“I don’t think I can arrest him unless he has some moonshine on his person,” Calvin replied. “I checked him over just now when I helped him change, and there was no bottle or anything tucked away.”
“We can’t send him back out in that storm. That would be signing his fate.”
“I agree. He needs to stay here until it’s safe to leave, but we’ve got to keep an eye on him.”
“What do you think he’ll do?” Faith asked. “We don’t have anything to steal, really—what are we watching him for?”
Calvin reached out and took her hand. “I’m primarily concerned about you. When a man gets drink inside him, he’s not always as . . . gentlemanly . . . as he should be.”
Faith felt her cheeks go a little warm. “He’s been very polite so far, and if he doesn’t have any liquor on him, he can’t become any more drunk than he already is.”
“True. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop worrying. You’re important to me.” He gave her hand a little squeeze.
Such a simple gesture, but her chest began to burn. She looked up into his eyes and saw the sincerity there. They might not know everything there was to know about each other, but he would protect her—not only because of his sworn duty as a Mountie, but because she was his. She could see that on his face as clearly as if he’d said the words aloud, and she took a deep breath, living in the moment of it. She very much wanted to be his, to belong.
“I’ll give him my bed by the fire, if you’ve no objection to my sleeping in the bedroom tonight,” Calvin went on. “I can stretch out on the floor by the dresser.”
“No,” she said, perhaps a bit more loudly than she intended. “No.” She softened her voice again. “It’s all right. There’s room in the bed for both of us, and we’d be warmer that way.” She wasn’t inviting anything romantic to happen—that wouldn’t be fitting with a stranger in the house—and she knew Calvin understood that. He smiled and nodded.
“We’ll make it work. My first priority is your safety.”
He returned to the fireplace and sat near their guest, and Faith turned back to the stove to see what remained of dinner. She piled some chicken, biscuits, and a slice of pie on a plate and carried it over to where the man sat, his hands stretched out to the flames.
“Oh, thank you, ma’am,” he said as he accepted her offering. “I have to tell you, I thought I was a lost soul for sure. I was figuring that I’d veered off too far to one side or the other. But then I felt a nudge against my hand, and the craziest thing—there was a little white fox walking beside me, and it was like he brought me right to your steps.”
“Finnegan?” Faith exclaimed without pausing to realize how odd she’d sound. “Finnegan brought you here?”
“He didn’t give me his name, ma’am,” their visitor said with a chuckle. “He just led me here.”
“Speaking of names, I’m Calvin Montrose, and this is my wife, Faith,” Calvin said.
“And I’m Henry Gallagher. Pardon my rudeness in not saying it sooner.” Henry gave a nod, then took up his fork and began to eat. It must have been awkward, balancing the plate while also holding a blanket around himself, but Faith didn’t know how else to manage it—he needed to stay warm, but the table was too far away from the fire. She decided she’d simply stay in the kitchen so that if his blanket were to slip, they’d all be spared the embarrassment of her seeing him in his long underwear.
She set some salt pork to soaking, then washed up the dishes from dinner. Calvin brought Henry’s plate over after a few minutes, and she got that washed and put away as well. Hopefully Henry’s clothes would soon be dry and he could put them back on—the fire was nice and bright, and should be doing its job well.
As she worked, she couldn’t help but think about little Finnegan out there in the storm, bringing lost travelers to safety. She knew he was a wild animal, but she just wanted to scoop him up and give him a hug for being such a good boy. She didn’t think Calvin would go for that, though, so she should most likely keep those thoughts to herself.
An hour later, Henry was snoring on the floor. His coat was still damp, but his shirt and pants were dry, and he seemed fairly comfortable. Calvin stayed in the main room until Faith had finished changing into her nightgown, then he came in and pulled off his boots.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Faith said once they were both tucked in. Calvin hadn’t changed beyond removing his boots, choosing to sleep clothed. She supposed there were several reasons for that, and she appreciated all of them, most particularly his ability to respond quickly if there was any kind of emergency. “Just what exactly is so bad about moonshine? What makes it worse than the other sorts of whiskey people drink? I’m sorry if that’s a naïve question.”
“No, I think it’s a very good question.” Calvin rolled over to face her, propping his head up on his hand. “All spirits have their problems—when someone drinks, it changes their perceptions, and they can become violent or moody. Moonshine, however, falls into a different category because it’s made without government authorization. There are liquor laws in place to control alcohol content, and moonshine nearly always exceeds those limits. It’s dangerous, much more so than grabbing a glass of whiskey at the saloon. You never know if you’re drinking a safe batch.”
“So, why do people drink it?” Faith asked. She liked the way the faint light from the fireplace in the living room illuminated Calvin’s face. She couldn’t make out every curve or line, but the silhouette was quite nice, even if he did think his jawline needed some work.
“It’s an addiction, just like a dependency on any other sort of drink, but it grabs you faster and holds you longer,” Calvin explained. “All that alcohol coursing through your body at once—it’s a heady experience. I’ve spoken with men who have worked to overcome their taste for it, and they say that giving it up is the hardest thing they’ve ever done. They did it to save their lives—it will rot out your intestines and kill your liver faster than almost anything I’ve ever heard of.”
Faith shuddered. “And people make money off it?”
“Absolutely. You get yourself some corn mash, which is really easy to obtain, and you distill it down, and you can make ten times your money back. Transport it a fair piece away where there’s no access to it, and it’s like owning your own bank. The Mounties in this area have been trying to shut down a local operation for some time with no success. Henry out there obviously knows who runs it or who sells it—he might even be running it himself. We’ve got to see if we can’t get some information out of him while he’s here.”
“But you can’t just arrest him?”
Calvin shook his head. “I know he was drunk when he arrived, and I know he smelled like moonshine. That’s all the evidence I have to go on, and it’s not concrete.”
Faith snuggled farther into the blankets. It was horrible to consider—a substance that could ruin a person’s body and mind both, being sold by evil men who only cared about their pocketbooks. Would they ever be held accountable for the lives they’d ruined? Was there any sort of jail term that would be suitable for the wrack and ruin of a family?
“We’ve been asked to keep an eye on the Indians especially,” Calvin went on. “I’d like to ride out and get to know the nearby tribes once this storm has blown over. There’s a connection between the fur trappers and the moonshiners in the area—well, I should say, it seems that there’s always a connection no matter where you go. Two industries that thrive in the same locations, each with a commodity the other wants. They trade back and forth, not caring about fair deals, just trying to get the upper hand in everything they’re doing. Greed is a nasty thing, Faith. Once it gets into your soul, you can never have enough—you’re never satisfied. Your life becomes about the search for the next thing, and the next, until it consumes you.”
“You sound as though you know something about it,” Faith asked softly.
He nodded. “My uncle was addicted to opium. He was introduced to it while
he was abroad on business, and when he came home, all he could think about was making more money to buy more opium. It reached the point that he was importing the stuff to sell as well as taking it for his own use. He’s now in prison, his entire life gone because he allowed himself to fall into that trap.”
“That’s horrible. Did he have a wife?”
“Yes, and four children. My father has taken over their care and sees to their education and lodging. Thank goodness he has enough income to support them—my aunt has no other family.”
“He sounds like a good man, your father.”
“He is, one of the best. I can’t wait for you to meet my parents—and I want to meet yours as well.”
“My father passed away when I was ten. You’d like my mother, though, and she’ll like you. I’m quite sure of it.”
Calvin reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from Faith’s cheek. “I’m sorry to hear about your father. What took him?”
“Pneumonia. It was a severe case, and he didn’t get proper treatment in time. He’d been stubborn, putting off seeing the doctor, and then it was too late.”
Calvin chuckled softly. “I dislike seeing the doctor myself.”
“It’s not my favorite thing to do either, but there are times when it’s necessary, and I often wish he hadn’t been so bullheaded about it. I remember him sitting up at night, coughing as though his chest would implode, insisting that he was all right. It’s as though he refused to admit that he was a human being with a mortal body that needed to be cared for.”
“I think it’s hard for any man to accept his mortality. It’s likely hard for women, too, although I must say, I’ve never thought about things from a woman’s perspective before. You’ll have to enlighten me.”
She could sense his smile in the darkness. “I don’t think anyone likes to admit their weaknesses. We all want to see ourselves as strong and invincible. In my father’s case, he took that invincibility too far, and it cost him dearly. It cost his family dearly as well—we miss him every day.”
Calvin picked up the lock of hair again and twirled it between his fingers. “I would have liked to know you as a little girl. What sort of child were you?”
“Oh, not terribly exciting. I liked to play out of doors and make mud pies or splash in puddles. I read and dressed my dolls. Just the things that ordinary little girls do.”
“Again, not being a girl, I know nothing about that. When we have daughters, I suppose I’ll be educated—probably much more than I want to be.”
His voice held a note of amusement. “I think you’ll be a wonderful father someday, Calvin,” she whispered.
He leaned over, kissed her cheek, and then settled back onto his pillow. Within moments, he was asleep, his breathing rhythmic in the darkness. It was strange to think of him sleeping so close by, and yet, it was the most comforting feeling she’d ever experienced.
She reached out and rested her fingers on his sleeve—just enough so she didn’t have to break contact with him. Then she too was able to fall asleep, pushing away her worries until another day—after all, there wasn’t one thing she could do about them at the moment, so she might as well enjoy these tender moments while they lasted.
***
Henry was gone when Calvin got up the next morning. The blankets were folded and set on the chair, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. Calvin was equally relieved and dismayed. He didn’t like housing a man who was potentially dangerous, but he’d wanted the chance to see if he could get any information out of him.
He had just finished lacing up his boots when the door opened and Henry staggered in, his arms full of wood.
“Thought I’d do you a bit of a good turn, Mountie,” he said, setting his load down with a thump. “Can’t be letting you do all the hard work on my behalf.”
“I appreciate it,” Calvin replied. Just as he’d been torn between relief and frustration a moment ago, he was both glad and annoyed to see the man after all. “How’s it looking out there?”
“Can’t see the cabins next door or anywhere,” Henry replied. “Almost couldn’t find your woodpile and had to give it up for a lost cause. I imagine we’re getting a good few feet, if not more.”
“How’s the town equipped to handle things like this?” Calvin asked. “Does it happen often?”
“Oh, I’d say often enough that everyone knows what to do. They’ve all got their candles and whatnot in store, and they know enough to come inside when the wind gets bad or the flurries start.”
“What about the Indians? Are their homes tight?”
Henry scratched his chin, his fingernails making a rasping sound against his whiskers. It made Calvin’s face itch. “I’ve never been inside one, but I imagine so. That tribe’s been around a long time—somewhat around three hundred years, if I heard the tale right.” He chuckled. “I’ll bring in one more load before I call it done, I think.” He turned and headed back outside, having to close the door with a thump to get it to stay shut.
Faith peeked out from the bedroom. “He’s still here?”
“He is. Just went out to get more wood.”
She stepped into the main room, pinning her hair into place. “I wanted to come out and start breakfast, but I didn’t want to catch anyone indisposed.”
“Then this is perfect timing. Can I help in any way?”
She nodded toward the stove. “You could put some wood on for me.”
“With pleasure.” He walked into the kitchen, pausing as he passed her. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, Mrs. Montrose, but you sure do look pretty first thing in the morning.”
She looked embarrassed, yet pleased. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well then, I’ll scoot the mirror over next to the bed so you can see for yourself. There was a moment this morning as a pleasant dream or something flitted through your mind and you smiled a bit, and it was one of the loveliest things I’ve ever seen.”
She pretended to be shocked. “You were watching me sleep?”
“Just for a moment. It was a very delightful moment, though.”
She looked up and met his gaze. He was tempted to kiss her—it would be so nice to find out if her lips were really as soft as they looked. Before he could follow through on the thought, however, the door opened again and Henry bustled in.
“I think we’d best call that good for now,” he said, seemingly oblivious to the moment he’d interrupted. “I nearly couldn’t find the cabin again.”
“I have a coil of rope here we can use as an anchor if we need to go out again,” Calvin replied, taking a step back from Faith and trying to act as though nothing at all was going on. He’d rather like to gather the man up by his collar and chuck him back out in the snow so he could return to his wife, but he figured that wouldn’t be the right thing to do, considering the storm and all.
Faith made up a nice breakfast, then picked up her knitting after everything was cleaned up. Calvin occupied himself by cleaning his rifle and pistol, but they were already clean, so the process didn’t take long. Then he was completely out of anything to do.
“You could read to me while I knit,” Faith suggested. “My books aren’t here yet, but I’ve only read one of the three I borrowed the other day. They’re there on the small table.”
Calvin raised an eyebrow. “You’d like me to read you one of these books?” The titles sounded ridiculous. “‘The Duke and the Lost Pirate Princess’?”
“Of course not,” she replied. A wave of relief washed over him until she said, “That’s the one I read. Choose a different one.”
Calvin glanced over at Henry, who was sitting there with a smirk on his face. “You wouldn’t want to hear me read a book, would you, Henry?” he asked. “I’m sure it would be plenty boring.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Henry replied. “I enjoy a good yarn from time to time.”
Faith looked smug. “See? You’d be entertaining both of us. Go ahead, Calvin. Choose a book.”
He grumbled under his breath, but in reality, he had nothing else to do. “I’ll take The Empress and the Merchant King, I suppose,” he said at last.
“Excellent choice,” Faith said, and Henry settled in to listen.
Calvin opened to chapter one and cleared his throat. “‘The garden party had gone on far too long for the empress’s tastes, and she wished everyone would just go away and leave her to her solitude. She grew weary of accepting compliments about her porcelain skin, her lithe figure, and her impeccable skill on the pianoforte.’” He paused and looked up. “Really, Faith? This is what you want me to read you?”
She shrugged. “You chose the book.”
“Only because the other two sounded worse!” He shook his head and went back to it, trying not to cringe as he outlined all the empress’s many fine qualities, and yet her subsequent loneliness because she was so very perfect. But then along came a man, a mysterious man—
“Oh, yes,” Henry interrupted. “Every good story has a mysterious man.”
“Exactly,” Faith replied. “Go on, Calvin.”
The mysterious man had dark, brooding eyes and a robust mustache—which was also approved by the audience—and he lurked in corners and wore a black cape. Calvin was greatly relieved when Faith finally set down her knitting and said she’d make lunch.
“You know,” Henry said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, “that’s a right nice wife you have there, and I think it’s a good job you’re doing, keeping her entertained. You’re not a bad storyteller.”
Calvin shook his head and closed the book forcefully. “I agree that she’s something else, but this book isn’t at all my idea of entertainment. I’d much rather be out riding or hunting or doing just about anything else in the world. I’m an outdoorsman by inclination.” And that might be the opening he was looking for. “Tell me about this area, Henry. What kinds of wildlife are out there, and what are the dangers? I imagine there are plenty, both man and beast.”
Bride for Calvin Page 5
