Whisper My Name
Raine Cantrell
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 1995 by Theresa DiBenedetto
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected].
First Diversion Books edition October 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62681-158-4
Also by Raine Cantrell
The Homecoming
Wildflower
Silver Mist
Western Winds
Desert Sunrise
Calico
Tarnished Hearts
Darling Annie
For special friends who always believe—
Fran, Gayle, Maggie, Rogenna, Suzanne, and Terry
Prologue
The mountains waited, as did the messenger beyond the small pool of light the single candle shed on the gleaming wood writing desk. Within its light lay a letter, sealed and ready to begin its journey.
The letter was to arrive at the mission off the California coast in weeks; it was the final link that would bring the events of the past together. When the letter’s demand was answered—and it had to be answered—there would be no turning back, no stopping what had to be.
Fingering the soft doeskin bag of coins that would make the journey possible, the writer’s thoughts drifted back in time.
This was the only way.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. But the Lord had not brought vengeance. He had rewarded the secrets kept with riches. If the Lord would not move to do what must be done, it belonged to another who had waited and planned. Too many years, hard lessons of patience learned, and willingly paid, to see justice served. Soon…
A motion brought the messenger forward to receive both the letter and the coins. When the door closed softly behind the man, the write was once more alone, as it had ever been.
There was only one who could destroy this plan for revenge: the wild card. Never controlled. Always returning. Drawn by the land, and linked, as they were all linked, to the tragic events of the past. But the deed was done. Too late now … much too late.
Chapter 1
Dominica Kirkland forced a show of bravery and stepped off the stage in the mining town of Florence. It was night and the drunken male voices raised in song made her anxious. She felt as if her bones had been rattled loose and knit back together with aches and kinks a permanent part of her body.
The letter which had drawn her here, and the money provided for the trip, had been stolen as she purchased her stage ticket. The thief had been quick in the press of bodies, for she hadn’t known of her loss until seated on the stage. She had almost turned back to the only home she knew, but the chance of putting to rest the mystery surrounding her father’s death tapped a well of determination and she had finished her journey. There was a lesson she had learned at a tender age that stood her in good stead now: if she revealed fear, strangers would prey on her.
Domini trusted her instincts. She saw nothing to fear in the kindly face of the man at the stage depot who opened the door and helped her down. She clung to the thought that he might help her and ignored the stares that sent a shiver walking up her spine.
Saturday night in Florence was no place for a lady. It was no place for Luke either, in his present mood. He took another, longer look at the woman arguing with Chay Booker in front of the stage depot, ever mindful of the wide berth miners and ranch hands gave him. A loner by nature and circumstance, Luke knew it was just as well that no one tried to crowd his space in front of Long Tom’s saloon. He was restless, bored, and drunk enough not to walk from whatever came his way.
Swigging a drink from his bottle of whiskey, he targeted a flint-eyed gaze on the woman again. First impressions could save a man’s life. Luke had learned early on to size someone up quickly and coldly. And the woman he watched was no lady.
She touched Chay as she walked with the ease of a woman familiar with touching strange men. Most ladies wouldn’t put their lily white hands on a man unless they had to. And then only after they had trapped him into marriage. She appeared to ignore the whistles and catcalls that came her way. Ignore them as if she didn’t even hear the miners bent on inviting her to celebrate while they stood drinks for their less fortunate brethren, or the cowboys with a week’s pay burning holes in their pockets, more than ready to raise hell and break anything else that got in their way.
She didn’t even glance up and around to see who was speculating about her riding ability.
A lady would have been hollering for help if someone told her they’d like to ride her hard and put her away wet. That his own thoughts were as crude didn’t matter to him. He was watching her reactions. Weighing. Judging.
She’d come off the stage alone, something else that no lady would do unless she didn’t have a reputation to protect. Eyeing her willowy build again, Luke found himself adding that there weren’t many ladies who turned a man’s thoughts to how she would feel accommodating the fit of his body and for how long.
The constant creak of the swinging batwings and the shouts and laughter within the saloon faded from Luke’s hearing. Just as the once held thoughts of being a part of it had faded over the years. He stashed his whiskey bottle between his knees and built himself a smoke. As he brought the match tip to light his cigarette, he looked up and found that she was watching him. He didn’t even feel the match burning down until the singed leather of his glove warned him. The light and the heat were gone in the same instant, but Luke wouldn’t forget.
She was tall for a woman, topping Chay by a good three inches. She had some to go to come near his own six foot two inch height. But then, he reminded himself, he had never paid attention to a woman’s height. His business with them was concluded prone and willing, satisfying a need like eating when hungry and drinking when thirsty.
In the light spilling from the lantern hung near the depot door, he couldn’t see much of her face, half hidden by the shawl she had wrapped around her head and shoulders. She certainly wasn’t dressed like any lady he’d seen. No bonnet, no fancy hat, no parasol, no high buttoned shoes. The hem of her gown was ankle-length, revealing a pair of moccasins. White women didn’t wear them.
Curiosity kicked up his interest another notch. Not many women made the rough and dangerous hundred-twenty-five-mile trip into this part of the Idaho Territory. She wasn’t someone’s wife sent for after a big strike, or a left-behind sweetheart come to be married. That kind of news spread fast and there hadn’t been any. But there was another kind of woman drawn to a place like Florence.
Jimmy Jack, the town’s half-breed drunk, wove his way through the milling horses being led down to the livery since the hitching posts were crowded with mounts, heading for Luke. The fact that Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off her for more than a few seconds sent a shaft of annoyance through him. No corset cinched her waist or hips. She moved with the supple grace of an Indian maid, following Chay back and forth as he unloaded the boot of the stagecoach.
“Got a drink, Luke?”
He took another drag of his smoke and handed it to Jimmy Jack. “Want my makings to save one for later?” A nod sufficed for Luke to hand them over, but he held onto the bottle. �
�Aloysius should be done shoeing my grulla. You go check on it for me, an’ I’ll leave you the bottle.”
Once more Jimmy Jack nodded. Luke saw half his tobacco spill from shaking fingers trying to fill the thin paper. He removed them from the old man, built a cigarette, and tucked it in his torn shirt pocket.
“Molly’s got food for you. You make sure to sweep up for her, an’ she’ll let you sleep in the kitchen tonight. Go on now, see about my horse.”
If his grulla hadn’t cast a shoe just outside of town, Luke wouldn’t have bought another bottle of whiskey. He wasn’t about to leave Jimmy Jack more than a drink or two, so his swigs were hard and fast until less than a quarter remained in the bottle. At least the old man wouldn’t get his belly rotted out drinking swill.
The liquor, added to what he had already, set fire to his blood. It set him to thinking about the last, quick tumble he’d had with Tassy that afternoon, before the sweat and leavings of other men couldn’t be hidden by the lilac water she favored as a washup between customers.
This only brought him back to thinking that the woman across the street was here to make money from hungry men. Since he decided for sure that she was no lady—for he knew firsthand all he had ever wanted to know about ladies—odds were she was a new nickel-a-ride-mattress-back. He’d never had any truck with virgins, the territory didn’t have many, and there was something about her that attracted him. Attracted and aroused him enough to think about plunking down a few silver dollars for her time.
Jimmy Jack reappeared at his side. “Mornin’, grulla ready.” He reached out and touched the rawhide strips that hung from Luke’s gun belt. “You keep?”
“Always. I never forgot what you taught me, Jimmy Jack. Go eat at Molly’s.” He handed over his bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as and moved.
Luke paid no attention to the men coming and going across the street. Two things made most of them step aside for him: his reputation and his name. He had earned the first, and he hated the second.
He sauntered at an angle to where the woman stood, idly noting that most of the families who came into town to buy their monthly supplies and pick up their mail from the stage were already off the street.
He gave thought to the fact that he might be piling up grief for himself like the thunderheads in the sky above him, building grief for anyone caught in the open when the storm clouds burst. Thought about it and dismissed it. Luke rarely denied himself anything he wanted. He only had to want it badly enough. He’d learned early on that everything and everyone had a price.
And he could buy whatever he desired. All it took was a whisper of his name.
Chay disappeared inside the depot office just as Luke came to a stop behind the woman. Tension rolled off her body and collided with his. No cloying fragrance reached him, just the warm, clean scent of a woman. He was struck by the strange thought that there was a wildness in her, as deep and dark as the currents of the Salmon River. Gut feelings were about the only things Luke trusted, so this one came and settled. Fast and hard. The same way his body was urging him to take her.
He was damned to figure why. He hadn’t even seen her face. And when she leaned close to the doorway and spoke again to Chay, Luke found that her voice ran through him the same way: deep, dark, and fast. He felt his nerve ends sizzle as if lightning strikes had hit them.
A loud clap of thunder sounded and he looked up, a frown tightening his brow. Storms were wild in these Idaho mountains. A man had to outwit and outrun their fury. For all the arguing she was doing with Chay, there was no anger in her voice. There was a liquid, throaty quality to her every word that drove itself into his senses like a miner’s pick sinking deep into rock. Liquid as hot honey, the slightly accented voice hit him with the same potency as the fancy aged brandy that his brother favored. For the moment, Luke chose to listen.
“There must be someone willing to help me, Mr. Booker. I told you both my money and the letter were stolen in Lewiston once I had my stage ticket. I can’t spend the night here. Someone has to—”
“Look. I done tole you once, done tole you too many times, there ain’t no one gonna make that trip tonight.” Chay came to the doorway. “If I could figure a way to help you, I would. Can’t, though. Ain’t my job to see to folks once the stage gets ’em here.”
“I was assured that the Colfax name meant something—”
“Does. Sure as hell does.” Chay stepped out. “Luke? That you standin’ there?” Chay ran a hand over his thick red beard, his head jutting forward on his long neck like a turtle coming out of his shell. “By damn! Can’t tell where you begin and the dark ends.”
Dominica Kirkland whirled around, nostrils flaring like an animal scenting danger. She was unsettled that someone had stood behind her without making a sound. Her first thought was that Chay Booker was right; there was no telling where the man began and the night ended. She was not accustomed to looking up at many men, but he was taller than her by a half foot at least.
With his presence came a deep sense of darkness, not only from his clothing as he stepped forward, but with a darker, powerful force impacting on her as she looked upon his face. Domini wondered if he had been named for Lucifer, the most handsome of the fallen angels. His features were hard-edged, and there was a consuming blaze of unexplained anger in his eyes.
“You can help, Luke. This here gal’s lookin’ for—”
“I heard her, Chay.” Luke motioned to the man, and Chay slipped back inside the depot office, closing the door.
Domini glanced from the closed door back to the man who stood watching her. There was a dangerous stillness to him, bringing a feeling that nothing going on around him escaped his notice. Including her.
The ensuing silence was meant to make her uncomfortable and it did. She bore with his scrutiny for a few moments more, then spoke.
“Since you heard my request, you know I need to reach the Colfax—”
“He send for you?” It would be just like Matt to order himself up a new woman. Arrogant bastard that he was.
“Yes, I was sent for. The letter that was stolen—”
“Well, it don’t matter none. You’re here.” Luke tilted back his hat brim with his thumb. He looked her over from bottom to top, then focused on the way the freshening wind pressed the cloth of her gown against her legs and the flare of her hips. The legs were long, the kind men could dream about, and her hips had a womanly invitation to cushion a man’s ride with ease.
“You’ll do,” he announced.
“Do? For what? I’m only interested in a ride—”
“Same here. No sense in wasting time.” He reached out with his left hand and caught hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger, lifting her face up toward the lantern light.
Her brows and lashes were as black as his own, framing green eyes that tugged at his memory. She wasn’t pretty. It was too soft a word for her. Her features were strongly molded on smooth golden skin that didn’t owe its color to the sun.
He thought her a breed, then dismissed it. There was a delicate refinement to the angles and planes of her face. Striking was the only word that came to his mind, for he had the unshakable feeling that a man would never tire looking at this woman through all the seasons.
The very fact that she stood still, and silent, while he took her measure confirmed his earlier assessment of her. Somehow having his opinion verified didn’t dim his interest. If anything, seeing her up close, touching her skin, only brought out tiny claws of need inside him. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and released her.
“Let’s go.”
“Just a moment. Who are you? And why are you willing to give me a ride out there tonight?”
“I’m Luke. An’ it’s too late to start out there tonight, just like Chay told you. I’ll get you a room at the hotel.” Luke glanced around and saw the single carpetbag near the door. “That all you got?”
“Yes, that’s mine.” Domi
ni watched him scoop up her bag. “Mr. Booker said there wasn’t a room to be had.”
“There’s always a room for me.” He eyed her ruffled expression. “You coming? There’s about three minutes before the storm hits. I’ve already had my bath an’ you’d shiver in the cold slash of this mountain rain.”
“Why are you willing to help me when—”
“Sometimes Colfax’s interests an’ mine ride the same road. That’s all you need to know.” He caught hold of her arm.
“I’m not sure I want to go—”
“It wasn’t ever meant as an invitation. Colfax sent for you. That makes you Colfax property. ’Sides, this town ain’t no place for a woman alone tonight.”
Domini stared up at him. The warning and the threat were there in his voice and the still blazing anger of his eyes.
“Do you work for him? Mr. Colfax, I mean.”
“I’ve done some troubleshooting for him in my day.”
Her gaze lowered to the gun he wore low on his left hip. She hadn’t missed the knife sheathed slightly off center to the left of the small of his back. Domini was no stranger to men and their weapons of violence. If Sister Benedict hadn’t believed that she could take care of herself, Domini knew she would never have allowed her to make this most important trip on her own.
Even with anger shimmering in his gaze, there was the awareness that she was a woman. She sensed no evil for all that he guarded himself. What frightened her was the desire she had to feel his gentle touch on her face again. Strange how she felt its loss.
“Two minutes and counting until the storm hits.”
“I can’t pay you.”
“Yeah, right. The money got stolen. We’ll figure out something.”
“All right. I’ll come with you.”
A loud clap of thunder capped off her agreement. Domini watched him walk away, expecting her to follow. He walked as if he were alone, and she wondered why men simply stepped aside for him. Too exhausted to think about it, she began to follow him toward the far corner, where the wind swung the post sign announcing Tanner’s Hotel. Luke took the steps lightly, moving with a grace that drew attention to his lithe, powerful body.
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