by Jo Goodman
“Reid,” Rachel said softly, mulling it over. She blinked as it came to her. “You’re a Reid.”
He nodded, frowning slightly. “You’ve heard of them?”
“From Mr. Maddox. They were investors in his eastern rails before the war.”
“That’s right. It’s one of the reasons my father turned to Clinton Maddox when he needed a railroad to join Colorado to the rest of the country.”
“And a line that would join Reidsville to the rest of Colorado.” She shook her head slowly, trying to take it in. “I had no idea how long you and Mr. Maddox had been engaged in these enterprises.”
“Not me,” said Wyatt. “But yes, his association with the Reids goes back to when he was first putting down rails in the East.”
“Then what is it that your father did that so disappointed everyone? He struck gold and silver, founded a town, created a bank, established what amounts to a sustainable trust for the citizens, and helped bring in rails to make it all viable. How is any of that disappointing?”
Wyatt’s shoulders settled heavily. He held his mug in both hands and stared at it. “Matthew Cooper’s sin was that he never returned.”
It was then that Rachel truly understood the depth of Wyatt’s own struggle. “Your mother lived here for a time, didn’t she?”
“Now and again. You have to remember that the town was considerably less developed. It had a bank and not much else. She had five children, no help, and a good memory for the amenities she’d left behind. She came west expecting that my father would manage the bank and assume a position in the town that was more fitting of his accomplishments. Instead, he continued to mine and explore the mountains, and was as much a stranger to her as he’d been when she was in Boston. He even hired someone else to keep the bank’s affairs in order.
“I don’t know how they arrived at the decision that she should leave. No one ever talked about it. My father came with us as far as St. Louis, and I think he hoped she’d change her mind every step of the way. She never did, though, and he stayed until we boarded the train. Nicholas begged to remain behind, but my father refused. For himself, I believe he would have been pleased to have Nick, but there are few things so clear in my mind as my mother’s distress when she thought Nick would leave her.”
Wyatt took a sip of his coffee and then set the mug down. “My mother did see my father one more time. It was during the war, not long after Nick’s death at Chickamauga. My father got leave, and they met in New York.”
“I imagine it was a bittersweet reunion.”
He nodded faintly. “My brother Morgan was born nine months later.”
“Really?”
Wyatt smiled. “Really. He’s just eighteen now.”
“Did your father ever see him?”
“Photographs only. They wrote regularly.”
“And you? Do you write?”
“I do. Not as frequently as Morgan would like, but that’s because I have to be cautious of every word. He’s been hinting at coming west, and I can’t encourage him.”
Rachel thought about what he’d said earlier about his mother’s distress. “What if he did come? Would your mother hold you responsible?”
“For a while.” He considered that, and added, “A long while. Morgan’s been at the center of her life for a lot of years. When he goes to Harvard, she’ll have reins that stretch from Beacon Hill to Cambridge.”
“Was it like that for you?”
“When I went to school, no. But earlier, when Nick left with the regiment from Boston, and I ran away to join him, it felt as if I was straining at a bit.”
“You were twelve, Wyatt, and you were running off to a war. Your mother should have had you hobbled.”
“I’m sure she wished she had.”
Rachel stood to clear the table. “Would you do any part of it differently?”
“No, not if I were twelve again. I don’t think I would be able to help myself, even if I knew what lay ahead. I was…am…curious. There’s at least that much of my father in me. I regret the pain I caused my mother, but then…then I had no real understanding of it.”
“Yet you had already seen how she felt about losing Nick.”
“And I never thought once that she might feel the same about me.”
Rachel carefully placed the dishes in the washtub. “Perhaps you didn’t want to.”
“Could be.” He held on to his coffee cup to keep her from taking it off the table in her second sweep. “It probably made it easier for me to leave.”
Rachel wiped the table. “Just the same, when our boy is twelve, I’m going to hobble him.”
“Good idea.” He watched Rachel straighten at the table and turn to the sink. She looked rather grim, scraping plates with more ferocity than was called for. “Are we going to have a twelve-year-old boy, Rachel?”
His question broke her concentration. Her hands were still in the tub, and she turned her head to regard him sideways. “I haven’t decided. If I have to worry about giving him up at twelve to wanderlust, I just don’t know.”
Wyatt quickly raised his cup to hide his smile. “Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?”
“Maybe we should only have girls.”
“So I can worry about boys like Johnny Winslow trailing after them?”
“That wouldn’t happen until they’re fifteen or sixteen.”
“If they look like you, it’ll happen a lot sooner.”
One of Rachel’s eyebrows lifted. “Flattery?”
“Ma Beatty would say it’s honest speak.”
She didn’t miss the gleam in his eye. It wasn’t there solely because he was amused. “Sly, lawyer speak is more like it. I think you want to go back to bed.”
“Could be I want to get to that third part of our marriage.”
At first she didn’t follow, and when it came to her, she couldn’t help but smile. Share a dwelling. Engage in coital relations. Raise children together. Rachel removed her hands from the tub and dried them on a towel. She crooked a finger at him as she deliberately skirted the table. “Why don’t we have the party of the second part first?”
Chapter Fourteen
“I’m going to let you out, Mr. Maddox.” Wyatt turned the key and opened the cell door a few inches. Will Beatty stepped aside to make room. “You, too, Mr. Dover. I didn’t like leaving you here last night, but there wasn’t a room available at the Commodore.”
“And today there are two,” Foster said, tugging on his jacket and running his fingers over the buttons. “How convenient.”
“For you. Otherwise you’d have to take a room at the boardinghouse, and I don’t think you’d like the accommodations as well as what you’ll find at the hotel.” Wyatt ushered them out.
Foster glanced back at the men in the adjoining cell, the pair he’d hired in Denver. “What about them?”
“I’ll get to them. There’s something I want to show you and Mr. Dover first.” He indicated they could wait by the stove while he leafed through papers on his desk. “Here we are. You recognize either of these gentlemen?” He passed the flyers on to Will, who passed them to Foster Maddox. “Because I have to tell you, they bear a startling resemblance to the two in the back.”
Foster looked over the rough drawings while Mr. Dover strained to see over his shoulder. “I’m afraid I don’t see it.” He handed the posters to his accountant and stepped sideways to put some distance between them. “It says their names are Franklin and Ross. I hired a Mr. Ford and a Mr.—” He paused, trying to recollect the name. “What was it, Randolph?”
“Richards.”
“Yes. Richards.”
“You hired cattle thieves, Mr. Maddox. Scratch them just a little and you’ll likely find they’re killers underneath.”
“I don’t think so. They were walking free in Denver.”
At this confirmation that the men were hired in Denver, Wyatt and Will exchanged glances. “They were hiding in plain sight,” Wyatt said. “Blake Street? Lari
mer? Along with Holladay, they make up the tenderloin district.” When Foster didn’t say anything, Wyatt turned his attention to the accountant. “Do you know, Mr. Dover? Was it somewhere in the tenderloin?”
“A gambling house. Chase’s Cricket Club. I don’t recall the street.” He ran his fingers nervously along the edges of the papers, turning them in his hands.
Will took the posters from Mr. Dover and returned them to the desk. “We’ll keep Mr. Ford and Mr. Richards awhile longer. Just to be sure.”
“But you’re free to go,” Wyatt said. “Sir Nigel has two rooms ready for you. You’ll have a suite, Mr. Maddox. A change of clothes has been made available, and Sir Nigel will see that what you’re wearing is laundered. You can settle up with him when the train catches up to you. If we don’t get another storm—and no one’s expecting one—that’ll be another day or so. If you eat at the hotel, you can put your meals on your room. If you want to eat anywhere else, you’ll have to have money. No one extends credit to strangers.”
“I have money,” Foster said coldly.
“Good. Then you might want to visit the Miner Key. There’s a show tonight. Who’s singing, Will?”
“That’d be Adele. She has a real nice voice.”
Watching Foster’s complexion turn ruddy provided Wyatt with a certain amount of pleasure, but he recognized that he’d pushed him about as far as he could. “Do you want an escort to the hotel?” he asked.
“I’m sure we can find it.”
“I’ll stop by this evening, make sure you’re settled in.”
Mr. Dover took a step forward, only to be stopped by the arm Foster extended like a gate. Foster thrust his chin in Wyatt’s direction. “You’re not going to do anything about Rachel Bailey, are you?”
“What would you like me to do?”
“Perhaps she should spend a few nights in jail waiting for the train. That seems to be your plan for my two men, and you’re not certain they’re the ones on your posters, while I harbor no such doubts about Rachel. I know what she did.”
Wyatt scratched his head and made a point of only marginally containing his amusement. “She sure got you riled up, Mr. Maddox. I can’t think of maybe two, three men that would make a journey like you set for yourself on account of a woman taking some furniture and clobbering him so he needed a few stitches. Most fellas would be saying good riddance. At least that’s been my experience. What about you, Will?”
That no-account Beatty boy offered a careless shrug. “Same for me.”
“Will’s spent more time in Denver than I have, so I’d count his experience as superior to mine.”
Setting his jaw, Foster Maddox crossed the floor to where his coat and hat hung by the door. He took both down, laid them over his arm, and left without putting either on. Mr. Dover hurried to follow but couldn’t get through the door before it swung shut on him. He bumped into it awkwardly and had to open it again, fumbling with the knob several times before he could do so.
Wyatt and Will held their breath until the accountant was out of earshot; then Will broke first, sucking in his laughter so that he choked on a lungful of air.
“Easy,” Wyatt said, clapping him on the back. “Show some compassion for poor Mr. Dover. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll be spending the evening listening to Foster Maddox rail against just about everyone on this side of the Continental Divide.”
“Good guess.” Will caught his breath and sidestepped Wyatt’s cheerful blows. “You sure did get under his skin. Foster Maddox’s, I mean. I don’t think Dover has any. Maddox stripped it clean off a long time ago.”
Wyatt was inclined to agree. He sat behind his desk and propped his feet up. “Maddox hasn’t mentioned the spur. Not a word about the mine, either.”
“We have two of his men in the back, Wyatt, and no intention of putting Rachel in jail. He’s probably not feeling so confident right now. I imagine he wants to wait for the rest of his men.”
That made sense to Wyatt. “I didn’t see Ben Cromwell among the men at the train. Did you?”
Will shook his head. “It surprised me. Maybe he couldn’t get to Denver to meet them.”
“What do you think about Ford and Richards?”
“You mean Franklin and Ross?”
“The very same.” Wyatt picked up the wanted posters and looked them over again. “Do you suppose there are more like these two ready to roll in with Foster’s train?”
“Jesus,” Will said softly. “I don’t want to think about it.”
Neither did Wyatt, except that it was his job. “We should tell some of the others. Rudy at the Miner Key. Sir Nigel, but only if we’re certain he won’t panic. Artie. Sam at the land office.”
“Rose,” Will said.
“Yes. Rose. Certainly Rose.”
Will mentioned a few other names that Wyatt agreed to. They didn’t want to alarm the town, but they also didn’t want the citizens to be unprepared. They were making a list so Will could make the rounds when Artie came in. He crossed his arms and clapped his shoulders, warming himself until he got to the stove. The fire was too meager for his tastes. He tossed in a few sticks of wood to get it blazing again.
“Make yourself at home,” Wyatt said.
Artie ignored him and gave the stove his backside. “I came to let you know that I haven’t received a message since yesterday morning. That’d be the same message that was interrupted. I have to believe a line’s down.”
“Weather?” asked Will.
“Couldn’t say. You rather it was?”
“Than being brought down on purpose? Yep. That’s always my druthers.”
“Mine, too,” Artie admitted. His spectacles fogged, and he took them off to clear them. “You didn’t notice a downed wire on your way to the slide, did you?”
“No,” said Wyatt. “We went a few miles east of the blockage. I didn’t see anything like that.”
Artie grunted softly. “Must be closer to the city, then. I suppose someone will get around to looking for it when no one hears from us. Abe was thinking of sending out a crew to find it, but I told him I wanted to talk to you first.”
“It’s good you did,” Wyatt said. “Leave it be. I don’t want anyone leaving town except to relieve the men working the slide.” He told Artie about the pair sharing a cell in the back. “If that’s a sample of what Foster’s brought with him, I don’t like the idea of sending anyone past the slide. We’re better off just waiting for the train to come to us.”
“All right, then,” Artie said, collecting himself. “Makes sense. You need any help?”
“Would you mind picking up breakfast for our thieves at Longabach’s?” asked Wyatt. “Don’t know when we’d get around to it otherwise.”
“Sure.”
“Oh, and don’t mention where the prisoners came from. Maybe you should just tell Estella that I offered lodging to a couple of drunks. She makes a spare breakfast if she thinks they’ve got a hangover.”
Wyatt found his photographic equipment set up in Rachel’s workroom when he arrived home for lunch. Rachel wasn’t immediately visible in the same area, and his heart thundered hard against his chest until she stood up suddenly from behind the mannequin.
“Mmm,” she said, trying to greet him around a mouthful of pins. She plucked them out from between her lips and stuck them in the pincushion on the table. “I didn’t hear you come in. That’s a first. Were you trying to be quiet?”
“Not in the least. You must have been deep in your work.”
“I suppose I was. What time is it?”
When he told her, she shook her head. “It can’t be. I don’t have anything prepared.”
“That’s all right. I won’t starve. You might, but I won’t.”
Rachel sighed. “It’s a good thing you have so few expectations.”
“Oh, I have a few.” To prove it, he closed the distance between them and kissed her soundly. “It’s so much better without the pins.”
Rachel’s mouth curled, and she
pushed him away. “I was thinking that I’d like to make a photograph.”
“I see that. Have you solved the problem of a darkroom?”
“I think so. What about the woodshed?”
“Too cold.”
“Oh. Then, no.”
“Let me think about it, and we’ll work on it this evening. I’ll bring home the chemicals we’ll need. Chet has everything. I think I can get the proper paper at Morrison’s. There won’t be enough light to make a good photograph, but you can get the feel for it and try it on your own tomorrow.”
“I’d like that. Maybe we can use the parlor. I could hang black fabric at the windows.” She looked critically at the pile of folded remnants that occupied one corner of the room. “I’m sure I have enough there.”
Wyatt pointed to the gown on the form. “Is this what you want to photograph?”
“Yes. I thought I might like to have a more exact record of the gowns I design than my own sketches. This is the last dress for Virginia’s trousseau, or at least it’s the last that I’m making. She’d have me be her personal dressmaker if I allowed her. I keep reminding her that she can only wear one at a time.”
“I know Ezra will be pleased to hear you’re done. As I understand it, this matter of the trousseau was the last obstacle.”
Rachel’s smile was sympathetic. “Poor Ezra. What about his sore head? Did you see him today?”
“Oh, he’s fine.” Wyatt fiddled a little with the tripod, setting the legs so they supported the camera better. “I didn’t see him. Will told me he has a good shiner and a lump on his forehead. I’m fairly certain he punished everyone by not letting them sleep much last night. They all looked bleary-eyed this morning.”
“They’re out now, aren’t they?”
“Maddox and Dover are. I let them go first thing.” He told her about setting them up at the Commodore. “Sir Nigel is supposed to let me know if Maddox leaves the hotel.”
“What about the other gentlemen?”
“I’m not so sure that’s how I’d describe them. I’m keeping them locked up a little longer. Will and I think they’re both wanted for rustling cattle. I’ll know more once the telegraph line is repaired, and I can get a message through to Denver.”
