribly young. And there are some lovely homes here now.”
“We’re going to have a lot more,” Charles said solemnly. “We’re growing. And I think Dan Castle is going to grow with Denver. Besides, he’ll keep Reuben on his toes.”
“Papa, you always worry about Reuben. I’m not ready to settle down with him,” Louisa protested, although the exact same thought had crossed her mind.
“I don’t suppose you are,” her father answered dryly. “Especially since he hasn’t asked for your hand.”
“When I marry, it will have to be a man who can give me the opportunities my parents have,” she said, kissing his cheek. She turned to study herself in the mirror, smoothing a lock of hair. “I want to be a leader in town. I already am, with my group of friends. I want society to follow in my footsteps.”
“You have lofty ambitions, Louisa,” her mother said.
Charles Shumacher smiled and put his arm around her waist, standing beside her and gazing at her fondly in the mirror. “I’m glad you have lofty ambitions. I want my little girl to marry a man who can give her more than her papa did. I hope you do lead Denver society.”
“Charles, you put ideas in her head! And if that is what you want, then you had better smile more often at Reuben Knelville. His family is one of the wealthiest here.”
“Mother’s right,” Charles said, becoming somber. “The Knelvilles are wealthy, and Reuben is a shrewd young man. He’ll go far.”
“I’m not ready to settle yet with Reuben.”
“Perhaps that’s a good thing, since he hasn’t asked for your hand,” Leonard repeated dryly, moving toward the staircase.
Ignoring her father’s reply, she turned to her mother. “Mama, next time there’s a new man in town, don’t seat me beside him at a dinner party. It appears I arranged it.”
“Nonsense!” Charles said from the steps.
“I told you, Charles, we shouldn’t put the child next to him.”
“Mama, please. I’m not a child.”
“He couldn’t possibly think you arranged the seating,” Charles went on, unperturbed, “because the two of you had never met until tonight.”
“I hope you’re right,” Louisa said, turning away to go upstairs to bed, mentally comparing Reuben Knelville to Dan Castle.
Dan rode toward his hotel in euphoria over Louisa Shumacher. He could remember everything about her: her thick black lashes that framed her luminous eyes…He glanced up a side street and saw a young girl trying to avoid the dark shadows of the buildings as she walked toward a saloon. He tugged on the reins and slowed his horse, knowing the child shouldn’t be on the streets at such a time, suspecting she might not be warmly clothed for a snowy night either. She carried a large crooked stick in her hand, but little good it would do her against a man. Dan guessed she had been sent to fetch a drunken father, and he watched her progress, wondering if she would wander on beyond the blocks of saloons to the shanties at the end of the street.
He saw he was right when she stopped and moved close to the lighted window of a saloon to gaze inside, as if searching for someone. As he rode past, she was lost to sight. He tried to get his thoughts back on Miss Shumacher and forget the child, but his conscience nagged at him. No waif should be out in the snow at this hour, searching taverns for a drunken father. With a sigh, silently calling himself a fool for meddling in another’s business, even if she was a child in need of help, he turned the horse and went around the block. Back on the street of saloons, he saw her another block up the street, gazing into a window. He turned his horse in a wide circle and had started down the street toward her when two men emerged from the saloon and began talking to her.
She fled, and they raced after her. Dan yanked on his reins, vaulted down from the seat, and ran toward them as they grabbed her and pulled her into a darkened alley between saloons.
“Hey!” He knew his yell was probably drowned out by music from the saloons. He hadn’t worn his revolver since his first week in Denver, and he swore as he dashed past a saloon.
With a bellow of pain a man flung out of the alleyway into the snow. Another followed, careening into Dan and knocking him aside.
“Hey! Damnit!” Dan shoved past him and raced around the corner. Something hit him in the middle with a resounding blow that doubled him over. He glanced up to see the waif with the knotty club raised in her hands, and he lunged forward, tackling her, his arms locking around her middle. Both of them catapulted back into the snow as she came down with the club, striking his head and shoulder.
He yelled with pain as the club went flying. He felt as if he had wrapped his arms around a wildcat. She kicked and bit and fought and scratched until his anger exploded and he shoved her down, sitting astride her flailing body, pinning her arms, astounded at her strength.
“Dammit! I’m trying to rescue you.”
“Go to hell, mister! I didn’t ask for your help!”
He recognized her voice and the faint Irish brogue. “Holy hell. Mary Katherine O’Malley!”
6
“Who’re you?” a stunned voice asked, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours Dan found
himself on top of a female in the snow. Only this one wasn’t as round and soft as the other. She felt tiny and frail. A total illusion.
“I’m Dan Castle,” he said dryly, standing up and pulling her to her feet. He rubbed his shoulder. “If I had known,” he said almost to himself, “I’d have ridden like the demons of hell were after me. Did you hit those men with the club too?” he asked, looking at the thick gnarled club in the snow.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding truly contrite as she retrieved the club. “Are you hurt badly?”
“I’m going to live,” he said, touching the side of his head gingerly and pulling away his hand covered with warm blood.
“Oh, my goodness, you’re bleeding!”
“Your goodness is not the way I would describe the past few minutes,” he snapped, and fished in his pocket for a handkerchief.
“I’m sorry. I thought you were one of them. Why are you always around when I’m in trouble?”
“That’s a question I was just asking myself,” he said. “Damn, I can’t find my handkerchief.”
“Here’s my muffler. Maybe we should get you to the doctor. You might need to be sewed up.”
“No, I don’t need to be sewed up!”
He felt dizzy, and it added to his anger. “If there is one thing from this night I hope I learn, it’s to mind my own business!” She took his arm and they staggered through the snow back to the street. Yellow light spilled from the frosty saloon window; muted music and laughter could be heard. “What the hell were you doing? Hunting for your drunken father?” He turned to confront her, and gazed down into a face filled with fear. His anger fled.
“I’m sorry. Can’t you find your father?” he asked gently.
“I’m not looking for Pa. I’m looking for Brian,” she said, a distraught note coming to her voice. “My little brother.”
“You think he’s in a saloon?”
“I don’t know.” He heard the uncertainty in her voice, watching her lift her chin, and he had to admire her. “I would feel terrible if you had an ugly scar,” she said. “Please, let me go with you to see Doc Felton. He stays up all hours of the night. He isn’t married and he plays keno at the Lazy Dog until after two in the morning. You should have told me who you were.”
“I didn’t exactly have time.” In his two brief encounters with her, she had managed to get under his skin and work on him like a thorn. Minutes before, his sympathy had been stirred; now annoyance returned. “What about your brother?” he asked.
A frown creased her wide brow. As she glanced toward the light, he was afforded a clear look at her profile. With a furry cap fastened around her face, her severe hairdo and plain clothes hidden, he saw she had pretty features, with thick eyelashes he hadn’t noticed the first time he met her. “He should have been home hours ago,” she said.
“I’ll help you find him.”
“You don’t need to do that, and besides, you’re bleeding.”
“Head wounds bleed, and I’ll be all right. I’ve been hit in the head before.” But never by a waif who shouldn’t be able to kill a fly, he thought, studying her slight figure and wondering how she could wield such a blow. “Where have you looked?”
“All the saloons in the block behind you, and I just looked in this one. He’s not in here.”
“All right. Let’s go look in the next block.”
“Why don’t I take one side of the street, and you take the other?”
“I don’t know what your brother Brian looks like and I don’t think you should wander around alone. I don’t want to have to come to your rescue again.”
“I told you I was sorry. And I’ll take care of your doctor bill.”
“Thank you,” he said, amused by her offer. He took her arm and they moved down the street. “What does Brian look like?”
“Like me. Everyone says we look alike. He has red hair, freckles, and hazel eyes. He’s seventeen years old, and too young to be gambling. Besides, he had chores at home, and he was supposed to return long ago. I sent him to the store, and he was going to see his friend Newton.”
“Have you asked Newton about him?”
“There’s not much use,” she said with a sigh, crunching through the snow. “Newton lives with an uncle who gambles day and night, so he doesn’t care where Newton is or what he does.” They paused in front of a saloon and she rubbed the window, standing on tiptoe to look through a spot that hadn’t frosted over.
“The window isn’t as frosty higher up. Let me hold you up.”
“Oh, no! You needn’t,” she answered, sounding uncertain.
Ignoring her protest, he took the club from her, closed his hands around her waist, and lifted her. She was feather light and she grasped his wrists to steady herself. There was a tiny ledge at the bottom of the window where she could rest her toes. When he was near her, he realized she smelled like roses, and in the middle of winter it gave him a strange yearning for summertime. She was tiny, and he was amused that his holding her flustered her, until he remembered how long Silas had been away and how plain she was. She probably knew next to nothing about men. He glanced up at her, unable to see her face, feeling her fingers clamped tightly around his wrists.
“He’s not here,” she said, and he set her down. Instantly she moved away from him toward the next saloon. In spite of her coat and the lightness of his touch, Mary knew the moment his fingers closed on her arm. He walked beside her and her heart beat rapidly. He made her nervous, and the fact that she had almost split his head open added to her worries, but Brian was the prime concern now, and with each saloon her fear mounted.
They reached the next block, with only three saloons left. Dan held Mary O’Malley high again, where there was a clear circle in the frosty panes.
“I see him! There he is!” Her voice was filled with relief. “Thank you for your help!” she exclaimed when he set her down. She shook his hand vigorously. “Good night to you, sir,” she said, and he heard the faint touch of Irish brogue to the “sir.”
“Wait a minute, Miss O’Malley,” he said, laughing at her instant dismissal of him and finding it strange to address her as Miss O’Malley after listening to Silas calling her Mary. “You can’t go inside a saloon alone at this hour.”
“Oh, I’ve done that before.”
“Wait right here. I’ll go get your brother,” he said firmly, holding her shoulders. “If he really looks like you, I can’t miss him.”
Dan strode inside, wishing he had his six-shooter at this late hour. The saloons at the end of the street were the rowdiest, with the most fights. He paused inside, blinking in the bright lights, his gaze sweeping over the warm, smoke-filled interior. He spotted Brian O’Malley without difficulty. He looked like his sister, and except for broad, bony shoulders, he looked fifteen years old too. Dan’s jaw clamped shut grimly. He didn’t know the age of any of the O’Malley children, but they all needed a ma and a pa who would keep them at home out of trouble. Dan decided he might have a talk with Paddy O’Malley.
As he threaded his way through the crowd, his anger mounted, that the young sapling would gamble and stay out late and worry his sister. He needed his hide tanned for such foolishness. Dan strode up to him without a pause and dropped his hand on Brian’s shoulder.
“Gentlemen, the kid is out past his bedtime, count him out of the game. Brian O’Malley, you belong at home in bed.”
Dan yanked him up by the back of his shirt. There was one moment of stunned shock, and then, if Dan thought he’d had a wildcat in his arms when he tackled Mary, now he felt as if he had yanked a grizzly out of its winter slumber.
Brian O’Malley exploded into fists and feet and teeth until Dan was lifted into the air and tossed out through the front door of the saloon. He sailed over the steps, landing facefirst in the slushy snow, the breath knocked from his lungs.
“Oh, holy saints,” Mary O’Malley mumbled, kneeling beside him, trying to turn him over. “Mister! Oh, saints preserve us! Please answer me! Mi
ster, I’m sorry. Did Brian—”
“Yes, Brian did!” Dan ground out the words. “How old is he?”
“He’s seventeen and a little high-tempered. Let me help you to a doctor.”
“Hell, no.” Dan sat up in the snow and glared at the saloon door.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m just dandy,” he said, standing up, steadying himself by clutching her shoulder while he took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. Throbbing pains seemed to come from several places on his body at once.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Oh, no!” She caught his arm. “Mister, I’ll go get him. You go home before you get killed.” She stomped toward the doors of the saloon, and rage burst in Dan. He caught her shoulders and turned her to face him.
“You wait right here! No seventeen-year-old kid is going to throw me out of a saloon into the snow and get away with it! I’ll bring your brother out.”
“I should have warned you, but I was so relieved to find Brian alive—my brother is scrappy.”
“Yeah. Well, so am I.” Dan stormed past her into the saloon. Heads turned as he crossed the room. Brian O’Malley looked up, saw him coming, and stood up.
“Not again! Haven’t you learned to leave me alone?”
Dan put his head down, lunged, and knocked Brian O’Malley to the table. It crashed to the floor, and several men toppled over and tried to get out of the way while the two fought. Dan pulled back his right arm and threw a punch with all his weight behind it, connecting squarely on Brian’s jaw. It popped Brian’s head back and sent him sprawling over another table. Dan yanked him up, charging to the front door. When he was right in front of the door, Dan stepped back and kicked, his foot landing squarely in Brian’s backside and sending him flying through the door into the snow. Dan followed, to see Brian get up and shake his head, Mary clinging to his arm.
