Ashes and Memories (3 page)

“I just thought --”

Reece raised a hand, silencing the sheriff. “I don't want to hear it! I do not pay you to think!" He turned, making a broad sweep of the street. “What are you all gawking at? The circus is over. Get back to your jobs and businesses! Go home!”

“Reece MacBride controls the town,” the doctor said as the crowd dispersed. “His mine employs nearly everyone, and those who don’t work for him directly are dependent on the mine for their livelihood in one way or another.

Emma gazed at him with a quizzical smile but didn't voice her troubling thoughts. So Reece MacBride was cut from the same cloth as Matthew Ainsworth. The small town politician had tried to run her father out of town because Daddy had the backbone to print the truth about his dirty deeds. She wondered if Reece MacBride was cut from the same cloth.

Reece turned to face a man dressed as if he'd just come off the range -- dirty shirt, faded duster, worn leather chaps that looked like they'd been through hell.

“I suppose you are the one who brought him in, bounty hunter,” Reece said.

“I am.” The bounty hunter raised himself to his full height, glaring eye to eye at Reece.

Emma’s journalist’s mind remained focused as she scribbled down notes as fast as she could write. She filed away her impressions so she could call them up later when she needed them. But when she glanced up again, the quiet tension in the air stilled her.

Pencil and pad forgotten, she watched the contest of wills being played out before her. A deadly calm radiated from Reece MacBride, in direct contrast to the other man's open belligerence. The former chilled her much deeper than the bounty hunter's more obvious threat.

Reece nodded almost imperceptibly, resting one hand on the hilt of his revolver and the other on his hip. “Well, whoever you are, notoriety might be something you desire, but you will have to find it somewhere besides Providence. I will not have this town turned into an attraction for the curious or for gunfighters anxious to face the man who shot Joe Garrett. Am I making myself clear?”

“I'll be gone as soon as I get my money,” the bounty hunter assured him. He pulled the edge of his duster back, revealing the pistol strapped to his hip.

Emma's breath caught in her throat. Her gaze settled on the pistol strapped low on Reece's left hip, hilt forward like the gunfighters she'd seen. The way he wore that fancy steel-plated revolver told her he wasn't afraid to use it, as did the cold glint in his eyes.

Still, the bounty hunter was obviously a professional killer, and unless Reece MacBride was very good with that fancy gun of his, he’d be dead in the street. In the three months she'd been traveling in the West, she'd yet to see a real gunfight, and she didn't want to see one now. More to the point, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn't want to watch Reece MacBride die.

MacBride's gaze settled on the other man's revolver for a flicker of an instant before returning to his opponent's face.

“Good,” he said, his expression never changing.

He turned to face what was left of the crowd, dismissing the man now that he had taken his measure. Emma released the breath she'd been holding, as the tension drained from her body and left her trembling in its aftermath.

“Now, has anyone verified that the body really is that of Mr. Garrett?”

“I wired the territorial capital,” the sheriff said. “Luckily Judge Vale was over in Deadwood, so he should be here some time today to verify everything and pay the bounty.”

“All right. In the meantime, I want Mr. Garrett's remains delivered to the undertaker. And I want a guard posted outside. I do not want any more photographs taken, do you understand?”

“Yes sir, Mr. MacBride,” the sheriff said before moving away to bark orders at the men who were already doing MacBride's bidding.

 “Well,” the doctor said, startling her. In all the excitement, she’d forgotten he was there. “If you will excuse me, Miss Parker, I have an expectant mother to look in on at the mine camp,” he told her.

Emma turned to face him with a smile. “Thank you again for....”

“Just make sure you use plenty of that salve, and let me know if those blisters aren't better in two or three days.”

He turned to go, then thought better of it and faced Emma again. “And Miss Parker, be careful of Reece MacBride,” he warned.

Her defenses faltered. “What do you mean?”

Doctor Stevens shrugged. “Just be careful. If you're going to start a newspaper or any other business in this town, you're going to have to deal with Reece.”

“Thank you for the warning,” she said with a stiff smile, “but I can take care of myself.”

The doctor hesitated as if he meant to say more, but in the end he only nodded, turned and walked away, leaving her to gaze after him in confusion and growing unease.

Emma turned her attention back to MacBride and the drama being played out in the middle of the street. His bold gaze settled on her, and her heart leaped as he sauntered toward her.

Whatever else he might be, he was a handsome man. In fact, if a man could be called beautiful, the word certainly applied to Reece MacBride -- dangerously beautiful like a predatory animal.

Long, wavy black hair swept back from his face and framed his head like a lion's mane, and those golden brown eyes, along with his lean, elegantly muscled build, added to the illusion of a predator. And it was the predatory aspect of this man that unnerved her.

“Miss Parker,” he said in the refined southern drawled she remembered so well. He stopped before her and swept his hat from his head with an elegant flourish, regarding her with golden brown eyes fringed by the longest lashes she'd ever seen on a man. “I trust you are feeling better this morning,” he said.

She averted her gaze, hating herself for being caught off-guard by his easy masculine charm and casual manner. He acted as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just come close to being killed. And though she had to admire the way he'd handled the situation, his icy control chilled her.

As a reporter, she'd dealt with politicians, businessmen, and criminals, and everything in between. She could usually look at a person and categorize him. But Reece eluded any pigeon hole she tried to force him into. His high-handed manner reminded her of Ainsworth with his smooth, polished attitude and fancy clothes. But Reece was a type of man she'd never encountered before, a smooth, polished gentleman yes, but with the demeanor of an outlaw and eyes that made her fear he could reach inside her and steal her very soul.

He glanced at the pad and pencil in her hands, and she slipped them into her pockets quickly like a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She'd never before met a man who could so unsettle her with nothing more than a glance.

“I'm a journalist,” she felt compelled to explain.

“How charming." An insincere smile curved his mouth beneath his well-trimmed beard, but the gesture did nothing to soften those piercing eyes.

Emma bristled. It was one thing that he hadn't taken her seriously yesterday when she'd strapped on her gun. His blatant disregard for her abilities in her chosen profession was quite another.

“Yes.” The word came out stronger, more confident. “As a matter of fact, my father and I came here to take over the newspaper office abandoned by Mr. Weston.”

“Is that so?” he asked, the amused light vanishing from his eyes.

“Yes,” she said, her momentary confidence dispelled. “In fact, we purchased Mr. Weston's printing press and other equipment, and he was supposed to have left them here for us.”

“Well, I'm afraid you may find Providence a bit rougher than what you are accustomed to.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the men who tossed the body of the dead outlaw into a wagon. She fought the unease that gripped her. He didn't want her here any more than he'd wanted to help her yesterday. He must have done so out of some strange sense of duty, and now he wanted nothing further to do with her.

“Thank you for the warning, Mr. MacBride,” she said, reminding herself she didn't want anything else to do with him either, reminding herself that his soul was wounded, just like her father's. “I think I'll take my chances. Can you tell me who I would need to talk to about taking a look at the office?”

“That would be me, actually,” he replied. “I happen to own the building where the newspaper used to be.”

“Oh." For the moment, the single word was all she could manage. Her hopes plummeted. If he truly didn't want her here, this was his chance to get rid of her. All he had to do was set the rent so high she would never be able to afford it.

He smiled almost sheepishly, but Emma knew his self-effacing manner was contrived. In fact, she was beginning to think that everything about Mr. Reece MacBride was contrived.

“I haven't kept a very close eye on the place,” he told her, “so there is no telling what condition it's in.”

“There must be other space in town,” she suggested.

“I'm afraid Providence is growing so fast there isn't a lot of office space still available,” he said, feigning regret. “And the old newspaper office is the most suitable location in town.”

She struggled to keep her mind on the words he spoke and not the silken, seductive quality of his voice or the blatant sensuality in his eyes.

“Well, what would you want for it?” she asked.

He shook his head as if considering her question. “Well now, I'm not sure." His slashing brows drew together in a frown of concentration. “I'd have to think about it. It's located in a prime area in the middle of town. And the building itself is sound --”

“I happen to know it's been vacant for the past year,” Emma pointed out. He was toying with her, now that he realized how determined she was to remain here.

“That's true,” he admitted, gazing around at the curious crowd that had begun to reassemble.

He took her gently but firmly by the elbow, murmuring, “We seem to be drawing an inordinate amount of attention here. Why don't I show you the office.”

The warmth of his hand on her elbow made coherent thought difficult. Before she realized what he was doing, he smoothly maneuvered her so that he walked between her and the muddy street.

A smile of amusement touched her lips at the courtly gesture, wasted here in this rough, uncivilized place and on a woman dressed like a man. But despite her amusement, she couldn't deny that his gentlemanly gesture made her feel more feminine than she had in a very long time, a sensation she found surprisingly pleasant.

Emma crushed the unfamiliar feelings inside her. Being a female was a burden, an obstacle to her goals. No one took her seriously as a journalist or a businesswoman, including Mr. Reece MacBride.

“You know, I believe a newspaper will be good for Providence,” Reece MacBride said, donning his hat as they walked along the wooden sidewalk. “We have missed Mr. Weston's insights. A newspaper always seems to lend a degree of permanence and refinement to a community. In fact, I have some ideas I'd like to share with you when you get settled in.”

Emma told herself not to read anything into his words. He knew Providence and she didn't. Maybe he was just offering to help her with advice and the like. But something in his arrogant attitude told her his interest went deeper than that. “Are you a journalist, Mr. MacBride?”

“Hardly,” he replied with that devilish smile that turned her knees to mush. “But there are important things happening in Providence, and I have had no forum for getting the news to the people.”

His words sobered her and chased away the effects of his considerable charm. Did he really think he could use her newspaper for personal announcements? “I doubt I'll be able to afford more than a page or two at first, but maybe eventually there'll be room for reader announcements and such.”

“Well,” he said with an elegant shrug, “I would be more than pleased to contribute financially to such a culturally enriching endeavor.”

Damn! She hadn't even printed her first issue and already she was fighting corruption. No doubt he thought he could manipulate her because she was a woman. Well, Mr. MacBride was about to find out how wrong he was.

“Are you trying to bribe me, Mr. MacBride?” she asked, struggling to keep the anger out of her voice. Now she knew exactly where to categorize him -- wire-puller, power broker, a man who used unsavory means -- including violence, no doubt -- to influence people and events.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked guilelessly, though his smile was anything but. “I was merely suggesting that I am in a position to invest in business ventures that I feel are worthwhile.”

“That's very kind,” she said tersely. “But in my experience once someone starts contributing to a newspaper it's not long before they get the notion they can slant the news to suit them.”

 “And is your experience extensive, Miss Parker?”

His slow, incendiary gaze traveled the length of her body before returning to her suddenly flushed face, robbing her of her breath as she'd wondered if he could rob her of her soul.

A fierce heat rose to her face at the disturbing current that radiated from him, a raw masculinity that no parlor manners, no expensive clothing could disguise or diminish. Never had she been so aware of herself as a woman as she was in his presence, aware of the sexuality she'd never explored. It was part of what had disturbed her so on the trail yesterday, an unspoken awareness that vibrated between them. But the innuendo in his voice and in his golden eyes brought the unspoken to the surface, and she was completely at a loss how to respond or how to still the erratic beating of her heart.

“Extensive enough,” she managed to reply. He was so self-assured, so completely in control, and she was determined not to let him know how disconcerted she felt.

“You are a very interesting woman,” he said, his voice soft and disturbingly intimate.

She could think of nothing to say in response to that. In fact, she could hardly think at all. She felt as if she were engaged in a game of chess with only pawns, over matched and destined for defeat. Somehow she managed to keep walking, but beyond that, her faculties deserted her, as if he'd taken them from her through some dark magic.