Love in Disguise (18 page)

If Mrs. Stewart asked to see his figures, why not show her this one instead, letting her see the Redemption’s full potential without dwelling on his recent losses? After all, the current figures didn’t give a true reflection of the mine’s economic possibilities. These robberies couldn’t go on forever. Once the thieves were caught and the losses ended, the Redemption would be back in full swing, bringing more than enough income to satisfy them both.

He pictured Lavinia in his mind, seeing her gray hair and faded-rose complexion. She didn’t strike him as a person with enough business savvy to demand the most recent accounting. Would she even notice the difference? It wouldn’t be misleading her, not really. He’d merely be showing her the true picture of what things would be like as soon as his current problems became a thing of the past. All he would be doing was simplifying matters.

Taking the easy way out? Again?

Steven’s train of thought came to a dead stop. He could almost hear his father’s disapproving voice echoing through the room, bringing back the memory of the rift that had fractured their relationship. The realization of what he’d been about to do made the bile rise in his throat.

Before that temptation could sway him any longer, he slapped the ledger cover closed and returned the book to its place on the shelf. He wouldn’t tamper with the truth. He’d taken that route once before, and look what it had cost him.

When he parted company with his father, he’d vowed to be a man of absolute integrity, and he was going to abide by that, come what may. If his mining business succeeded, it would be because he relied upon the Lord, not on his ability to cover up the truth. Or on Lavinia Stewart’s investment.

The door swung open, and Milt Strickland, his foreman, stepped into the room. “You busy?”

“Just finished catching up the books.”

Milt raised one eyebrow. “How bad is it?”

“Still hanging on, but just barely.”

“Some of the men are wondering if they need to think about moving on. Over to Tombstone, maybe.”

“Tell them we’re going to meet the payroll. They can count on that. This time, at least.”

“That’ll take a load off their minds. Things are slowing down a bit because the drills are getting dull. Jake promised he’d have that other lot sharpened by this afternoon. Want me to go pick them up?”

“No, I’ll get them. You go let the men know they’ll be paid on schedule.”

Steven walked the fifty yards to the edge of town and followed Mill Street toward Seventh. As he passed Brady Andrews’s house on the corner of Fifth and Mill, he tipped his hat to the slender woman sweeping the front walk.

“Good afternoon, Dora.”

Brady’s wife set her broom aside and shaded her eyes with one hand, her lips drooping when she recognized him. “Oh, it’s you, Steven. I was hoping it might be Brady.”

He took in the tightness around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. “Is anything wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong.” She folded her arms tight against her chest. “I wouldn’t say this to just anyone, but you’ve been a good friend to Brady. With the loss we’ve taken because of these thefts, it’s driving him to the bottle. . . . Even more than usual,” she added with a bitter laugh.

The pain in her eyes wrenched at Steven’s heart. “I noticed he seemed to be drinking more than before. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Dora Andrews shook her head and blinked rapidly. “It’s something we have to work out between the two of us, and I’m afraid of what that’s going to mean for our marriage. I’ve told him we needed to cut our losses and get away from here. Tom Sullivan offered to buy him out, but Brady insists the offer is too low.”

A faraway look came into her eyes as she stared out across the cactus-studded hills. “It’s breaking my heart to watch him drink himself to death. I can’t stay around and watch it happen.” She pressed her hand against her lips, and her shoulders began to shake.

Steven shifted uncomfortably. “I wish I knew the answer, Dora. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. In the meantime, you know I’ll be praying.”

“I know, and thank you. You’ve been a friend to both of us, and I appreciate it.” She gave him a watery smile. “If you see him around town, send him home, would you?”

Steven nodded and went on his way, wondering if Brady would take Tom up on his offer. When he reached Seventh Street, he turned left and made his way to the blacksmith’s shop at the corner of Grant.

Jake Freeman looked up and grinned when Steven entered the smithy, wrinkling his nose against the sharp smell of coal smoke. “Figured you or Milt would be in today. I got your drill steels ready.” He nodded toward a canvas bag in a corner.

“Thanks.” Steven picked up the heavy bag by the handles and headed toward the door. “I’ll get the others to you in the next day or so.” He stepped out of the dimness of the shop and stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the afternoon sunlight.

A girlish laugh trilled from across the street. Steven blinked his eyes, and a man and woman came into focus. The man stood with his back to Steven, obscuring his view of the fellow’s companion, but even from that angle, the light-colored plantation hat he wore tipped at a rakish angle, the natty black frock coat, and the gray, pin-striped trousers proclaimed his occupation as surely as if Steven could see him seated before the green felt of a faro table.

The woman’s tinkling laugh sounded again, and Steven shook his head. For the most part, the town’s gamblers and their courtesans kept to the saloon district on the east side of Seventh Street. What were they doing out in front of the stationer’s shop on the respectable side of town?

As soon as the thought entered his mind, another one followed:
Who are you to look down your nose at them?
He’d lived in the West long enough to know that immorality was common enough in the mining camps, but few women entered that life by choice. More often than not, it was the result of one bad decision leading to another, creating a downward spiral from which there was little chance of escape. He knew well enough how one seemingly insignificant act could set off a chain of events that could change a person’s life forever.

Where they stood and talked was none of his business. As he started to turn away, the gambler shifted position, and his companion came into view.

Steven stopped in his tracks as though he’d been caught by a single jack to the forehead. This woman was no denizen of the saloons. The modest neckline and long sleeves of her sapphire blue dress attested to her respectability. A shaft of sun glinted off her coppery ringlets and made her creamy complexion glow like alabaster. What was a radiant creature like that doing talking to a knight of the green cloth?

He heard a sigh at his elbow and turned to see Jake Freeman beside him, a dreamy smile on his rugged face. “She’s a real looker, ain’t she?”

Steven nodded. “Who is she?”

“Why, she’s the niece of your Mrs. Stewart.”

Steven whipped his head around to stare at the brawny blacksmith. When had the prospective investor become “his” Mrs. Stewart? He looked back at the couple across the street. So this was the niece she had been expecting.

Jake went on as though unaware of Steven’s musing. “She came in and passed the time of day with me while I was finishing up your drills. Sure brightened up the place. I can tell you that.” He dug an elbow into Steven’s ribs and gave him a wink that set his teeth on edge. “Appears to be just like her aunt—friendly as all get out and interested in everybody.”

Steven nodded slowly. “Apparently so.” The steels clanked as he shifted the canvas bag to his other hand. He looked at Mrs. Stewart’s niece with renewed interest, trying to reconcile this dazzling sight with the woman he’d imagined. He had built up an image in his mind of someone less exuberant, more sedate, drooping from heartache. A plain little daisy, not an exotic orchid.

And he’d expect someone related to Lavinia to exhibit more common sense. Visiting Jake’s smithy seemed harmless enough, but what on earth was she doing talking to that gambler? He was hardly the type of person Lavinia Stewart would choose to engage in conversation. Steven shifted his glance farther down the street. She had ventured entirely too close to the saloon district, scarcely a block away. That wouldn’t do her reputation any good.

He stepped down off the boardwalk, prepared to rescue her from what must surely be an awkward situation. Halfway across the street he checked himself when another burst of laughter rang out. On closer observation, it seemed she wasn’t at all bothered by the man’s attentions.

Steven watched the way she chattered away, giving every evidence of enjoying their conversation. Maybe she didn’t want to be rescued. He turned on his heel and started back to the Redemption.
Better mind my own business.

But what about Mrs. Stewart? Would she approve? Steven felt sure she would not. He didn’t owe a thing to her young, vivacious niece, but if Lavinia Stewart was willing to trust him with her money, he ought to live up to that same trust when it came to something far more valuable than cash. Her niece was new in town and hadn’t had time to learn the lay of the land yet. Coming from what he assumed to be a rather sheltered environment, she might not even be aware of the sordid goings-on that lay east of Seventh Street or the perils of associating with the wrong kind of people.

Steven pivoted and studied the couple. If he saw someone headed toward a cliff, unaware of the sheer drop-off that lay ahead, could he in good conscience walk on by without warning them of their danger? Hardly. This young woman might not know she needed rescuing, but he did.

He strode toward them, wondering how he could accomplish his task without appearing even more of a boor than the gambler. To all indications, the other man’s attentions seemed to be welcomed, but he was about to push his way into the conversation uninvited.

He waited to speak until he was only a few steps away from the pair. “Good afternoon.”

Caught in midsentence, the redhead started when he spoke and whirled to face him. When their eyes met, she gasped.

“Aren’t you Mrs. Stewart’s niece?”

The object of his query stared at him like a hunted doe. “Why, yes. Yes, I am.” She stretched out her hand, then pulled it back. “But I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

The gambler shifted position, edging slightly between Steven and the young woman, assessing Steven with a measured gaze. “I don’t believe we’ve met, either.”

Steven took a wide stance and returned the stare. He’d hoped that bringing Mrs. Stewart’s name in at the beginning would help take the edge off what could turn out to be a tense situation. He held his hand out to the dandy. “Steven Pierce. I own the Redemption Mine south of town.” He hoped Mrs. Stewart had talked to her niece about her interest in becoming his business partner. Maybe hearing his name or the mention of his mine would make a connection in the young woman’s mind.

The dandy eyed Steven’s hand for a long moment before clasping it in his own. “Quincy Taylor. I’m newly arrived in your fair town.” His easy smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The young lady held her hand out again with a smile that made Steven’s heart do flip-flops. “I’m Jessie Monroe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pierce. My aunt speaks highly of you.”

Encouraged, Steven wrapped his fingers around hers and smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. I hold your aunt in high regard, as well. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about paying her a visit this afternoon.” He saw no point in mentioning that the idea had just popped into his head. “If you’re heading that way now, I’d be happy to escort you.”

“Oh.” Jessie’s lips parted, and a tinge of pink colored her cheeks. “But I . . .”

Her gaze darted from him to Taylor and back again, obviously reluctant to end her conversation with the card player. “Well, I suppose . . . If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Taylor?”

The gambler swept off his hat and bowed. “It has been my pleasure, fair lady. Until we meet again.” Without a word to Steven, he turned and walked back toward the tinny piano sounds that wafted across Seventh Street.

“I don’t mean to rush you,” Steven said as they set off in the opposite direction on Grant. “If you have something else to do, I’d be happy to walk with you while you go about your business.”

Jessie gave her head a little shake that set her ringlets dancing. “No, thank you. I believe I’ve accomplished all I’m going to be able to today.”

His mouth went dry when she smiled up at him. From a distance, she was dazzling. Close at hand, he found her simply breathtaking.

“What is it?” she asked, when he continued to stare without saying a word.

“Your eyes.” He blurted the words out without thinking. Seeing her startled expression, he explained, “They’re a most unusual color. My grandmother had an aquamarine ring that same shade of blue.” He paused a moment and added, “Come to think of it, your aunt’s eyes are the exact same shade.”

Jessie dropped her gaze and looked away. “Yes, I suppose they are. It’s a . . . family trait.”

They walked another block before he spoke again. “I hope I didn’t offend you by interrupting your conversation that way.”

Jessie glanced up and gave him a look that made his breath catch in his throat. “Not at all. I had just encountered Mr. Taylor on the street, and we were passing the time of day. I’m sure I’ll be able to talk to him again another time.”

Steven licked his lips, searching for the right words. “Are you aware of Mr. Taylor’s occupation?”

She tilted her head to one side, and a pucker formed between her brows.

“He’s a professional gambler. He spends his days—and nights—at the gaming tables. In the saloons.” He waited for a shocked reaction that didn’t come. If possible, her eyes sparkled even more.

“I know. Isn’t it exciting? A real, live gambler! I feel like I truly am experiencing the Wild West.”

Steven wanted to warn her that a good many aspects of the Wild West weren’t appropriate experiences for a proper young lady. Instead he found himself struck dumb by the impact of her aquamarine gaze.