Susan Wiggs Great Chicago Fire Trilogy Complete Collection

by Susan Wiggs

  Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly and quickly before she could turn away. “I’ll stay with you, sweetheart.”

  “But for how long?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice even. Even one little kiss from him touched her heart with fire. She feared her own susceptibility to him. “A night? A week?”

  “Who knows? Do you really need to know?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I really need to know.”

  “Then I don’t have an answer for you,” he snapped.

  She swung away abruptly, pretending she didn’t care.

  His quick footsteps thudded on the carpeted floor. Then she heard the clink of glass as he finished off the wine, and finally the slam of the door as he left the car altogether.

  * * *

  “Where in heaven’s name did you get those?” Kathleen stood in the doorway of the train car, blinking in the dawn light. Dylan stood in the yard, dwarfed by a pair of tall, handsome horses. The sun had just risen, and a deep pinkish gold colored everything the light touched. The hides of the horses appeared bloodred, the surface of the lake a mirror of amber.

  An aura surrounded Dylan, and she had to tell herself it was all an illusion. He was a master of disguise. She had seen it again and again. From time to time she herself had been part of whatever fantasy he was trying to create.

  But still, she found herself being pulled in by his spell. This morning he resembled a prince from a mythical land, as alluring as a dream. She couldn’t keep her heart from skipping a beat or her lips from curving into a wistful smile. She could not stop the memories that pushed into her mind. The way he’d held her and laughed with her. The funny meals they’d made of biscuits and apples. The way his words felt when he whispered into her ear, sending hot shivers all through her. Even now that she knew what he was, the feelings would rise so high in her heart she feared she might float away.

  I miss you, she thought, studying him in the strange light.

  Just for a moment, he tilted his head to one side and frowned, almost as if he’d heard her unspoken words.

  Being Dylan, he spoiled the effect the moment he opened his mouth. “Don’t just stand there gawking like a beached fish. Get the contract and let’s go.”

  She smoothed her hands down the front of her skirts and assumed an air of annoyance. “Where is the buggy?” she asked.

  “There is no buggy. These are not buggy horses, anyway. They’d be insulted if you tried to hitch them to a wagon.”

  It was then that she noticed the saddles. “I don’t ride horseback.”

  A shadow passed over his face. “Pretend you do. You’re good at pretending, Kathleen.”

  “No better than you are.”

  He stared at her for a moment, the wavy black hair tumbling down over his brow. “Yes you are, love. Believe me, you are.” One of the horses nibbled at his ear. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Where did you get the horses?”

  “Don’t ask questions unless you’re sure you want to know the answers.”

  She stepped down from the car, pulling the door shut behind her. “I haven’t the first idea about riding a horse,” she muttered. She’d had plenty of experience with Clyde, her mother’s dray horse, but sitting on one’s back was another matter altogether.

  When she drew close to Dylan, she noticed a difference in him. His clothes were rumpled, his cravat hung undone around his neck and his hair was disheveled. She caught a whiff of perfume and whiskey. The air of dissolution felt heavy, oppressive. “Ah, love. I said don’t ask.”

  “I didn’t say a word,” she said.

  “With your eyes,” he pointed out. “You asked the question with your eyes.”

  “You’d best answer with your mouth, because I’m not as clever at reading people as you.”

  He took a deep breath, as though preparing to jump into cold water. “The owner of the horses is Mrs. Pearl Sacks. I met her at some Old Settler party. She’s rich and lonely, and I charmed her.” He held up a hand, palm out. “Nothing happened, I swear it. How could I, when all I can dream of is you?”

  She scowled. “Enough of your blarney. You probably made her believe the sun rises for her alone and will not set until she commands it.”

  “Did I harm the old tabby?” he demanded. “Did I do one bit of damage? When I went to her, she was a spry old woman, wishing something—anything—would happen to her. I made her smile, Kathleen. I made her laugh and feel alive. Is that so very wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I guess it depends on how she survives when she figures out you were lying.” She shaded her eyes and regarded the sunlight on the ruined city. “Some lives might be just fine after you’ve blown through them. Others will burn away to nothing.” She wondered about herself. After Dylan was gone, then what? How would she end up?

  The one thing she knew for certain was that she would get hurt. Until meeting Dylan, she had never known that betrayal could feel like a physical pain. Her chest squeezed until she winced at the sharpness. Holding in tears became a battle she had rarely fought before, and one she almost lost. Almost.

  She stared into that fallen-angel face and forced herself to remember their goal. Too much depended upon their accomplishing it. Nothing could be gained by worrying about what Dylan would do afterward.

  “Let’s get on with it, then,” she said, proud of the steadiness in her voice. “I don’t know how the devil to ride a horse without breaking my foolish neck.”

  “Now there’s something I can help you with,” he said.

  He went down on one knee before her. He probably didn’t mean for it to look like a pose of supplication, but it did. He probably didn’t try to resemble a storybook cavalier, but he did. And he certainly didn’t mean for his touch to take her breath away, but it did.

  She prayed that when she put her hand in his, he would not sense her trembling.

  “Just set your foot on my knee and swing your leg up and over. You can ride astride, it won’t kill you. Like so. She’s a good mare,” he added. “She’s pretty, and does what she’s told.”

  Kathleen pursed her lips as if she’d tasted something sour. “Then you should ride her. She is everything you want in a female.”

  He laughed as she swung her leg up and over the mare’s back. “You’re just jealous because you saw her kissing my ear.”

  She felt awkward and improper, straddling the mare with her skirts bunched up. Dylan did nothing to set her at her ease. In fact, he made it worse by running an insolent hand down her leg, toying with the ruffle of her bloomers.

  “Stop that,” she snapped. She jerked her leg a little and the mare shied.

  Dylan calmed the horse and winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” He placed the reins in her hands. “Her name is Petal,” he said.

  He turned to the other mare, fitting his foot in the stirrup. “And this one is—damn it.”

  The horse swung her head around and snapped at him. Then, while he still had one foot in the stirrup and one on the ground, she walked forward. Kathleen heard a tearing of cloth.

  “Damn it,” he said again, muscling his way into the saddle.

  “An unusual name for a mare,” she commented wryly.

  He adjusted the reins, wrestling the horse for control. The mare stepped backward and sideways in a stubborn clumsy dance, but eventually she settled, glared straight ahead and twitched her tail.

  “I don’t mind a challenge,” he said. “Keeps me from getting bored.”

  There were so many things she could have said to him. Instead, she held her tongue, for this was one time he told the truth. He found a challenge in outsmarting people. In tricking them out of their money. In making women fall in love with him.

  Pushing aside the thought, she concentrated on keeping her seat. She felt vulnerable, uncertain, yet determined to succeed. Dylan led the way, walking his horse while Kathleen followed. She experimented with the reins, finding the horse reasonably responsive. When they passed through the outs
kirts of the city, he urged his horse to a smart trot and then a canter. Kathleen locked her jaw, unwilling to let him know she felt as though she might fall off at any moment. Slowly she grew accustomed to the rhythm, and was surprised to find herself relaxing, almost enjoying the outing.

  She watched the sun rise over the blowing prairie grasses and cornfields, and in spite of all her efforts, she could not keep from wondering about the woman who had loaned him the mares. What lies had he told her? What promises had he made?

  Watching him furtively, Kathleen wanted so much to ask. But at the same time, she remembered his warning about not wanting to know the answers.

  The sweep of morning light over the rippling fields gave a feeling of endless space and possibility to the day. Kathleen took a deep breath and prayed no one had reached the Elyssa before them and that the transaction would go smoothly.

  At the landing, David Fraser greeted them anxiously. “Mr. Kennedy,” he said, a relieved look on his face. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”

  Dylan grinned. “Didn’t I say I’d help you?”

  Actually, it was Kathleen who had proposed the deal, but she let it pass.

  “I have the cash contract right here.” Dylan patted a saddlebag. “And the cash, too, of course.”

  Fraser couldn’t sign fast enough. It was a paltry amount, but sure money in an uncertain time, and Kathleen knew he would gladly take his earnings back to his farm. The deal was concluded in minutes.

  “So it’s done, then.” Dylan inspected the papers and receipt which they would have to present to the clerk of the Board of Trade in order to prove that he actually had something to sell.

  “Yes, sir. You now have the futures on the biggest grain barge on Lake Michigan.”

  “And remember our agreement. There’s to be no word of this until the tug comes to haul it to the city. Then you can tell anyone you wish.”

  Fraser looked so pleased that Kathleen’s conscience relaxed. They weren’t cheating him, she told herself. Just offering a sure thing while they took all the risk.

  As they rode together back toward town, Dylan looked across at her.

  “What?” she asked peevishly.

  “I just handed that man all our cash.”

  “That was what we agreed to do.”

  “For a piece of paper.”

  “That paper represents a fortune,” she assured him. She couldn’t resist adding, “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Ha,” he said, and the merriment in his eyes captivated her utterly. “I’ll show you trust.”

  Without warning, he dug in his heels and his mare surged forward in a gallop. Kathleen emitted a shriek of terror as Petal followed. Mingling with the galloping hoofbeats of the horses was Dylan’s ringing laughter.

  “Hang on, sweetheart,” he called, “for the ride of your life.”

  She clutched the saddle horn helplessly. She felt defenseless, knowing that at any moment she could fall to her death. She had no idea what was keeping her on. And then, as they sailed past the shimmering prairie, something extraordinary happened. She started loving it. The speed, the danger, the rush of wind over her face. Dylan had once said he felt the keenest essence of life when he was courting death.

  Now, finally, she knew what he meant. Her heart sang and shattered at the same moment. She knew that, whatever happened from this moment onward, she would be forever changed. It was strangely like making love with him. He had opened her to a new world of sensation. She heard a woman’s laughter on the wind and realized it was her own. Dylan whipped a glance back at her and she saw an expression of delight on his face. For two people who disliked and distrusted each other they certainly got along well.

  * * *

  Dressed in sober, conservative fashion, they arrived at the temporary quarters of the Chicago Board of Trade at precisely nine in the morning. The building had been nicknamed The Wigwam for its slapdash appearance, but inside, the atmosphere hummed with brisk business. Dylan resembled a distinguished gentleman, Kathleen his quiet, obedient mistress, patiently batting her eyes in feminine bafflement about finance. But only from a distance. Anyone closer might hear her hissing through her teeth, issuing directives. “Do not do or say anything I haven’t told you to do, or you’ll spoil the whole thing.”

  “Bossy woman,” he said.

  “Huh. If we had to do this your way, I’d be hanging by my teeth from a high wire.”

  “A great temptation, I must admit.”

  With falsely cordial smiles and murmured greetings, they entered the boxy wooden structure. They stopped to register their shares with the clerk, who examined their contract. The clerk asked for Dylan’s credentials, and he spread his arms in a gesture of futility. “Burned, I fear.”

  The clerk questioned him no further, for he was clearly weary of trying to verify claims of all the other traders. “You’ve got a lot to sell there, Mr. Kennedy. Hope you get your price at tomorrow’s trading.”

  * * *

  That evening, Dylan went off to God-knew-where, moving the scheme forward another step. Kathleen felt agitated and out of sorts, lonely for his presence. The train car was a sort of limbo for her. One thing she had recently discovered about herself was that she enjoyed a sense of permanence. She had discovered other things as well—that money wasn’t the answer to her troubles, that, in spite of everything, she was still in love with a swindler.

  Working by the light of a single oil lamp, she tidied up the place, scraping bread crumbs into a bin, rinsing out the teapot, folding away a towel or two. Dylan’s waistcoat lay in a wad on the chaise, and she picked it up, shaking it out. A small object fluttered to the floor.

  With a frown, she set aside the waistcoat and picked it up. A wave of emotion came over her. It was Gran’s holy card, something she thought she would never see again. Dylan must have picked it up the night they met. It had probably been forgotten in his pocket all this time.

  Suddenly unsteady, she sat down on the fringed chaise. “Ah, Gran,” she said. “When I first met him, I thought you had arranged the whole thing.” A tremulous smile curved her mouth as she recalled that night when anything, everything, had seemed possible. “But look at us now.” She rubbed a thumb over the creased surface of the card, circling the shape of the halo over Saint Bridget’s head. “Surely you didn’t mean for this to happen. Surely you didn’t mean for me to get my foolish heart broken into a million pieces.”

  She shut her burning eyes. “You always said that love would take me by surprise, Gran. Do you remember that? I used to complain so bitterly that I’d never marry, because I had never met a man I could love. Mam would scold me for the stars in my eyes, but you never did, Gran. Even when Mam nagged me to say yes to Barry Lynch, you patted my hand and told me to keep dreaming, that love would take me by surprise.” Her voice shook wildly, and she felt three times a fool sitting there talking to a ghost, but she couldn’t stop herself. “You forgot to tell me the rest, Gran. You forgot to tell me how much it hurts.”

  After that, she couldn’t talk anymore. She doubled over and trembled with the effort to keep in the sobs. This hurt was the price she paid for pride. For greed. For being ashamed of who she was and wanting things beyond her reach.

  In her misery, she dropped the little picture card. Wiping her face on her sleeve like the crudest of chambermaids, she stooped to pick it up.

  Dylan Kennedy got there first, snatching the card.

  With a shriek, Kathleen jumped to her feet. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.

  But she knew the answer from the expression on his face. It was the look of a man facing a firing squad. The look of a man who had heard more than he wanted to hear. “Kathleen—”

  She grabbed the card from him. “You should have said something. You should not have sneaked up on me.”

  “If you’re going to bare your soul, you should keep the door locked,” he shot back.

  She felt more exposed than if she’d been caught buck naked. She
knew beyond any doubt that she looked vulnerable. She could not possibly feel any more horrible, but she made herself face him and say, “I wish you had not heard that.”

  “I wish I hadn’t either,” he said fervently.

  The hot, humiliating tears kept pushing like fire behind her eyes, so she flopped down on the chaise and made no attempt to stop them. No one had ever seen her cry before. She didn’t trust Dylan, but she could cry in front of him. She had no idea why that was. “You must be pleased with yourself. I had only one thing in the world worth stealing, and you managed to take it.”

  “Your virginity?”

  “My honor,” she blurted out.

  “Don’t be ridic—”

  “I’m not.” She spread her arms. “Look at me, Dylan. I haven’t a thing in the world. Even the clothes on my back don’t belong to me. My family is struggling to survive the winter. The only thing I ever possessed that had any value at all was my honor. And you took it. You stole it.”

  “Your cleverness, your intelligence are still intact,” he pointed out. “I didn’t take those. And as for the honor…” He sat down uninvited at the end of the chaise, thrusting a handkerchief into her hand. “That’s not the way I recall it. You willingly, eagerly gave yourself to me, Kathleen.”

  “Because I believed all the lies you told me. I believed you loved me. Because we’re married.”

  “You can’t hold me responsible for what you believe.”

  His twisted logic gave her a headache. She blotted her face with the handkerchief. It smelled of him, and that made her want to cry again, but she wouldn’t let herself. “I hold you responsible for lying. For making me love you.”

  “You don’t love me, Kathleen O’Leary, and you never did. Maybe you like feeling wounded. Hell, I don’t know. But you can’t make up your mind to love someone in just a few hours.”

  “Since when did you become an expert on matters of the heart?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You could be,” she insisted. “All it takes is time, honesty and caring.”

  “We don’t have that,” he said. “We never will.”