Caroline attacked a streak of dirt with renewed vigor. "You make it sound as if I sent him an engraved invitation."
"And how else would the scoundrel have made his way inside the Arrow, I ask you?"
Caroline tossed down her soapy rag and, grabbing Abby by her frayed collar, fairly dragged the girl toward the front door of the saloon. It was wide open to the street and a stray cat, black and scrawny, sat on the threshold washing its white paws.
"No locks, Abby," Caroline pointed out, her voice betraying her irritation. "No bars upon the windows. Mr. Reardon needed no invitation."
"Has the manners of a sea dog, he does," said Abby, shaking her head. "Sam Markham wouldn't be allowin' himself to take such liberties with a lady's privacy."
"Haven't you learned a thing about Silver Spur, Abigail O'Brien? These men are all the same," Caroline said, wagging her finger beneath Abby's freckled nose. "They take what they want from a woman then howl at the moon when a woman stands up and fights for what is rightfully hers."
Abby's jaw squared in the way Caroline knew all too well. "Be that as it may, miss, but Sam Markham is a cut above the average."
Caroline thought of the stocky, weathered-looking bartender of the King of Hearts Saloon. The only thing remarkable about the man was just how solidly average he was. She started to say exactly that when another series of images suddenly popped up before her eyes.
Abby blushing coyly as she traded barbs with Sam Markham on the day they arrived in Silver Spur.
Sam Markham showing Abby the way to Aunt Sally's for supper and Abby's heated defense of his culinary tastes.
Sam Markham lurking around the dry goods store, the bank, the butcher shop and every other establishment Abby frequented.
And, most telling of all, the flushed and flustered look on Abby's face each time she returned from one of her many errands.
"Oh my God, Abby," Caroline moaned, covering her face with her hands. "Don't tell me you're in love with that reprobate."
"He is a fine man, miss, and I'll not have you sayin' unpleasant things about him because of the company he keeps."
"You haven't answered my question."
"And I won't be until you come to your senses and throw that monster out of the Crazy Arrow."
Caroline sighed and leaned against the door jamb, to the annoyance of the cat. "I can't, Abby."
"Back in Boston I saw you throw Mr. Thomas out of his own mother's house, I did. Shyness wouldn't be one of your virtues, miss."
"We—how can I put this? We have an agreement. He claims to own the Crazy Arrow but I hold the deed. The circuit judge is due in Silver Spur for the Fourth of July celebration and we shall let him decide the outcome of the dispute."
Abby snorted her derision. "You would be a fool to be believin' in justice in a town like this. We may as well be packin' our trunks for our return to Boston."
"Judges are learned men, Abby. Fair men. I have no doubt he will recognize the validity of the deed."
"Men recognize but one thing here, miss: lead."
"I beg your pardon, Abby?"
The young maid reached deep into the pocket of her apron and withdrew a small metal object that fit in the palm of her hand. "This is what they recognize, miss," she said, handing it to Caroline. "That would be a derringer and it's what gives a body power in Silver Spur." Caroline gasped as her fingers closed around a short-barreled pistol. "My God!" she whispered. "Has it come to this? We're reduced to bearing arms like common gunslingers." She went to hand the gun back to her maid but Abby refused.
"You would be needin' it more than me these days, miss," Abby observed. "With that Mr. Reardon under the same roof you'd best keep it under your pillow."
"I don't even want this in the house! I know nothing about guns or bullets or—"
"There wouldn't be bullets in it, miss, not yet. The owner of the general store said they be arrivin' tomorrow and he's savin' me a boxful."
"What are we becoming, Abby? What on earth have I led us into that we need revolvers and bullets?" Threatening Reardon with gunfire was one thing; actually owning a gun was something else again.
"A different life, miss, and one we should be prepared for. Pretendin' this town ain't anything but what it is wouldn't be gettin' us anything but trouble."
Caroline held the revolver up to the light. Such a small weapon to inflict such destruction upon a person. She shivered. "I don't know, Abby. I would like to think it possible to maintain our safety without resorting to such violent means."
From the Golden Dragon across the road came the sound of glass breaking. Two howling cowboys, locked in battle, crashed through the shattered window and landed on the porch of the sporting house with a thud. Before Caroline could say a word, the mingled sounds of gunshot and wild laughter rang out from farther down the street. She looked at the derringer and thought about Jesse Reardon and how he had taken over her bed last night as if he had the divine right to take whatever he fancied.
"Thank you, Abby." She slipped the unloaded revolver into the pocket of her apron. "I think this will prove to be quite useful after all."
* * *
Back in Boston, life for Thomas Addison continued to decline.
"You've shamed me, Thomas," declared Emily Addison as she reached for her fourth glass of sherry that afternoon. "Shamed every Addison who came before you."
And every Addison who is yet to be born. How like his mother to tie his every move to the endless chain of Addisons who filled the cemeteries of Boston. It was all he could do to keep from laughing in the face of his mother's righteous indignation.
Emily looked down at the sheaf of papers in her lap. "Dreadful," she said, shaking her head. "Positively dreadful. Drinking on the job. Defacing bank property. Disgraceful behavior toward the wife of a stockholder." She looked up from the papers, an expression of pure horror in her brown eyes. "Whatever on earth were you thinking of, Thomas?
"Nothing, mother," he said calmly. "Not one blasted thing."
Indeed, since he discovered the pleasures of alcohol, he had done his level best to keep his mind clear as a spring-fed pond.
"I am ashamed of you."
He nodded; of course she was. If he weren't so drunk, he would probably be ashamed of himself, as well. Unfortunately, he wanted nothing more than to retire to his room with a bottle of whiskey and fantasies of his Caroline Bennett.
"Have you nothing to say for yourself, Thomas?" Emily demanded.
"What would you like to hear, mother? That it's all a mistake and a drop of liquor has never passed my lips. Sorry, mother, but I cannot oblige."
"It's that Bennett girl." Emily took a polite sip of sherry. "That wicked child led you on the same way her dreadful father did me, only to break your heart in the end. You must persevere, Thomas! That's what you must do: persevere." Her round face was lit by a triumphant smile as she touched the heavy ruby and diamond ring on her left hand. "Had Aaron not left me brokenhearted, I would never have met my darling Henry and found such bliss as I cannot describe." His mother leaned forward and patted him on the forearm, the rubies twinkling boldly in the gaslight. "Persevere, Thomas!" she repeated, obviously warming up to her topic. "Henry is most eager to bring you into his law office and he has the most darling niece named Cassandra who is new to Boston and in need of an escort to the Cotillion next week."
"No."
Emily's eyes widened in surprise. "I beg your pardon, Thomas?"
"I said no, mother."
"Don't be impertinent."
"I'm twenty-five years old, mother. Isn't it time you stopped ordering me around like a child? Isn't it time you stopped running my life the way you ran Father's?" He gulped down a slug of whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Thomas! Apologize for your outburst at once!"
Thomas bowed low, inordinately pleased that he didn't spill a drop of his precious whiskey. "I apologize it took me so long to grow up."
"Stuff and nonsense! I shall attribute your foolishness
to whiskey and bad judgment." She sat up straight, her plump little body fairly quivering with outrage. "You must go to the office this very afternoon and speak to Mr. Lord and apologize for your behavior, then take the carriage to Henry's and accept his offer."
Thomas nodded agreeably. "Of course, mother. Anything you say."
"I hate impudence, Thomas!"
"None intended, mother."
Emily's face softened as she looked at her only child. "Oh, how I wish that wicked Bennett girl were here. I would give her a piece of my mind for leading you on a merry chase."
He tried to make sense of his mother's words. "A merry chase?"
"You're as literal as your dear departed father." Emily waved one small hand in the air. "I'm speaking metaphorically, Thomas. Of course, you didn't chase after her, thank God, for no gentleman behaves in such a vulgar fashion."
A chase, he thought, the idea taking hold inside his inebriated brain. A chase of the oldest kind....
"Thomas? You are not paying attention to me. March upstairs and splash cold water on your face. I shall see about having Cook brew some strong Jamaican coffee and then you're off to speak to Henry about his most gracious offer."
"Whatever you say, mother," said Thomas, for he suddenly realized that what he did today didn't matter a whit. He could polish Mr. Lord's boots or toady up to his mother's beau or swing naked from the chandelier for all the difference it would make because the second he could get his hands on a chunk of his trust fund, he would be on his way to Silver Spur and Caroline.
Only this time he wouldn't take no for an answer.
* * *
Jesse played cards until late afternoon, enjoying the whiskey, the cigar smoke, and his position as the most important man in town. They talked about gambling and railroads, about abandoned mines and brand new dreams, and not once did they talk about women.
More than ever before Jesse realized how important it was—for both the town and him—that he reopen the old Rayburn mine. With all the changes happening around them, they needed something new to hang their hopes on. Reopening the Rayburn mine was like putting all your money on a pair of aces: risky, but still possible.
Besides, Jesse'd managed to win big before with a hell of a lot less than a pair of aces and he had himself a gut feeling that there was still a lot of silver left to be mined if he could convince Caroline Bennett that she was holding on to something that didn't belong to her.
The card game broke up around sunset.
"I'm headin' over to Aunt Sally's for some grub," Three Toe Taylor said, hitching his pants up by the belt loops. "Anybody else goin'?"
The other men rose and pocketed what winnings they'd managed to hang on to during Jesse's lucky streak.
"Got just enough for some beans and bread," said Big Red with a regretful shake of his head. "You got yourself the luck of the devil, Jesse."
"Don't worry, Morgan," Jesse said, shaking the man's hand. "You'll get a chance to win it back later tonight, if you're game."
The other men ambled off toward Aunt Sally's for some chow while Jesse strolled into the saloon to spell Sam long enough for his bartender to grab his own supper.
For a change, things were quiet; nobody came in looking to dig up the tomahawk with Jesse acting as referee. Before he had a chance to figure out the day's receipts, Sam was back ready to take over his place at the bar for the evening shift.
"Go ahead, boss," said Sam, tying on a fresh white apron. "The night's young and Jade's waitin' for ya."
Jesse took in the twinkle in his bartender's brown eyes. "You look like you're singin' with your tail up. Old Sally must've served stew and sourdough bullets."
"Hell, no," said Sam, pouring some whiskey and sliding the glass down to Doc at the end of the bar. "I didn't eat at Sally's."
"You don't work real good on an empty stomach and there ain't no other place in town worth a damn."
"Jade's waitin' for you," Sam repeated, the twinkle still in his eyes.
"Not talking?"
"Not talking."
"I'll find out her name soon enough," Jesse said with a grin. "Can't keep secrets in this town, Sam."
"Remember that," said his bartender as Jesse headed for the door, "because that holds for you too."
That seemed kind of an odd thing for Sam to say. Over the last few years Jesse'd taken supper with Jade as often as not; it didn't exactly take a genius to figure she was waiting for him up at the Golden Dragon. From the beginning he'd set out to separate himself from the rest of the men in Silver Spur; mystery and power seemed to go hand in hand and he'd figured by making them wonder, he would find it easier to gain control of the town.
And damned if he hadn't done exactly that. Jesse stood on the top step and took in the town spread before him, then headed up the street. Everything he walked past, from the bank to the dry goods store to the King of Hearts, bore his stamp—one way or the other.
Even the Golden Dragon was his in a manner of speaking. From the day he'd found Jade in San Francisco, raped and beaten, she'd been a part of his life. He cared for her, sure, and had been real glad to see her escape the crushing poverty of her parents but she'd never had his heart. When she set up business in Silver Spur he'd been surprised but quick to see the benefits. They fell in with each other as much out of convenience as friendship and it wasn't a bad feeling to know there was some place he could go and relax without worrying about watching his back.
Jade wasn't like Caroline Bennett—not by a long shot. Jade knew how to please a man, how to talk to a man so he felt as if he owned the world. Her hands could take a man places he'd never been before and all for the price of a bottle of whiskey and a new broadcloth shirt. Jade didn't fight him or backtalk him or do any of the other things Caroline Bennett did that made his blood boil and yet for some damned reason he'd been finding it harder than the hubs of hell to get the blonde-haired gal out of his mind.
What he needed was Jade, he thought as he climbed the steps to her suite on the third floor of the Golden Dragon. He needed a woman who didn't ask questions, who didn't pass judgment, a woman who was as different from that blonde-haired Easterner as night was from day.
Jade, however, was skittish as an oily bronc tonight. She greeted him with a cool smile then paced the length of the bedroom while he devoured a slab of rare steak and a heap of fried potatoes and washed the whole mess down with some cold Mexican beer.
"Got to hand it to you, darlin'," he said, leaning back in his chair and lighting up a cigar. "When it comes to feedin' a man, you ain't got no rival."
She stopped for a moment near the window and pierced him with a surprising look.
"Something wrong, darlin'? You're lookin' a little peaked."
"It's all over town, Jesse," she said. "I know what you've been up to."
"Been up to a lot of things lately." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a thick stack of bills. "Pretty damned good poker game this afternoon, for one."
She tilted her head toward the Crazy Arrow across the street. "I'm talkin' about your new home."
He took a long puff on his cigar, trying to figure out just what the gal was driving at. "Got to be a question of honor," he said, truthfully enough. "If the filly's going to take what don't belong to her, she's going to have to pay the consequences."
"Don't lie to me, Jesse."
"Ain't lied to you before, and I don't plan to start now. There's been a lot of talk these past weeks about me and the Crazy Arrow and it was time to take a stand."
"You're a smart man, Jesse, and a smart man would've tossed the gal out on her tail same as you'd do to a man."
Jesse rose and crossed the room to where Jade stood at the window. "Got me a complication or two on that score: the gal's got herself the deed to the Arrow."
Jade's laugh was low and bitter. "Deeds ain't never stopped you."
"Ain't met nobody, man or woman, so hellbent for leather before."
"Seems to me a real woman ain't supposed to fight a man
every step of the way." Jade's voice grew real low and tempting as her hands stroked across his chest and down toward his belt buckle. "A real woman's got ways of bringin' a man around to her way of thinkin'."
From the corner of his eye he caught a flash of movement at the front window of the Crazy Arrow. A buggy rattled down the road, kicking up big puffs of red dirt, and making it hard to see the figure standing behind the curtains.
Jade unfastened his belt and her fingers moved toward the buttons on his pants.
"Whoa, gal," he said, with a laugh that sounded false even to his own ears. "We got all night."
Jade said nothing, but her hands moved upward toward his chest and began to unbutton his shirt. Any other day that would have been enough to set him off quicker than a stick of cyclone shot. Tonight, however, was proving to be full of surprises.
"Relax," Jade murmured, opening his shirt and pressing her lips against his chest. "Let me take care of you, Jesse..."
But there across the street was the lovely form of Caroline Bennett, silhouetted against the faded curtains, watching him, and something inside him stopped cold.
"Jade," he said, placing his hands upon her silk-clad shoulders, "why don't we have us a drink or two...kind of wait a spell—"
She pressed closer to him. "Why wait, Jesse? I'm ready for you now..."
"Jade, I—"
It happened so fast he hadn't time to think. The bullet shattered the window then whizzed right through the fraction of an inch of space between Jade and him, only to lodge itself in the huge mahogany armoire across the room.
"Son of a bitch!" He stared through the broken window at the Crazy Arrow across the street. "She's tryin' to kill me!"
Jade looked out the window then up at Jesse. "Nobody out there that I can see. Stray bullets ain't exactly unheard of around here."
"That was no stray bullet," he said, anger building inside his gut. "She was standin' there, planning the whole damn thing."
He turned and started out of the room but Jade grabbed his shirt sleeve and stopped him a few feet away from the door.
"Let it go, Jesse," she pleaded. "She ain't worth the trouble."
He tried to pull free but she held fast to his sleeve. "Damnation, Jade! I got to—"
Midnight Lover Page 16
