by Jo Goodman
“The murders were very different. Whoever used the knife on Nat Church was careful, cold, and deliberate. The murderer struck quickly and disappeared. He had probably moved on before Church even knew he’d been stabbed.”
Raine glanced at the overturned photographs. “There was nothing careful or cold about Emily’s murder. I’m not sure any longer that it was deliberate. Everything about it was…” She bit her lower lip, thinking. “Everything about it was hot. What was done to Emily was done in a rage. He lingered afterward, I think, because he didn’t know what to do. Perhaps he was even surprised by what he’d done.”
Kellen’s eyebrows lifted. “I don’t disagree with you, but you remember you’re talking about Clay Burdick, don’t you?”
“I remember. I’m trying to understand what happened. I can’t think when I’m in a rage of my own, and it would be so very easy to summon that kind of terrible anger right now.”
“All right.” He squeezed her shoulders lightly. “Then help me understand how Mr. Weyman figures into all of this. I’m confident he was killed because he was in the wrong place that night. I can imagine that he might have witnessed something going on between Emily and Clay that moved him to interfere. That would have been reason enough for Clay to kill him.”
“What is it that you don’t understand?”
“It doesn’t seem likely that Clay would bother to go to Weyman’s room to clean it out. So how did Mr. Weyman’s bags end up with him in the water tank?”
“Oh, that. There’s a surprisingly simple explanation. I think Mr. Weyman was running out on me.”
“Running out? You mean he was trying to avoid paying his bill?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it only just occurred to me. I do the books for the saloon regularly, but I only squared the hotel accounts the other day. I thought Sue took his last payment. She thought Walt did. It took some time to get to the bottom of it. I think he might have used the last of his funds to pay back a gambling debt to Jack Clifton. There was some talk about him owing money before he disappeared, but I didn’t think much of it. There’s always card money owed to someone.”
“So Weyman was running out, bags in hand. Bad luck, bad timing, he surprises Clay Burdick in the alley. He sees Clay with Emily, or maybe Emily wasn’t even there yet, but seeing Clay is a problem for both men. Clay doesn’t want anyone to know he’s in town, and Weyman doesn’t want anyone to know he’s ducking the bill. Clay solves the problem by coercing Weyman up the outside stairs to the roof, killing him, and disposing of the body and bags in the water tank. Rabbit and Finn probably saw Phantom while Clay was on the roof. They said they didn’t see anyone else, so it seems more likely that Emily was not around yet.”
“Or,” said Raine, “she was already trussed and tucked away.”
Chapter Fifteen
Raine turned restlessly in her sleep, waking Kellen when she jammed a knee against his groin. Grunting softly, he slipped his hand between what was important to him and her knee and gingerly eased Raine away. She flung an arm sideways, which he deflected with his palm. Before she tried to kick or clobber him again, Kellen turned her over so all of her weapons were pointed in the opposite direction. He slipped his arm around her waist, not to secure her, but to anchor himself.
Before he met Raine, he thought of himself as something of an explorer, an adventurer perhaps, a traveling man, not searching for a particular thing but searching for meaningful things. He never once thought he was adrift. Now he wondered again if he hadn’t been exactly that. How else to explain that he felt settled when he was with her?
Raine settled him. The revelation was that he had no intention of fighting it. He wanted to be with her. It was his choice, and it felt profoundly right. He loved her. It astonished him that it had ever been a question in his mind. What had once seemed outside his experience was now the whole of it. If he had opened himself to the possibility of love, he might have recognized the first stirrings when he read her letters. He had respected her then, admired her courage and resolve, saw qualities of compassion and thoughtfulness in her writing that made him want to know the woman, but he hadn’t been thinking about love.
He had been thinking about what she wanted, and if he could fill those scuffed brown boots with the tarnished silver spurs. Whether Raine understood it or not, whether she could admit it or not, when she went looking for a hired gun, she hadn’t really gone looking for the man on the train with the marshal’s badge and the shoes that were polished to a military shine. She had gone looking for the renegade hero in the dime novels. Her practical sensibilities had lost some ground to her romantic ones.
The irony, Kellen thought, was that he only had himself to blame.
He brushed his lips against her hair. “I do love you.”
She whispered back, “Tell me something about you that I don’t know.”
He didn’t. Couldn’t, just then. He made love to her instead. Slowly. Carefully. Taking his time to appreciate all the parts he loved. The faint blue webbing at the backs of her wrists. The soft underside of her jaw. The sweet curve of her bottom. He tasted her, sipping the skin at the base of her neck as though it were a delicacy. He made her moan, made her whimper, and he liked the sounds she made, even the ones that never made it past her throat but stayed there when her breath hitched.
He was gentle until she asked him not to be. The restlessness that accompanied her into sleep now guided her lovemaking. She wanted her hands on him, to feel him under her. She needed to touch and be touched, to know a firm hand. She told him that, bringing his palm to her breast and pressing it hard against her skin. She loved his mouth on her, but she wanted his teeth.
They skimmed the surface of carnal violence. She pressed her nails into his shoulders and left white crescent brands on his skin. The hot suck of his lips on her breast made her think she would come out of her skin. When his teeth closed over her nipple and tugged, she was sure she had. She pushed the heels of her hands against his chest and urged him onto his back. She shed the sheet clinging to her shoulders, hiked up her shift, and straddled him. He rested his hands on her thighs as she rose and then lowered herself onto him. His fingers folded into fists. He sucked in a breath, held it, and waited for her to take all of him inside her. The breath he finally released was as relieved as it was ragged. Inklings of pleasure thickened his blood, sharpened his senses, and fogged his brain.
Raine’s shift slipped over one shoulder. Kellen watched it slide away, and his eyes were drawn back to the slope, the defined collarbone, and the smooth expanse of creamy skin it left in its wake. He touched her breast through the soft cotton, traced the damp circle he’d made earlier with the press of his lips and tongue and teeth. She leaned forward, let him glimpse the curve of her naked breast, and then drew back, teasing him with the elegant, nimble grace of a wood nymph.
Raine rose and fell, rose and fell, moved by the pulse of her own blood. She contracted around him, lifting slowly, making him groan. She smiled, liking the sound of it, liking that she could pleasure him. When he palmed her buttocks and squeezed, she rode him harder.
The delicious tension that was always there when he filled her stretched all of her muscles taut. She ran her hands over his chest, felt his hard belly retract under her fingertips. She watched him clench his jaw, arch his neck. He drove his heels into the mattress. The bed shuddered. He lifted himself, lifted her, and she fell forward as he drove himself into her.
He shuddered. A moment later, so did she.
Raine collapsed. She didn’t have far to fall, but she felt as if she were falling forever. She pressed her face into the curve of Kellen’s neck and shoulder. She breathed deeply. He smelled of leather and sex. Her nostrils flared, and she burrowed deeper. His arms came around her, kept her close, steadied her. She hadn’t known she needed a steady hand until she felt his, and then she was glad for it.
He had always been able
to seduce her with his calm.
Kellen rubbed her back from shoulder to hip and kept doing it until she stirred, stretched, and finally slid away from him. He turned on his side, propping his head on his arm when she rolled onto her back.
“And I was sure you were sleeping,” he said.
“You think too loudly for me to sleep properly.”
He smiled crookedly. “Do I?”
“Adam snored. Ellen and I could hear him all the way over in our rooms. You think like that. Lots of rattling.”
Kellen chuckled. “I’ll try to do it more quietly from now on.”
Raine leaned over, kissed him on the lips, and then rolled out of bed. Her shift floated past her knees as she padded to the bathing room. Kellen took her place when she came out, and she was deeply cocooned in the covers when he returned to bed.
“You have to share,” he told her.
“I don’t, but I will.” She tugged and wriggled and gave him at least a third of the blankets. He had to get the remainder of his heat from her, and that suited her just fine. And if she correctly interpreted the laughter that rumbled in his chest, he wasn’t much bothered by it either.
Carrying his notebook, spare pencils, and a dozen copies of Nat Church and the Chinese Box, Kellen made his rounds the following morning. After having a word with Walt, he stopped by the land office and spoke to Harry Sample away from his cousin about the purchase of government land around Hickory Lake. Kellen scribbled notes, but when he left, he tucked them into one of the dime novels and gave it to Harry. He interviewed Dave Rogers, Mr. Stillwell’s apprentice at the barbershop, and left his notes and a novel in Dave’s hand along with two bits for the haircut and shave. He found three more members of Ellen Wilson’s jury working at the stationhouse restaurant. He spoke to them while they cleaned up after serving a crowd of hungry, weary passengers from the eleven o’clock train out of Denver. When he left, Terrence McCormick, Dick Faber, and Paul Reston were all gripping the latest Nat Church novel bookmarked with the notes he’d made while they were talking. Before he left the station, he dropped in on Mr. Collins and chatted a spell. He didn’t leave a second copy of the new Nat Church novel, but he did hand over his notes. Kellen interviewed Richard Allen at the livery, where he was renting a rig from Ed Ransom. Kellen tucked his notes behind the handkerchief in Allen’s vest pocket and laid the novel on the seat of the rig. Howard Wheeler and Jack Clifton weren’t sure they wanted to talk to Kellen about water or ranching or any town business, not if their words were going to show up in a paper the Burdicks could read, but Kellen was patient and promised them they could read what he wrote first. When he left Howard and Jack in Howard’s front parlor, they had his notes in one hand and were thumbing through Nat Church’s latest adventure with the other. The checkerboard between them no longer held their interest.
The only member of the jury that Kellen didn’t speak to was Matt Sharp. He considered leaving the farmer alone but after thinking about it—loudly, he was sure—he decided that Mr. Sharp had at least as much at stake as any of the others. Taking into consideration the location of his land to the lake, the case could be made that he had more.
He rode out to the Sharp farm after lunch and introduced himself. Matt was repairing a wagon wheel and did not look up. Kellen observed large hands and thick forearms. The farmer’s frame was short and sturdy. When he finally glanced in Kellen’s direction, he revealed a square chin with a dimple dead center and dark eyes that were more wary than welcoming.
Kellen left his notebook in his pocket this time. Instead, he offered to hold the wheel steady while Matt hammered the steel rim into place. They talked between hammer blows, and when Matt was finished, they moved to the shelter of the porch and talked some more. Mrs. Sharp came to the door and reprimanded her husband for not inviting their visitor inside. Kellen said he wasn’t staying long and turned down her offer of coffee and a biscuit.
“I can’t promise that it will be tonight or even tomorrow,” Kellen told him when Bea Sharp went back inside and closed the door. “It’s up to you if you want to be there, but you’d have to make the trip every evening until it was done, and it could be dangerous for you to leave your farm. There’s your wife to think of and your children.”
“If I come, it will be because of them,” he said. “And for Lorraine Berry. That’s why I served on the jury.” He lifted his hat, mopped his brow with a kerchief from his pocket, and reset his hat. “It’s why I want to protect what I have. The town’s problem is mine, too. There’s no getting around it.”
“I don’t know who will show,” Kellen said. “Or rather, I know they’ll show. They always do, but whether they’ll come prepared, I can’t say.”
“No one told you that they would help?”
“No. I didn’t ask them to. I left them all an invitation, same as I’m leaving you. They got theirs in writing. Out here, I thought I could do it differently. Come to the Pennyroyal, Mr. Sharp. Shoot for six, or six forty-five.”
Matthew Sharp smiled narrowly. “Do you think they’ll understand, Mr. Coltrane? Could be you’re too clever.”
“They’ll understand the same as you. My interview with them was the frame. The invitation makes the picture clear.”
“I didn’t hear you mention Dr. Kent.”
“I haven’t talked to him. I thought it was better if he came late to the party.”
“Help with the cleanup, you figure?”
Kellen nodded faintly and gave him a copy of Nat Church and the Chinese Box. “That’s what I figure.”
Mrs. Sterling served hearty beef stew and dumplings to the diners at the Pennyroyal that evening. So many regulars came for the meal that she had to make an extra batch of dumplings. She was both flattered and annoyed.
“It’s a Tuesday,” she said to Raine. “Now, Sunday after church I expect a crowd. But Tuesday? Folks need to eat at home.”
“Maybe if you’d marry Jack Clifton, he would take his meals at his kitchen table.”
Mrs. Sterling stopped stirring the stew and slapped the wooden spoon against the edge of the kettle before she shook it at Raine. “He’d probably want me to keep on working and serve him right here. I’ll tell you what would serve him right: cayenne pepper shook all over his stew.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I sure would.” She paused and turned away, making herself busy with the stew once again. “Well, I would if I didn’t think his hoppin’ mad red face would scare off everyone else.”
Raine nodded, relieved that in the end Mrs. Sterling always proved more bark than bite. “I don’t suppose I’ll mention Howard Wheeler then.”
“Better not. He’s another one like his friend.”
Raine simply shook her head. She picked up the teapot to carry it out to Mr. Reasoner, and then set it down again when Walt stomped into the kitchen from the back. He took off his hat, beat the dusting of snow off the brim and crown, and replaced it on his head. He brushed off the shoulders and sleeves of his coat next. Finally, he took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pockets. He sidled closer to the stove but stayed safely out of reach of Mrs. Sterling’s long spoon.
“I knew I smelled stew,” he said, grinning widely. He sniffed the air. “That’s just about the best smell there ever was.”
Mrs. Sterling gave him a flat look. “You’ve been smelling it for the better part of three hours, Walt, because that’s how long I’ve been cooking it. It didn’t just jump in the pot while you were standing outside the door. Where were you anyway? We could have used some help bringing in more chairs and an extra table from the saloon.”
Walt whistled softly. “I thought the dining room looked a mite crowded tonight. Saw it from the street when I came back from the livery. Mr. Coltrane asked me to return his horse, and I got to talkin’ to Ed Ransom about the weather and such.” He shrugged. “Guess I lost some time there with Ed.”
“I’m sure Mr. Ransom appreciated talking about the weather and such,” said Raine.
Mrs. Sterling agreed. “That’s time well spent, Walter, even if I did wonder how you managed to make yourself scarce when I needed you.” She picked up a bowl and spooned a generous helping of stew into it. She frowned at the lone dumpling resting on top and added an extra. “Here you go. Eat up. Now you know we need you to put the chairs and table back after dinner. Don’t disappear.”
Raine cleared a spot at the table for Walt to sit with his bowl. “How long ago did Kellen ask you to take his horse to the livery?”
Walt thought about it while he chewed on a mouthful of stew. “I reckon it’s been a couple hours now.”
“I was upstairs half an hour ago. He wasn’t there.”
Walt had another spoonful of stew halfway to his mouth. “Well, I don’t think he went into the hotel. I recollect him sayin’ something about havin’ to see Dr. Kent.”
“The doctor? Why? Did Kellen say he was hurt?”
“No, ma’am, and he didn’t look hurt either. Leastways, not so’s I could see. No blood or broken bones.”
“Yet,” Raine said under her breath.
“How’s that again, ma’am?”
Mrs. Sterling shook her spoon at Walt. “She’s thinking about bloodying his nose herself.”
“Oh. I see.” Walt shoved a dumpling in his mouth to prevent him from saying the wrong thing.
Raine picked up the teapot. “Is it too much to expect that he’ll learn to tell me where he’s going?”
Mrs. Sterling glanced over her shoulder. “You really want me to answer that?” Raine was already heading for the dining room. Mrs. Sterling gave Walt a knowing smile. “I didn’t think so.”
Raine wended her way around the tables to reach Mr. Reasoner in the corner by the window. She smiled, raising the teapot to show him that she had it. He returned her greeting and pushed his cup and saucer closer to the edge of the table for the pour.
“Mr. Jones?” she asked. “Would you like some also?”
“Coffee for me, thank you. Miss Renee just went to get a fresh pot.”
