Behind His Blue Eyes

by Kaki Warner

  The other two men stared into their drinks, signaling this fight wasn’t theirs.

  But the big Irishman sat back, a sneer on his still-bruised face, the fingers of his right hand resting on the silver handle of the whip tied at his belt. “I can stay if I want. I’ve done my time, so I have.”

  “Then hear this.” Ethan leaned down until his face was a foot from the other man’s. “Use that whip on anyone again—white, Chinese, man, woman, horse, your mother—you’ll have to answer to me. And next time, the sheriff won’t be around to save you.” Then grabbing the bottle Rylander had paid for, he stomped back to plunk it on the bar.

  “Feel better?” Rylander asked.

  “I might if I’d been allowed to finish the job I started two days ago.”

  Brodie sighed. “Then you’d be the one in jail. Let it go, Hardesty. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Redstone gave a chilling smile. “And if he does not, I will.”

  Ethan started to argue when a voice called to the sheriff. Turning, he saw a man approach. Dirty, bearded, blackened stubs for teeth, almost as big as Brodie, wearing fur boots and a slouch hat that had more holes in it than fabric.

  “Hidey. Ezra Weems. Heard you and the redskin was looking for me. Been looking for you, too. My partner’s missing. Left a couple of months ago and I ain’t seen him since. Whatcha got there?” He eyed the bottle of Scotch whiskey.

  Ethan shoved it out of his reach and substituted the rye he’d taken from Gallagher’s table. Grinning, the prospector filled the glass Redstone wasn’t using.

  “We found him,” Brodie said. “In a slide up in the canyon. Dead.”

  “Damn.” The man seemed sincerely mournful, but Ethan noticed it didn’t stop him from emptying his glass in a single gulp and pouring more. “He always was a clumsy son of a bitch.”

  “His pockets were turned inside out,” Brodie said. “Know if he was carrying anything of value?”

  “I’ll say. A nugget big as my thumb. He was on his way to get it assayed.”

  Ethan looked at the other men. “So something was taken from him, too.”

  “Could be coincidence,” Brodie said. “Other than the Chinaman, we’ve got no proof any of them were murdered.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” Ethan said. “I think they’re connected.”

  “Seen that surveyor lately?” Rylander asked Weems. “The one you reported spotting at the other end of the canyon?”

  “Naw. He’s long gone.” The filthy man frowned. “Think he’s dead, too?”

  “Damn.” Ethan pushed his glass away. “I better warn Audra.”

  “About what?”

  “She’s moving to the Arlan place. If these deaths are connected, the killer is still loose. She won’t be safe out there alone.”

  “Why would he come after her? Besides, she’s got the Abrahams.”

  “Faint good that’ll do, since none of them can shoot.”

  Eighteen

  “Why do you keep closing your eyes?” Ethan asked.

  Ears ringing, her nose stinging from the acrid smell of spent powder, Audra squinted through the haze to see that the can on the stump remained untouched. Disheartened, she handed the heavy Colt Army back. “It’s loud.”

  “And closing your eyes will make it less so?”

  “Don’t badger.”

  There were in the side yard at the Arlan house and Ethan was giving her and Curtis their first shooting lesson while Winnie and Father watched from the porch. It wasn’t going well. Audra heartily regretted that she had allowed Ethan to teach them, rather than Lucinda. How was she supposed to manage a gun that was over a foot long, weighed almost three pounds, and sounded like a cannon? She would have been much happier to learn on something smaller, like Lucinda’s four-shot pepperbox pistol. She wasn’t hunting buffalo, for heaven’s sake.

  “I’m not badgering. But you’ll never hit anything if you can’t see it.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to hit anything. Maybe I just want to scare it off.”

  “Then say ‘boo.’”

  She could almost hear his teeth grinding in frustration.

  “Audra, you don’t fire a gun to frighten an assailant. You fire it to stop him.”

  “You mean kill him.”

  “So what do you intend to do if an intruder comes into your home? Wave a gun in his face? Fire with your eyes closed? You’ll miss. I guarantee it. And by the time you load a fresh cartridge, seat it, and cock the hammer, he’ll be on you. Then it’ll be too late.”

  “I’ll still have five more shots. And there’s no need to yell.”

  “I’m not yelling! I’m trying to explain—”

  “At the top of your lungs?”

  “I’m wasting my time here. Curtis, it’s up to you then.”

  “Yessuh.”

  Muttering, Audra went to sit with Winnie and Father on the porch.

  “Where’s Cleo?” Father asked.

  “Gone to Oregon,” Audra snapped, having heard the question at least a dozen times that day. But as soon as the words were out, she wanted to call them back.

  “What’s got you huffing and puffing?” Winnie asked.

  “Ethan’s being unreasonable.”

  “Because you can’t hit the can?”

  “Because he’s a poor teacher.”

  “Maybe you a poor learner.”

  “How can you take his side?”

  “Who taking sides?” Leaning over, Winnie turned the book Father held right-side-up. “That better, Mr. Percy?”

  But he was already distracted by a butterfly flitting through the rafters.

  In the yard, the gun exploded.

  Audra flinched.

  The rusty can flew off the stump, flipped twice, and tumbled to the ground. Grinning broadly, Ethan whacked Curtis’s back.

  Men.

  Lips pursed, Audra studied them. Curtis, short and broad. Ethan, tall and lean, with a long back and long legs and the kind of grace displayed by a man comfortable with himself. He had left his hat on the porch, and the late afternoon sunlight caught glints of gold in the tousled brown hair. He stood with his weight on one leg, hands braced low on his hips. Relaxed. Confident.

  Insufferable.

  Curtis fired. Audra flinched. The can jumped again. Laughing, Ethan walked over to set it back on the stump.

  She liked the way he walked. A long stride with a slight spring in his step, the sway of his shoulders just short of being a swagger, his posture upright and energetic, as if he was eager to meet whatever lay ahead.

  What would she do if someone threatened her or Father or the Abrahams, or even Ethan? Wouldn’t she want to save them?

  With a sigh, she pushed herself out of the chair. “Guess I’d best see to supper. After killing that can all afternoon, I’m sure they’ll be hungry.”

  This was the third time Ethan would be joining them at the slightly battered pine table in the kitchen. Now that the tracks had reached town, he was no longer needed at Boot Creek, and spent his days in Heartbreak Creek, consulting with graders and tunnelers and surveyors charting the route through the canyon. He had tried to convince her not to move from the hotel until the killer was caught, but she wanted her own place again, and more room for all of them, especially Father.

  Eventually, he had stopped arguing with her, and had even helped Curtis move their belongings and the furniture Lucinda had given them out of storage. Every day since—to Mr. Bonet’s irritation, which amused Ethan no end—he had arrived at the newspaper office just before closing, insisting on escorting her home.

  And now, the shooting lessons.

  It was apparent he thought her incapable of looking after herself, even though she had done so ever since Father had taken ill. Still, she didn’t argue with him. It would do no good, and besides, thos
e quiet walks with him after a long, tiring day had become a treasured time for Audra.

  Tonight she was trying her hand at Winnie’s recipe for venison stew—from the venison haunch Ethan had brought earlier in the week—with onions and the fresh vegetables she had found on the porch that morning. Yesterday, it had been a packet of spices. The day before, a dried fish. Audra assumed the items had been left by someone from the Chinese camp, perhaps to repay her for trying to protect the boy from the Irishman. She felt such offerings were unnecessary, but since she never saw who left the gifts, she was unable to confront the person leaving them.

  She had never cooked before moving into the Arlan house. The kitchen had always been Winnie’s domain, and Audra had been too busy helping Father to take the time to learn. But nowadays, Winnie had enough to do tending Father all day, so Audra took over the cooking chores whenever she had time. She enjoyed it, and was very proud of her efforts, but in truth, with Winnie there to instruct her, she could hardly have gone wrong.

  Ethan was a delightful guest, and took pains to help Father when he could. He often regaled them with stories of the many places he had been and the people he had met, although Audra noticed he never mentioned California. Her own life seemed quite dull in comparison.

  She was dishing up bowls of stew when he and Curtis came in, their faces still damp from their wash at the trough beside the small paddock where Cricket was kept.

  “Smells great,” Ethan said, waiting until she’d taken her seat before taking the chair next to Father. “How’s that venison holding up? Shall I try to get some grouse later this week?”

  It was heartening the way he looked after them—walking her home, helping with Father, bringing meat to the table. But her growing dependence on him was troubling. He wouldn’t be here forever. Soon the railroad would send him to the next construction site, and she would be left alone to fend for herself again. She didn’t want to think of that time coming. Or of him being gone from her life forever. “Grouse would be wonderful.”

  He smiled at her, those blue eyes she’d once thought cold warming the air between them. “Then grouse it is.”

  As the others began eating, she broached the subject that had been nagging her while she cooked. “Ethan, I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. You’re right. I can’t afford to be squeamish about this shooting thing. So, if you’ve the patience for it, I’ll take another lesson whenever it’s convenient for you. And I promise I’ll work hard to keep my eyes open.” She gave him a wry look. “That still doesn’t mean I’ll hit anything, of course, but at least I can try.”

  He studied her, his cheeks bunching as he chewed. Then he swallowed and said, “How about a dog instead?”

  “A dog?”

  “One of the surveyors found a stray wandering in the canyon. Singed a bit and half-starved. Might have been abused, too.”

  She sat back, astounded. “You’re offering me a dog on the brink of death?”

  “I didn’t say she was dying. Just hurt. But if you want, I’ll have Doc check her over to be sure.” His smile cajoled, which, for some odd reason, made the tips of her breasts tingle. “She really needs a home, Audra. And you could use a dog.”

  Did the man feel responsible for every creature that crossed his path?

  An unwelcome thought arose. Was that the reason for his attentions? Was she simply another stray for him to take care of? The notion was so insulting, she almost threw her stew in his face.

  Then she remembered she loved dogs.

  “All right, you may bring her. But I’m not promising she can stay.”

  Of course she fell in love with the poor creature the moment she looked into those sad brown eyes. Ethan must have carried her all the way from Doc’s—Audra doubted the emaciated dog would have had the strength to make it on her own. Or the inclination. The moment he set her down, the frightened animal scurried under the table, tail tucked tight.

  Kneeling, Audra bent low to peer under the tablecloth. The poor dog was shivering, her eyes darting at every movement and sound. “Does she bite?” When she received no answer, she looked back over her shoulder to find Ethan staring at her behind. “Ethan, stop that!”

  His gaze flew to hers. “Stop what?”

  “Does she bite?”

  He cleared his throat. “If she didn’t bite me, she probably won’t bite you. It’s men she’s afraid of.”

  “Stop ogling,” she scolded, and peered under the cloth again. “Here, pup,” she said softly, extending a hand.

  The dog didn’t move.

  But she didn’t growl or show her teeth, either.

  She was young, nearly full-sized, but hadn’t yet grown into her feet. Mostly hound, judging by the long drooping ears and jowly muzzle. Her ribs showed, as well as singed hair along one side. A fresh bandage was taped around one front leg. Her tail was long and thin, and there was speckled skin showing beneath the singed black-and-white coat. A scar cut through the fur by one soulful eye.

  A sad, pitiful excuse for a dog. No doubt crawling with fleas and carrying all sorts of diseases. Untrained, distrustful, and liable to run off at the first opportunity.

  With a sigh, Audra let the drape fall and straightened.

  “Well?” Ethan said, reaching down to help her to her feet.

  “We’ll call her Phoenix. An apt name, I think, considering what the poor dear has been through.”

  * * *

  “Will you be going to the social this weekend, Miss Pearsall?” Peter Bonet asked over the rumble and clang of the press.

  It was printing day. The office smelled of ink and the chemicals used in the print process. Lint from the rolls of paper hung in the still air, irritating her eyes and making her sneeze. She had already gone through one hanky.

  “Yes. We all are. It sounds like a wonderful gathering.”

  “I would be happy to escort you. And your family, of course.”

  She dabbed the hanky at her runny nose. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Bonet, but Mr. Hardesty is already planning to take us.”

  “Of course.”

  He went back to typesetting.

  Audra laid out the pages already printed and cut. Working with Mr. Bonet was becoming steadily more awkward. He was gentlemanly enough, but she felt him watching her as if waiting for her to make a mistake, and his unspoken disapproval every time Ethan came to escort her home was almost palpable. She needed employment, and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her position here. But she sensed a confrontation of some sort was imminent.

  “That was an excellent piece you did on the latest spring fashions, Miss Pearsall,” he said after a long silence. “And on Mr. Rylander’s ideas for the Heartbreak Creek Depot.”

  “Thank you.” There wasn’t much to either article. Fillers, for the most part. But at least she was writing again.

  “But I’m not sure what you wrote about the coolie encampment would be of interest to our readers.”

  Audra paused to look at him.

  He gave one of his rare smiles. “After all, they’re Celestials. Very different from us. Little more than slaves owned by the railroad.”

  Audra was surprised. “Granted, the working conditions are harsh. As harsh as they were for the Irish on the Eastern lines. But they’re here by their own choice. And as hard as the work is, it must be better than what they left behind if they were willing to come all this way to do it.”

  “Beasts of burden, Miss Pearsall. That’s all they are to their employers. Someday the railroads will be held accountable for the way they’ve treated all their workers. And for the deaths they’ve caused.”

  Hoping he wasn’t about to launch into another mournful retelling of his brother’s death, Audra didn’t respond, and resumed her tasks.

  “How long have you known Mr. Hardesty?” he asked after a while.

  Another sore subject.
Looking up from the papers she was folding, she saw by the clock on the wall that she still had an hour before she could escape for lunch. Edwina was meeting her in Lucinda’s office for a final fitting of the new dress she was sewing for the social. The green silk had cost her most of a week’s wages, but Audra didn’t care. It had been ages since she’d had a new dress, and especially one so beautifully made. “I met him the day we came to town.”

  “Has he told you about the hospital in California?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “He was the architect on the renovation, you know.”

  “How many pages in today’s edition?” She didn’t like gossip. Nor did she want to discuss Ethan with Mr. Bonet.

  “Two sheets, four pages. He killed three people, they say.”

  She couldn’t ignore that. “If that’s true, he would be in prison, I’d think.”

  “They ruled it an accident.”

  “Then he was acquitted of any wrongdoing.”

  “There were many who didn’t agree with the inquiry findings.”

  No longer able to hide her irritation, she rounded on him. “Were you there?”

  “I worked for one of the San Francisco papers at the time. The story was front-page copy for several days. My editor felt the tragedy was due to Hardesty’s arrogance and his ignorance of design. I saw nothing to dispute that.”

  Arrogance, she might believe. But ignorance? Never. Along with Tait Rylander and Father, Ethan was one of the most intelligent men she knew.

  “But do ask Mr. Hardesty,” Bonet snapped. “Perhaps he can explain why he put a glass wall beside the beds of men too sick to protect themselves when it fell.”

  He must have seen her building anger. In a kindlier tone, he added, “I say this because I feel we’re friends, Miss Pearsall. With your generous nature, I fear you mightn’t see the kind of man he is. I meant no offense.”

  Fearing if she opened her mouth, she might say something that would get her dismissed, she simply nodded and continued folding the sheets of newsprint.