Yeah, “nice and tidy” translated to “no competition.” Ethan had worked on the U.P. and knew firsthand how ruthless and how greedy they were. He’d just never thought his little line would come under their notice. He was wrong.
“So tell me, Hanscome, before I bother going to the other banks in town—”
Hanscome’s mouth drew down in a frown. “Oh, I wouldn’t bother. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
A plan flashed bright and clear in Ethan’s head, and he smiled. “Actually, you’re right. I do have more important things to do.”
Chapter Twelve
Two men rode in the cab of the sleek black locomotive. It was well past midnight. Slowly, steadily, they moved through the night. Gray smoke drifted upward in the coal-black sky. The rain had slowed to an occasional mist.
Up ahead was Ethan’s destination. He could see it clearly in the light of the three-quarter moon. Otherwise, all was dark and still. There was no guard, no houses or tenements close by that would allow prying eyes to see what was about to happen.
Arms braced, hands gripping the cold steel of the engine cab, he leaned out, feeling the chill rain against his face, sending gooseflesh prickling down his neck.
Muscles tensed, and he said, “That’s it, Bob, about twenty more feet.” The engineer slowed the locomotive to a crawl, steam whooshing out from vents as metal brakes scraped metal wheels. Another few feet. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
They stopped in the yard and Ethan looked out, eyes straining in the darkness, scanning the building for signs of life, of someone working late in the office perhaps. Nothing.
Relieved, he swung down from the cab, landing in a small puddle. Muddy water splashed up against the side of his black trousers.
He wasn’t worried about appearances. He was here to get what was his.
A quick glance at the engineer and he told his old friend, “Keep the pressure up in case we have to leave in a hurry.”
“Just like old times, huh, Major?” Bob replied, a grin on his freckled face. “Don’t worry, me and old Betsy here—” he patted the locomotive affectionately “—won’t let you down.”
Four flat cars were strung out behind the engine; like blue shadows against a black background, they seemed unreal. But they were real. Ethan had called in a few favors. Men he’d known when he worked on the Union Pacific, men who didn’t like to see a fellow railroader in trouble, men like Bob, who’d served with Ethan in the war. It was a nice touch of irony that he was using Union Pacific equipment.
So with a little help, he’d “borrowed” an engine for a couple of days—and flat cars. Workmen, the dozen on the flat cars, he’d hired with the last of the cash he had on him. It was surprising how few questions men asked when money was put on the line.
“All right, boys.” Ethan waved them down to where he stood by the stack of rails. Nice of Mr. Hockmyer to be so considerate as to locate his foundry near a railroad siding.
The rainy mist wafted lightly on the breeze as the men gathered around him. He spoke in a loud whisper. “Quick as you can now, start loading the rails on the cars. You six stay up there to receive the rails.” He motioned toward the flat cars. “You six do the carrying. We’ll switch back and forth every so often.”
“Right.”
“You’re the boss.”
The men started off in the direction of the rails.
Ethan stood guard. His hand rested lightly on his Navy Colt that hung low on his right hip. He was taking what belonged to him—no more and sure as hell no less. He had a contract right here in his vest pocket to prove it, not that he was in the mood to argue the point.
“That’s it boys, keep moving.”
The work was slow and hard. The rails were heavy and harder still to lift up to the men on the flat cars. Metal clinked against metal, the sound seeming to echo through the night like the ringing of a fire bell. Ethan worried that surely someone would hear and wonder what a bunch of men were doing loading railroad ties in the middle of the night.
He strolled toward the front gate, now padlocked against intruders. A smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. This intruder always got what he wanted.
Three days later, a train loaded with rails rolled into camp forty miles south of War Bonnet. Ethan, grinning like a kid who’d just stolen a chunk of rock candy, grabbed the whistle pull cord and let her rip.
The sharp, shrill sound pierced the afternoon like an arrow. Not that anyone wasn’t already keenly aware of the train. Ethan had wired ahead.
“Ethan!” Luke Thompson, the foreman, shouted, waving his hat and running alongside as the train came to a stop. “Hot damn! You did it!”
Steam spouted from the side vents, the roar nearly deafening. Grinning, Ethan swung down and the men exchanged one of those slap kind of hugs that men do sometimes. “Damn straight, I did it.”
It was hard to tell who was grinning more. Ned turned and hollered, “You men, get started with these rails. We’ve got miles to go!”
“Yes, sir!”
Twenty-five track layers hustled to do as they were told. There was loud talking and more shouting, orders given and acknowledged.
The sun was bright and warm, too warm. Ethan snatched off his hat and wiped his face with the curve of his elbow before settling his hat snugly on his head again. “Where’s Billy?” he asked, scanning the area for his partner. “I expected him to be here. I’ve got some news for him.”
“Didn’t you know?” Luke asked, but the engineer laid on the whistle again blocking out whatever Luke was saying.
Ethan winced then grabbed Luke by the arm and led him a few yards away. “Know what?”
Men shouldered past and Ethan and Luke had to dodge the crew.
“Billy,” Luke began, then turned to holler at one of the track layers. “Not there, you idiot! Over there.” He pointed and started away when Ethan snagged him.
“Billy. Where’s Billy?” Ethan demanded, suddenly worried that something was wrong.
“What?” Luke looked momentarily confused then blinked and said, “Oh, he’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
Luke was moving away again. “You men, don’t just stand there. Get those rails down.” He glanced back at Ethan as though he’d just remembered what they were talking about. “Billy left yesterday. Right after your telegram came. He said since you did your job he was gonna do his, whatever that means. He rode out, headed for War Bonnet.”
Ethan made the trip to War Bonnet in record time, assuming someone was keeping score. He’d been gone only ten days but the difference between the town he’d left and this one was nothing short of a miracle.
Everywhere he looked there were people. People on the street. People in wagons. People on horseback. He suspected that Billy had most likely confirmed what they all already knew. The Wyoming Central was close.
He spotted Ed Bartel walking with a young couple in the general direction of those lots he’d red-flagged near the edge of town. Good prospects no doubt. This town would be twice its size come this time next year, if things went well. “Things” meant the railroad.
He wanted to talk to Billy. Actually he wanted to do more than talk. He was intent on telling Billy in no uncertain terms that he, Ethan, would take care of Molly Murphy and getting the land. Ethan knew now that somehow he would make her see that he had to have the land. The trouble would be to make her believe it was the best thing for her. It was, too. He was convinced of that now. No more hesitation. No more excuses. He would make an offer and get the land. She’d said herself that her husband might be dead so then she could sign the deed. If he wasn’t dead, then he’d probably be glad to have the money since he obviously wasn’t interested in ranching.
Wilder, if only it were that simple.
Yeah, he thought, if only it were. If only he didn’t feel…If only she’d never looked at him the way she had that night. If only she hadn’t kissed him back. If only…
The world was filled w
ith too many “if onlys.”
He was actually shaking his head in dismay or disgust, he wasn’t entirely certain, as he made his way along the south side of the street and he had it in his mind to keep on going. Just ride on out there to her place and…and…
What he wanted to do was take her in his arms again and demand to know why she’d kissed him back. What he wanted to know was why he felt this way about a married woman. It was wrong.
He needed to get his feelings under control before he saw her again.
The boardinghouse was up ahead on the right. He figured he’d stop and see if Billy was there. If he was—and Ethan was suddenly very hopeful that was the case—then he could find out what Billy had done or said or offered. He could find out if Molly had sold out to Billy.
Maybe she had.
That thought came as a surprise to him but it was possible. Maybe Billy had convinced her. Maybe she’d agreed and was packing right this minute. Maybe she’d be gone by the time he got there, if he ever got there.
Maybe he’d never see her again.
The sudden cold dread that curled in his chest quickly eased when he spotted her wagon parked in front of the mercantile.
Shifting the reins in his hand, he tied up at the hitching rail. A couple of horseflies buzzed his head and he waved them away as he walked over to inspect the wagon and team. It was hers all right. That new wheel was a dead giveaway.
Molly was here. Just like that, all rage or fear or worry disappeared. Molly was here. The three words were like a salve on a wound.
Molly was here.
Sunlight glinted on the sparkling clean front windows of the store and he had to shade his eyes close to the glass to see inside. He spotted her instantly, there, by the counter talking to Brinsfield. Katie stood close, clinging to her mother’s black skirt.
A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he watched the way the little girl seemed to be playing some game known only to herself, her lips forming words he couldn’t hear while she used the folds of Molly’s skirt like some kind of veil.
Outside a pair of women stopped and looked into the window, also. They spared him a questioning glance as if to ask what he found so interesting.
Ethan straightened. “Ladies,” was all he said as he opened the double doors.
“Now, look, Mrs. Murphy—” Brinsfield broke off in midword.
The wood creaked and the cowbell tied on the inside door handle rattled as Ethan walked in. All heads turned in his direction but he was only looking at one person.
“Hello, Molly.”
A strange sort of silence seemed to engulf the room as Molly and Brinsfield and the customers stared at Ethan standing just inside the doors. He looked tall and powerful and more like an outlaw than a railroad owner, dressed as he was in dark clothes, complete with a black leather vest and chaps. For an unsteady moment, Molly thought he looked more handsome, more enticing than she’d remembered—and she’d remembered very well.
“Ethan.” The word was a whisper or the answer to a prayer, Molly wasn’t certain. She only knew that for an instant she was glad, very glad to see him.
He’s come for me. The thought flashed in her mind, though why exactly she wasn’t sure. He hadn’t come for her but for her land, she knew, but knowing didn’t seem to have the slightest effect on the gladness that bubbled inside her.
“How are you?” he asked in a husky tone that sent unwanted and most assuredly unexpected shivers prickling over her skin.
Perhaps it was the shivers that startled her out of those daydreams. Reality was harsh and cold in the bright light of the afternoon.
What was he doing here? She’d sent him packing. She’d thought he’d gone back to the railroad camp. She hoped like crazy he’d gone back to the railroad camp and that she’d never have to see him again.
Out of the corner of her eye, Molly noticed Brinsfield move a half step to the right. “Mr. Wilder,” he said. “Nice to see you again. What can I get for you?”
Absently, Ethan gave a small shake of his head. There was nothing the merchant or anyone could get for Ethan. What he wanted he could get for himself—maybe.
“Molly,” he said again as he closed the distance between them.
Judging by the set of her jaw and the anger in her eyes, he could tell she was upset. He’d heard the tail end of the conversation when he walked in and knew something was going on.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked her. She was more beautiful than ever. She wore a simple black skirt and white blouse with what looked to be a hundred buttons going up the pleated front. Her hair was piled high on her head, but tiny wisps escaped to brush against the side of her neck and her cheek. Ethan was assaulted with the memory of that same hair down around her shoulders, gliding like fine Chinese silk through his fingers when he’d kissed her.
Damn. He dragged in a steadying breath and ordered his wayward thoughts to behave. Too bad he couldn’t order the pounding of his blood to cease as quickly.
Of all the things he’d expected to feel when he saw her again, this wasn’t it.
Molly looked up at him. He stood so close, too close.
“Molly,” he said and reached for her then stopped short. “Can I help you?”
His voice was so quiet, so tender that it was nearly Molly’s undoing. I won’t let you do this to me. Not again.
She was a woman of blessed common sense and right now that common sense was screaming to move away from him. She couldn’t seem to comply but she did manage to turn back to Mr. Brinsfield.
“About my order…” she prompted, struggling desperately to control the frantic beating of her heart.
“Like I said,” Brinsfield replied. “We’re out of everything.” His expression was smug. His statement was ridiculous since Molly and everyone else could see that the store’s shelves were well stocked with every imaginable item under the sun, certainly everything Molly had asked for.
About this time, Ethan squared off on his side of the counter facing Brinsfield. “What the devil is going on?”
Brinsfield sidled a half step in Ethan’s direction and in a conspiratorial voice said, “If the lady wants to shop, she’ll have to go elsewhere. In fact, maybe it would be a good idea if the lady went elsewhere in general.”
So that was it, Ethan thought, his temper suddenly rising. They were planning to starve her out. The thought of Molly going hungry, of Katie going hungry—and of him being responsible, didn’t settle well with him.
“Look,” Ethan started, “I understand what you’re up to but—”
“Really,” Molly cut in. “And just what is going on here, Mr. Wilder?”
Ethan’s gaze flicked from the merchant to Molly and back again. “Mr. Brinsfield is mistaken about being out of supplies, aren’t you?”
Brinsfield’s expression drew down in a deep frown. “No, I’m not.”
Molly gathered up her list and took Katie by the hand. As she turned to leave she said, “I trusted you, and this is how you repay me?”
“No,” Ethan countered. “I never asked them to—”
“To what? Starve us out?” Molly started for the door, Katie following along.
Ethan caught up in a couple of long strides. He grabbed her by the arm and turned her around. Anger flashed hard and bright in her eyes and she stared at the spot where his hand gripped her elbow.
Feeling at once foolish and frustrated, Ethan released her. “I’m sorry, Molly,” he said, referring to the way he’d grabbed her and more, so much more.
“Yes. I’ll just bet you are. The only thing you’re sorry for is not getting my land. Well, you can’t have it, you hear me!” She shouted so that everyone heard her quite clearly. “I won’t give up my home. Not for you. Not for anyone.”
With that she yanked open the door and stormed outside onto the plank sidewalk. Ethan was hot on her heels. He made the mistake of grabbing her arm again but quickly released her. “Molly, I never meant for it to be like this.”
&n
bsp; She only glared at him but he could see the hurt in her eyes and it tore at his gut. “Is that all?” she finally said.
“I—look, wait here and I’ll get whatever supplies you need. I’ll get more than you need.”
“No, thank you.” She turned and hoisted Katie onto the wagon seat. Hitching up her skirt, she made to climb up herself.
“Dammit, Molly, don’t be like this,” he told her.
“I’ll be any way I want, Mr. Wilder, and right now I want to be far away from you.”
That was it. Ethan wasn’t taking this anymore. She was going to listen to him. She was going to understand.
“Woman, don’t you turn your back on me!” he snapped, skirting around her and wedging himself between her and the wagon.
“Get out of my way, Mr. Wilder.”
“Not until you listen to me.”
Before Molly had a chance to think, she hauled off and slapped him, hard, across the lower part of his cheek and jaw.
Time seemed to stand still. It was as though someone else had done the terrible act, but the stinging in her hand confirmed that it was she who had slapped him, this man who had nursed her back to health, saved her child from a fire, cared for her crops and animals.
Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for him again, wanting to touch the place on his face, wanting to sooth the redness and make it all go away. But Ethan took a half step back, enough so that her hand stopped midmotion.
“I’m sorry, Ethan. I never meant…You didn’t deserve…”
“I should thank you. I was confused for a while about…things.” He rubbed his jaw lightly. “I’m not anymore.” With that he turned and walked away, leaving Molly to watch him.
Slowly, she climbed up on the wagon seat next to Katie. A tear slipped down her cheek, then another.
“Mama, what’s the matter? Why’d you hit Mr. Ethan?”
Molly picked up the thick reins and turned to her daughter. “Because I’m a fool.” With that she slapped the reins on the horses’ rumps and the wagon rumbled out of town.
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