Eden's Sin (9 page)

“
Yes, sir?”

“
Put Connors in charge of the men for morning drill. I need you to saddle my horse.”

***

“
That is the most preposterous idea I have ever heard!” Parsons’ words echoed through the empty train car, his face turning an ugly purple-red. “There is no way in hell I can afford to lose even one payroll, much less two. Do you realize the investors would lynch me if I did such a thing?”

Sinclair shook his head.
“You wouldn’t be sending the actual monies. Only real bills on the outside, cut newspaper for the centers. I doubt the thieves bother to look closely. The real payroll won’t be sent at all. I’ll go retrieve it personally.”

Parsons blew a deep breath.
“I find it hard to believe this will tell us anything.”

“
It will tell us who is leaking information! If the Thursday train is robbed, then it’s Stevens.” Sinclair hesitated, knowing the outburst his next words would cause. “And if the Friday train is robbed, then it’s your daughter.”

“
Kate!” A large vein pulsed on Parsons’ forehead. “By God, I won’t have you degrade the name Parsons. Besides, what possible motive could Kate have?”

“
Judge, I have confirmed Senator Moreton has more to gain if you lose this race. I’ve also confirmed he’s hired saboteurs on previous occasion.” But he wasn’t going to admit any more. He’d promised McGrady.

“
Who?” Parsons started pacing. “Was that old bastard behind that damned Swede and her dynamite? The so-called accidents?”

“
I’m not at liberty to say more.” Let the judge think what he wanted. “But it seems to be common knowledge in Ladore that your daughter doesn’t agree with your business methods.” Ballard had gleaned that information just this morning from a slack-jawed rail-worker at the livery. “And Moreton isn’t above bribery. Perhaps the senator found an ally in your daughter.”

“
Humph
. Kate wants for nothing.”

Nothing but approval from her father.
Damn, that reeked of self-examination.
“Nevertheless, she is a suspect and will be treated as such.”

Parsons frowned, doubt tightening his features.
“And what happens when neither train is robbed?”

Si
nclair took a deep breath. “If I’m wrong then you can say so.” But the judge wasn’t so sure now or he’d still be arguing. Obviously his Katy was more important than his Kate.

The judge glared at him.
“I’ll do more than that. You can bet your ass, I will ruin you.”

Sin
clair smiled. As if his life could get much worse.

“
Judge,” Sinclair sighed, “somehow, despite the fact you have changed the payroll schedule repeatedly, your money is being stolen right out from under you. That tells me you have an information leak. Someone close to you.” Whether the old fool wanted to admit it or not.

Parsons rounded the desk and paced the width of the car, h
is expensive boots a mere whisper on the thick rugs. “Well I know Stevens would never betray me like that.”

Sinclair didn’t miss the fact the judge defended Stevens much more than his own daughter.
“Then let’s prove it.”

Parsons frowned.
“Fine.” He reached for a cut glass carafe from the liquor cabinet.

Sin
clair strode across the car to the door. “I’m leaving right now, riding like hell to the main office to get the payroll. That way it’s safe here and the men can be paid Friday evening.”

Parsons’ rubbed his chin.
“I don’t like it, but I’ll go along with it—to show your plan and accusations for the ludicrous poppy-cock they are.” He poured a large shot of brandy and gulped it in one swallow. “Damned
investigating
party. I hate that son-of-a-bitch Moreton.”

“
Then why are you involved in business with him?” Was this man so ignorant?

A sly smile lit Parsons’ face.
“Money. Connections. He knows the people who grow this country, and I needed to know those same people. Even if it costs me some sleep. By the time the Katy is built, I will own those connections, and Senator Moreton will be the first man I ruin.” His smile turned calculating. Cold.

God, Sinclair hated politics, hated being dragged back into this life.

Shaking his head, he marched to the door and twisted the knob, then turned. “I’m going to get your payroll. Remember, tell Stevens Thursday, tell Kate Friday.”

“
When
you’re wrong,” Parsons scowled and poured another shot, “I’ll see your rank pulled back down to Private. You can shovel Custer’s horse shit from here until doom’s day.”

Wouldn’t that make Father happy? Then he would try to force Sin
clair into taking the Bar Exam and begin his law practice, take over where Theodore left off.  But that wouldn’t happen. Not in a million years. He wasn’t Theodore, and he’d never be happy stuck in a damned office. Parsons and Father might try to ruin his career, but the Cavalry gave him purpose. And he wouldn’t give that up.

“
Judge,
if
I’m wrong you’re going to have a lot more to worry about than getting even with me. You might be the man getting ruined instead of Moreton.” He slammed the door then hurried out and down the steps.

Ballard had Lincoln saddled and
waiting, a canteen and rifle strapped in place.

“
Thank you, Corporal. I’ll be back tonight. Take the men and sign on with McGrady as we talked about.”

“
Yes, sir.”

Sin
clair slipped his boot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. “You’re in charge until I return.”

“
Yes, sir.” Ballard gave a quick salute.

Sin
clair turned Lincoln and headed down the street at a cantor, past camp, past the mercantile. Past Devil’s Gate.
Damn.
Was Eden awake? Or still in bed, all warm and sleepy and tousled. He groaned.
God, he had to stop thinking like that. She meant nothing to him. Nothing. He wasn’t going to give her, or her kisses, or her breasts, or her haunting eyes a second thought.

His association with
Miz Gabrielli was over and done.

***

Sinclair
pushed his way into the Devil’s Gate, several hours later than he’d hoped, three hours past supper. He was soaked, starving and thoroughly pissed off at Parsons who was still complaining—even after Sinclair had tucked the real payroll safely into the railcar lockbox. It had been a long, wet ride, but much faster and covert alone. A troop of men would have drawn too much attention, and that was the last thing he needed.

Thunder rumbled the glass windows and lightning lit up t
he dark sky as he waved McGrady over to his table.

“
I’m sorry to make you come out in this weather.” Sinclair poured the man a drink.

McGrady
shrugged out of his coat and downed his whiskey. “You’d best be apologizing to my Addy. I had pleasurable plans for the lass about the time Private Collins knocked on the door.”

Sin
clair shook his head. “Then I’m doubly sorry.” He poured the Irishman another drink. “Tell me what you learned today.”

Unf
ortunately Corporal Ballard nor the men had found out anything about the robberies or rape. They were no closer to having answers than they were yesterday.

“
I wish I had better news for you.” McGrady gave a huge yawn.

The crowd of men had
thinned until just a few hovered over a card game and others made their way upstairs for a more intimate game, one with a red-haired gal, the other a large breasted brunette.

His gaze combed the room again. No Eden. Not that he was really looking
for
her. He downed another drink.

Was she upstairs working?
Not that it mattered.

Was the laughter he heard floating down the steps hers?
And so what if it was?

He fisted his hands, fighting the urge to start searching for her. What the hell was wrong with him?
Maybe she was just cooking again.

“
Something wrong?” McGrady’s brows wrinkled. “You look like you’re about to have to eat glass.”

Sin
clair exhaled and forced his muscles loose. “No. Nothing.” He glanced upstairs again. “I guess Eden’s up there with someone?”

McGrady
choked on his whiskey. “Eden? She hasn’t greased a mattress since I’ve known her.”

“
What do you mean? You said she was the madam.”

McGrady
shrugged. “Oh, she is and she used to
work
, but not since she came here. Don’t know why. She doesn’t talk about her past.”

She didn’t whore?
A grin split his face. He nodded and tried to swallow the stupid happy feeling—
Hold up a minute.
If she wasn’t whoring, then his offering her money last night …
Oh, shit.

That’s why she got so angry.
Wait.
Why should she be angry at him for something he didn’t know?

He pushed back his chair and tossed several coins on the table for the whiskey.
“I’ll let you get back to your wife. I’ve got other business to attend tonight.” His gaze flicked to the kitchen door.

McGrady
, the bastard, just grinned. “Yes, I can see that.” He stood. “Will you be out on the cut tomorrow?”

Sinclair shook his head.
“I need to stay close to town.” And wait to hear if the robbers made an attempt on the fake payroll train.

“
All right. Good night then, Major.”

Sinclair barely heard him. He managed a n
od as he headed to the kitchen, his thoughts focused solely on one fact: She’d lied again.

Omitted the truth.
Yeah, well, same difference.

He should just walk away. Out that door. Right now. Forget he ever saw her.

He wavered mid-step. The door was right there. He could avoid all this confusion, stop this gut wrenching back and forth indecision. Or he could go to the kitchen and figure out what it was about her that made him burn, what made her so irresistible. And no, he wasn’t ready to admit he might already care for her.

Stomping
behind the bar, he almost ran down Floyd coming out of the kitchen. The man staggered past mumbling about the best apple pie he’d ever had, seemingly unaware he’d almost been flattened by a swinging door. Part of Ballard’s report said the old man did nothing but polish Parsons’ boots and drink himself silly. He didn’t have friends or enemies or clandestine meetings with anyone. Poor as a church mouse and about a popular. And about as smart.

“
Hel-loo, Major.” He gave a lopsided grin. “You gonna have some apple pie? I can highly rec-recommend it.”

“
Um, thank you.” Although as inebriated as he was, Floyd probably could have eaten dirt and recommended it too.

“
You know Eden?” Floyd wavered on his feet.

“
Yes.” Damn, if the old fool would just move.

“
She’s a ssssweet gal.”

“
Yes, well, good night.” Sinclair slipped past him into the kitchen, inhaling the scent of cornbread and ham. And pie, no doubt the one Floyd was praising.

Eden was just closing the back door
, her hair tumbling down her back in various curls. She wore a green skirt tonight, topped with a gray corset, a very revealing gray corset. The kitchen was much warmer than the bar, and the thick, rain-filled air outside didn’t offer any relief even with the window open.

Head down,
wringing her hands, she talked to herself. No, talked wasn’t right. Lectured. Scolded, maybe, or else she was trying to convince herself of something.

“
…have no choice…have no choice.”

As she picked
up a plate for drying, the words floated over to him. Something had happened. He could feel it in his gut. But getting her to tell him—
honestly
tell him—would be damn near impossible.

“
Eden?”

She whirled, a plate falling to the floor and shattering into a hundred pieces.
“Damn it! Now see what you made me do.” She dropped to her knees and started picking up the shards. “What do you want?”

You. I want you
. He had to grit his teeth to stop the words from coming out.

“
I want to know what’s going on. I want to know why you lied to me again.”

Chapter
Five

Eden dropped the china pieces again.
Oh, God
. Sinclair had to have seen Floyd leaving. Had he seen her out back, talking to the Russell Brothers? A shudder ran the length of her body. If he had, she was as good as dead. What did they do with spies? Hanging? Prison, surely. Either way, Sophia’s life would be ruined.

Christ! She couldn’t confess.
She wouldn’t.

“
I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Calmly she stood and wiped her hands. Thank God her skirt hid her shaking knees. A bluff. That was the only way out of this. She’d played cards with some of the best. High stakes games with the richest men in St. Louis and won. If she considered this no more than a game, she’d be fine. Thoughts of imprisonment, death, and worse, failing Sophia, were not an option.

Sinclair’s eyes narrowed and he stalked toward her.
She raised her chin as if she had no fear, nothing to hide. As if nothing of consequence hung in the balance.

“
I want to know why you didn’t tell me you no longer whore.”

“
Oh.” Relief flooded her like strong whiskey. “I…well…”

“
Then I want you to tell me what has you so upset that you think you have no choice about.”

Her stomach gave a sick lurch. What could she say?

Tell him. Ask him for help.
No! God, no, she couldn’t do that. He’d been sent here to arrest the thieves. She was a conspirator, as guilty as the Russell Boys.

“As we discussed last night, everyone has old pain haunting them. Sometimes mine hurts worse than others. That’s all.” She forced a smile. “As for me not whoring, I doubt that I know everything about you. Do you expect me to be so forthright?”

He cocked his head, studying her
. “No, but I don’t wear this uniform and
pretend
to be a soldier.”

“I’m not pretending to be anything. I used to whore. I told you that. In St. Louis.”

“
But you don’t
now
.”

“
No.”

“
Why?”

“
Why?” She gave a brittle laugh. “Major, that story would take more time than you have.”
Please go away before I puddle to the floor. Please don’t look at me like I could mean something to you. Please don’t give me hope where there is none.

“
No. Actually, I have all night.” He slid his hat from his head and took off his wet uniform coat. “We can talk while I help you finish the dishes.” He nodded toward the sink.

He wasn’t going to give up. He was going to keep at her, keep asking and showing up here and smiling and being nice until she broke. Until she told him every sin she’d ever committed.
Until he hated her.

Tears burned the back of her eyes. A wave of panic caught her, made her want to throw herself at his m
ercy, ask for help, expose the senator for what he was doing.

But the risk was too great. It wasn’t only her life hanging in the balance.

Sinclair stood, waiting, a patient smile creasing his face. And God help her, she really wanted to just give in and beg him to hold her.

She swallowed the
lump of tears and picked up the dishcloth. “You wash, I’ll dry.”

He nodded and strode to the pile of dishes.

S
he could feel him watching her, feel the unspoken questions, the tension.

“
So, I guess I understand why you don’t trust men.” He kept his gaze on the soapy plate in his hands.

“
Last night you said I should stop blaming men. Find some self respect.” She shouldn’t goad him, but the words still hurt. Partly because they held some truth. She didn’t respect herself. Once money and gowns had been enough, but when all those were gone, lying in bed nearly crippled had left too much time with her thoughts and fears.

“
Yes, well, I’m sorry. I had no right to say you should trust after what you said happened.” He glanced at her. “Is that why you limp? The fall down the stairs?”

She gave a curt nod.

“Was he arrested for what he did to you?” Sinclair handed her plate, but didn’t let go. “Eden, look at me, please?”

His soft question tugged at her until she met his gaze.

“He was very rich and well connected. So no. Nothing was done.” She tugged the plate free and bowed her head to work as if drying circles took intense concentration.

“
Maybe I can do something. I have some connections myself.”

“
No!”  She almost dropped the plate. Good God, he couldn’t make inquires. Sophia would be killed. “I mean, I want to forget.”

“
Is that why you stopped whoring?”

“
Yes.” Best he think it was the accident. The truth, the fear she’d stupidly care about another man if she got too close, was harder to admit.

“
You should have told me. I didn’t mean to insult you…by offering…”

“I would have told you…eventually. I just didn’t expect things to—I didn’t think we’d end up kissing.”

His eyes grew dark, hooded at her words.
“Some things are unpredictable.” His gaze skated over her face, landed on her mouth. “You for example. Women in general.”

A tight squeezing empathy took hold of her chest. Here was the man whose eyes reflected ghosts, more than just those of a war. Some woman had hurt him. Badly.

“Tell me who she was.”

He frowned
. “Who?”

“
The woman who destroyed your trust.”

“
No one.” He shook his head. “No one.”

“
Now who’s lying? You want to know my secrets, then you owe me yours.”
What am I doing?
A bluff? Yes. No. Was she really going to open that dark door?

He scoffed.
“I don’t think so.”

“
Fair’s fair.” She brushed past him and opened the door to the bar room. “Clear out, boys. It’s closing time.” Turning, she met the major’s stare.

“
So what are you proposing, here, lady? We bare our souls to each other?”

Was she? Was she so sadistic she thought humiliating herself would purge these feelings for him? These damned feelings she couldn’t n
ame and couldn’t rid herself of.

“
Yes. I think I am.” Her voice warbled. She wasn’t sure she could go through with it, but the light feeling she got just imagining freedom from her past made her push forward. “Yes.”

His brows furrowed.
“All right. You’ve got a deal. I’ll make sure the bar is empty and lock the doors. You put on some coffee. This is going to take awhile.”

Eden drooped
against the counter, her nerves wavered between anticipation and impending doom.

The clock ticked away the minutes while s
hadows danced across the kitchen floor, flitting like the butterflies in her stomach. The coffee boiled on the stove, the jiggling lid setting her more and more on edge. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. What kind of insanity had made her suggest such a thing? Had she become so sadistic she wanted to do herself harm?

“
Do you have any apple pie left?”

She whirled at his words. He stood close, closer than she liked
, because she liked it too much.

“
Y-yes. I’ll cut you a slice.” She skittered away from his side.

“
And I’ll pour the coffee.”

She nodded, unable to find enough spit in her dry mouth to form words. She needed something much stronger than coffee. If she was going to tell him her past, she needed whiskey.

Setting the pie on the table, she grabbed a bottle from the cabinet.

Sinclair cocked a dark
brow. “Courage?”

Her heart climbed into her throat and stupid, weak tears burned her eyes.
“Yes. If I don’t have a drink I won’t have the strength to tell you anything.”

His expression fell, his eyes
searching, sad. “Don’t then. I—I don’t want to cause you more pain.” He set down both cups. “Maybe both of us need to let our ghosts stay buried.”

He cupped her cheek, his palm warm and rough
. And tender. Offering a reprieve from her stupid bluff. She could keep her secrets, push him away, and life would be the same as it had been before she met him. Just her wrapped in her layers of shame. Alone and independent and so damned scared and lonely she cried herself to sleep more nights than not.

What if this was her one chance? What if she could trust Sinclair? Maybe she
could tell him part of her past, watch his reaction. If he was truly a good man, if he truly had connections…

She leaned into his palm and swallowed hard.
“I think my ghosts need to be brought out into the light.” She met his gaze, searching his face for any signs she was making a horrible mistake. Again.

He never blinked. Never wavered.
Strong, steady.

“All right. Let’s sit down.”

She took a step, her legs shaking so badly she stumbled. But Sinclair was there, wrapping his arm around her, tucking her against his warm chest.

“I think I’m going to need that whiskey before I start talking.” She gripped his shirt like a lifeline in a swirling river.

He pulled out the chair and sat her at the table, then grabbed a shot glass and poured.
“You know, I like puzzles. I like figuring things out. From the moment I met you, I knew you were hiding something. And I wanted to know what it was.” He handed her the glass. “But now…”

“
No, I want to tell you. I—” She gulped down the whiskey. “I just don’t know where to begin.”

“
Well, I know about your mother’s singing, and I know about her being put on the streets.” His expression softened and he slid his hand over hers. Warmth and courage seeped into her. “Tell me what happened then? Did you live on the streets very long?”

“
No, not at first. Mother found employment as a maid. We lived at the gentleman’s house for several years, until I was almost nine years old. Until she found herself pregnant again.” Eden swallowed another drink. “Then Mama’s lover put us on the street—before his wife found out.”

“
God, I’m sorry.” He gripped her hands between his.

“
It wasn’t bad at first, but as the months passed, it got colder and colder…” She shivered, the memory stronger than the heat in the room. “We nearly froze and I was so hungry.” A tear dripped onto her arm. When had she started crying? She pulled her hand free and swiped her cheek.

“
Honey, if this is too painful—”

“
No, I want to tell you. Maybe if I tell this secret the pain will go away.” And maybe if he could hear this confession without walking out the door, she could trust him with the secret she kept now. Maybe.

“
All right.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried her tears. “Go ahead.”

“
One snowy night, some men found us huddled in an old carriage. They yanked Mother out onto the ground and ripped her clothes. I ran down the alley, pounding on the doors until finally one opened and a woman with a shotgun helped me. Alice.”

“
Good,” he gritted. “I hope she killed those bastards.”

“
I believe she scattered some shot into a couple of their asses. But the damage was done. We took Mother inside the brothel and put her in one of the beds, but the rape had started her labor.” Eden closed her eyes, heard the moans, the screams. Heard the tiny cry. “My sister Sophia was born the next day.”

“
You have a sister?” His eyes widened.

“
Yes.” She could still feel that warm little body wiggling in her arms. The madam had wrapped her in a silk scarf before handing her to Eden and shooing them from the room to wait in the candle-lit parlor. And in the next few hours, she had fallen in love, as if Sophia had been her own child.

“
Where is she now?”

“
As far away from this life as I can afford to keep her.”

Sinclair stood and s
crubbed his hand over his face, pacing back and forth in front of the stove.

So here it was. He was going to shake his head in disgust and walk out the door. Sh
e really hadn’t expected more. Not really. What man—

“
And your mama?”

Her head snapped up. Sinclair had stopped pacing and stood in front of her, his expression achingly sad.

He didn’t leave. He didn’t leave.

Not yet. S
he hadn’t told him the worst part. Then he would leave.

“
She died when Sophia was five days old.” Withered in the bed without ever speaking another word, without ever holding her baby.
Without ever holding me again
. “I—I tried to take care of Mama. I washed her and brushed her pretty hair, but—” A sob stole her words, the image of her so pale and lifeless lying in that bed ripping through her heart like a fresh wound.