by Lisa Bingham
“No!” Her hand swung out in a purely instinctive reaction. Sobs rose to choke her throat, lying trapped there in a burning ball of fury and regret.
Daniel caught her and twisted her arm behind her back. “I’m not one of those deserters, Susan! I wouldn’t hurt you or your family.”
She didn’t try to deny what he’d read in her face. He knew her too well.
“You’re a Pinkerton.”
He didn’t speak.
Her voice throbbed with barely concealed disgust. “You’ve killed.”
His mouth grew taut and sad. “Yes.”
“Those deserters killed my mother. And my father.”
“Yes.”
“So what makes you any different, Daniel?”
Her accusation hung suspended in the bleak stillness of the room. A self-deprecating pain splintered in Susan’s breast. A terrifying remorse. What had she done? Why had she said such a horrible thing? She wished she could retract the words, but it was much too late. With a damning wave of shame, she discovered she’d hurt him deeply. Although the set of his features did not change, she knew she’d hurt him.
“I’m no different.” He stepped away.
“No, Daniel, I—” She tried to stop him, but as she grabbed the edge of his shirt, the words died in her throat. The skin beneath her knuckles was naked.
Susan’s glance clashed with Daniel’s. He watched her intently.
Though the intimate contact caused a flurry of unease, she refused to back away. She forced her hand to uncurl and rest on the indentation of his breastbone. Long minutes stumbled by. Long tension-fraught moments while she concentrated not on the past but on the present. Not on some band of nameless men who had shattered her life but on Daniel.
The tight constriction binding her lungs eased.
The warmth returned.
“No,” she whispered again. “No, you’re not like those men. Are you?” The last was said almost to herself.
Trembling, Susan stepped closer until the folds of her nightgown brushed his thighs. She laced her arms behind his neck and hugged him.
“I’m sorry.” She clung to him, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh.” The sound was a sigh. A question. A benediction. He held her so tightly that she and Daniel could have been one flesh, one mind.
One heart.
“I’m … sorry.” She squeezed her eyes closed against the regret that threatened to consume her.
She felt him hesitate. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Tell me, Susan. Tell me what happened that day.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Please.”
Susan trembled in his arms. She had never told anyone the whole truth. She couldn’t. Not now. Not ever. As a child she had buried the demons deep in her head. Every year she’d added another lock to their tomb. Each time the phantoms strained to break free, she forced them back. She couldn’t release them. They hovered in her mind for a purpose. To remind her of all she’d done.
She could never be forgiven.
She could never be absolved.
She could never be restored.
“Help me, Daniel.” Susan wasn’t sure if she had actually spoken the words aloud, but her heart kept repeating them over and over again. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what”—her chin wobbled, and she gulped air into her lungs to push away the strangling tightness of her chest—“to do.”
“Shh. Shhh.” Daniel held her trembling frame. “Shhh.”
His body offered a sanctuary she craved, but Susan couldn’t escape the phantoms of her mind.
Mama. Mama. Mama …
“It hurts, Daniel. It hurts.”
“Shh.”
“I don’t want to be this way.”
“I know, Susan. I know.”
Stroking the length of her hair, Daniel gentled her, soothing the aches that had burrowed so deep into her heart that she hadn’t known their extent. He buried his face in the auburn waves of her hair and rocked her back and forth, back and forth.
And suddenly she found herself crying against his chest. Her tears fell on his skin, wetting the hard warmth that pillowed her cheek. The sobs soon became uncontrollable, stripping her of her dignity and her reserve. Her emotions lay naked and vulnerable.
But it didn’t matter.
Daniel understood.
Chapter 12
Barryville, Wyoming Territory
January 15
Timmy Libbley felt like an ass. He staggered from the Dewdrop Saloon, reeking of whiskey, sweat, and stale cigar smoke. In the last three days he’d been jostled, cursed, and ignored.
Breathing deeply of the pre-dawn air, he tried to clear his nostrils of the stench. But most of the stench came from Timmy Libbley, so what could a man do?
Despite his exhaustion, he began to jog, then run, toward the edge of town, where he’d been told to meet Kutter at the abandoned homestead office behind the schoolhouse. Knowing Kutter would have his hide if he didn’t, he purposely took a twisting trail through the alleys to elude anyone who might have seen him or followed him. Then, with one last peek over his shoulder, he barreled into the rickety building and slammed the door behind him.
“Well?”
He wasn’t surprised that Kutter was waiting for him.
“Grant Dooley wasn’t there.” Timmy was already tearing off his disguise. He was sure that Kutter had stripped the clothes off some dead sheepherder and let them ferment for a month or two.
“What do you mean he wasn’t there?”
Timmy was sure he’d heard this conversation somewhere before. Not bothering to unbutton the shirt, he dragged it over his head and began to unfasten his trousers.
“He wasn’t there. He wasn’t there, damn it!” He threw the pants to one side and, despite the freezing temperature of the cabin, began working on his union suit. “I stayed for days in that pit of hell, and he never came!”
“He was seen there at the beginning of the week.”
“Well, he’s not there now.”
“Damn it, where could he be?”
“Ashton,” Timmy supplied, crossing to the corner of the room where a pail of fresh drinking water waited.
Kutter’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Ashton?”
Snatching the bucket from the floor and a washrag from the shelf overhead, Timmy turned with a grin. “Talked to one of the other Dooleys an hour ago. I let loose with the information about the exchange and the dynamite being shipped through town, just like you said. Then Nate Dooley decided to introduce me to some of his family. The Dewdrop is crawling with ’em. They were planning on meeting up with Grant and Marvin in a day or two and skipping for the Mexico border.”
“The hell you say.”
“I think I managed to dissuade them from leaving right away. I told them that Crocker had gone to Ashton to oversee Floyd’s transfer. I also let slip that the Pinkertons would be shipping a crate of dynamite through town the week before. When I left, the Dooleys were lathering at the mouth. They were planning on amassing a regular Dooley brigade to help their cause.” He grinned. “You were right. The promise of a shipment of dynamite only whetted one or two appetites. But the promise of bagging a Pinkerton has them falling all over themselves to get to Ashton. Come the end of the week, I’d say the whole clan will be hidden in the hills around town.”
Kutter whooped with glee. “We got ’em! By jiminy, the whole dad-blasted family is about to take the bait!”
Timmy waited until he had Kutter’s full attention. “What I want to know is how Grant and Marvin found out about Crocker being in Ashton. I thought you wanted me to leak the information.”
“Baby Floyd has kept tabs on Crocker for years, kind of a personal vendetta. My guess is that they remembered some of Floyd’s old tales and looked for Daniel there when they couldn’t find him in Cheyenne.” He clapped his hands together in overt del
ight. “But who cares, boy? As long as the information’s been leaked.” Kutter reached out to chuck him under the chin, but halted a few feet away. “Whew! You stink like a pigsty.”
Timmy glared at him.
Kutter only chuckled. Braving the smell, he grabbed the bucket and upended it over Timmy’s head—ice and all.
Timmy bellowed in shock and outrage, but Kutter laughed even harder. “Get yourself washed up, boy. We’ve got a train—and some Dooleys—to catch.”
Chapter 13
In the crisp winter days that followed, Susan had little time to think back on the night Daniel followed her to her room. While she had the strength to push the memory away during the day, in the dark of her room, before she slept, she often found herself remembering the heat of his skin, the scent of shaving cream and soap, and the unnamed yearnings that felt like the rush of spring after a long hard winter.
Her guilt grew stronger each day, feeding upon itself, until the weight became unbearable. A young unmarried woman was not supposed to entertain a man in her bedchamber—especially when he was partially unclothed and ill and she was one step away from a lifetime with the church.
A lifetime.
Why did her future seem bleaker than before? Why couldn’t she tamp down the desires that had increased tenfold? She had thought some time away from the academy would help her decide what to do. But she had merely become more confused than ever.
“You look very pretty, Susan.”
Daniel.
The sudden pounding of her heart reminded her that they had not been alone since the night she’d checked his wound. Susan flashed him a shy smile. She meant to deny his compliment, since her black uniform made her feel like an old crow, but found herself saying, “Thank you. I’m going into town. I’ll get your medicine refilled while I’m there.”
He grimaced at her reminder. Susan was still quite irritated that he had stopped using the morphine powder nearly a week ago and hadn’t bothered to tell anyone. She knew he didn’t want to worry Esther or make her feel that he didn’t value her own ointments and powders. Susan had found him dumping the contents into his commode and coerced him into admitting that he had not followed doctor’s orders. He’d complained that the powder made him sicker. She’d insisted that statement couldn’t possibly be true. Burying the medicine in her reticule, she had decided that she would have it refilled herself. Then she would force it down Daniel’s throat if necessary.
Even so, she couldn’t help admitting that Daniel had recovered well enough without the prescribed drug. Except for the way he cupped his side if he rose too quickly, and the twinge of pain that raced over his features if he made a sharp movement, he was nearly recovered. According to Essie, his skin was beginning to knit together nicely. He would probably have a permanent mark from the ordeal, but it would simply be one more to add to the half dozen already there.
“I guess I’d better go,” she said finally, when Daniel didn’t speak.
“Not yet. I want to give you this,” he murmured, and when he smiled, Susan caught a glimpse of the boy Daniel had been. One who used to bring her surprises from the mercantile after he’d been paid for his work at the livery. She couldn’t remember the number of times she’d run out to meet him on the road, hoping for his company, only to be offered a stick of peppermint or a horehound drop.
“What?” she breathed.
His free hand lifted in the slight space between them, his fingers uncurling.
Susan gasped in delight upon seeing the delicate gold locket nestled in his palm. “Daniel, it’s beautiful! But I can’t possibly accept it.”
“Please?” The single word was not a demand but a request, shattering any protest she might have offered. “I want you to have it. It belonged to my sister.”
His expression was hidden in the shadows of the hall, and yet Susan sensed Daniel’s attachment to the locket.
“I never knew you had a sister.”
“Thought I’d been hatched from an egg?”
“Well, no, I …”
He slipped the necklace into her palm. The action was filled with such sweet hesitancy, such tenderness, that Susan knew he must have cared for his sister very much.
“Annie died before I came to the orphanage.” It was the first time Susan had ever heard him offer even the tiniest bit of information about his life prior to coming to Benton House. “Actually the locket belonged to my mother, but when Annie was born, Mama put it around her neck for luck.” He firmly folded Susan’s fingers around the piece. There was an odd note of farewell in his voice when he said, “I thought you should have it.”
Susan stared at their hands. Daniel’s were so large and dark and rough.
“Do I remind you a lot of Annie?”
She lifted her head in time to catch the ghostlike smile that hovered on his lips. “Not really.” He paused, seeming to think back in time. “But she was sweet. Like you. Keep it,” he urged again, then retreated toward the stairs.
“Daniel?”
He stopped. His brow lifted in silent inquiry.
“Will you help me put it on?” she asked softly.
Daniel reluctantly returned to her side. Susan gave him the locket and turned her back. She was acutely aware of his nearness.
The necklace dropped to rest on the tailored lines of her bodice, the gold glinting against the inky cloth. His feather-light touch was gone before she had fully registered the tingling it caused on the sensitive skin of her neck.
“How does it look?” Susan asked, facing him, her chin held high.
“As if it belongs there,” Daniel answered, matching her light tone.
“Then that’s where it will stay.” She rubbed the delicate etchings on the front. “I’ll always wear it, no matter what.”
Daniel appeared pleased and a little embarrassed by her statement. He backed toward the stairs again. “See you later, then. After you get back.”
It wasn’t until he disappeared that Susan remembered: once she took her vows she would have to surrender all earthly goods—even a tiny gold locket that had once belonged to a child named Annie.
Susan slapped the reins on the gelding’s rump and turned the sleigh onto the path through the pines that would take her into town in half the time it would take by the regular road.
Esther had asked Susan to drive to Ashton to collect supplies for the upcoming festivities. Since her errand would require several stops, Susan had also brought Daniel’s vial of white powder to refill at the chemist’s.
The sleigh rushed down the wind-carved slope into the valley below. Susan had traversed little more than half the distance to her destination when she discovered she wasn’t alone. On the ridge above her four men on horseback stood etched against the dark green-black backdrop of the trees. Giving them little more than a quick glance, Susan encouraged the horse to hurry forward.
“You there!” One man separated himself from the group and galloped over to her.
Susan’s fingers curled more tightly around the reins. The gelding, sensing her unease, skittered sideways, tossing its head. The sleigh faltered at the edge of a deep drift, then darted forward again.
Familiar dread swirled in Susan’s stomach. She tried to brush aside her nervousness, telling herself that the man who rode toward her was merely one of her old neighbors. But as the figure approached, she knew she was wrong. He was a stranger.
The horseman bent from the saddle to grasp the traces of the sleigh, tugging until the vehicle came to a complete stop. Instinctively Susan shrank against the backrest of her seat. Her eyes flicked from the unkempt rider with his long, matted hair to the three other horsemen on the hill, then back again. The past few years had increased her confidence, but there was still something forbidding about encountering such a rough-looking character so far away from any kind of help.
The man straightened but did not release the bridle of Susan’s horse. His gaze swept over her with a casual thoro
ughness before he dismissed what he’d seen. “Wondered if you could help me.”
Susan fought her innate panic and stared pointedly at the man’s grip on her horse.
The stranger ignored her silent command and smiled, his lips stretching over stained and chipped teeth. His pale skin was riddled with pockmarks, his features gaunt. “You from around here, ma’am?” Despite his smile, his expression remained cold and unreadable.
Susan forced herself to look at him. She sensed his wary interest, and something more. Something that echoed in the brittle cold of the air. Cautiously she held the butt of the whip that lay hidden beneath the folds of her skirts.
When she didn’t speak, he continued, “My friends ’n’ me have been on the road for some time. We seem to be lost.”
Her pulse had begun to pound at the base of her throat with renewed force, but Susan struggled to remain outwardly calm. If she could only keep her wits …
“I hoped you could show us the road to Ashton,” the man added.
Susan nodded toward the icy bluff where his companions waited. “Follow the trees west.” Her instructions emerged low and tense. “You’ll find the road directly past the creek.”
Moving as if his joints pained him, the man straightened in his saddle. Just as slowly, he released her horse and tapped the brim of his hat. His gaze roved over her again. “Much obliged.”
He pulled the reins to his mount, then paused in apparent indecision. “I hear there are some Pinkertons in town. Know where I can find ’em?” His eyes became hooded. “I’ve got a little job that needs looking after.”
Susan gripped the whip even tighter. “You must be mistaken,” she stated firmly. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about Daniel’s whereabouts. “There are no Pinkertons in town. You could try—”
“Thank you kindly for your help, ma’am.”
The man whirled his horse in the snow and galloped back to the other riders waiting on the hillside. Their dark shapes soon melted into the trees.
