Betina Krahn (27 page)

“I had the car brought out and cleaned and prepared to move days ago. It’s not that far to the siding in the train yard. We could make it back in time for dinner.”

He rolled his eyes, then gave her the most deliciously wicked grin.

“It’s a Pullman car, right?”

“Yes.” She still didn’t quite get the point.

“That means it has
beds
.”

Hardwell, Hannah, and Robbie had already retired when Diamond and Bear arrived home late that evening. She asked Jeffreys to bring them up a tray of food and a bottle of wine while they bathed. Neither of them wanted to think about the fact that these would be their last hours together for perhaps months to come.

Diamond bathed quickly and slipped into her dressing gown. She was just coming out of the bathing room when Jeffreys arrived with the linen-draped cart laden with savory cold dishes and breads, wine, and Cook’s special pound cake with chocolate sauce. The efficient little butler
set the table with linen and china, then lighted a candelabra and laid roses from the garden around the base of it.

“Thank you, Jeffreys,” she said, her eyes sparkling at his thoughtfulness.

“My pleasure, miss … I mean, ma’am.” Shaking his head at his mistake, he started to withdraw, but spotted a roll of paper sticking out from under the linen drape on the cart. “Oh, I nearly forgot, ma’am. Mr. McQuaid’s papers. He left them here on the day Master Robert took ill … and they got stuck in the butlers pantry by mistake. He may—”

The door to the other bedroom opened and Bear stood in the opening, smiling. “There you are. And food—Jeffreys, you’re a prince. I’m half starve—” His gaze fell on the roll of documents in the butler’s hands and, after a moment’s pause, he strode straight for them.

“My deepest apologies, sir,” Jeffreys said, handing them over. “I thought you might need these on your trip. I’m afraid I had mislaid them. I hope it hasn’t caused any—”

“No, no.” Bear waved off the apology. “No harm done. Glad to have them back, though.” He tucked them away on the window seat, then as the door clicked softly behind Jeffreys, he turned with a determined smile on his face. “You, my Diamond, look good enough to eat.” He swept her up against him, whirled her around, and set her back on her feet in one fluid motion. “But right now I have to know what it is on this cart that smells like Virginia ham.”

In the wee, dark hours of the morning, Diamond awakened to the feel of Bear’s arm beneath her head, his chest at her back, and his legs molded against hers spoon fashion. She lay in that sweet cocoon for a time, hearing his breathing and feeling his pulse beating beneath her cheek. Their coming parting crept into her thoughts and soon
every beat of his heart seemed to be like the clack of the train wheels that would soon carry him away from her.

How could he have, in so short a time, become so vital a part of her? A month ago she hadn’t even known Barton McQuaid, and now she couldn’t imagine how she would get through the next two or three months without him.

His smile made her feel as if the sun were rising inside her, illuminating every dark corner, dispelling every dark thought and dubious secret. In their short time together, he had come to know her better than anyone and to accept her complex and sometimes contradictory inner qualities. Early on, he had gathered both her secrets and passions into his keeping and guarded them well. He had kept her confidences and treated her failings with honesty and respect.

With each revelation, each encounter, he had challenged her to be stronger and more honest, had insisted she take control of her life and do the right thing. Yet, he didn’t condemn her when she behaved in less than admirable ways. He seemed to know instinctively that the root of her greatest weakness was also the source of her greatest strength.

What a marvelous gift, she thought: to be known thoroughly and to still be valued and cherished. Who but Bear McQuaid—with his unflinching honesty combined with surprising compassion—could have opened the doors to her innermost self? Who but Bear McQuaid could have touched and changed the shape of her personal depths?

Gingerly, she moved his arm and peeled her skin from his to slide to the edge of the bed. With a tender smile, she studied the softened angles of his face, his boyishly tousled hair, and the vulnerability of his big, sprawled frame.

“I love you, Bear McQuaid,” she whispered. “Hurry back to me.”

The air from the open window was surprisingly cool as she slipped from the bed. Shivering, she donned her dressing gown and went to close the window. As she perched on one knee on the window seat, turning the handle, she caught sight of the moon-brightened roll of papers that Jeffreys had just returned to Bear, lying amongst the pillows at her knees.

Papers. What sort of papers would he have brought to her house on the day Robbie came down with chicken pox?

Lighting an oil lamp on the desk, so as not to disturb Bear, she undid the cord binding and unrolled the dog-eared documents. On top were several letters, then a stack of ledger sheets filled with numbers and figures—clearly financial reports. What claimed her attention was below all of that: maps … several of them, each detailing different aspects of some location … slope, effective drainage, and soil and bedrock composition. Below was a map clearly marked “Montana Territory” … with Billings, Great Falls, Helena, the falls of the Missouri River, and the routes of the Utah and Northern Railroad and James Hill’s Chicago Milwaukee and St. Paul highlighted with ink. There also, sketched in red, was the route representing the two-hundred-plus miles of Bear’s Montana Central and Mountain Railroad.

Warmth rose in her as she traced that route with her finger and realized from the discoloration of the paper along that route, that she was not the first to do so. How many times had Bear studied this map … run his fingers along that line, trying to read the future in it? Beginning just outside Great Falls and continuing south and east … the Montana Central and Mountain was intended to connect Billings to the Chicago Milwaukee and St. Paul.

She rolled aside that map and studied the next one
down … a detailed rendering of the MCM’s route, which identified the former owners of the parcels of land he had purchased for right-of-way. Various ranch and individual names were penned along the route, and plat designations and legal descriptions were written off to the side. Finally she came to the huge, folded engineering map of the route, which detailed with concentric dotted lines the elevations they would encounter and with varying penciled patterns the soils and substrates present in each segment.

They had a few creeks and the headwaters of the Musselshell River to cross, but the route slipped between the Big Snowy and Little Belt Mountains. She felt a twinge of longing in her chest as she conjured images of snowcapped mountains in the distance … blue, blue sky … great rolling plains.

Coming out of her reverie, she realized Bear was stirring in the bed and began to replace and reroll the documents. But as he settled into a more comfortable position and continued to sleep, she felt relieved not to have to explain her snooping and stole a look at some of the documents themselves.

The sums of money on the balance sheets were considerable; every expense in railroad building had been anticipated and included. She smiled. She’d seen thousands of such lists in proposals people brought her for funding. It was interesting seeing them from another perspective. Then a letter caught her eye. It was from the territorial governor of Montana, supporting Bear’s proposal and recommending him and his partner Halt Finnegan without reservation to possible lenders and investors.

Partner? She scowled. He had never mentioned a … She read the name again and thought it sounded oddly familiar. But where would she have heard his partner’s name, when she didn’t even know he had one?

There were other letters of support—also encouraging
investors to lend Barton McQuaid the required capital—along with confirmed orders for steel rail and equipment. The invoices were all marked: “to be paid upon delivery.”

Something slowly knotted in her middle and she dropped the papers onto the stack and turned aside. She shouldn’t be looking at this; it was none of her business. But her heart began to thud and she couldn’t help stealing another look at those letters and invoices.

Strangely, there was nothing in the documents and papers to indicate who besides him was funding his railroad. No list of stockholders, no mention of loans or other financial agreements. This was merely a proposal. And a well-worn one from the looks of it.

Hurriedly, she tucked the letters and invoices back inside the maps and rolled them up, eager to get them out of her hands. When she had carried the roll to the window seat and tucked it back among the pillows, where she had found it, a faint sound from the bed caused her to start. It was only Bear shifting in his sleep again.

Uneasy now for no reason she was willing to admit, she climbed onto the window seat and pulled a pillow into her arms, hugging it for comfort. There was no sense dwelling on it. Or worrying. They were clearly
old
papers and maps. Everything must be finalized; Bear was heading for Montana to begin construction. He’d been working all week to make arrangements for materials and equipment. Nothing had changed. Everything was perfectly fine.

If only she could get her racing heart to agree.

The household was in a flurry late the next morning as Diamond and Hannah prepared hampers of food and linens and a dozen other little necessities of civilized life for Bear’s new home away from home. A stack of willow baskets, hampers, and trunks grew quickly in the front
hall. While Diamond was making an inventory of it all, a clerk from Philip Vassar’s bank arrived asking for Bear. Papers for signing, he announced apologetically. Mr. Vassar had to have them before Mr. McQuaid left for Montana.

“Papers?” Diamond reached for the leather folio herself, but the clerk gave her a strained smile and tucked them under his arm.

“If I might see
Mister
McQuaid, ma’am.”

Annoyed, Diamond went personally to fetch Bear from the stables, where he was overseeing Robbie’s chores and having a few “manly” words with him.

“
Mister
McQuaid,” she said breathlessly. “Philip Vassar has sent someone with some papers for you.”

He froze for a moment, then handed Robbie the bridle he was holding. His jaw set and his boot heels pounded into the gravel path on the way to the house. He made no attempt to explain. But when he spotted Vassar’s clerk, he made a nearly convincing effort to relax and seem offhand.

“I had planned to stop by the bank on my way out of the city this evening,” he said. “Just leave the papers with me and I’ll look them over.”

“Mr. Vassar thought you were leaving earlier and didn’t want to miss you.” When Bear reached for the folder, the clerk seemed uncomfortable. “Sorry, Mr. McQuaid, but these require signatures that have to be witnessed.”

“All right. Fine.” Bear nodded at him and then gave Diamond a perfunctory smile. “I’ll have it done in two shakes.” He glanced around, spotted the empty drawing room, and waved the courier toward it. When Diamond started in after them, he stopped her at the door with an emphatic smile. “I can take care of this, Diamond. Why don’t you go ahead with”—he looked past her to the mound of things assembled in the entrance hall—“packing. Good Lord—that’s enough supplies for me to open a
dry-goods store.” He waggled his brows, turned her around, and gave her bustle a pat.

Diamond had never been dismissed in her life. Wheedled, lectured, harangued, leered at, begged, and propositioned … but never
dismissed
. The tension and abrupt swings in Bear’s mood and behavior confirmed her intuition that something wasn’t right. When the drawing room doors thudded together, she whirled to look at them and felt the vague uneasiness she had lived with since last night become instantly focused.

He closed her out so he could sign a few papers?

When she sailed into the drawing room, he was just settling at the writing table near the windows, where the clerk was laying out an array of documents.

“Diamond?” He halted halfway into the seat and rose again, dismayed. As she approached, he stepped between her and the table.

She glanced up at his face, and she knew.

“What sort of papers do you have to sign?” she asked, fierce with control.

“Financial details. N-nothing you would be interest—” He halted and reddened around the ears as he realized how absurd that reasoning sounded.

“Financial ‘details’ have been my life,” she said, feeling her blood withdrawing from her limbs, leaving them cold and heavy. Her stomach, now inundated, began to sink. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be interested in whatever business dealings you have with Philip Vassar?” Those words carried a weight of foreboding. Philip Vassar was
her
banker.

“Nothing really. It’s just that you’re already busy and I have all of this under control.”

She looked into his eyes and, after a second, his gaze fled hers. Steeling herself, she darted around him and
picked up a set of the papers before the clerk could snatch them away.

“The Mercantile Bank of Baltimore,” she read aloud, “acting as agent on behalf of the Wingate Companies enters into this agreement with the Montana Central and Mountain Railroad and its principal, Barton H. McQuaid …”

Blinking, not wanting to believe what she had just read, she read it again.

The Wingate Companies—her companies—were providing the funding for Bear’s railroad. And the deal had been brokered and approved by Philip Vassar … her advisor, her banker. All without her knowledge or approval.

How could he … how could they possibly … without asking her? She looked up, remembering the comments made at the wedding. She was a married woman. They didn’t have to have
her
approval. They had
her husband’s
.

A cannonball blowing through the chest couldn’t have stunned her any more. She couldn’t exhale, couldn’t move except to lower her eyes along that typewritten page filled with legal terms and definitions that set forth with dry precision a bone-deep betrayal of her trust. She managed to lift the page and uncovered at the top of the next sheet the amount he was taking from her companies: three hundred thousand dollars.