by Kaki Warner
She didn’t smile back.
But he knew by her quickened breathing, and the flush on her cheeks, and the way she stared at his mouth that she was as moved by the kiss as he was, despite her shock. It occurred to him that she probably hadn’t been kissed often—or maybe at all—and that realization lodged like a warm knot of joy deep in his chest.
He could love this stubborn, gentle woman. With her, he could regain the peace that had eluded him for so long, and maybe even find his redemption. With her, he might find the will to put the past behind him.
If such a thing was possible.
“It’s late,” he said. “We should go.” After securing the saddle girth, he looped Renny’s reins over his right arm, and hooked his left hand beneath her elbow to guide her from the stable. She didn’t resist, but moved stiffly at his side.
The sun had set, leaving behind an orange wash across the last of the snow on the peaks. The air smelled of spring and was brisk enough to cool the rush of desire still coursing through his body.
For most of the way, they didn’t talk. Ethan appreciated that she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with idle chatter. And strangely, for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel driven to throw up a screen of quips and teasing remarks to keep her at a distance. The kiss had changed something between them. He wasn’t sure what, or where it would lead. He still had his secrets and she still had her doubts. Not a great foundation.
They were angling onto the backstreet that led to the livery when she finally broke the long silence. “I’m sorry I misjudged you. About the fire.”
He smiled down at her to show he had no hard feelings. “I accept your apology.”
“I didn’t ask you to accept anything,” she said in a tone of exasperation. “I simply needed to say it, and for you to hear it.”
“Oh. Well. Okay, I heard it.”
“It’s not that I distrust you. Not really.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
“But sometimes,” she went on as if she hadn’t heard his muttered comment, “I feel a bit overwhelmed. And anxious. And fearful.”
“Fearful of what?” He couldn’t imagine her being afraid of anything.
She made a helpless gesture. “Failing. Making a wrong decision. Not being able to provide for the people who depend on me. I tend to overreact and do foolish things.”
Like harbor distrust? Yet he understood. At least she was willing to admit to her fear. He couldn’t even face his. “I’ve never met anyone less foolish or a woman more fearless,” he said in all seriousness. “Or one more stubbornly independent.”
She looked up in surprise.
“You carry the burden of providing for three people who can’t fend for themselves. You’ve unselfishly uprooted your life and traveled over a thousand miles to make a better life for your father. I admire you for that.”
“You do?”
“I do. Even though you refuse my help at every turn.”
She smiled. It sent that hot rush through him again. “Not at every turn. I did let you change my wheel, as I recall.”
“So you did. Most generous of you.”
She laughed out loud, and the joyful sound of it was a wondrous thing.
They walked a bit, then he said, “We’ll be laying tracks between here and the Boot Creek Station, so I’ll be gone for a few days. Can I count on you to stay close to town?”
At her look of irritation, he put on a cajoling smile. “At least until they catch the Chinaman’s killer. It’s a reasonable request, I think.”
She opened her mouth—to argue with him, no doubt—then sighed. “All right. But I’m not a child who needs constant watching.”
He chuckled. “I don’t consider you a child. I think I just proved that. But I can prove it again, if you’d like.”
He was gratified to see a blush rise above her prim collar, and wondered how far it extended the other way. It was odd, really. For most of his adult life—except for that summer with Eunice Eckhart at Salty Point—he had contented himself with the companionship of women of negotiable virtue. But now, all he could think about was Audra . . . a small, hardheaded, nearsighted woman who challenged him at every opportunity.
When they reached the back stoop of the hotel, he stopped. “You go on in. Driscoll can help me unsaddle. And if I don’t see you before I leave, I’ll leave payment for the right-of-way with Tait.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a tentative smile and stepped up on the stoop. “Mind your hands.”
“I will. And Audra . . .” He waited for her to face him. “I would never do anything to harm you. You know that, don’t you?”
She studied him, the smile still playing along her lips. “Yes, Ethan. I know.”
Fourteen
Several days later, Audra and Lucinda were enjoying a quiet lunch by one of the rear windows in the hotel dining room when a wagon piled high with canvas-covered crates stopped by the back stoop. A man climbed down, stretched, dusted his jacket, adjusted the wire-frame spectacles perched on his nose, then walked into the hotel.
“He’s here!” Rising abruptly, Lucinda excused herself and went into the lobby to intercept him.
Watching from the dining room, Audra studied the man as he spoke to Lucinda. He was neither young nor old. Slim, wearing a checkered suit, a bowler hat over curly red hair, and an earnest expression on his clean-shaven face. He glanced at Audra, gave a half smile, then turned back to Lucinda, who was still talking. Nice smile, too. After a moment, Lucinda woke Yancey from his doze behind the front desk, then sent both men back out to the wagon. As they drove off toward the livery, she returned to the dining room.
“Who was that?” Audra asked.
“Peter Bonet.” She said it with a big grin and in the French pronunciation—Bo-nay—despite the fact that the man looked more Irish than French. “I put an advertisement in the Denver paper and fortunately he was in the area and responded almost immediately. He’s the new editor of the Heartbreak Creek Herald, and your new employer. If you still want employment, of course.”
Audra blinked at her in astonishment.
“Meet him before you decide. He seems very nice. But after you speak with him, if he—or the position—doesn’t suit, we’ll find something else.”
Audra finally got her wits about her. “Doesn’t suit? It sounds perfect! Thank you.” When Audra started to rise, Lucinda laughed and waved her back into her chair.
“There’s no rush. Let them unload his printing equipment first. I asked him to join Tait and me and you for dinner this evening. That will give us all a chance to look him over before you commit to anything.”
Audra’s mind whirled. Working for a newspaper! It was the next best thing to writing her own novels. Plus, she would finally be earning an income again.
“Tait said you signed over the right-of-way grant. Thank you, Audra. I’m convinced we’ll all prosper when the bridge line is complete. Oh, and I forgot to tell you,” Lucinda added with a smile. “Declan said the Arlan place is available. It needs repair, but if you approve, he and Tait will attend to that over the next few days. You and your family should be able to move in by the end of next week.”
The generosity of these people was astounding. “What’s the rent?”
Lucinda grinned. “That’s the best part. Nothing.” Seeing Audra’s confusion, she explained. “As you probably noticed, Heartbreak Creek is in a temporary decline. There are almost as many deserted dwellings as inhabited ones. Once the bridge line is complete, all that will change. If the Arlans return someday, you may need to relocate, but until then, if you want it, the house is yours.”
Audra’s euphoria faded. “But now that I’ve signed the right-of-way, I can pay.” She had already deposited the draft Ethan had left before leaving for Boot Creek. Oddly, it had been signed by him, rather than the railroad, but per
haps that’s the way rights-of-way worked. “There’s no need for charity.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ll be doing them a favor. Houses don’t do well if left vacant. And it’s not charity, Audra. It’s practicality. The Arlan house is prominently situated, and it would be a poor reflection on the town to have it boarded up and falling into decay.”
“Well . . .”
“Then it’s settled. If you’re finished with your lunch, we can walk over now and take a look. It’s quite spacious, and although it doesn’t have an indoor necessary, there’s a large washroom on the ground floor.”
Audra’s disappointment must have shown. She had hated that nasty outhouse at the cabin even more than the gloom.
Lucinda patted her arm as she rose. “I know. But if you’re so intent on repaying the absentee Arlans, perhaps you can add an indoor water closet now that you’ll be making an income.”
When they walked toward the end of town that opened onto the flats where the church was situated, they saw Yancey and Mr. Bonet moving printing equipment inside a boarded-up storefront beside Hattie’s Millinery Shoppe. Lucinda waved, but didn’t cross the street to interrupt them. Mr. Bonet waved back, and gave Audra a polite nod.
He did seem nice. And nice-looking, too.
The Arlan house was situated in a sunny clearing between a stand of aspens and Heartbreak Creek. It was a boxy two-level wooden structure made from planks, rather than logs, with a tall rock chimney running up the outside of the house, and across the front, a wide covered porch with a broken railing. Around back, beside a small lean-to shed, was a small fenced area for a horse or milk cow. The windows were glass and intact.
The inside showed wear. But despite the scuffed plank floors, the soot-darkened hearth, stained kitchen countertops, sagging cabinet doors, and cracked plaster walls, there was a sturdy simplicity of construction that added a touch of charm.
The downstairs was divided into three rooms—a washroom and butler’s pantry, a large open room with the kitchen at one end, space for a dining table in the middle, a sitting area around the hearth by the front door, and a small bedroom behind the fireplace wall that would suit the Abrahams nicely. Upstairs were two more bedrooms, each with windows on two sides, and separated by a small room that could serve as storage, or perhaps, someday, a necessary.
It was perfect. Audra couldn’t wait to move in all their things and the furniture Lucinda had loaned them, which had been stored in the attic of the hotel since the fire. The hotel was lovely, but she longed to have her own place again, and this would be much more pleasant for Father, who had loved to sit in the garden back home.
“It will do beautifully,” she told Lucinda as they headed back to the hotel. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“I’m just glad to have another woman to talk to. With Maddie and Pru gone, and Edwina always in such a state, I’ve felt rather at odds. You’re going to be a lovely addition to our group.”
Audra dressed carefully for dinner that evening, intent on making a good impression. Remembering what Ethan had said about color complementing her eyes, she chose a green muslin with a gathered peach underskirt and sash, and green stitching around the high peach collar. She put her hair up in a topknot to make herself look taller, and used the heating iron to put ringlets around her face. Remembering that Mr. Bonet also wore spectacles, she attached a peach ribbon to hers and hung them around her neck, hoping it might create some commonality between them and make her look more professional. Finally finished, she studied herself in the mirror.
Ethan was right. When she wore green, her hazel eyes did look more green than brown.
Ethan. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him. And that kiss. Richard had kissed her once, but it certainly hadn’t caused the breathless, shivery feeling that Ethan’s kiss had.
He thought she was beautiful. And desirable. How amazing was that?
A knock on the door of the hotel suite she shared with Father wrenched her out of her pleasant reverie. A final check, then she left her bedroom and crossed the sitting area to open the door.
Winnie grinned from the hallway. “Oh, my! You look plumb beautiful, Miss Audra.” She made a careful inspection, then nodded in approval. “You liable to get that job and the boss, you don’t be careful, child. And I know how you hate suitors.”
“I don’t hate them. I just find all the posturing tiresome. I’ll see if Father is awake.” As she spoke, Audra crossed to the other bedroom, peeked inside, then quietly closed the door.
“Still asleep, but he should be up soon. He was coughing most of the night and awoke with a slight fever. Doctor Boyce sent a bottle of cough syrup that has a sleeping draught in it. I left it on the dresser, but don’t use it without first checking with me.” After leaving instructions for Winnie to call her if his cough was worse, Audra said she’d have the kitchen send up a tray, thanked her for staying with him, and left the suite.
* * *
That summer of 1868 had been unseasonably hot along the Pacific coast. The wind off the ocean never stopped and brought little relief. It moaned through the eaves of the hospital like a living thing, flayed the stunted trees along the bluff, and sucked every bit of moisture from the earth. Every day, clouds built up over the blue horizon to the west, but rain never came. Every evening, dry lightning crackled over the inland hills, catching brush and withered grass afire. The air was often so thick with smoke it hurt to breathe. And tempers grew short.
Progress on the renovation slowed. Workers squabbled with each other, railed at the heat, drank too much and grew careless. Even the hospital staff suffered, run ragged by patients who lay sweating in their beds, stinking of infection and despair, calling out to the harried nurses as they hurried by. The grave diggers stayed busy, adding new markers in the little graveyard on the bluff.
But Ethan was scarcely aware of it. He spent his days watching his dream take shape, pane by pane, and his nights trapped in Eunice’s dark, sensual fantasies.
She knew how to touch him. How to make him moan and want more. How to make him hate her one moment and love her the next. She was like the drugs she gave her patients, promising release, an escape into ecstasy. She was addictive and insatiable. The dark heart of the sun.
She almost broke him.
Because sometime during that hot summer of 1868, between the first time he saw her, standing on the bluff, and the last time, when she lay bleeding at his feet, he realized she would never love him back. She was incapable of it. She was damaged in a way he didn’t understand—could never understand—and every night he spent under her spell, she stole a little more of his soul.
But still, he tried. Because he was the sort of man who wanted to make things right. To look after people. To fix things.
And because he thought he loved her.
Until he realized it wasn’t the heat or sickness or despair that was killing the patients.
It was Eunice.
* * *
Ethan paced restlessly on the platform, watching the afternoon train from Pueblo roll slowly into the station at Boot Creek. All he had left to do was check the vouchers against the supplies he’d ordered, then he could head back to Heartbreak Creek.
And Audra.
Had she missed him? Had she thought about him as much as he’d thought about her? He sighed in disgust. It was disturbing how often his thoughts drifted her way. But at least when he was thinking about Audra, he wasn’t suffering night terrors. She was like a balm to all those dark, haunting memories in his mind.
Brakes squealed and steam billowed from the locomotive as the train shuddered to a stop. Ethan hurried past the lone passenger car to the flatcars behind it, which were loaded with railroad supplies.
He’d been here almost a week and things were progressing well. Work had finally started on the run between the Boot Creek Station and Heartbreak Creek. The graders were in full swing, and by
the end of the week, the straighteners would be setting the rails in place for the spikers. Everyone seemed glad to be working, and any lingering unrest caused by the Chinese worker’s death had settled into a watchful wariness. He’d temporarily reassigned Gallagher, the whip-wielding Irishman, to handle the graders, who were mostly white or Irish, so he expected no more trouble on that score. His work here was done.
“Ho,” a voice said behind him, startling Ethan so badly he almost dropped his papers. Whipping around, he saw Thomas Redstone standing a foot behind him. “Damnit, Redstone. Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a man? You scared the living daylights out of me.”
“What are living daylights? And I did not sneak.”
“Hell you say. I could have shot you.”
A slow smile split the usually somber face. “No. I do not think so.”
Despite the smile, the Indian looked tired. And discouraged. There was weariness in his dark eyes and the planes of his face sagged into deep brackets around his wide mouth. Ethan guessed things hadn’t gone well with Miss Lincoln in Indiana. “You come in on the train?”
The Cheyenne nodded.
“Going on to Heartbreak Creek?”
Another nod.
“You have a horse?”
“I will steal yours. It is what we Indians do.”
“So I hear.” Ethan looked around and spotted the horse the railroad had assigned to Gallagher tied outside one of the tents. “Wait here.” Walking over, he pushed back the untied flap to find Gallagher slouched on a rumpled cot, flipping cards in a game of solitaire. “I need your horse,” Ethan told him. “I’ll send it back tomorrow.”
Gallagher gave him a sour look, but said nothing. Ethan let the flap fall and took the horse back to Thomas. “Give me a minute, and I’ll ride with you.”
After checking the shipment, he signed the vouchers, then went to saddle Renny. “Glad you’re back,” he said to Thomas a few minutes later when they started down the road to Heartbreak Creek. “A lot’s happened while you were gone. We need your help.”
