Rugged and Relentless (18 page)

They’re trying to save a dying town and ease Mr. Lyman’s guilt over the mine collapse
. Anger sparked.
No matter his guilt, no matter the men injured, Mr. Lyman belongs in this room watching over his sister, cousin, fiancée—and her sister
.

“My sister struck a bargain to feed you, and we’re happy to abide by it.” The younger Miss Thompson rubbed the back of her neck. “But we haven’t time to take care of everything, and cook, and wash up after all of you. We can either cook or clean, so we assumed you’d all be more than happy to pitch in so you could enjoy real meals and even dessert instead of soup every day.”

“I’ll do it!” The one who’d first protested was all but drowned out as over a dozen men stampeded toward the door.

Jake beat them all. The way he figured it, Bear and the other three could keep an eye on any stragglers. He’d be in the best position to watch everyone file through the kitchen, past the women. He didn’t plan to let a single man alone with them.

It worked. Jake stepped through the back door to the kitchen mere seconds after the women entered, their arms loaded with baskets and carafes. He set down his pie tin and started sweeping stacks of baskets out of their arms and setting them onto the massive wooden worktable dominating one wall of the kitchen. He gave a nod to each of the women then busied himself taking the small butter crocks out of each container and shaking biscuit crumbs into one catchall basket. There weren’t many crumbs, but it gave him a handy pretext to stick around—and a reason for the women to let him.

Other men filed through in what became a patterned march. In the back door with a clean, wet pie tin, they stumbled to a halt. Then came the blink ‘n’ sniff to take in the cheery warmth of
the kitchen, layered with the smells of fondly remembered dinner fading beneath a rich, buttery scent Jake couldn’t quite place.

Miss Lyman’s welcoming smile as she handed them a dishcloth provoked a dazed grin before the fellow dried his dish and handed it to a waiting Miss Higgins, who stacked it neatly on a shelf and tucked his cutlery into a wooden drawer in orderly rows. At that point, the younger Miss Thompson would direct him toward the swinging doors to the dining room and ask that he stand near the entrance to wait for the others.

The elder Miss Thompson laid out bowls on the surface beside him, eschewing any contact with the men as she went about preparing what must be dessert. She spooned a healthy dollop of blackberry jam into the very center of each bowl, working steadily alongside him. The woman most likely didn’t realize she’d chosen the safest position, but he appreciated not having to look around to see where she’d flitted off to.

All the while, Jake tucked the crocks of butter into a nook at the side of the door, giving every man a good once-over as he walked through. A few, like those who’d stood up alongside him, or the ones who’d let their mouths talk over their good sense, he recognized. Some passed initial inspection immediately. Several loggers would be too broad in build or too tall for the average height and appearance that thus far protected Twyler. One or two fell by the wayside for red or blond hair or blue eyes.

By the time he’d looked over the entire crew, Jake counted only half a dozen men who might fit the bill. Shame he couldn’t number only six on the list of men he’d have to keep an eye on when it came to the women. Jake didn’t trust a single, finger-lickin’, goofy-grinnin’ one of them.

Riordan’s sheer size made him a valuable ally, but the man showed signs of being possessive and territorial—which might make him the worst of the bunch later on. The man tried to hang around the kitchen, jeopardizing Jake’s position, but without a task to perform and his bulk obviously in the way, he had to leave.

Gent put on pretentious airs, with that overly formal language and silly top hat of his. Jake suspected the man used the hat as a means to further camouflage his thinning hair—telltale smudges around Gent’s scalp, ears, and fingertips tattled of careful application of shoeblack. The man must be in his forties to take such measures, Jake figured.

Even Clump presented more problems than help. His friend from back in Durango looked ready to follow Miss Evelyn Thompson around like a besotted puppy, ears perked and tongue hanging out as though begging for the smallest scrap of—

Shortbread?
Jake shoved stacks of baskets up against the wall as the chef headed his way with sheets of golden cookies pulled from the pie safe. So
that
explained the rich, buttery aroma wafting through the room. Fresh coffee, which the women put on before the men began filing through, promised a solid counterpoint to the sweetness of dessert. Strong coffee usually swallowed anything else in the air, but even it had the sense to savor Evelyn Thompson’s fresh-baked shortbread.

If the men still wandered through, they’d refuse to leave. Jake knew, because he didn’t plan on budging from that warm, heaven-scented room until all the women exited before him. Even then, he’d be following to protect his share of that shortbread as much as to oversee the treatment of his makeshift wards.

A man had priorities, and Jake well knew he only boasted three. First, hunt down Twyler and bring the murderer to justice. Second, ensure no bystanders got hurt in the process. This is where protecting the women came in and things got complicated. Their ad gave him the chance to catch Twyler, but it left them in far more danger than that. And third, eat as much of Evelyn Thompson’s cooking as possible.

Admittedly, he’d only tacked on the last one tonight, but its recent addition didn’t lessen it. On the contrary, he’d given up everything for those first two priorities—it took something mighty important for him to make room for a third. And right
now, those fingers of shortbread, made airy by fork holes and delectable by shining crystals of sugar dusting each piece, held his complete attention. Well, almost.

He’d never thought about it, but if someone asked, he’d probably have said such a talented chef would have graceful hands with long, delicate fingers and a light touch. Jake couldn’t help noticing Miss Thompson’s hands, smaller than he’d realized before, nails trim and neat as she deftly arranged four cookies around the dollop of jam in each bowl. Swift, capable hands used to hard work. They suited her spunk and grit.

The same spunk that brought her out West with a wild plan to find a husband
. Suddenly the shortbread didn’t smell so sweet.
The same spunk that made her leave safety, slide past me, and lay down rules, taking control of a group of scoundrels …

“Who’s that one for?” He spotted a bowl with double the shortbread when she spooned more jam into the center of it.

“Mr. Dodger.” She didn’t say another word about the matter. Miss Thompson didn’t need to. After taking away the man’s shepherd’s pie—no matter he deserved losing it for thievery and hypocrisy—obviously the woman’s soft heart worried the man would be hungry. With a little extra after some of the men had forfeited their dessert, she’d found a way to be kind and stay firm.

Yep
. Jake shook his head as he followed the women back into the dining room.
That spunk’s going to cause trouble
.

“Braden?” Cora’s voice came to him, the same clear memory that helped him through the darkness before. This time, the promise of her tugged him from the mines more easily than ever before.

He struggled from the clutches of drug-induced sleep, fighting through the murky fog beyond the blackness of the mine to crack one eye open. Light pierced his vision, but that wasn’t the shock to slam his eyelid shut.

Braden took a ragged breath. And groaned.
It’s not enough that
I have to send Cora away, Lord? Must she bring her sister’s cooking?
Hunger panged through him at the thought of something other than the gruel and soup the doctor foisted on him for weeks on end—not, Braden suspected, because he shouldn’t be eating heartier meals but because the doctor couldn’t cook anything else. So whatever lay under that tea towel almost tempted Braden to put his plan to run her out of Hope Falls on hold.

Regret already swamped him for the way he’d treated his fiancée earlier.
It didn’t work
. Braden’s jaw tightened.
She should have listened. Should have left
. The surge of anger saved him.

“What are
you
doing here?” He barked the question, refusing to open his eyes and witness the look on her face. Refusing to see anything that would edge away the rage and submerge him in the desolation of his current situation. “I don’t want you.”

Liar
. His conscience bit into his battered pride.

“You look at me when you say that, Braden Nicholas Lyman.” Tears trembled in her voice, and most likely in her eyes, but he wouldn’t look. Cora could be a myth sprung to life, the very opposite of the ancient Gorgon whose glance turned men to stone. Those mismatched eyes of hers, one blue, one brown, held the power to break through the walls any man erected.

If Braden looked, he’d crumble. And if he crumbled, she’d see the pathetic excuse for a man he’d truly become.
Never
. “I don’t want to look at you. I don’t want to see you.”

A strangled gasp, all but inaudible, warned him Cora wouldn’t give in easily. “What do you want, Braden?”

To be whole again. To be able to hold you. To know I didn’t kill my men
. He swallowed.
But I can’t have any of that, so I’ll settle for
“Your leaving.”
So your life won’t be wasted, too
.

“You can’t have that.”

Her words so closely matched his thoughts, he almost smiled. Cora always came close to knowing what was on his mind, if not managing to guess exactly. Any smile died a swift death at the idea of her knowing … “Yes, I can!” Braden shouted the words,
head turned so he wouldn’t see her. “I say you don’t belong here. Get out.”

“No.” She set the tray—which he’d forgotten until then despite the smells still lingering in the room—on some table or other. The thud told him before her footsteps rounded the bed.

“Yes.” His hands fisted beneath the sheet, twisting in what he already knew to be a vain attempt to break the bonds holding him. Before Lacey left, he’d have her hire another doctor. That way, something good would come from this mockery of a visit.

“I won’t go anywhere until you look me in the eye. You haven’t done it once, Braden. Not yesterday afternoon, not now.” Her words rushed out in a flood. “You left to come here, and I agreed to it although I missed you. I believed you dead and grieved terribly. When I heard of your survival, I rushed to your side, and by all that I have in me
I will not leave
until you look at me and I believe you don’t want me anymore.”

Consigning himself to the monster he’d fought since the mine’s collapse, Braden opened his eyes. Then opened his mouth …

     TWELVE     

A
nd then”—Cora gulped in a great big breath, gathering strength for another round of sobs—“he looked me straight in my eyes and ordered me to leave. To make it clear, he said out of his room, out of the building, and out of Hope Falls. He just stopped short of demanding I leave Colorado entirely!”

“Oh no.” Lacey patted her shoulder. “I’ll talk to him.”