Lisa Plumley (16 page)

She ought to confess everything to her father, Violet knew. It wasn’t right keeping such a secret from him. But if she could truly help Cade meet the terms of his wager with her father, then maybe that would help soften the news of her deception. If she could truly help Cade, she would have done a good, charitable deed. How in the orld could Papa disagree with that?

Meaningfully, her father cleared his throat. “Didn’t you say you had to rush off to Tobe’s school?”

“Oh! Yes!” Newly reminded of all she meant to do, Violet hastily clutched the boy’s overcoat. “Bye, Papa! I love you!”

“I love you, too,” he said. “Far more than you know.”

But the last of his words came indistinctly...almost too softly for Violet to hear clearly as she raced down the aisle and hurried away, intent on telling Cade what she’d learned.

* * *

The most surprising thing about doing an honest day’s labor, Cade discovered midway through his apprenticeship at Owen Cooper’s livery stable, was that he liked it.

He liked using his mind in new ways. He liked using his muscles. He liked lifting and straining, putting in an effort and earning results that were less transient—and harder to lose—than poker chips or gold nuggets. He liked knowing that the results of his labor meant something to people. Most of all, he liked seeing the look of pride on Violet’s face when she met him at the end of the day and listened to him talk about his work.

What was even more amazing to Cade was that
he
was proud of himself, too. By now he’d probably done enough labor to repay his lost wager to Reverend Benson—and then some. But somehow Cade had passed the point of working merely to repay his debt to Violet’s father and protect his honest name. Now he was working to catch a glimpse of the life he’d thought he’d never have...and maybe to grab ahold of it, too.

Because these days, with Violet, that charmed life felt almost at the tips of Cade’s fingertips...his newly callused, almost-worthless-for-cardsharping, workingman’s fingertips.

Ruefully, Cade staked his pitchfork in a nearby pile of hay. Alone in one of the unoccupied stalls at Cooper’s stable, he lifted his hands. His palms were roughened with those aforementioned calluses; his fingers ached with the aftereffects of the varied and unfamiliar work he’d done. Muscles in his arms and shoulders twanged with every exertion, letting Cade know that honest labor required more effort than gambling ever had.

Of course, lately he’d done more than his usual share of exerting himself in other more enjoyable ways, too. Recalling all the times he’d spent with Violet in his bed, Cade felt a smile sneak across his face. Feeling gratified, he leaned on his pitchfork’s handle and recollected some more.

Violet kissing him. Violet loving him. Violet promising him that no matter what, they’d be together.

Cade prayed she was right. Since his apprenticeships had gone so well, he’d even begun planning for a future where she
was
right and they
could
be together. He’d begun daydreaming, for the first time since he was a boy, about happier days.

It could work, Cade thought with renewed hopefulness. He could speak to Owen Cooper or Daniel McCabe or the lumber mill owner, Marcus Copeland, or any of the other tradesmen who’d taken a chance on him, and convince them to hire him full time. He could work hard, save his money and eventually build a home for him and Violet. He could abandon his search for Percy Whittier—because it had never brought him anything but misery, after all—and just get on with living his life. He could do it.

It would be a gamble. It would take a long time to set up a sufficient nest egg. It would be a while before he made himself worthy of asking for Violet’s hand in marriage. He wouldn’t be able to rely on his “sinful” gambling skills, either—not given the reverend’s stated opposition to such gambits. But Cade was a patient man. He could hold out, no matter how long it took.

The only question was...could Violet do the same?

Could she wait for him to start their future together? Or would some other man—newly aware of her and beguiled by her, thanks to Cade’s initial pursuit of Violet at the charity ball—chase Violet and win her for himself? After all, the local men had a head start on honest living—one that Cade couldn’t hope to match. Violet insisted she didn’t want anyone else. But if she were faced with a choice between marrying a good man who was ready for her today and Cade—who might not be ready to reputably make her his until years from now—who would she choose?

Alarmed by the query, Cade frowned. He hoped Violet would choose him. On the strength of her faith in him, he could do all of it. He could become a new man with a new life. All he’d need was a straight talk with Blackhouse first, a conversation to free himself of their arrangement, and he’d be ready to begin.

“Well, now. Isn’t this a sight?” Wearing an amused look, Simon Blackhouse strode confidently into the livery stable. He glanced around, seemed to assess the unlikelihood of there being a roulette wheel stashed among the draft horses and mules, then stopped at the door to Cade’s stall. “I heard it was true, but I didn’t believe it—Cade Foster, pitching hay when he could be pitching woo to any number of nubile young ladies in town.”

Cade frowned at him. “You’re unsurprisingly single-minded, Blackhouse. Everything on earth doesn’t revolve around women.”

“Not once you’ve already settled on one of them, I guess.” Blackhouse gave the stable another speculative look. He wrinkled his nose with distaste—undoubtedly at the place’s earthy aroma—then shook his head. “That’s so...limiting of you, Cade. It’s too bad
your
chosen ladylove wants you to do things like
this
.”

Meaningfully, his benefactor frowned at the stable and its dirty environs. He came no nearer, almost as though he worried that Cade’s newfound willingness to perform hard labor might be contagious. After all, Blackhouse wouldn’t want to risk his reputation as a renowned bachelor and ne’er-do-well by engaging in productive employment. His expression said as much.

“
I
want to do this.” Deciding he’d lollygagged long enough, Cade forked up more hay. With a mighty effort, he lobbed it into the waiting hayloft. “This or something else like it.”

Blackhouse boggled at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m as serious as I’ve ever been about anything.”

“Oh. I see. I thought you were working some game or other. That
is
serious.” Blackhouse seemed distressed. “Damn.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else to go carousing with,” Cade told him, cutting straight to the point. The truth was long overdue. “I’m thinking of staying here.”

“In the stable? But it stinks!” Blackhouse aimed an agitated glance at his boots. He stepped back, his frown deepening impressively. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s manure on the floor.
Manure
.” He shuddered. “There’s a reason I hire people to take care of these things for me.”

“I’m thinking of staying in Morrow Creek, I mean,” Cade elaborated with a grin. “Settling down here for good.”

“Aha. I see.” Blackhouse frowned. Musingly, he fiddled with his waistcoat. “Adams will have to burn this damn suit, I guess, now that it’s been contaminated with the stench of labor.”

“
That
is the stench of manure. You’re understandably confused, having not encountered either of those things up close before.”

As in old times, they shared a grin. Their partnership may have been rocky on occasion, but it had been fun more often than not. In many ways, Cade and Blackhouse were kindred spirits.

At least they were...until Blackhouse sobered.

“I’m afraid I can’t have you quit on me, Cade. You promised you’d find Whittier for me. You haven’t done that yet.”

Cade offered a good-natured shrug. “I won’t be the first to fail,” he pointed out. “There’s that Pinkerton man who quit on you after he got knifed in a fight with Whittier—”

“Damn coward,” Blackhouse muttered. “He had a derringer!”

“—and that U.S. Marshal you were paying to monitor the official reports of arrests. He collected your bonus money—”

“When all he’d seen was a drunk, deadbeat miner who resembled Whittier,” Blackhouse complained, “
if
you were drunk too, and squinted just right.” He heaved a sigh. “That’s why I partnered with
you
, Cade. That’s why I risked sponsoring
your
search. Because you were motivated by more than just money.”

“I still am.” Stopping work again, Cade leaned on his pitchfork. In the stalls nearby, horses shifted and blew. One whinnied, probably calling out to the freer beasts trotting by on the bustling street beyond Cooper’s stable. “Truth be told, I’d still like those answers I’ve been after,” he admitted. “But maybe finding Whittier isn’t in the cards for me.”

At the livery stable’s wide, double-door opening, Cade suddenly spied Violet. Just then, all she was doing was chatting with Owen Cooper, grinning and gesticulating with typical warmheartedness, but all the same, Cade’s heart leaped in response.

They hadn’t been together that morning. Cade wished they had been. Although he knew Violet must have had a good reason for skipping their usual meeting, he’d missed her. Now, merely at the sight of her, everything inside him felt gladdened.

“Maybe I’m meant for something else—for some
one
else,” Cade said. With his mind made up, he faced his benefactor. “I have a future now, Blackhouse—one that can’t include gallivanting all over multiple states and territories tracking a man who doesn’t want to be found. Whittier dodged me. It’s done.
I’m
done.”

Now Blackhouse appeared even more distressed than he had upon noticing the dirty, hay-strewn stable floor. He put his hand to his brow. He paced from side to side. He wheeled around to confront Cade again. “You can’t quit on me. You can’t!”

Surprised by his vehemence, Cade frowned, too. “Why not?” He gave his benefactor a measured look, trying to decipher him. “What’s your interest in Whittier anyway? You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

Cade grinned. “If I remember correctly, that was a condition of our arrangement. We agreed not to ask questions.”

“Not even of one another,” Blackhouse specified. “That was our stated policy, and it’s worked out very well until now.” Convivially, he spread his arms, plainly hoping to cajole Cade into resuming his search—or at least dropping his questions about his unknown motivations. “Why spoil a good thing?”

Cade looked at Violet. “Because things have changed.”

“Oh, really? They have? I—” Blackhouse broke off. Astutely, he followed Cade’s glance to the livery stable’s doors...and the one-of-a-kind woman silhouetted in that gap. “I see.”

“I still want to know why you’re after Whittier,” Cade pushed. “It’s important.” It
was
important—partly because he’d never seen Blackhouse this upset before. His reaction could not be due solely to Cade’s quitting his search. “Maybe if you’d told me your own reasons for finding Whittier, it would have helped my search.”

“‘Would have’? Are you saying you won’t continue your search if I don’t tell you my interest in finding Whittier?” Blackhouse wanted to know. “Is that your price?”

Cade remained silent. There wasn’t much more to say.

Obviously unaccustomed to accepting defeat, Blackhouse offered him a stiff smile. “Fine. I’ll tell you.” With reluctance—and no small measure of gravitas—he announced, “The reason is... Well, it’s a matter of honor. My
honor
is at stake.”

He delivered that certain bluff in as straight-faced a fashion as Cade had ever experienced. In spite of everything, Cade was impressed. He’d have sworn Blackhouse believed his own lie. But then all the best liars did. Just like all the best gamblers bought into their own bluffs. They had to, to win.

All the same...Blackhouse thought he possessed
honor
? Truly?

Still boggling at that remarkable idea, Cade guffawed.

His benefactor did not so much as crack a smile.

“You’re serious,” Cade observed with amazement. He examined Blackhouse through new eyes. “You actually believe that finding Whittier will preserve your
honor
somehow.”

Blackhouse was silent. With a tight expression, he swiped his hand over the stable wall. He frowned with distaste.

“I’ll make you a wager,” he offered in an obvious bid to regain control. “If you find Whittier, I’ll tell you why my honor is at stake. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Cade shook his head. “You’re overestimating my curiosity about your past.”

“Am I?” Blackhouse simply gazed at him. “Am I also overestimating your inability to resist a juicy wager?”

Hell. Blackhouse had him there. Cade had always had a hard time turning down a bet. He’d proven that much already by wagering with Reverend Benson. But still Cade refused to commit.

“I already know who Whittier is to
you
,” Blackhouse pushed, undoubtedly sensing he’d struck a nerve. “If you want to know who Whittier is to me, then find him.” Blackhouse paused. “I’ll pay you triple the amount we agreed upon. For a man in your position, that much money could set you up quite nicely.”

With a significant glance toward the livery stable entryway where Violet and Owen Cooper were still conversing, Blackhouse nodded. It wasn’t difficult to guess his meaning. He would give Cade everything he needed to begin a new life in Morrow Creek—
if
in return Cade gave him the means to restore his alleged honor.

“You’ll need a stake,” Blackhouse pressed. “I can give it.”

“I’m not gambling. I haven’t been for days. So I don’t need a stake of any kind. Not anymore. Not from you.” Stubbornly, Cade eyed him. “Besides, some things aren’t wagering material.”

“Some things,” Blackhouse agreed. “But not many, in my experience.” He held out an engraved card. “Bring this with you to my private train car tonight. I’m having a party to celebrate the first night of the tournament. I want you to come.”

Cade gripped his pitchfork. “I already have plans.”