Audrey and the Maverick (6 page)

The door slammed behind one of Bill Kemp’s men. He was breathless and looked as if he hadn’t slept in the last ten days, but his eyes were alight with excitement. Kemp hoped he brought good news.

“Get out,” he ordered the rest of his men loitering in the jail lobby. When the room emptied, he faced Ike. “So let’s have it. What did you find out?”

“It’s no rumor, Sheriff. Dillard and Fiske opened a couple dozen logging camps in the mountains to cut railroad ties. They’re gonna be sending ten thousand dollars in silver up to the main camp to cover payroll and operating expenses.” He looked at the sheriff. “Every month.”

Kemp eyed his hired gun, trying to see if he was lying or had been duped. This news was a helluva break. “You sure about this? Who did you talk to?”

“Word’s out all over Cheyenne. They’re hiring every man, Chinkie, and Mick they can. Paying three times what a cowboy makes, more if their camps meet quotas. They’re flush, and it’s coming our way.”

“When’s the first shipment?”

“Next week. Just like we heard.”

“All right. Go get a beer. Tell Sam it’s on me. I got some planning to do.” Kemp mulled this over in the silence of his empty office. He was glad he got rid of McCaid, at least for this first shipment. But it was just plain bad luck the Avenger had Defiance in his sights. Something would have to be done about both men if he was to take full advantage of this windfall.

For supper on her first night as camp cook, Audrey made a hash from a couple of the corned beef briskets in the smokehouse and some potatoes stored in the keeping house. The hash, along with large, fluffy sourdough biscuits, was an enormous hit with the men. Any worries she’d entertained about their accepting a woman in camp were rapidly vanishing. It was good McCaid had feed for the pigs; the scrap bucket had been empty after both breakfast and lunch. And given the way the men were silently, rapidly making her hash disappear this evening, she thought there would be little waste after this meal.

She had just set a plate down for Amy when one of the boys came around the serving table. She looked up, nervously expecting McCaid. He’d told her he would collect her after supper to go to his new house and assess his curtain situation—he wanted her to draft a list of notions and other things she would need to create his window coverings

The man standing there wasn’t McCaid but a childhood friend she hadn’t seen in years. She broke into a grin. “Hadley Baker!” Laughing, she ran to give him a hug. He picked her up and swung her around. “Just look at you.” She smiled, leaning back to look at him. “How you’ve grown!” And he had too, perhaps a half foot since she last saw him three years before.

“Look at how I’ve grown—look at you!” Still holding her, he let his eyes take in her curves. She wasn’t insulted by his audaciousness. Hadley was one of the first friends she had made when her family moved to Defiance. For several summers, they, along with Leah, Malcolm, and Logan Taggert—when he came to town—had romped, carefree and ignored by adults, through the long summer weeks. Hadley taught her and Leah how to ride. Logan taught them to swim. Leah taught them all how to hunt. The boys did not mind that she and Leah were girls; they climbed trees, swam, fished, and did everything together.

That changed the year she turned seventeen, when her parents had died. The next summer, Hadley worked on his father’s ranch. And the following year, he had graduated. She had run into him once in town, but not since.

“What are you, a cowpuncher, doing on a sheep spread?” she asked.

He grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Keep this to yourself, but my father’s thinking of diversifying our holdings. Thought it would be smart for me to work here for the summer to see if it’s what we want to do. Some of the boys were talking about you today when they came out to take the watch. I couldn’t believe it when I heard your name.” He frowned at her, his hand gently touching her bruised neck. “Who did this to you?”

“Kemp.”

“Audrey, you shouldn’t be here.” He shook his head. “It’s no place for a gal like you. What about the ch—”

Audrey made a face, silencing him. Leaning toward him, her voice lowered, she whispered, “McCaid doesn’t know about the kids.”

“Why? Why keep them a secret?”

She shrugged, not wanting to tell him the whole sordid tale. “I don’t know him. I don’t trust him yet. It felt safer to keep them a secret.”

“Who’s caring for them?”

“Malcolm. He’s working at the general store. And Jim and Sally are helping as they can. And Leah and Maddie too.”

They regarded each other for a long moment. Then Hadley pulled her hand through his arm and turned her away from the boys. “Audrey, what I asked you that second summer…I meant it. I wasn’t just playing around. I want you to marry me.”

Audrey remembered that exact moment. They were at their swimming hole. Malcolm had just jumped into the water, soaking them with a big splash. Hadley had jumped in after him. Ducking Malcolm under the water, Hadley had looked up at Audrey and told her they should get married later, when they were older. She of course had thought he was teasing and jumped in to save Malcolm. She had never thought of that moment again.

Until now.

She gradually returned to the present. Her gaze came to rest on a pair of large, dusty cowboy boots crossed at the ankles. Involuntarily, she followed the long line of buff pants upward, seeing where they tightened over strong thighs, narrow hips, thin waist, and up farther to tensely folded arms.

McCaid.

Her eyes flew to his face as one dark brow arched upward beneath that wayward lock of hair. “I think Miss Sheridan has work to see to.”

“Yes, sir,” Hadley answered, his voice respectful, his grin unsuppressed. He bent and gave Audrey a quick kiss on the cheek, then stepped away. “Bake something special for me,” he called over his shoulder.

“Bake—what?”

He shrugged, disappearing into the other side of the table. “You pick!”

Audrey smiled, but her humor quickly dissipated as she faced the black look McCaid sent her. Determined not to let him see how unsettling he was to her, she forced a polite smile and greeted him. “Good evening, Mr. McCaid.”

Julian returned her greeting as his mind replayed the little vignette he’d just witnessed, seeing the boy twirling Audrey, leaning back and leering at her, his hands on her waist. The joy on her face as she greeted him was genuine and stunning. And when they had leaned together and whispered, it was all Julian could do to keep himself from ripping the boy off her. He couldn’t explain his reaction. He’d never felt such a feeling.

“That was touching,” he commented. Instantly, he wished he could pull the words back. Audrey smiled up at him, pushing him further into an ill humor.

“Hadley’s an old friend of mine. Is there something I can do for you, Mr. McCaid?”

Heat shot through a part of him that had no business in this conversation. He knew she didn’t mean those words the way his body heard them. He couldn’t remember why he had come over here. He straightened stiffly, his mind scrambling for something that made sense.

Kemp.

He reached out and touched the bruises on her neck, bruises he had kissed last night. “So Kemp did this. Why?” The fear that shot through her pale green eyes shot through his gut as well. He stood before her, studying her, curious to see if she would lie to him.

“Because he can. Who will stop him?” Her words were breathy. He brushed the pads of his fingers against her throat, wondering if it was fear making her voice rasp, or if she felt what he was feeling.

His body tightened. He looked above her head and caught a dozen men watching them, ogling her as Deputy Fred had done in town. She was not a toy for them, or him, or any man. But how to protect her?

“Let’s go up to the house while the light’s still good. I think Jenkins will have a pencil and some paper for you to make notes on.”

A few minutes later, Audrey, Amy Lynn, and Julian headed away from camp toward his new house. Amy scampered ahead, curious about everything. She picked little wildflowers, collecting a motley bunch of weeds with stems that were too long or too short. As they walked down a dirt road, which the wheels of the supply wagons had rubbed bare, Amy ran up to Julian and handed him a fistful of flowers.

“Here, Juli. These are for you.”

Audrey watched McCaid look at Amy and the weeds she offered, her fist crushing some of the delicate flowers. She braced a hand against his knee and reached up as high as she could to give them to him. He looked confused, uncertain what he was to do with them. He bent over to unstick the motley collection from her sweaty palm, then straightened and frowned at them a moment. When he caught Audrey watching him, he glared at her and shoved the weeds in his vest pocket.

“Pretty, Juli.” Amy smiled up at him, withstanding his frown with unflappable cheer as she slipped her hand in his. She took Audrey’s hand, and they continued on.

When they topped the next hill, his house came into sight. Audrey stopped walking, making the other two halt with her. His home was a sprawling, two-story dwelling built in red brick. The right side of the house boasted an octagonal turret two stories high. The house had a wraparound porch on the lower level and a white gingerbread balcony that ran two-thirds of the upper floor.

“Do you like it?” McCaid’s deep voice interrupted her inspection.

“It’s huge.” She looked at him. “Are you moving here permanently?”

“No.” He looked at his house with a satisfied expression. “I hope to be out for the next several summers, however. And with the train running to Cheyenne now, I’ll have easy access to this as a home base for a mountain hunting lodge.”

They started down the hill. Posts had been set for a picket fence that would enclose the front yard. Off to one side, a carriage house was being built in a matching red brick. Audrey picked Amy Lynn up, worried she might step on a nail or any of the other sharp items tossed haphazardly about. The wood decking of the deep porch had been painted a crisp white. Audrey could picture rocking chairs in one corner and a small dining area in another. It would be a lovely place to sit and drink coffee after dinner or bundle up with a blanket and watch a summer thunderstorm roll through.

She yanked herself abruptly from that reverie. This was McCaid’s house, not hers. She would never do those things on this porch. Never with him. Possibly never in her life.

McCaid walked to the large double front doors. Opening the right side, he stood back to let them enter. The interior was not quite finished. The sweet, acrid scent of fresh plaster and paint filled her senses. Several walls had bare wood slats exposed, waiting their turn for the plasterer’s attention. The wood staircase was a raw, unstained oak. The entrance hall was wide, a gracious space dominated by the broad staircase on one side that turned once before reaching the upper floor. From where they stood just inside the door, Audrey could see two rooms, two to her left and one to her right, and a couple more off a hallway that led back beyond the stairs.

McCaid gave them a tour of the downstairs, and she discovered that in addition to a sprawling kitchen and suite of service rooms, there was a dining room, a den, a parlor, and a library on the lower floor. Amy wiggled to be put down. A pile of small wood blocks had been left at the base of the stairs, which she immediately started to organize. Audrey turned her attention to the work at hand—getting McCaid set up with the things he needed to have window coverings made.

“Do you have something to take measurements with, Mr. McCaid?”

“I have the measurements on the building plans in the library.”

Audrey followed him across the hallway. The library was a spacious room. The walls not lined with shelves were covered with raw paneling in varying stages of completion. She crossed the room to one of the two large windows, thinking of the effort Maddie had put into decorating her boardinghouse years ago. It had caused much excitement among the women in town as they helped her select colors, fabrics, wall coverings, and furniture from catalogues and samples sent up from Denver. Creating curtains was the least of the tasks needed to complete a room.

“How were you planning to decorate the house?” she asked, turning to look at McCaid.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“What colors do you favor? Will you be using any wallpaper?”

“Pick something. What colors do you like? What do you think would suit a hunting lodge?”

Audrey frowned. “I think such decisions should be made by your wife, not by me.”

“I’m not married.” She watched McCaid glance around them at the half-done shelves. “When I do marry, I don’t expect to bring my wife out here. It is too far to travel and still too dangerous a place.”

Audrey felt a strange tightening in her gut, seized by an unwelcome jealousy for the faceless woman who would be his wife. What would it be like to marry a man such as McCaid? To be cosseted and protected by someone so powerful?

McCaid looked at her again. “So you see, I need your help. I don’t know how to finish the inside.”

“I think you should go to Cheyenne and hire someone to help you. Your drapes must match your furniture and your wall colors and your rugs. It’s not something I know how to do.”

“I’ve had no luck getting a decorator to come to Defiance. They are too afraid of the town’s reputation. Besides, with all the construction under way in Cheyenne, there’s no one available, even if I found one brave enough to come.”

“Then take your plans to them.”

He nodded and gazed out the window behind her before looking at her again. “I sent them in when I ordered the furniture. The fabric—whatever the shopkeeper has on hand—will be shipped with the household goods. I doubt it will match anything, but it will at least protect the woodwork from the sun. I just have no one to make the drapes.” His gaze turned probing. “Why did you steal from me, Miss Sheridan?”

Audrey was taken aback by his change of topics. This was not a subject she could discuss with him. Ever. Too much was at risk, far more than he knew. But she was trapped—he stood between her and the door.

“Tell me, do Sager and Rachel know what you do for a living? Does Logan?” he prodded when she remained silent.

“You know nothing about me.”

“Did no one teach you right from wrong?”

She couldn’t keep the stunned look from her face. She straightened her shoulders and decided she’d best quit the room. “Good night, Mr. McCaid.” She started to walk away from him, but he snagged her wrist, twisting her arm behind her as he pulled her to him. “I asked you a question.”

“You have no right to pry into my life.” She tried to yank free, but his grip was relentless.

“Except your actions have now made you my dependent. Why did you steal from me?”

Audrey stared into his endless brown eyes, then let her eyes drift across the granite planes of his face. Tension deepened the lines bracketing his mouth. He was beautiful and alive. And in danger—as were her children. His grip tightened on her wrist. She met his eyes.

“You are not safe here, McCaid.”

“Am I not?” Humor whispered across his face. “Have you come to harm me?” Fear for her loved ones fused her teeth. She would not be drawn further into this discussion. The humor vanished from his expression. “What trouble are you mixed up with, Miss Sheridan? And, more importantly, have you brought it to my ranch?”

He was close—too close. She couldn’t focus on his eyes. She looked at his mouth instead. That was a mistake, for she remembered it against hers, warm and masterful. “Let me go,” she whispered, and though he released her, neither of them moved or spoke. They stood as if poised on a precipice, breathing each other’s breath, like lovers. Then Audrey retreated a step, breaking the spell.