Always in My Dreams (34 page)

Jay Mac cleared his throat gruffly. "It sounds as if there
was
a proposal," he said. "And not the sort that's to my liking."

"You know what I meant," she said. "A marriage proposal."

"What makes you think I'd entertain that notion?"

Skye ticked off her reasons on three fingers. "Mary Michael. Mary Renee. Mary Margaret. You'd have schemed for Mary Francis, but the Lord got her first." Her smile took the sting from her words.

He blustered a little but in the end conceded her point. "But I wasn't thinking about Jonathan Parnell and you."

Skye realized she believed him. "I'm glad. He and I would never have suited. I wasn't certain if you'd have realized it." She shook her head, clearing it of distasteful thoughts regarding her former employer. "We can leave for home as soon as my luggage arrives," she said.

"You had it delivered here?" he asked. "Skye? Are you certain you're quite all right?" In spite of her overt efforts to indicate otherwise there was something faintly anxious about Skye's demeanor. Jay Mac couldn't pinpoint the thing that made him wary. Her eyes were clear and calm. The set of her shoulders was relaxed. Her smile was disingenuous. Perhaps it was only that in the circumstances she shouldn't have appeared to have so few concerns, or perhaps it was only that her actions were peculiar. "Why would you have your things brought here?"

"Because the thing I wanted you to see is in my trunk," she said. It was the truth as far as it went. She hadn't decided what she wanted to tell her father about Walker Caide. She didn't know what she thought about his behavior herself. "No, it's not the engine," she added quickly. "I don't know what made you believe I could actually steal it."

"I don't think I used the word 'steal.'"

"Call it what you will, I couldn't have got it out of there on my own. It's much too big and heavy."

"Then you've seen it." Excitement edged his voice. "It really exists?"

She nodded. "It exists. Parnell invited me to see it." She didn't add that it had been the inventor's notion of foreplay. Skye could be frank with Jay Mac only to a certain point. "I sketched it as best I could. I thought perhaps someone here would know what to make of it."

Jay Mac's comment was cut off by his secretary's interruption. "What is it, Wilson?"

The secretary remained on the threshold of the office, barring entry to the two men who stood behind him. "These men are insisting Miss Dennehy wanted her trunk and valise delivered here."

In all the years she had known him, Skye didn't think that Wilson had ever called her anything but Miss Dennehy. His formality was absurd, but she had become used to it. "I did insist, Mr. Wilson. Have them bring my things in here."

The men lumbered in with the trunk and Skye tipped them. They were uncomfortable accepting a gratuity in front of the owner of the line until Jay Mac himself assured them it was fine. "Better it comes out of her pocket than mine," he told them. They grinned in unison, pocketed their money, and were herded out by Wilson. "That
was
your money, wasn't it?" Jay Mac asked.

"Honest wages," she said, kneeling in front of the trunk. She pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. "I was paid for my few days of work." Actually, she had been overpaid. She had supposed the extra money was meant to silence her. She had considered leaving it behind, but thought of a better use for it.

Skye opened the trunk and rooted around inside. Her hand came across Parnell's Colt first and she let it remain where it lay. Her father wouldn't necessarily thank her for telling him about it. She gave him her folded sketch instead.

Jay Mac opened it carefully. He studied it for a long time before he said, "This is very interesting, Skye."

* * *

Walker Caide was tired. It was dusk by the time he reached West Point. It hadn't taken him very long to realize that he had been lied to by Mr. Pennybacker. No one working at the small station recalled any woman of Skye Dennehy's description disembarking earlier in the day. Walker found it difficult to believe that Skye's bright red hair wouldn't have aroused some notice. By the time Walker had finished asking his questions, No. 49 had already left for points north. He was forced to cool his heels for over three hours before another train arrived. He purchased a ticket back to the city, certain now that he had given up too easily.

"You look like hell."

Walker stirred in the stiff wooden chair he occupied and opened one eye. Logan Marshall was standing over him, holding a cup of coffee in his hands. "I don't suppose that's for me," he said.

"Not a chance." Logan turned to his secretary. "Bring Mr. Caide a cup, please. We'll be in my office." He turned the handle on his door. "Coming?"

Walker tipped his chair back on all four legs. "Right behind you." He stood, stretched, held back a groan. His muscles ached. There was a crick in his neck. He rubbed it as he followed the publisher into his office.

Looking around, he was comforted to see that some things didn't change.

Logan Marshall's inner sanctum was proof that disorganization could be planned. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases on either side of the room were stacked with folders, documents, manuals, and the occasional book. Photography equipment leaned in one corner. The surface of his desk was littered with notes and a wooden tray was overflowing with copy to read. The competition's newspapers had already been delivered and were stacked on the floor beside the door. When Walker picked up some papers that were on the chair where he intended to sit, Logan stopped him.

"Let me see those," the publisher said.

Walker held them up to Logan to scan.

"They go in the bookcase on your right," he said. "Third shelf down."

Walker put them away. He stepped over a stack of books on his way back to his chair. "I know a housekeeper who could make short work of this room."

"Only one?" Logan asked. He held up his hand. "Don't mention any names. Simply knowing she's out there frightens me. I like this office just the way it is." He sat behind his desk as Walker's coffee arrived. He watched as it was taken gratefully. "No interruptions," he told his secretary. When Samuel Carson had left, Logan gave his full attention to Walker. "Sam says he found you waiting in the lobby when he came to work this morning."

"It was the middle of the night when I got here," Walker admitted.

Logan sipped his coffee. His eyes were a cool pewter gray and their expression was shuttered now. His handsome face had a hard cast that made him look older when he was a younger man and younger now that he had reached his fortieth year. His dark hair was still highlighted by threads of copper with no sign of going to gray. "It's been... what?... two, maybe three years?"

"Almost four."

"God," he said feelingly. "How old were you then? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?"

Walker smiled. Logan had never inquired about his age. It was enough for the publisher to know that Walker came highly recommended. "I was twenty-four. But if it will make you feel any better, sir, I feel about ninety-four right now."

Logan rolled his eyes. "What will make me feel better is if you never call me 'sir' again."

"Very well. How is Mrs. Marshall?"

"Katy's fine. We're expecting another child in June."

"Congratulations."

Logan nodded briefly in acceptance. "I doubt you've come about anything related to either Katy or myself," he said. "And you still look like hell, so what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I've come about a housekeeper," he said.

Logan blinked and glanced around his office. "You were serious?"

"In a way. The woman I'm interested in says she used to work for you. I'm wondering if that's true."

Logan's coolly colored eyes narrowed now and he leaned back in his chair. "It's against my better judgment to tell you anything, but you'll have to at least give me her name."

"Mary Schyler Dennehy."

The publisher's features remained unchanged. "I see," he said. "And what would your interest in her be?"

"I'd rather not say."

"You'll have to. I'm feeling rather protective about Miss Dennehy."

"Then you know her."

"Yes."

Walker considered that. "Is she staying with you?"

"You'll have to tell me something more than you have to get an answer to that question."

"You're familiar with Jonathan Parnell?" Walker asked.

"I know of him. He's an inventor, isn't he?"

Walker knew Logan Marshall had the answer to that. For some reason the publisher was reluctant to give much away. Did he really feel
that
protective toward Skye, or was it something else entirely? "Do you have dealings with him?" he asked. "Business dealings?"

Logan didn't answer immediately. Finally, reluctantly, he said, "I've considered investigating him for the paper."

Walker swore softly. "Considered an investigation, or started one?"

"Preliminary is under way."

"Does she work for you?"

For a moment Logan didn't understand. "You're referring to Miss Dennehy?"

Walker nodded. "That's right. Does she work for you at the paper? I think you've hired women before as reporters. I know she isn't a housekeeper."

"The
Chronicle
had a woman reporter," he said. "Just one."

"Not Skye?"

"No," he said carefully, evenly. "Not Skye."

Walker closed his eyes and rubbed the lids, wondering what he could tell Marshall, what bargain he could strike. While he was thinking, Logan raised his own question.

"What does Parnell have to do with Miss Dennehy?"

That was easy to answer. "She worked for him."

"As a housekeeper," Logan said. His tone was flatly disbelieving.

"It's the truth." He paused, considering his words carefully. "He's a dangerous man, Mr. Marshall, but I'm supposing you have some sense of that already. To say he's unscrupulous is inadequate. He's amoral."

Logan leaned forward and rested his coffee cup on the desk. Both his hands were still wrapped around it. "Jesus," he said softly. "What goes through her father's mind sometimes, I'll never understand. If I had any idea that's where she was going, I wouldn't have agreed to make the recommendation. He didn't tell me where she was taking the position. I asked. He hedged."

"Who?" asked Walker. "Who didn't tell what?"

"Her father." Logan sighed. "I don't suppose I can judge him too harshly. Not when I have a daughter of my own fast becoming a young woman. I tell you, Walker, men have no business having daughters."

Walker would have laughed if Logan Marshall hadn't seemed so perfectly serious about the matter.

Logan saw that Walker was at a loss as to how to respond. He waved any comment aside. "You can't understand until you have a little girl of your own. He has five."

Now Walker remembered something Skye had told him. "The Marys," he said.

"That's right. Then you
do
know."

Walker wasn't certain what he knew. He started to say as much, but Logan had put aside his coffee cup and was picking up yesterday's afternoon edition of the
Chronicle.
He wet his thumb and quickly flicked through the pages until he found what he wanted.

"Here it is," Logan said. He snapped open the paper and folded it quickly to highlight what he thought would be of interest to Walker Caide. He passed the paper over. "The drawing."

Walker looked at it then back at Logan. "I don't think I understand."

"Only because you don't want to."

* * *

Her first morning back, Skye had breakfast in bed. "Don't get used to it," Mrs. Cavanaugh said briskly. "This wasn't my idea. Your mother, God bless her, thinks you've been through a terrible ordeal. Sure, and what does she think
I
do around here, is what I should be asking her. You were that man's housekeeper all of a week. I've been doing it forty years."

Skye was sympathetic. "Sit here, then," she said. "You can have my breakfast and you can have it in my bed. This wasn't my idea either."

The housekeeper pretended to consider it. Finally she shook her head. "I already had my breakfast." Although she huffed on her way out of the room, Skye's gesture had mollified her.

After eating, Skye luxuriated in a hot bath. Her hair was piled high on her head and the steamy fragrance of lavender salts perfumed her skin. She let her head rest against a folded towel on the rim of the tub and enjoyed the solitude. After yesterday's revelations, her father's questions, her mother's fretting upon her arrival at home, it seemed to Skye that she deserved this time alone.

Until now, she'd had little time to think about Walker Caide. At this moment she could think of no one else.

Skye believed her thoughts would have taken a more pleasant turn if he hadn't followed her from Baileyboro. It was only chance that she had been given the opportunity to see him. At the last possible second she had decided to tell Walker about taking Parnell's gun. Leaving her seat, Skye had gone to the rail car's exit and looked up and down the platform for Walker. She'd seen him at the carriage, talking to Hank. He was carrying a valise.